Telling one to not look down involuntarily makes one look down.

But what else could one say in instruction?

"Kid. Just jump-"

"Y-you sure?"

"Yes."

Hope was perched on a fire escape with a hand outstretched towards the young boy.

Earlier, they stopped at a collapsed building that blocked the entire street like a stone avalanche. Even the ground had sunken and dropped down hundreds of feet as if to swallow the earth whole. The crater stared eerily back up at them, granting an invitation to its peers. Of course, Hope would rather be above ground than underneath it again.

But after conversing with Adam in which direction his settlement was at, they went further West to secure being out of the patrols reach. Some streets were blockaded with barbed wires, some with more ruins and clustered cars piled with wreckage of forlorn battles, either from the collapse of man or the rise of monsters.

Hope couldn't imagine how drowned and condensed the city would be further at its center.

After crossing at an abandoned tall truck, Hope climbed on top of it and leapt over to the side of a building's fire escape as he saw a way through a broken window.

The distance wasn't much of a leap.

But...

Adam was glued in place as he stared down at the height.

Snap.

"Hey." Hope snapped his fingers. "Breathe in."

"H-huh?"

"Breathe. In. Slowly. Then jump."

Adam pressed his lips together. He then squeezed his eyes shut as if to find comfort in the blackness behind his eyelids. Hope noticed the slow rise of his shoulders followed by its descent as a quiet breath passed his lips.

Hope counted to three and-

Adam opened his eyes, a noticeable resolve overcoming him, and jumped.

As he was in mid-air, regret and fear filled his eyes once more with the ground gone from his feet. His body flightless as he reached desperately out for Hope.

Hope caught him with ease by the arm. Adam gasped as he swung like a hanging rope before being pulled up over the rail. Even after standing back on his own two feet again, his knuckles were white as he continued to grip onto the rail for dear life.

"Not bad, kid."

Adam did not look at all relieved from that encouragement. If it was one.

He hunched over his knees as he tried to let the nerves pass.

"Haaaaa...Are we really...going the right way...?"

Hope blinked.

Of course, he knew the way. He remembered the rooftops and the lined buildings that led in the direction of the glass dome. The colors and structures were as he remembered whenever he looked up. Dead ends were inevitably met, such as the crater and the collapsed building, but the burnt memory of which buildings to pass by or through was a mere called thought away.

"You can stay put. Your choice."

"...!"

Hope ignored the timid boy's reaction as he turned away and stepped through the shattered glass window.

It seemed that the further they went, the abnormal silence was not so silent anymore. It was as if the city groaned awake from the frigid night.

Hope not only trained his eyes to scan the surrounding area for danger, but he also tried to train his mind to describe the area in detail. Well, as best as he could. He wasn't one of those scholars or those pious speakers who caught colorful words in the sky to load a metaphorical picture.

He had always found himself limited with words.

But the present. He had to focus on the present in any way he could.

Pain was a perfect escape, but he couldn't have completely torn hands and a torn tongue by the end of the week.

Huh. What was the date today?

Crunch.

Hope's foot crunched on glass as he entered, the shattered fragments breaking underneath his weight like ice as his eyes adjusted to the thick darkness.

It was about high noon, but the shrouded sun didn't have enough strength to reach its rays in these enclosed spaces, spare for the windows. But where the sky was a silvery slate, the vessels below were all but haunted and grim.

Before him, there were series of empty desks aisled across the room along with dust covering file cabinets and chairs. Vines that were once green and brown were now transformed into a reddish hue. Even leaves started grow wildly along its limbs. A sign of them edging deeper into the city.

Hope was walking past the desks as he sniffed the air. His finger ready on the trigger as he gazed around at the lurking shadows.

"Sniff...sniff..."

How stuffy.

But familiar...?

With that thought, the smell triggered a nostalgic memory.

Hope almost tripped. An image of his own home bled across his vision.

'No. No. No. Stop-'

But the memory began to take shape, and sharp lines became crisp like scratches as they evolved into an established image before him:

The familiar clustered stained corners, the motes of dust gleaming in sunlight, the black mold trapped along the frames, and the familiar worn planks.

