ENTERING CORAZON
When you hear urban legends, you fear what you're told. But sometimes, what you don't hear of is far, far worse.
I was an urban explorer. I'm sure you can guess what that entailed, but I guess to spell it out—it's trespassing for fun. It was a risky hobby, I'm aware, but the thrill made it worth my time. I've always been fascinated with abandoned buildings, so I was drawn to them. People post about them online, but it doesn't beat the feeling of actually being there. I posted that stuff, too, on occasion.
Clout on social media wasn't really what I did it for, though. It wasn't like I was the biggest guy who posted about urbex in the country or even in this region. Sure, it was rewarding to see those numbers rack up, but I much more enjoyed the simple art of roaming around once-inhabited places that have since been claimed by time. Theorizing about places was fun—well, usually.
Believe it or not, despite my extroverted nature, I'm not the gossipy type. Valderrama's known as the haunted story central to the country, but the stories I've heard do nothing but make the hauntings feel cheesy and hard to believe. The paranormal was never something that struck me as possible or rational, and so stuff about ghosts or serial killers or anything about the new auditorium made me roll my eyes. You wouldn't catch me actively listening to most horror "stories" from peers without hearing a groan every few plot beats.
However, there was one specific story I'd heard around a lot—one that blended in with the rest of the fluff, but one that my ears perked up to listen to. It wasn't your typical ghost story, and it leaned very close to the whole urbex thing. Not a mention of your typical dead woman or whatever other cliche I'd heard around too often. It was about the ghost town nearby—a town called Corazon.
What helped pique my interest was the fact that Corazon was a very real place—and a place that's really close to our school. I've never properly been there, but I've passed by the road that splits to Corazon quite often while taking the jeep home. It's never really seemed too interesting to me, at least from a glance—just your typical road with some carenderias and sari-sari stores here and there. Lot less urban than the usual environment around Valderrama, but not everywhere's as fancy and modern. Some places actually care about cultural preservation, believe it or not.
There were rumors of there being vampires, aswaang, or any kind of creepy humanoid things roaming that old town here and there—typical of these rumors, though it isn't something I'd heard of from rumors—and while that did help with the intrigue (even if it was unbelievable) the sole existence of a well-known abandoned down was enough for me to be hooked. Surprised it wasn't considered a holy grail, or an SSSI. Though, with all these facts alone, as much as I was interested, I would've just left that place be.
Then Rory Libitina went missing.
It was a while since I talked to Rory—ever since we left the 10th grade, we grew distant—but we were acquaintances, at the least. Honestly, it was the closest people ever got to them—they were something of a recluse, even despite their consistent top marks. Despite that, I cared for them, even if we weren't awfully close.
So seeing their face on a missing poster struck me like a freight train. It felt different having someone I knew personally go missing. And it sounds ridiculous, but something about that sparked something. Find out what happened myself. I already knew that these kinds of cases never get solved (god knows how many of these have run cold at this point), so it wasn't like I would intrude into police business. It was a risky task, though—far more dangerous than what I'm used to—and, honestly, it was a stupid idea from the get-go. I was fully ready to ditch that idea, but then I learned about where they were last seen. Corazon.
Before I even reconsidered, that fact blossomed several rumors about what happened from the two school's misinformation regurgitators. Nasty rumors. Kriste Sanctor was especially egregious, but what do you expect from people born in the late '00s?
Not all were related to the town, but it was the majority. It had yet to hit me how horrible it felt to hear people you didn't know theorizing about the fate of one of your friends, especially one who's potentially dead. Every single time I heard Rory's name uttered from somebody I didn't know—or, much worse, somebody I knew and hated—I felt my blood begin to boil inside my veins—hell, they could easily have burst. There were a lot of rumors I've heard that particularly pushed me off the edge—something about hypnosis? I don't remember, but whoever started it would've been next on the chopping board.
