The morning was still and unsettlingly quiet. John, Kaia, and Thorin packed up their camp, their movements efficient but wary. It had been another undisturbed night, which, instead of comforting them, set them on edge. After the spider cavern, a night free of unexpected horrors felt almost unnatural.

John checked the straps on his pack, tightening them before stamping out the remnants of the fire. Kaia and Thorin pulled away the thorny branches they had used to reinforce the boma, tossing them aside as they prepared to move on. As they stepped onto the overgrown path, the morning sun, which should have been climbing higher in the sky, seemed to wane. A dull grayness crept across the landscape, the light dimming as though someone were slowly turning down a celestial dimmer switch.

John glanced up at the sky, frowning. “Well, that’s ominous.”

The world around them shifted into something drearier, macabre in its stillness. The trees, once vibrant, seemed gnarled and weary, their limbs twisted in unnatural shapes. The underbrush thinned, replaced by creeping vines and patches of dead earth. The dirt path, which had already looked infrequently traveled, now bore the weight of ages, as if no living soul had set foot here in centuries.

John huffed out a breath and muttered, “Every day gets a little grayer…” Then, chuckling, he turned to Kaia and Thorin. “Back home, this is what winter’s like. Just an endless stretch of gray until you forget what color even looks like.”

Kaia tilted her head, intrigued. “Is your world always so bleak?”

“Only in the winter. It’s a joke from a comedian named Lewis Black. He says winter is basically waking up every morning and asking yourself, ‘Can this day possibly be any grayer?’ And then the next day, it is.”

Thorin gave him a blank look, and Kaia furrowed her brow. “Your world sounds depressing.”

John smirked. “Oh, it has its moments.”

As they walked, the oppressive atmosphere pressed in on them. The deeper they ventured, the more abandoned and forgotten the path felt. John scanned the surroundings, gripping his weapons tighter. How long had Tiffany been here? Had she been lurking in this desolation for years, or was this place warping in her presence?

His lips curled as he let out a chuckle. “I still can’t get over her name.”

Kaia glanced at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

John gestured vaguely. “Tiffany. It’s just… not a very intimidating name for a necromancer. I was expecting something like ‘Malakar the Black’ or ‘Lady Ravenblood’—not Tiffany.”

Kaia’s expression shifted to something between intrigue and concern. “You find the name strange?”

“I mean, yeah. It’s like finding out the dark lord’s name is Todd.”

Thorin rumbled a deep chuckle, but Kaia’s face remained serious. “In this world, the name Tiffany carries a dark history. You may think it strange, but here, it is a name of terror.”

John blinked. “Wait, what?”

Kaia nodded. “Long ago, there was a queen—Tiffany the Mad. She was a tyrant who ruled with cruelty, slaughtering thousands and bathing in their blood, believing it would grant her eternal youth. Her reign was one of suffering, and her name became cursed. No sane parent would give their child that name now. Those unfortunate enough to be born with it are often outcasts, their fates inevitably twisted toward darkness.”

John stared at her, processing this new information. “So… you’re telling me that in this world, Tiffany is an inherently evil name?”

Kaia nodded solemnly. “Yes.”

John exhaled, rubbing the back of his head. “Huh. Well, that's bizarre its an often made fun of name in my world. Only next to Karen.” He looked ahead at the darkening path and smirked. “Maybe this is going to be harder than I thought.”

Thorin grunted. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

As the grim forest loomed around them, swallowing them in its shadowed depths, John adjusted his pack and sighed.

“Nothing is ever easy.”

They pressed on.

The abandoned farm stood eerily silent, its skeletal remains outlined against the dimming sky. The wind barely stirred the long-dead crops, and the house, a weathered husk of timber and neglect, loomed over them like a specter from some forgotten nightmare. John shivered, despite himself. "This is straight out of a horror movie," he muttered.

"What?" Kaia asked, her gaze scanning the windows for movement.

"You know, creepy old house, abandoned in the middle of nowhere, unsettling silence, definitely some eyes watching us... Classic horror setup." He gave a dry chuckle, but his hands instinctively flexed toward his weapons.

They moved cautiously toward the house. Inside, it was worse—frozen in time as if the occupants had fled in the middle of their daily lives. Moldy food sat untouched on the table, blackened and consumed by rot. Chairs lay toppled, dishes shattered on the floor. Cabinets had been ransacked, most likely by rats, leaving behind only gnawed remains of what once was stored there.