Huh? Why would it be nostalgic? He was never particular in dwelling on memories even before his First Nightmare.

Hope gritted his teeth.

The present. The present.

He had to describe things around-

'Tell me all the pretty things you see, Hope-'

"H...o..p..e?"

Was it getting harder to breathe?

Hope reached his hand out. At least, he thought he did.

Why did it seem harder now to distinguish memory from reality?

It wasn't only his nose that was filled from the musty air but now his chest felt tight and suffocated-

"H-Hope!"

"...!"

Hope blinked.

He found himself back in the dark room.

The lone furniture and the abandoned units all the same as moments before.

"..."

'The hell was that...?'

Hope was about to curse as he heard the lingering faint voices. Even the air seemed to blow whispers in his ear.

The air...was whispering?

Ksssssssh....

'Shit-'

The boy lowered his voice. "I think there's..."

Something else in the building.

Hope held up the rifle as the noise faintly breathed again through the room. It carried itself like a haunting melody. Not exactly completely alien. But not exactly human either.

The boy scooted closer to Hope as they continued forward towards the other side of the room where a door laid on the floor opening to a dim sunlit hallway. Hope paused as he sighted shadowed figures on the ground.

"Ah Hope...? Are those-"

"Dead bodies."

"Yeah but..."

One.

Three.

No. Four.

"They're fresh..." The boy muttered.

Hope narrowed his eyes.

Fresh as in maybe a couple days old. Not like some of the bodies they had passed outside where they were long rotten with gray sunken skin. Identities of mothers, fathers, and children were barely readable. But the tiny skeletons spoke for themselves. As did the hugged bodies like a parent protecting their child till their dying breath.

If life thrived in this city, it seemed impossible that it would be with rejuvenating smiles and cheerful desires through this dark desolate age.

Hope let out a sigh as he side-glanced at the boy. "Take out your knife, kid."

"Right!"

The boy quickly fumbled through his pocket and unfolded the knife in his hands. He then awkwardly paused.

"Umm...Hope...?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you....teach me how to fire a gun...?"

Hope paused as he looked down at Adam.

"You. Want to learn?"

Adam shrugged slightly. "I'm bound to at some point..."

Hope hummed in thought. That didn't seem to be a bad idea. Hope didn't want to babysit the boy the entire time.

"How old are you?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, thirteen?" He tilted his head.

It would have probably been seen innocent to someone else with his answer, if he hadn't held a pocketknife with two hands at the ready. Even now Hope could see a slight tremble to them. Were those nerves or was that something natural?

'Hmm...if he's a capable thief then...'

"Well, once we get out alive of this building I'll share some tips. First-" Hope kept one eye down the hallway as he reached for Adam's hand. He moved the knife to his dominant right hand he observed earlier and repositioned his grip.

"-you got two main motions. Slashing and stabbing. Slashing is the best option when your main objective is to stop the attacker and keep yourself safe."

Hope guided his arm horizontally, diagonally, then vertically.

Adam's eyes remained attentive to his words and actions. Something about that look expressed desperation for his own growth.

"Best places are the wrists, above the knee or behind it. The throat as well-"

Hope paused. A transparent film of himself training played across his eyes as he recalled the moves he once practiced. His officers yelling in the background as they critiqued his every form.

'Maybe he can't exactly perform those yet.'

"What about stabbing then?"

Hope stepped away and gripped his rifle again.

"You'll know when. Sometimes a feeling is all you need."

Hope wasn't entirely sure how the boy would fare, but any effort was better than a passive one.

"Now. Do you recognize them?" Hope pointed at the dead bodies.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

To Hope's surprise, Adam took his time to answer in silent thought. He stared back at the boy who seemed at first reluctant, but then started to carefully study the dead men's features.

What he could anyway.

They looked anything but restful and whole.

Their faces were torn, and forcefully bitten into with sharp fangs. Their clothes stained and ripped with claw marks scratched aggressively across their chest and bellies as if some creature had wildly thrashed at them for the sport of it.

