Frank walked along the familiar dimly lit path. He found himself standing at a familiar fork in the path, the very spot where he'd started his bizarre journey earlier that night. The air felt different here, lighter but with an unseen tension that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
As he caught his breath, Frank noticed movement in his peripheral vision. Ghostly figures flickered in and out of existence, their forms translucent and ethereal. Unlike the monstrous ghouls he'd faced in the rift, these apparitions seemed harmless, drifting aimlessly through the night air. Still, their presence sent a chill down his spine.
Shaking off the unnerving sight, Frank continued down the path towards his house. Each step felt like a monumental effort, his muscles aching from the night's ordeal. In the distance, he heard bizarre wails echoing through the darkness. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to ignore the eerie sounds and press on. They were all harmless, he repeated this mantra with each step.
Upon nearing his home, Frank noticed a familiar vehicle, abused and dented, parked out front. His partner's vehicle. Before he could process what that meant, the car door swung open, and Alan stepped out.
"Frank?" Alan's voice cut through the night air, laced with concern. "What the hell happened to you? You look like shit."
Frank came to a stop, suddenly aware of how he must appear. His clothes were torn and dirty. His face likely streaked with sweat and grime. Luckily, he wasn't injured. He opened his mouth to respond, but found himself at a loss for words. How could he possibly explain what he'd just experienced?
Frank exhaled deeply, shaking his head.
"Listen, come back tomorrow. I'm done for the day," Frank carried on towards his home's entrance.
"It's morning though." Alan commented.
"Night time is sleeping time," Frank dismissed him with a wave as he continued towards his door. "Go home, Alan."
Frank headed up stairs to his master's bedroom. He'd always avoid the bedroom as it reminded him of his loving wife. It was true that people wouldn't survive not sleeping after 11 days, or at least that's how it was with mundane humans. He wasn't so certain whether he was one of them or one of Aur.
Changing his clothes quickly to something more comfortable, he hurried his way into bed without even brushing his teeth or washing his face. As soon as his head touched the pillow, his consciousness drifted away. It was his first sleep in more than 12 days.
***
Frank sat on a park bench, savoring the taste of a juicy burger. The sun warmed his face as he watched families and joggers pass by. Alan sat beside him, munching on fries and occasionally sipping from a large soda cup.
Suddenly, the peaceful atmosphere shattered. Fire truck sirens blared from all directions, their urgent wails echoing through the city streets. Frank tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for the phone in his pocket.
"What's goin' on?" Alan asked, his words muffled by a mouthful of food.
Before Frank could answer, Alan's body jerked. He coughed, then hiccupped loudly.
"Damn it," Alan grumbled, setting down his burger. "These hiccups are makin' it hard to eat."
Frank's phone buzzed. He pulled it out, scanning the text message that flashed across the screen. His eyes widened as he recognized the address—it was in his neighbourhood, just a few blocks from his house.
"We gotta go," Frank said, stuffing the rest of his burger into his mouth and standing up. "There's a situation near my place."
Alan remained seated, taking another bite of his burger. "Can't we finish lunch first? This burger is so good maaan."
Frank shook his head, impatience creeping into his voice. "Come on, Alan. Finish up and let's get moving."
"But I'm savoring it," Alan protested between hiccups. "You can't rush chewing and tasting."
Frank sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, I'll buy you another burger later if you get your ass off this bench and start driving us to the scene. Deal?"
"Two burgers," Alan took another bite.
"Deal!" Frank hurried away, abandoning his own to-go box on the bench as Alan hastily gathered his, bringing it with him as he followed.
As soon as they got in the car, Alan pushed the start button, his fingers fumbling slightly in his haste. The engine roared to life, and he quickly flipped on the lights and sirens. The piercing wail filled the air, causing a few nearby pedestrians to turn and stare. Without wasting another second, Alan stomped on the accelerator and peeled out of the parking lot, the tires squealing in protest.
Frank's knuckles turned white as he gripped whatever he could inside the car. His body tensed with each sharp turn Alan took. The car's tires screeched against the asphalt as Alan swerved through the bustling Toronto streets, weaving between cars with reckless abandon.
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"Jesus, Alan! You tryin' to kill us before we even get there?" Frank shouted, his stomach lurching as they narrowly missed clipping a parked car.
Alan's eyes remained fixed on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles matched Frank's. "You wanted fast, man. This is fast! And I want those burgers!"
The siren wailed, cutting through the air as they barreled down the street. Pedestrians scrambled to get out of their way, some shouting obscenities as the cruiser zoomed past.
Frank's head slammed against the headrest as Alan jerked the wheel, narrowly avoiding a delivery truck that had pulled out in front of them. The smell of burning rubber filled the car as Alan floored the gas pedal.
"There's a difference between fast and suicidal!" Frank yelled, bracing himself against the door as they took another corner at breakneck speed.
Alan's response was cut short by a violent hiccup. The car swerved dangerously close to a fire hydrant before he regained control.
"Damn hiccups!" Alan cursed.
Frank's heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He could see the plume of red smoke rising in the distance, growing larger with each passing second, at least that's what it looked like.
As they approached the scene, Alan slammed on the brakes, sending Frank lurching forward against his seatbelt. The cruiser skidded to a stop just shy of the police barricade that had been hastily erected.
