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Chapter 9

Nature was calling me.

It was almost pitch dark inside the church, the only light coming from some solar powered lanterns scattered around. The thought of stepping outside made me shiver, but the portable toilet wasn’t going to come to me. I got out of my mattress as quietly as I could, careful not to disturb anyone next to me, and got dressed in the light of my phone’s screen.

I maneuvered around our recent spoils from the shopping trip – a whole crate of foodstuffs. That wasn’t all we bought, dad also got a handgun though who knows where he kept it now.

The cool night air hit me the moment I stepped outside, carrying with it the faint smell of damp earth and diesel fuel. The toilet stood a dozen or so meters away. Normally I wouldn’t even consider going outside during the night, but I felt protected enough by the perimeter of campfires and soldiers around the front of the church, just outside the gates.

Once done with my business, stepping outside – I felt a familiar bloody aura rapidly getting stronger. I turned to the side and there I saw a dark cloud shooting towards me before coalescing into a human figure. It was commander Greene.

“Evening, Max, I hoped that you would come outside.”

I froze, every fiber of my being screaming at me to run, but my legs felt rooted to the spot. “I—uh…” My voice faltered, and I realized my hands were trembling. “Just needed the toilet.”

My heart hammered in my chest. “I should get back. Someone will wonder where I am.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll manage without you for a few minutes.” Greene’s tone was light, almost casual, but his words felt like a command. Now closer, I could see that his eyes had a red colouring to them. The very air felt like it was murdered by him.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“I thought the trip here would be just a boring cleanup job for a failed experiment and I could sneak in a meal in the middle of it, but I never thought I would find someone with such peculiar blood. Just what did you do to smell so good?” He smiled and his fangs doubled in size and sharpness.

He was a bloody vampire.

The hell was I supposed to do now? Scream? Would it even help me? He seemed confident enough in the situation that he even spent time talking to me. Think, I had to think. Garlic? I didn’t have any garlic.

“Don’t even try to run, it would be pointless.” Step after slow step he walked closer to me, as if savouring my fear.

I had something in my pocket. That Bonetown trip ticket the shop manager gave me, he said that all I needed was to rip it and I would go on the trip. I prayed to all the gods that it would work now.

“That’s it, just stand there, it won’t hurt a bit,” he was already within reach.

I ripped the Bonetown ticket in my pocket and with that reality became a swirl.

I wasn't falling. I wasn't flying. I was simply elsewhere. The scenery dissolved, unraveling into threads of golden light that wove themselves into a swirling abyss. I couldn’t think of anything more beautiful at that moment. I tried to breathe, but air had no weight here. My limbs flailed for ground that no longer existed. I felt stretched, as though invisible hands tugged at the edges of my skin, trying to pull me apart, thread by thread.

There was no sound. Not even the rush of wind. Only the relentless hum of something ancient, vibrating just beyond the edge of hearing.

I closed my eyes, but it made no difference. The swirling lights followed me behind my lids, twisting faster until they were a single streak of white. I couldn't tell if I was moving through them, or if they were moving through me.

Then—

Impact. Not painful, but sudden, like expecting another step down the stairs but you actually reach the landing. My feet struck solid ground. The lights vanished, leaving behind a ringing emptiness. I gasped and stumbled, knees buckling as the weight of the world returned all at once.

The churchyard was gone. In its place I found myself standing atop a creaking ferry, staring down at rows of seats filled with people who looked far too relaxed considering how I got here. Cameras dangled from necks, and a few clutched guidebooks. One man pointed to the opposite shore with the enthusiasm of a sightseeing father at the Grand Canyon.

I scanned the horizon. The banks of the river were lined with jagged rocks and distant structures that loomed like forgotten temples.

At the front of the ferry was an undead that was the very picture of undead elegance. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that seemed untouched by time, his pallid complexion and piercing silver eyes held an otherworldly charm. His voice, smooth as velvet, carried the weight of centuries.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention!” the undead guide called, his voice gliding effortlessly over the gentle lapping of the dark river below. Heads turned with the collective rustle of curiosity.

“Welcome aboard the Stygian Dream,” the guide continued, clasping his gloved hands before him. “For those joining us for the first time, I am Charon, your escort and narrator for this leg of your journey. I assure you, all questions shall be answered in time. Except perhaps the ones you dare not ask.” His lips quirked into the faintest smile.

A few chuckles drifted from the passengers, but I only gripped the railing tighter.

Charon gestured to the riverbanks, where jagged outcroppings rose like ribs from the black water. “To your left, the Ruins of Regret. Do not stare too long. Their whispers are not meant for mortal ears. To your right, the Drowned Spire, home to those whose secrets weighed heavier than their souls.”

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

My gaze drifted toward the spire, its crooked silhouette stabbing the dark sky like a broken tooth. For a moment, I swore I saw something move behind its shattered windows.

Charon continued, stepping lightly as if the ferry barely carried his weight. “Now, if you peer just ahead,” his gloved hand extended forward, “you will see the gates to the town.”

The gates loomed, massive bone-white arches carved to resemble two colossal skeletal hands. Their fingers curled overhead, meeting at the top to form a perfect frame for the bustling town beyond. Even from this distance, the flicker of lanterns and glow of spectral lights danced along the streets.

The ferry glided closer, the black waters rippling softly as if reluctant to disturb the bones beneath. As the vessel crossed under the skeletal arch, a cascade of ethereal trumpets erupted from nowhere and everywhere at once. The sound was jubilant yet oddly dissonant, as if the bones of ancient musicians were trying to remember a song half-forgotten.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Bonetown!”

Charon bowed deeply, his coattails fluttering in the breeze. “Remember, come back when the bell tolls!” The ferry nudged the dock with a gentle thud, the gangplank descending onto the ground. One by one, the passengers disembarked, chattering excitedly. I followed them of course, I did not want to be the odd one out.