There wasn't any semblance of a peaceful sleep but a cruel death.

"I don't think...Ah wait-" Adam pointed. "Him." Adam stopped at a body that curled against the hallway. "He was one of the scouts from my settlement."

"Mm. Wandered quite far then."

Adam paused. "That happens when you've run out of places to scavenge from..."

The young boy said softly as if recalling memories of his past small adventures. Probably memories with his father.

Hope paused as he looked at Adam's eyes. They seemed dry from his tears hours ago. Although there was a hint of pain in them, there was a new gleam of acceptance as well. Outskirt kids were tougher than Hope gave credit for. But once one stops to rest, how then would the boy react? Would he crumble?

Hope sighed.

That shouldn't be his problem.

"You're not the only people living in settlements, right?"

The boy looked up at Hope. "Uh...we call them strays."

Hope paused.

'It's like that saying...'the pot calling the kettle black'? Is that how you use it?'

"Tsk. Alright then."

Hope's eyes then flitted to the opposite wall where there were scrawled lines. It was a series of them in which every group of four was diagonally crossed.

Possibly days marked off.

His eyes trailed after them down the dim hallway. What was at first drawn in a constant orderly pattern started to become wild and frenzy towards the end.

The sight of a doomed man driven to insanity.

No person who would have to travel this far from a settlement would have to mark their days for a simple scavenging hunt.

Hope paused as he saw at the bottom of the wall a transparent pile of what one would call stimulant packs.

Hope frowned.

He had heard talks of those items handed around to help keep people awake. But it was also used like some sort of intoxicating drug.

But how did that even land in the hands of these people?

Hope involuntarily moved close in front of Adam.

He heard Adam about to speak, a croak of some kind, but then fell back silent.

As they turned at the hallway's end, they were greeted with another hallway with barred windows. Washed silvery light poured through and casted their lengthened shadows against the walls serving as mimicked figures.

Ksssssssh....scrit-scritch....

The further they went, it became more of a labyrinth with the noted thick doors, thicker glass windows, and mazed routes no matter where they turned. The ominous claw marks along the walls strangely pulled on their eyes. Even the strange whispers had begun to spectrally hiss and scratch through the walls like caged spirits.

When Hope would pay attention to the noise, they would fade and move further ahead as if taunting him.

'Huh...'

"Do you know what this place is, kid? Any stories?" Hope called back.

There was a pause. "No...I never seen this part of the area before."

'How unfortunate...'

Hope internally sighed.

"Maybe it's a zoo?" The boy suggested.

"..."

'The hell is this zoo again?'

"Probably not...?" Hope frowned.

Hope had never explored inside of cities before. Whatever stores he heard of selling fabrics, food, weapons, and many other unknown materials were all strange to him. Even the rumored places that displayed new and old works or trapped words that were shared around with the public for entertainment. Those in itself sounded like stories.

He was already provided with enough necessities so why would he need to buy more for himself?

Maybe 'more' wasn't the right word.

After all, how could he gain more of something for himself in which was never his?

Scritch...scritch...

As they continued, the number of scratches increased. Ones that reached and decorated the ceiling, dragging itself down the floor, and crept under the doors.

Were the scratches moving?

Hope looked over his shoulder to make sure the boy was still with him. He could see a faint glaze over the boy's eyes every now and then as if he was also being haunted by a memory.

But every time he turned around, the boy would wake up from it.

***

An orange light was shining through the windows, setting the hallways aflame from the dying sun as they continued walking down the halls.

Hope heard the boy stumble behind, but no complaint was voiced.

How long have they walked? Hope was sure they would have reached the other end by now. The sun may be setting, but maybe it wasn't long.

And why were the scratches so confusing now?

They sprawled in ridiculous patterns that his mind strained to understand it. Even the whispers that came through the walls constantly provoked him whenever he tried to listen carefully. Almost as if it came inside of the scratches even.

Kssssssh.....scritch...scritch...

They called, he was sure.

Dark and unkind they were and yet hauntingly familiar.

He had to look.

