They walked in silence as they left what had once been Londontown. The last of the British buildings were disappearing around them. Even the cobblestone road had begun to flicker out of existence. Henry was holding Stevey's corpse in his arms. It felt cold in his hands. He stared straight ahead, trying to avoid looking at it or even thinking about it. He felt a change in the weight of the body. He looked down just in time to see it flicker out of existence. Just like the buildings had, Stevey's body vanished.

Londontown was gone, and in its place was only a wide open field of tall grass—a dead zone. The disappearance of the body seemed to be the last straw for the group. Now they wouldn't even have a body to bury. A horrible final insult to injury which ensured there would be no closure for those who remained in Paradise. Chelsey was quietly sobbing to herself. Grace, for her part, held herself together well. Even still, there was a rage bubbling in her. She had been lied to by the person she trusted most. In my own experience, that sort of betrayal left a wound that was deep and often permanent.

The reaction Henry found most strange was Mark's. He was stoic as always, but something had changed. The lingering sadness that Henry had always sensed from him was somehow stronger. After his declaration, he refused to elaborate further. He'd insisted that it was too dangerous to remain where a Ghost Story could appear. He promised he would tell them everything in the cave. Henry's mind was already racing with the implications of what he had said. He could tell it was the same for the others.

***

When they finally reached the cave, they all sat around the table. Henry, Grace, and Chelsey took one side, and Mark took the other.

"Explain," Grace said in a cold voice.

Mark nodded and cleared his throat.

"I came here twenty-six years ago, the same way all of you did. I saw the man with red eyes, and I woke up here in Paradise. The truth I never told you is that I wasn't alone. There were others… people like me, like us. They had been here for years, and they taught me how to survive. Over time, I learned how to fight their Ghost Stories. Of course, their zones were different, and so were their Ghost Stories. It was an entirely different world. We lived in a storm cellar in the middle of a seemingly endless cornfield. Things had become relatively normal. There was a routine to life in Paradise. I was getting adjusted to my new life. That was until three months later, everything changed."

"Wait a minute. If you came from the late '70s, these people would have been from the '50s. How long has this been happening?" Henry asked.

"Yes, they were from the late 40s and 50s. As for how long paradise has existed, I don't know. I never thought to ask them about it. For all I know, there were others before them and even more before those."

Mark was lying. Henry was sure of it. He was good at reading people. As you can imagine, this was confusing for him. He wasn't sure what part of what Mark said was a lie. His gut told him Mark knew more about what came before these others. So why wasn't he telling them? Henry couldn't figure it out.

Mark was quiet for a minute. When Mark didn't continue on his own, Grace pushed him on further.

"What happened?" Grace asked.

Mark closed his eyes tight, and his hand began to shake.

"It was my fault. A simple mistake, really. We had nearly run out of lamp oil, which we needed to fend off the Ghost Story that hid in the corn field. There was only one place to get it: an abandoned mansion in a zone they called Hangman's Swamp. The Ghost Story that stalked it was different from the others. It was a poltergeist that could possess a person and use their body like a puppet. When it possessed someone, the Ghost Story was free to leave the manor it haunted. The only way to stop it was to kill the host, which wasn't easy. The possession made them stronger and faster. That was why it was dangerous to travel to the swamp too frequently. You would always risk unleashing the Ghost Story there. Nonetheless, they had figured out a way to avoid the spirit for the most part. The poltergeist didn't like salt, so we blocked hallways with it. It was supposed to go smoothly, but I slipped up. One of the others, a man named Marco, came to help me. He was taken by the spirit in my place. He died for it, killed by us to keep the Ghost Story from escaping and wrecking havoc."

"And I thought Wendy was bad," Chelsey murmured.

"The spirit was bound to the house most of the time. Wendy was much worse, but with the ghost, it was different. To kill it, you had to kill your own friends. At the time, we didn't worry too much about Marco's death. Why would we? We were immortal. That was until 12:01 came, and Marco didn't come back. After that, everything was different. They were mortal, and what had once been easy became difficult. I picked up the slack by handling the food and supplies. I kept them out of harm's way for a while, but it wasn't enough. The Ghost Stories weren't right. After Marco died, they began to follow different patterns. They broke rules they had followed before and became more aggressive. They got worse the longer we survived. It wasn't long until we lost another one. She didn't come back either," Mark said the last with a shudder.

"What happened to the rest of them?" Chelsey asked.

"They decided there was only one way out. They knew if they stayed, it was only a matter of time until they died. So we tried to make the climb."

"And did they make it?" Henry asked.

"No. They died, and I was left alone until Grace came."

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

The whole group let the story sink in.

"So it's the arrival of a new person that caused them to become mortal? It was me, then." Henry asked.

"I wasn't sure... That's why I wanted all of you to be more careful. I thought for the longest time that it was because they hadn't died in such a long time. It had been two years since one of them had been killed by a Ghost Story. I thought maybe the Dickhead was bored with them and got rid of them. I was clearly wrong. Still, you can't blame yourself, Henry. It's not like you chose to come here."

"What the fuck, Mark? You didn't think this was something you should tell us," Chelsey snarled.

"I didn't know. I always thought it was something else. Something they'd done. I didn't want to freak everyone out for nothing."

"Maybe not telling the others; I understand. But me? I'm your wife. You're supposed to tell me everything," Grace said.

She was crying again. Mark's face was a mask of agony. This was tearing him apart. Maybe that was what he deserved, Henry thought.