Once on the cobblestone street, we lined up and were greeted by a skeleton handing out bags of some sort.

“Welcome, traveler,” he said in a voice that crackled like dead leaves. “Please accept this complimentary gift bag. Inside, you will find all you need to enjoy your stay in Bonetown.”

Curious, I took a look inside.

The first item was a brochure which doubled as a badge to be put around the neck, printed on aged parchment, the illustrations shifting as if alive. “Your Guide to Bonetown” the back read in elegant black script. The first event on the list was ‘A scenic walk through Phantom Plaza’.

A map came next, carefully folded and marked with strange symbols. The streets of Bonetown wove together in a labyrinth of twisting paths, each corner annotated sightseeing locations.

Finally, nestled at the bottom of the bag, was a skeleton key, intricate and made of bone. It looked like it would break with a single twist.

It looked like I would be having another fun night full of undead, so soon after the first. Trust me, I did not want it to be so soon as well, but what else could I do.

I glanced down the main road. Lanterns hung from wrought iron posts, their pale flames casting an eerie but beautiful glow. The air was thick with the scent of charred wood and something faintly metallic. The buzz of distant voices and music drifted on the wind, drawing me forward.

As I walked, stages came into view flanking the street. This must be the Phantom Plaza. Each one was a masterpiece of macabre design, their backdrops painted with images that shifted like living murals. Spectral figures floated above the platforms, their forms solidifying as I approached.

On the first stage, Cleopatra lounged on a golden throne, her eyes glimmering like shards of emeralds. She gestured gracefully, commanding an audience of spirits who hung on her every word.

The second stage held Leonardo da Vinci, his translucent hands sketching impossible blueprints mid-air, the lines glowing briefly before vanishing. Beside him, a skeletal automaton whirred to life, bowing to the crowd as they gasped and clapped.

Further down, Joan of Arc stood bathed in ghostly flames, her armor glinting as she recounted tales of valor. Her voice rang with an ethereal strength, compelling even passersby to stop and listen.

As I walked, I passed countless other figures—spirits of emperors, explorers, artists, and warriors. Each stage was its own world, and every performance seemed to weave a story that clung to the air like mist.

The streets teemed with life—or death, depending on how one saw it. And it was ridiculous. With the name of ‘Bonetown’ I already expected something touristy, but this was an entire production, a carnival of the macabre that managed to toe the line between unsettling and captivating. It was as if someone had taken every cliché about the afterlife, polished it to a gleaming absurdity, and then proudly put it on display.

To hell with it all, might as well see whats on the list. I opened the badge-brochure and looked through it.

‘One Complimentary Meal at Any Participating Restaurant.’

A meal might not have been a bad idea, considering I hadn’t eaten since... well, a while ago. I wasn’t sure how sustenance worked in a place like this—did the undead eat? Would the food be edible for the living? Did I care?

*****

Samantha’s squad assembled near the motor pool, their gear packed and ready.

The convoy of military vehicles was lined up in tight formation, engines growling softly as soldiers boarded one by one. Samantha’s squad climbed into a jeep near the back, Kate taking the drivers seat as usual.

The convoy jolted into motion, the tires crunching over gravel as they rolled out of the camp and onto the winding dirt road that led to Frankenstein’s manor. Outside the narrow windows, the landscape passed in a blur of gray and green, the forest stretching endlessly on either side of the convoy.

The radio crackled to life, Commander Greene’s voice cutting through the static. “Convoy, this is Command. ETA to the manor is fifteen minutes. Stay alert. Reports indicate heavy undead activity in the area. Over.”

Samantha leaned back, her shotgun resting across her lap. The rhythmic jostling of the vehicle did little to calm the tension knotting in her chest. The squad was quiet, the gravity of the mission evident in their expressions.

The minutes passed by in silence until they eventually reached the manor.

The surrounding grounds were choked with overgrown vegetation and the shambling forms of the undead.

Ahead, an APC roared as it veered off the path and barreled toward the front gates. Behind it, another jeep broke formation, following closely. The rest of the convoy slowed to a crawl, maintaining distance to avoid drawing unnecessary attention.

Kate swung the jeep onto a narrow dirt road that looped around the manor’s perimeter, following Stephens vehicle. The engine growled as the vehicle navigated the uneven terrain, weaving around holes in the dirt road. From the front of the manor, the sound of gunfire erupted, sharp and relentless.

“Sounds like they’ve got their hands full,” Helena remarked, her tone grim.

“That’s the idea,” Samantha said. “The more noise they make, the less attention on us.”

The trail curved, and the rear of the manor came into view. Unlike the front, this side was eerily quiet, the only movement coming from the swaying branches overhead. The jeep came to a stop behind a cluster of trees, hidden from view. Samantha signaled for the squad to disembark.

The squad moved swiftly and silently, boots crunching softly on the forest floor as they followed Stephens’ team toward the manor’s rear entrance. Samantha kept her shotgun at the ready, her eyes scanning the area for any signs of movement. The rear of the manor loomed ahead, its dark stone walls rising like a fortress.

After trying the door and finding it locked, Stephens’ squad moved up to a window and busted it open. Everyone followed, climbing through.

The two squads moved in tandem, their steps careful and deliberate. Samantha kept her gaze fixed on the spaces to the sides, knowing full well that in a place like this, danger could come from anywhere.

As they reached a junction, Stephens held up a hand to halt. He turned slightly, his voice a low murmur. “Splitting up here. My squad takes the left. You take the right.”

“Understood,” Samantha replied. She gave a quick glance to her squad. “Helena, Diana, keep it tight. Kate, watch our six.”