Regardless, it only worsened my worry for them. Of all the places they'd be last seen in, it had to be somewhere near the hot spot for spooky stories and sightings? Maybe it gave their stories credibility, and, admittedly, I did begin to believe them, but I was still skeptical. I'd already been interested in exploring that place, though. I'd never seen it, nor do I know if I'd even find anything there, but there was a certain allure to the place. And now that my friend's disappearance is supposedly linked to the place? I wanted to go see for myself. Maybe I'd find them there.
It's incredibly stupid in retrospect. I should've just left it alone, even if I could piece together what could've happened after. Each time I learned something new, more concerning questions sprouted in my mind, like it were some kind of fungus that fed on dead, answered questions. But I can't change the past now. What has been done has been done, and I've learned far too much already.
Saturday. Two days after the worst of the rumors reared their ugly heads, and the first day of the weekend. That was when I decided to go to Corazon. I planned that that day, I'd catch a jeep, drop off at the street that splits to it, and attempt to solve this running mystery—unless police were there. I was just as ready to drop the place as much as I was to recce it. That was my goal, and even though the plan wasn't very sturdy, it was certainly a plan, and that was all I really needed.
It was sometime around noon when I began packing my things. Stuffed my PPE in my backpack—not the fanciest, but it would work—and put on some shaggy clothes. Jacket, gloves, armsleeves, all that. When I looked in the mirror in my room, I realized how much I looked like a homeless person. Half of my clothes were brown, and those that weren't were barely any different. Wasn't exactly a hindrance, but I knew there would be some eyes hanging over me when they'd see this getup.
After prepping, I stepped out of my dorm. The place never looked awfully interesting—plain white walls with warm lights mounted on the walls and the occasional lounge area here and there—but it was always a place of refuge. I could ease my mind after the workload from multiple subjects hammered itself into my hippocampus, maybe after buying a drink or so. Soft chairs and all that. Nobody really to talk to it about, but I lived keeping it to myself at that point.
Took the elevator down and stepped out into the road. And it was hot. Scorching hot. Unsure what I was expecting from the weather, to be honest, since it's rarely ever cold out. Regardless, I pushed through, looking for a jeep to the area passing by the road to Corazon. I'd come to miss the multi-colored buildings and the sounds of the urban hustle and bustle, even if I wished for it to be snuffed out at that moment. Both schools stood over the highway like titans. Valderrama University a pedestrian lane away from the dormitory, and Kriste Sanctor a couple steps away.
Eventually, I got on a jeep, and waited. Let the ride flow smoothly as music played from my headphones, letting the slow ride and irritating heat muffle under it all. I was lucky enough to get on a jeep that was just barely not empty, but it didn't change how much of that ride was droning. After being confined in such a small place for school for so long, though, seeing old scenery I used to pass by every day made me feel warm. A good kind of warm. Better than the searing heat of the sun.
The few people in the jeep with me were a little loud. Too loud, considering what they were talking about. Even behind the barriers of the music entering my ears, I could still barely hear them talking about everything. Passing by Valderrama must've lit a flame in those two because they had been talking about everything about that place and its reputation nonstop. Reputation leads to the missing cases, and missing cases lead to... you know. It was a miracle they didn't go too far with gossip. Some people still have empathy, at least. Still, it upset me. It did more than that, too—the sadness must've only been a reminder of why I even decided to go.
Sometimes you forget why you go exploring. At that point, I just had the phantom desire to reach Corazon.
The mere thought of the town sidetracked me. I began to wonder what I'd see in there—outside of the alleged vampires of course. Corazon, outside of the ghost town element, was nothing more than a name to me, and I wasn't sure what to see. Though, I could imagine the typical sights of abandoned sites—dilapidated, flat concrete edifices, with foliage pouring through crevices and windowsills, the predominant greys and greens contrasting with fading, messy graffiti left on walls.
Though, these images were more of buildings than houses—it wasn't exactly common for ghost towns to be urbex sites—none that I was entirely aware of, at least. Maybe it was just my novice status showing. Regardless, I saw the sights that made me fall in love with these sites—nature consuming the unnatural, organic reclaiming territory from the inorganic. I'd hoped to see something like that in Corazon, even if it'd be par for the course. Not like I had any point of reference.