"I didn't tell you because I was ashamed. It was my fault that they died. I slipped up, and I got others hurt. I always do that. If you all knew about all the people I have hurt, I thought you wouldn't forgive me. I thought you would never talk to me again. I couldn't bear that. If I thought for even a second that the same thing would happen again... I would never have lied."

Chelsey shook her head.

"Bullshit. You got Stevey killed, Mark. If we had known to be careful, he would never have gone to Londontown," Chelsey accused.

"That's not fair, Chelsey. We can play the blame game all day. Technically, Stevey chose to get drunk at a pub. Blaming each other doesn't change anything," Grace said.

"Oh, that's really great. Stick up for your man. Blame the victim," Chelsey leveled a finger at Mark, "He let Stevey die! He would have let all of us die. It could have been you, Grace."

"You know Mark would never willingly let us get hurt. You know him better than that, Chelsey," Grace retorted.

"I don't think we know him at all. You or me." Chelsey snarled.

Mark stood suddenly from his place on the couch.

"Enough. Fighting's going to get us nowhere. I fucked up. Me. And it was my fault. I should have told you, but I didn't. That was stupid. We have to focus on the problem in front of us now, or we're going to fall apart. You can blame me all you want later. We don't have time for that now," Mark shouted.

"What do we do?" Henry asked.

"We could make the climb. Try it again. What do we have to lose?" Grace suggested.

"Our lives for one thing," Chelsey said, "You heard Mark. When the others tried to climb the wall, they died."

"I don't think the wall is a good idea. It should be our last desperate choice," Mark said.

"So you two would have us wait to die. If the Ghost Stories are going to change like you suggested, we can't afford to wait. Like you said, time is running out," Grace said.

"No, I'm not talking about waiting. There's another option for escape. I don't like it, but it's better than the wall," Mark said.

Henry frowned. How could there be another option? The others look just as confused as he did. So they didn't know either. Yet another secret Mark held. How many of those did he have? Henry assumed even more than he let Henry see.

"And what option would that be?" Chelsey asked.

"The mines."

Grace's eyes lit up with fear.

"But you said that they're too dangerous. You told us not to go near them," Grace pointed out.

"I did, and for good reason. They are dangerous. Very dangerous. However, when I was alone here, I learned to survive down there. I mapped the tunnels out for years, and I learned some things. Namely, that one tunnel ran very close to the wall. I tried to chip away at it and even made some progress. At the time, I thought maybe I could mine my way underneath the wall. I don't know what would be on the other side, but it could be freedom. A way to escape from this hell once and for all."

"Going underneath the wall? I never thought of that. Every time we've tried to get close to the wall, the Ghost Stories come." Chelsey said.

"We talked about it once, but digging from the surface wouldn't work. The ground would just be reset the next day. But using the mining tunnels, it could work. Do you think it's possible, Mark?" Grace asked.

"I'm not sure… Maybe. I think I can get us down there alive and set up a camp. We'd need supplies, and a lot of them, but we can do that. Once we go down, we'd have to make a bunker up a corridor to keep Ghost Stories out. Henry would have to protect us from Pete. He'll probably die a couple of times. It's a task I don't envy, but we have no choice. The rest of us will have to take shifts at mining. If all goes according to plan, there's a chance we could escape. Just a chance," Mark answered.

There was something in there that didn't make sense to Henry.

"But you said anything we did would just be reset, right? So it would be pointless unless we could dig the tunnel in a day," Henry pointed out.

Mark shook his head.

"Think about it, Henry. Why do you think we chose to live in a cave?"

Henry hadn't thought about it. Now that he did, it was a little bit odd. He shrugged.

"I thought maybe y'all were going for a Batman vibe or something."

"It's because things under the ground don't get reset in Paradise like everything else. Basements, caves, and the mines. Anything you bring there won't get erased at 12:01. I don't know why, but it works. That's how we were able to move all this stuff here. If we dig a tunnel in the mine, it won't reset. I've tested it before," Mark explained.

"So if one of us died in a tunnel, we wouldn't reset?" Henry asked.

"No. Trust me, I've died in the mines more than a few times. I still came back. The same was true for the Ghost Stories as well. The rule only seems to apply to inanimate objects."

Henry nodded. That made as much sense as everything else in Paradise. There seemed to be strange rules that uniquely governed everything in this place. Henry was beyond the point of questioning them.

"If this is the only chance we have to escape, I think we should take it," Chelsey said.

Her eyes were red from crying. She seemed to have taken the loss the hardest. Henry hadn't had an opportunity to talk to her yet. He made a promise to himself that he would. After all, she had helped him when he was at his lowest, when he'd only just arrived. It seemed only fair that he should return the favor.

"I agree," Grace said.

Mark nodded.

"Henry, I think you should have a say in this. A lot of the burden will fall on your shoulders," Mark said.

"I'm willing to do it. Whatever you need. I don't want to see y'all die. Plus, escaping would be nice."

"Then we all agree," Mark declared, "we'll start planning today. Time is of the essence."

"Agreed to what?" Wendy asked as she entered the cave.

She looked exactly as she had the day before. Nothing about her seemed to have changed at all. Henry was glad she hadn't lost her memories when she died. He wasn't sure how death worked for the Ghost Stories. The last thing they needed was a wendigo running around, killing them.

"An escape plan."

"Wow, I must have missed something. I think I died of alcohol poisoning, which is new for me. Don't tell me you guys are trying to climb the wall. I really don't want to kill you again."

No one answered her. Wendy looked over the room and seemed to linger on Chelsey. She studied her closely. She shifted nervously and then searched across the room once more. A frown grew across Wendy's face.

"Where's Stevey?" She asked.