Hope turned his head and forced himself to follow the jagged lines and curves for even a few seconds. But then, as if reading his mind, they blow off—they split themselves and pull in outrageous angles, destroying any symmetry or pattern one would want to find.

It was deep enough that it could almost be felt.

'How...strange...'

***

A familiar gray blue fog breathed past the windows. Barred as they were, it struck an insufferable feeling in his chest.

But Hope felt more lost when he tried to understand it in any way.

Hope wanted to frown, but even that felt difficult.

These scratches seemed to look at him as if it knew the vicious influence it caused.

Whenever he continued down a hallway, he was somehow convinced to turn in another direction after. An indecision of going back and forth seemed to have prolonged for a while since he did not desire to go in the said direction. Of course, he remembered where he should go. He had to reach Sector Two. Find the new settlement. Settle in to reequip himself before venturing off once more.

But he kept putting one foot in front of the other as if chasing his own tail. Like those lengthened shadows, the thought of continuing forwards seemed to stretch out and unfold further than originally planned.

Ksssssssshh...scri..scritch..

A hiss would be made from the sides as if frustrated that their new guests wouldn't follow the thread to its finite end.

But he kept watch of the walls all the same.

Along to his right, there was a recurrent spot where the scratches danced familiarly. It was always the same shape, only that it multiplied. But that memory seemed to be forcibly snuffed away.

No.

It was denied.

Even if he played it back in his head, he became more confused. As if logic twisted itself.

When he focused in on the memory and compared it to the walls, they seemed to whisper harshly 'no' themselves.

He was sure they matched.

Those scratches repeated and flourished no matter how stilled they were.

It was as if his own sanity was being questioned. Confident as he was with his memory, this random seed of doubt was stronger.

But his mind could never fully submit to it. His own soul feeling upset that such a thing was offered.

Why should he?

Adam. Did he know?

But Hope's body didn't turn around this time.

Was it the scratches?

It seemed their whisperings have turned to laughter sometimes as well.

Hope's eyes pulled in their direction once more. Up, down, and sideways they bled and smiled. They didn't match and yet his mind screamed that it did.

Huh. So much expression on mere lines. It seemed appropriate to laugh about it.

Would it?

But Hope felt no real desire to.

Sometimes he could hear laughter behind him from Adam. But he never explained himself so Hope never asked.

***

Finally at the sixth long hallway—at least that seemed to be the right number—they reached a T junction. One end led to an elevator, while the other led to another disappearing corridor. Even down those walls they too were splintered, scratched, and gouged.

'Mm...'

Hope felt his face twitch as he looked between each path.

Where the sun had faded, the areas that were once warmly lit were now covered with night's cool face. Hope could at least feel that. How it hugged his skin and left a dryness in his throat whenever he breathed. Or how he kept his eyes open for too long felt like icy slates whenever he closed them.

Scritch...scritch...scritch...

The noise returned again. A dark hush.

A scratch.

A hiss.

A giggle.

It called to him, he was sure.

The scratches agreed.

'Where is that...?'

Hope took a step forward, but the ground swayed at his feet.

Where he stood at the junction's center to detect the noise better, nostalgia clawed Hope's mind once more.

!!!

Reality became distorted.

The white painted walls were trading itself for ashen ones. And there at the end where the elevator was—where Hope knew confidently was empty, he remembered it so—stood a little girl.

Hope was about to call out.

But something was different about her presence.

Shadows have grown in considerable size with only night's choked blue light shining through, but the familiar girl was out of place.

The light didn't form naturally across her features.

Nor the shadow fall the same direction as theirs.

But those features...how could he not recognize them?

A weak voice called from behind him. "Dad...?"

'Huh...Dad...?'

"...hehehe..."

It seemed the boy found something funny again.

Hope wanted to turn to ask, but something forced him not to.

He felt like he should laugh too, but why should he?

The boy's dad was dead. How could he mistake that person with this little girl?

All Hope could see was the familiar long brown hair reaching straight down the girl's waist. Eyes like warm pools he knew looked like sunset craters when one got close.

The delicate frame.

The sad smile.