As Frank and Alan stepped out of their vehicle, they saw that the smoke wasn't actually smoke. It was more like a mist, a red mist. It was something they've never seen before. Looking beyond the barricades, they saw roots intertwined with each other. The roots writhed and coiled, an eerie juxtaposition to the metallic clangs they produced when they grazed one another. Every dwelling in sight was enveloped by these unearthly vines, which appeared to effortlessly penetrate walls, unfazed by any physical barriers.
"What the h-" Frank stopped mid-sentence, his jaw dropping at the scene before him. Alan's hiccups grew more frequent as well.
Frank's heart raced as he and Alan approached the first house on the street. The red mist swirled around their ankles, and the metallic clanging of the roots continued filling the air. Frank reached for the doorknob, hesitating for a moment before turning it, unsurprised it was unlock. It was Canada afterall.
"Stay alert," Frank muttered to Alan as they stepped inside.
Inside the house, an unsettling stillness reigned, and a savory aroma wafted through the air. As they ventured further in, they heard the faint hum of a gas burner from the adjoining room near the entrance. Frank's eyes darted around, taking in every detail. The living room looked normal enough - a couch, a TV, family photos on the walls. But something felt off.
"Frank," Alan whispered, his voice tight with tension. "You smell that?"
Frank nodded. The unmistakable aroma of food cooking wafted through the air. He glanced at his watch - 12:30 PM. Lunchtime.
They moved towards the kitchen. Frank lead the way with his hand on his holster. As they rounded the corner, the scene before them made Frank's skin break out goosebumps.
The kitchen was a snapshot of interrupted activity. A pan sizzled on the stove, the contents starting to burn. A half-chopped onion lay on a cutting board.
But what caught Frank's eye was the spatula on the floor. It lay there, a silent witness to whatever had transpired. Frank crouched down, examining it without touching. There were no signs of a struggle, no overturned furniture or broken dishes. It was as if someone had been cooking one moment and vanished the next.
"This ain't right," Alan muttered, his eyes wide as he took in the scene.
Frank stood up slowly, his mind racing. The house wasn't empty—it was abandoned. Recently and suddenly abandoned. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he realized the implications.
"We need to check the other houses," Frank said, his voice low and urgent. "Something's happened here, maaan. Something big. Something I ain't gonna mess with maaan," Alan's eyes shifted everywhere, his hiccup not seeming to end.
Frank and Alan exchanged a grim look before heading to the next house. They gazed past the street and noticed the red mist growing denser the further they looked. It seemed they were only at the outskirts of whatever event had happened.
Frank rapped his knuckles against the door, the sound echoing in the unsettling quiet of the neighborhood. They waited, ears straining for any sign of life within. Seconds ticked by, but no response came.
"Nobody's answering," Frank muttered, his hand instinctively moving to his holster.
Alan nodded, his face pale. "We gotta go in, man. This is an emergency situation. Just knock it down!"
Frank stepped back, gesturing for Alan to take the lead. With a deep breath, Alan squared his shoulders and kicked the door. It shuddered but held firm. He tried again, putting more force behind it. On the third attempt, the lock gave way with a resounding crack, and the door swung open.
They entered cautiously, guns drawn. "Police! Is anyone home?" Frank called out, his voice echoing through the silent house.
The entryway appeared normal, jackets hanging on hooks, shoes neatly lined up against the foyer. Frank's eyes darted around, taking in every detail as they moved further into the house.
They entered the living room, finding it just as eerily undisturbed as the previous house. Family photos smiled down at them from the walls, a stark contrast to the unsettling atmosphere.
Frank nodded towards the kitchen, and they moved in that direction. As they rounded the corner, the scene that greeted them made Frank's stomach churn.
A bowl of pasta sat on the dining table, steam still rising from it. Next to the plate, a fork lay on the floor, as if it had been dropped suddenly. The chair was pushed back, suggesting someone had left in a hurry.
"Jesus Christ maaaan," Alan whispered, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. "It's like they just... vanished."
Frank moved closer to the table, careful not to disturb anything. The pasta looked freshly cooked, probably no more than 20 minutes old.
"Whatever happened here," Frank said, his voice low and tense, "is way out of our paychecks."
Alan nodded, his face pale. "Just like the other house, man. It's like everyone just... disappeared. We gotta go Frank. We just gotta go."
Frank's mind raced, trying to make sense of what they were seeing. Two houses, two interrupted meals, and no sign of the residents. The implications sent a chill down his spine.
They slowly made their way back to the broken front entrance, their footsteps echoing in the eerie silence of the abandoned home. Frank's mind raced with possibilities. Could it be a terrorist attack. If so, it must be some advance tech. However, these scenes reminded him of what Alan kept talking about. There are more mysteries to the world they live that normal people wouldn't even know. He had dismissed these ramblings from Alan many times. Now its hard to refute that it's right in front of his eyes—the unexplainable.
As they exited the damaged entryway, Frank glimpsed a female figure's outline on the pavement, enveloped in a dense crimson mist. The shadowy form swiveled its head towards him. Its gaze, an infinite darkness, cut through the fog and locked onto Frank. Suddenly, an ear-splitting wail echoed across the entire landscape, tripping him backwards.