I should've looked stuff up about Corazon before going in hindsight, but I didn't, and I didn't have any load, so I guess that had to wait. All I knew—that I was certain was true, at least—was that it had been abandoned for nearly a century. The barangay hadn't properly been considered unowned until recently, though, after the former owner apparently cut off all ties to it. If that was the rumor I heard all the time, maybe I would've checked the place earlier.
Eventually, I dropped off at the area I needed to be at. Not too far, surprisingly. I couldn't get moving as fast as I would've wanted, though—I just stared for a moment, thinking about if I was ready. Gearing up for the seemingly inevitable police blockade I'd encounter, or the horrors I might face, or simply the risk of getting caught trespassing. I wasn't fully prepared. I wanted to bury it beneath false assurance, but I knew I wasn't fully prepared. But I wasn't fully unprepared either, and that was enough for me to press on.
Then I saw another poster with Rory's face plastered on it, and the path I had to follow had practically formed itself.
I walked up the street for a moment. It was an uphill path, and it was relatively inactive compared to what the rest of the hustling-and-bustling city would get you to expect, but it was a breath of fresh air from the streets of the place—in both senses of the phrase. The sights weren't that special, but it was nicer than the constant commotion of the typical urban surroundings.
Eventually, though, I flagged down a tricycle speeding up the road. Asked the driver to bring me to Corazon, or somewhere nearby. I didn't expect anything more from him but confusion, as he stared at me with squinted eyes. "Are you sure?" he asked, head cocked to the side. I began to sweat, but I kept my composure as I nodded. Shrugging, he let me on the tricycle, but not before warning me "Don't stay too long, kid. You know about this place's whole deal, right?"
And so I hopped on the tricycle. We drove through the asphalt street—it was relatively linear, with the occasional turn here and there—as I watched over the surrounding area, wind blowing through us. Not much was there, aside from the occasional residential areas and sari-sari stores, with other streets splitting from the road I was on—though otherwise, it was just green leaves and empty fields behind wired gates. There weren't many people along the street—if there were still people in this path, they'd probably be inside the few houses and stores that lined the street.
Five minutes passed before the first warning sign began to light up. The street was suddenly surrounded by a cemetery bordered by dull grey concrete walls. Barbed wires stood atop the bricks as I saw from past it multiple mausoleums, graves, and alabaster statues depicting Christian figures—and some others that I wasn't too familiar with, though I might've just seen them wrong. I wouldn't normally be too unnerved by this—cemeteries aren't too uncommon (sounds macabre, I know)—but it just kept going.
A minute passed, and the street was still surrounded by the cemetery. Was it a different cemetery? I couldn't tell.The sights of stone, marble, and brick littered my view past the same cement walls, the graveyards seemingly expanding far past the horizon. Any longer and the environment would've been ingrained into my skull. The similarly marble statues were a constant, and the sight of fallen leaves and dried grass made it seem like it wasn't only the site for dead humans. It looked as though everything around the area was dying. I could barely see Valderrama over the trees, though—that was enough to keep me from thinking I was remote from society.
Eventually, the tricycle stopped by a street sign. "NO VEHICLES PAST THIS POINT" a sign on it said, with the street pointing forward with the name I've been looking for; "CORAZON". My eyes wandered around the area we stopped at—still the same road, but there was trees, bushes and other foliage surrounding me, with one end leading to more forest and the other to the large graveyard. Deep in the foliage, I could just barely see remnants of old buildings, destroyed to the point of near complete obscurity. I could only tell by the familiar grey color and rough texture. No sign of any town, but I could see grey walls in the distance—most likely the town, I thought. I found it strange that the town would be this far secluded, but civilization was, in reality, not very far away—the road was just unnecessarily long.
The tricycle driver told me about where Corazon would be—just a couple minutes away from where we were by foot—and that if I wanted to go back to the city, I had to walk all the way back. He didn't hide his contempt for the vehicle restriction when he mentioned it—even pointed out how strange it was that the road continued past this point despite that rule—but he wasn't willing to argue with the government or "that rich stuck-up that decided to keep letting that dead town's heart beat." After a while, he drove off, but not before wishing me luck in going back. I needed it.