'Yura.'

Tch. Hehehe!

His body felt cold in that instance.

There was no possibility that it couldn't be her.

But she still looked the same age as she was eight the last time he'd seen her. She even had the spitting image of their mother. Almost eerily so.

But now she was fourteen.

So, she couldn't be here. Could she?

'Damn...this curse...'

Was the curse able to stretch its limits to this level?

Capable of this impossible painful blend of memory and reality?

Although there were hints of her being detached from reality, why wasn't she going away?

The smell. The hallway. The desolation of it. It was more alive in his memory than he had granted it for. They sparked to life from the nostalgic halls he was in, but something else guided it.

This...this was too cruel.

'No-'

Hope started to walk towards the little girl.

Hehehe-

'Stop...'

Hope knew he could feel that other thread of detachment, but it constantly slipped from his mind's grasp.

A part of himself was now drifting away from reality.

'It's not real.'

If presence had a noise, this seemed to be it. The sad smile became an ominous one. The haunting of her grew louder, as if the memory itself wanted to be heard, to be seen, to be absorbed by him. But how could it?

Hope was seeing images of her before his own eyes.

None of them matched to how she was acting now.

Still. Shallow. Empty laugh.

The sister he knew would talk with chimes in her tone she carried from their mother. She would accidentally sound upset then apologize for it or beg for some company whenever he passed their room.

It's been a while, Hope.

It has.

But that's not what she would say.

She would have tears in her eyes and bounce as if the sun shook her with jubilee at the sight of him. Hell, she would do the same thing if she found her stuffed bear or doll.

Were the lines on the walls thickening?

Hope reached to grab her by the shoulder.

If the curse too had a conscience, then he could feel it being proud of its inventive obtrusive fabrication.

How cruel...

Before Hope could touch her, a crack appeared on her face.

Suddenly, he felt a pull on his arm and was reared back away from her.

"Dad!"

'Huh...?'

Hope shook his head and stared where his sister just was.

But she was gone in a blink.

He felt another tug on his arm, and he looked down at Adam.

"Dad- I think there..s..so....thi...ng...ro..ng.."

Huh? He couldn't hear him properly.

But why was Adam's face...molded a lot like his sister's?

Grab!

Hope gripped his shoulders as he studied his face. It was as if he were staring at a jarring work that had been messily combined.

Adam's eyes trembled from the stare.

They began to bounce and recoil to escape from it.

His eyes finding hundreds if not thousands of excuses to look in all other interesting directions but his.

But Hope was noticing something else.

The eerie scratches were being drawn over Adam's face in replace of another image: His sister's.

That boy shouldn't have it.

Why was he taking it?

Maybe he wanted to surprise him?

That makes sense...

No wait. That didn't make sense...?

Why was his mind being spiraled into an unknown den of chaos?

I can't understand you-

Hope paused.

He couldn't hear his own voice either.

Voice.

The voices.

!!!

"U-ugh...!"

Hope groaned as he bent over and clutched his head.

A cacophony of voices rang in his mind. That once haunted melody now pressurized, as if clinging on to any sanity of his. It pulled itself through his own mind's corridors and tried to congest the spaces in between. But there was barely any room for it.

Even if the noise came in chaotic knots, he still recognized their voices.

But no memory was attached to any of them...as if they were being made up and sung in his ear to trap him with false truths.

He felt a small hand touch his face and could see Adam speaking to him.

'Dad' he could read from his lips.

But no sound of his reached his ears.

His expression...was weird. His eyes seemed to soften and look at him as if he were someone else.

Hope...I had a scary nightmare.

'Shut up. Shut. Up.'

Do you have nightmares too-

Hope gritted his teeth as he weakly reached for Adam's other hand where he held the pocketknife.

The boy readily handed it to him, but instead of grabbing the handle, Hope's hand wrapped around the blade.

The boy's eyes widened as he watched the man in front of him cut himself being unfazed as a rivulet of his blood dripped to the floor.

"W-wait what are you-!"

Scritch...scritch...scritch...