John picked up an old, oddly carved whistle from the windowsill. He turned it over in his hands, noting its intricate design, before slipping it into his pocket. He didn’t say anything, but something about it felt significant.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

They searched the house, looking for any clue about what had happened. Finally, they came to a storm shelter outside, its heavy wooden doors locked from the inside. John eyed it warily and shook his head. "Yeah, this is a terrible idea. There is absolutely no way this is going to end well."

"We have to check," Kaia insisted. "Either there are survivors down there... or evil that needs to be dealt with."

Thorin needed no further encouragement. With a grunt, he brought his foot down on the latch. The wood splintered with a crack, the doors swinging open to reveal a steep set of stairs leading into darkness. A rank stench of decay wafted up, thick and suffocating.

"I hate being right," John muttered as they descended, Thorin leading, Kaia behind him, and John taking the rear.

Halfway down, something cold and clawed latched onto John’s ankle.

Before he could react, he was yanked off balance, tumbling down the last few steps to land hard on his face. A sickening, wet laugh echoed through the darkness. Splintered boards burst apart as a grotesque humanoid creature erupted from beneath the stairs, lunging toward him with gnarled fingers and rotted flesh.

John scrambled back, but more hands reached from the shadows, grasping at him with bone-thin fingers. Their touch was ice, their grip unnaturally strong. He lashed out with his elbow, cracking one creature in the face and wrenching free.

"We’re surrounded!" he barked, rolling to his feet.

Kaia’s staff began to glow with holy light as she raised it. Thorin already had his axe in hand, eyes burning with determination. The undead creatures shambled forward, their hollow eyes filled with an unnatural hunger.

John drew both his knife and dagger, a wild grin crossing his face despite the fear clawing at his gut. "Alright, let’s make this a good one."

The storm shelter erupted into chaos as the undead surged forward, clawed hands grasping for flesh. John barely had time to process the sheer number of them before a rotting corpse lunged at him, fingers like iron talons reaching for his throat. He slashed wildly with his dagger, but it barely slowed the creature down. Another grabbed at his arm, its fetid breath washing over his face.

"You have to decapitate them or destroy the brain!" Thorin bellowed, hacking through a skeletal figure with his axe. The head split apart, and the body crumpled instantly.

John stumbled back, narrowly avoiding another clawed swipe. "Right, of course you do!" He adjusted his grip and drove his dagger straight through a creature’s temple. It let out a sickening gurgle before collapsing lifelessly. He grinned despite himself. "Groovy."

Kaia, standing firm in the center of the melee, raised her staff high and whispered a fervent prayer. A brilliant blue light erupted from her hands, slamming into an undead creature, which ignited in an instant, holy flames reducing it to ash.

John’s eyes widened. "You’ve been holding out on us!"

Kaia didn’t even glance at him, striking another creature with the same divine power. "My spells only harm the dead or undead."

John ducked under a gnashing bite and drove his blade into another creature’s skull. "Well, that’ll come in handy today!"

Thorin, now covered in gore, was a force of nature, cutting down anything that came too close. "Less talking, more killing! We’re getting overrun!"

John turned, realizing with a sinking feeling that he was right. No matter how many they cut down, more seemed to be crawling from the darkness. They fought with everything they had, but the sheer mass of undead was relentless, closing in tighter, forcing them back against the damp stone walls.

John’s breathing grew ragged as he cut down another, only for two more to replace it. They were running out of space, out of time. "Not to sound alarmist, but we might be screwed!"

Kaia’s gaze swept over the room, taking in the sheer desperation of the fight. Gritting her teeth, she slammed her staff into the ground. A pulse of radiant energy exploded outward, enveloping the trio in warmth. John felt a surge of vitality flood through him—his wounds knitting slightly, his exhaustion fading. But more importantly, every single undead creature in the room was instantly engulfed in blue flames.

One by one, the horrors screeched as the holy fire consumed them, their bodies disintegrating into nothingness. Within moments, the shelter was still. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of their heavy breathing.

John wiped his brow, looking at Kaia with newfound appreciation. "Okay. That was awesome."

She exhaled slowly, nodding. "I told you. It only works on the undead."

Thorin rolled his shoulders, glancing at the charred remains around them. "Next time, let’s start with that."

John laughed, shaking his head as he sheathed his weapons. "Noted."

As the last of the undead creatures crumbled into ash, the three companions took a moment to catch their breath. The air in the storm shelter was thick with dust and the lingering scent of decay.

