They found a door after walking the length of the building, just before turning the corner to the back wall. Behind the theater, one block over, lay the remains of a city park; leafless trees rose over brown grass and dried-up waterways. A chaotic shantytown swarmed over the grounds; prone indigents scattered themselves like twigs. A few derelicts prowled the sidewalks. The team beheld what was before them and shuddered.

“How could something like this be in our city?” she anguished. “It’s like someone put a curse on the area.”

“Not our problem to fix,” reminded Miles. “Unless you want to slaughter bums and find the ramshackle evil temple at the center of these hovels.”

Clancy let out a hollow laugh. “Sounds like that could be an interesting story all by itself.”

“Couldn’t it, though?” Lorarona chimed. “Upstanding citizens, driven to vagrancy by the presence of evil, and only a stalwart band of adventurers can set things straight.”

Miles snorted. “You both read too many dungeon-crawl magazines.”

“I think this door used to be barred,” Noninja observed. “Note all the nail holes, in a line, below the imprints of long rectangles. See how the walls are stained less there?”

“Aw, c’mon, Miles,” jested Clancy. “Where’s your spirit? You don’t think that’d make a worthy side-story?”

“I think your premise is really unlikely,” snapped Miles. “Probably just a bunch of people with no place in this world.”

“Guys!” interrupted Noninja. “Can we just focus on the mission? Look, the door’s not even locked.” Inside, shrouded by dim light, was a spiral staircase leading up. Shrugging, they walked inside.

Miles peered upwards through the murky darkness. “Curse it,” he groaned. “That’s a long way up.”

“Guess we’d better start climbing,” suggested Lorarona.

Miles perked up. “The devil with that! Look!” He pointed to a closed double-door to the side of the stairs.

Noninja smiled. “I’m on it!” He examined it closely for several seconds. “No lock on this side.” He tried to work his wakizashi between the doors, but got nowhere. “This thing is sealed really tight. I have no idea how we’ll get through it.”

“I do!” Miles exulted, raising his greataxe.

“Stop!” Lorarona chided. “You want to alert everyone we’re here?”

Miles frowned as he lowered his axe. “Well, I sure don’t want to climb all those stairs.”

Clancy put his hand on Miles’ back. “Subtlety, pal! This is an infiltration, not an assault.”

Miles’ shoulders slumped. “Fine.” He took the lead on ascending the staircase; the others followed.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Halfway to the top, he paused, out of breath. “Why do they have to make theaters so tall?” he panted.

Lorarona slumped against the wall. “I’m sure it has a grand vaulted ceiling…the better to impress theatergoers.”

Miles looked around wildly. “The patrons don’t use these stairs, do they?”

“No,” Lorarona revealed. “These are for the actors. The dressing rooms are probably on the top floor.”

Miles snorted. “I can’t imagine the divas putting up with this.”

“Well, no,” Lorarona explained, “not them. Their rooms are probably on the bottom floor, near the stage.”

Miles threw his hands up helplessly. “Everything I never wanted to know about the theater, but somehow managed to ask.” He stood up straight. “Let’s keep going.”

They finally reached the top of the stairway, panting heavily. Miles stumbled forward and collapsed against the opposite wall; the others sat down nearby. A small warren of hallways and doors spread out before them. A window to the side provided some light; another window could be seen on the far end of the hall spanning the building’s width. The dust on the floor was thick, but various trails on the floor betrayed recent activity.

“Well,” Lorarona said between gasps, “it seems we have a lot of options. Where should we go first?”

Their discussion was interrupted by the arrival of three cold, clammy interlopers, falling from the ceiling. One grabbed Clancy by the throat, choking him. The other two bounced off Lorarona and Miles, flopping to the floor.

“Ew!” Lorarona screeched. “Dead hands!”

Two of them dragged themselves by their fingers, heading back toward the team. Clancy pulled on the hand wrapped around his throat, his eyes wide with terror.

“Not dead,” Noninja corrected. “Undead hands!”

Miles kicked one of them; it tumbled down the hall, bouncing and skipping, before coming to rest. Lorarona tried to back up into the wall, and swatted at one, but it clawed her arm as it moved by, leaving red streaks that filled with blood. Noninja leaped to Clancy’s aid, tearing the hand from his throat, but it left claw marks as it was ripped away.

Miles jumped up from the floor, pulled out his axe, and swung at the hand he had kicked away, splitting it in two. Each half continued to crawl toward him. “Really?” he yelped. Lorarona stomped on the one attacking her, pinning it; she cut it to pieces with her short sword. It finally stopped moving. Noninja pinned one to the wall with his wakizashi; it squirmed furiously, but could not dislodge itself.

A beam of white light shot from Clancy’s hand, hitting one half of the cleaved hand; it shriveled up instantly. Noninja used his katana to cut away at the hand, all around the pinned area; it finally stopped moving. Miles angrily stomped on the remaining half, turning it into a disgusting green pulp.

They panted heavily for a few moments. “Everyone all right?” Noninja asked.

Clancy motioned to Lorarona. “Can you fetch the first-aid kit from our bag?” She nodded and retrieved it from the purse of holding, handing it over to Clancy.

“These things were wearing jewelry,” Miles announced, holding up three rings, each with a different precious stone. After shaking off the remaining gore, he stashed them in the purse.

A few deft motions later, and Clancy had doused the middle section of a strip of cloth bandage with witch hazel. “This is really going to hurt,” he announced as he wrapped the strip around her throat; a scream forced its way out of her closed lips, then she panted as she recovered from the pain.

He made up a bandage for himself and handed it to Lorarona; she applied it to him. He tried to hold it in, but a pained shriek erupted from his mouth, echoing down the hall.

They heard a shuffling come from behind a nearby closed door; the sign on it read “Sir Wally Grovel, Manager”. Suddenly it opened, and a corpse stuck out his head, eye sockets glowing with red light. He was dressed in typical middle-manager clothes – a button-down shirt, tie, slacks, and leather shoes, though they were heavily decayed and tattered. “Keep it down!” it hissed. “Some of us are trying to work!” Then he slammed the door closed.

They exchanged aghast looks, and eyed the door nervously.