Through the sea of his memory's voices, the ones that he painfully knew so well, there was a singular noise tethered in its midst that sounded out of place.

It couldn't be from his memory.

He gripped the blade tighter.

The blade bit into his palm, sending itself up his arm and shocking his brain with a clarity he felt he lost-

Kssssshh.....scritch...scritch..scritch...

"Shut up..."

He felt the boy flinch.

"Shut-"

'Wake up.'

Hope blinked.

That instinctive voice returned.

It was his. He was sure of it.

Scri- scri-s cri- scriitch—

Distant creaking could be heard. Or was it groaning?

Like a weight being dragged, it groaned as it grew closer beneath their feet. As though some phantom had begun to impatiently crawl its way towards them.

'Move.'

Hope felt something snap inside of him.

Immediately he grabbed onto Adam and jumped back as far as he could before-

CRASH!

He hugged the boy in his arms as they rolled on the ground, the world spinning.

Sccreee!

Once he pulled himself into a crouch, he saw a black limb break through the floor where they had just stood.

Screeeeeeeee!

So far it looked human. Its dying screams as if it were being torn also sounded human.

The fingers stroked the air before forcing the rest of itself through.

The congestion in his mind started to drain as he now embraced a whole new threatening presence in front of him.

Something that he knew was separate from conjured past or imagination was physically there.

Hope felt a bitter taste fill his mouth.

'The fuck is that-'

Crriqq- Krssh Krssh!

The ground grumbled as it was being torn. The ominous being started to rise stiffly through the gap, its head popping out along with many other heads.

More limbs.

More faces.

Their skin was black like burnt ash, and teeth elongated that seemed to have pierced through their lips.

Like a morbid pile of flesh fused together, they forced their behemoth self through the hole, splitting the ground as their hands not only clawed the walls but also extended greedily out to them.

Screeeee sreee screh screh screh!

Each face smiled like the blade of a knife.

A cluster of their teemed laugher resounded a lot like iron nails being scratched on glass.

Hope gritted his teeth.

'For fucks sake-'

"Adam!"

The name spoke awkwardly on his tongue.

But Adam's eyes were still in a trance. They seemed to be torn between leaving whatever spell drowned his senses, and the horrific reality in front of them.

Hope picked him up and dragged him away from the monster.

"Adam wake-"

Creeeeeeeee!

CRASH!

Hope had just reached the center of the junction when he turned his head, and a monster broke through one of the locked rooms down the corridor.

It resembled a human at first. But just like the behemoth, it was deformed.

Profaned.

Changed.

A film that Hope knew belonged to his danced across his eyes.

He knew these sorts of monsters.

He knew what sort of damage they caused that not only ruined themselves, but their homes and families.

The ones who failed their First Nightmare.

Who failed the Trial and became blaspheme themselves.

'For fu-'

"Adam look at me!"

Hope gripped the boy's face.

That seemed to frighten him.

The boy's body shivered and shuddered as he continued to look to the side, ceiling, and floor.

Anything but his eyes.

"Look at me!"

CREEEEE!

The behemoth sang—a voice that screeched and scratched the air all at once—a distorted choir out to them.

The other profaned monster looked shriveled and starved. But its forced entry seemed to awaken other distant ones as well.

Or maybe it was from the behemoth itself.

Echoes of other caged ones cried out in response.

Their claws tore through the doors revealing lanky limbs.

They hobbled, crawling exhaustively from starvation. But their eyes brimmed to life when they caught sight of the two.

All of their eyes did.

In the dark labyrinth, dozens upon dozens of faces with their own sets of two silver coins for eyes burned into them.

A chance of a new meal-

No. A chance of sport.

A hunt...

...had finally presented themselves at their lair.

Scritch- scri- scritch-

They clawed the ground as they pulled themselves closer.

Finally, Adam stared into Hope's eyes long enough that Hope could see the fog unveil itself.

But just as he was about to lead them both away, as Adam fully acknowledged Hope's presence and identity, he opened his mouth to speak:

"W-who-"

Hope's stomach twisted.

'No don't say it. Not now-'

"-who are you?"