John wiped his dagger clean on a ragged cloth he found on a nearby shelf. "That was entirely too close for my liking." He nudged one of the charred remains with his boot. "Next time, let’s not go kicking in doors to monster-infested basements, yeah?"

Thorin grunted, rolling his shoulder. "It needed doing. Now, let’s see if there’s anything worth salvaging."

Kaia lit a small lantern and held it high. The storm shelter was larger than expected, with wooden shelves lining the walls, most of them in various states of decay. Broken crates, rotting sacks of grain, and rusted tools lay scattered about.

John wrinkled his nose. "I was hoping for emergency whiskey. This is just depressing."

Kaia, ignoring him, moved toward a small table in the corner. A pile of mildewed papers sat on top, along with a few rusted farming implements and a dented lantern. Among the clutter, she spotted a small leather-bound book. She picked it up, running her fingers over the cracked cover.

“This looks like a journal,” she said.

John peered over her shoulder. "Oh, please tell me it’s a book of ancient spells or the secret location of buried treasure."

Kaia shot him a look before carefully opening the book. The ink was faded, but the handwriting was neat and deliberate. She read the first lines aloud:

**Diary of Elira Thornbrook**

**Spring, 17th Year of King Edric’s Reign**

Papa says we’ll have a good harvest this year. The wheat is tall and golden, and the cows are fat with milk. Mama is already talking about making pies for the festival in Goldspire. I hope we go this year—I’d love to see the city again.

There’s a boy, Marek, from the neighboring farm who has been visiting more often. He’s strong and always helps Papa mend the fences. I think he likes me. I hope he does.

John smirked. "Ah yes, the thrilling adventures of farm life."

Kaia flipped through a few more pages. “It starts normal, but…” She frowned. “It gets… darker.”

She read another entry:

**Summer, 17th Year of King Edric’s Reign**

Something strange is happening in the woods. Papa and Marek went hunting and came back with nothing. They said the forest was silent—no birds, no rustling leaves, nothing. Papa says it’s just a bad season, but Mama clutches her pendant of Seraphis when she thinks no one is looking.

Marek promised to take me on a walk tomorrow. I hope he does.

Thorin crossed his arms. "Sounds like trouble was brewing."

Kaia turned another page. Her brow furrowed. "Listen to this one."

**Autumn, 17th Year of King Edric’s Reign**

The goblins have grown bolder. They used to only raid at night, stealing chickens and breaking fences, but now they come in daylight. Marek and the other farmhands scared them off with torches, but Papa says there’s something different about them. They have a new leader—a hooded figure, tall, not like the others. It watches from the trees.

Mama won’t let me leave the farm anymore.

A chill ran down John’s spine. "Well, that’s just great."

Kaia swallowed and turned to the last entry. Her voice grew quieter as she

**Winter, 17th Year of King Edric’s Reign**

The dead are walking.

We saw them two nights ago. Pale, hollow-eyed things shuffling from the woods. They don’t speak. They don’t scream. They only come forward, arms outstretched. Marek and the farmhands held them off, but we lost two of our men.

Papa says we’re leaving in the morning. The wagons are packed. Mama prays all night. I can hear her through the walls.

**Winter, ?? Day**

They came again.

We ran to the storm shelter before they reached the house. We heard them above us, clawing at the doors, breaking glass, tearing wood apart. Marek didn’t make it inside. I saw him turn to fight, but there were too many.

My brother, Joren, was bitten. He says it’s nothing, but he’s pale and sweating. Mama won’t stop crying.

The scratching at the door has stopped.

I don’t think we’re alone down here.

***

John let out a slow breath as he shut the diary, his fingers running over the cracked leather cover. The pages were stiff, yellowed, and smeared with age, but the final entry sent a chill through him.

“Well,” he said, forcing some levity into his voice, “that’s not ominous at all.”

Kaia frowned. “That's horrible what happened to them?”

John gave a wry smile. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe they all had a nice picnic, Joren got better, and they lived happily ever after.”

Thorin snorted. “You know that’s not what happened.”

John sighed, tucking the diary into his pack. “Yeah, I know. But I can hope, can’t I?” He glanced around the ruined shelter. “We should move. If anything’s still lurking, I’d rather not be here when it wakes up.”

Kaia nodded, her face grim. “Agreed. Let’s go.”

And with that, they left the shelter behind, the ech

oes of Elira’s final words still lingering in their minds.