When the tricycle went back down the hill's decline, I couldn't help but stand still as I looked around. I was grappling between the two choices I had. Both seemed equally desirable at the time, even though one was clearly the better option—and as my gaze glided around the road, questions began to sprout, and I couldn't help but let them grow. The no vehicle rule, the remote location of the old town, the graveyard that seemed to stretch for miles—so many things about the situation I had found myself in struck me as odd.
I had to stop pondering, though. Standing in a sidewalk in what felt like the middle of nowhere didn't exactly help with my goals, and I wasn't interested in wasting too much time loitering, so I picked up the pace. I walked down the road, readjusting my jacket, unprepared for what I'd potentially see there. Seems like a direct walk towards Corazon—the road extended very far, and I couldn't see any police down the road, so one of my fears were dashed at least—but I wasn't prepared for what'd be past the gates. I couldn't help but wonder what I'd see. If those rumors—however stupid—were based on some fact. Mythology's usually based on something grounded, but I might be expecting too much from my peers.
So I walked, eyes locked towards the concrete walls in the distance. I let the music from my headphones play once again as I mindlessly strolled down the sidewalk. The soft breeze passing through the road, leaves fluttering in its presence, eased the slight unease I felt entering territory that I believed to be occupied, or at least guarded. Sure, the town isn't lived in, but if it had a warning like that in its entrance, someone had to still care about the ghost town. C'est la vie when infiltrating, I guess.
A silhouette entered my peripheral vision as I walked. Immediately, I snapped my eyes towards the silhouette, stopping right in my tracks as my heart skipped a beat. I stopped my music as they stopped moving. It was a relief to see that they weren't police, but I was still apprehensive. Their nearly complete black outfit, similarly black eyeshadow that made their eyes look sunken, and general unkempt appearance wasn't exactly the most comforting sight, but they seemed to be around my age, so I was at least certain I wouldn't be tattled on. Probably another guy doing urbex, but I wasn't certain. They locked eyes with me, a very understandable confused expression on their face. At that point, I was sure we were thinking the same thing—why were they here?
We stared at each other for a while, sharing mutual confused silence, before we realized that we were both trespassing and weren't out to get each other. I sighed in relief, but the other person kept staring, an eyebrow raised.
After a while, I decided to break the silence. "Do you need anything?"
They responded with a blunt "No," exacerbating the threatening aura they'd placed over me. "Planning to infiltrate Corazon or something?" they asked, only making my anxiety worse. I haven't even gotten there and I feel like I've been caught.
Had to keep my cool, though. I'd rather not make things too "Uh, sure, you could say that," I stammered.
"Good luck with that," the person said, turning to the general direction of (where I assumed to be) Corazon. I had been bracing for them to tell me not to, or for them to tattle, but they seemed fine with it. "That place has rumors for a reason, you know?" They scoffed, a small smirk forming on their face, combing their hair aside. "Though I'm sure you're trespassing for that, right?"
I chuckled, though admittedly I was feeling sheepish around this person. "Reading me like an open book in our first meet, are we?"
"First meet's stretching it. I've seen you in school before."
My eyes widened. "Sorry?"
"Come on, you're the only kid in school who likes urbex."
"That—okay, how the hell do you know that about me?"
"Past that, I barely do. I've seen your face and heard your rambles, but that's all. I don't even know your name."
"Oh, uh... well, I guess that makes sense." I held out my hand. "My name is—"
"I never said I wanted to know," they said, crossing their arms and sternly staring at me. "I doubt you'd want me to anyway." I gave them a similar treatment, locking eyes with them with my eyebrows dropped, deathly unamused. After a short pause, a slight smile formed on their face, before they began to snicker. Me groaning only made them laugh harder.
I retracted my hand, pouting. "You're very funny."
"Sure I am." They sigh, their smile lingering on their face as they look down the road. They combed their wolf cut. "Anyway, you're here for Corazon."
"You could say that."
"Then go ahead. Short walk down," they said, pointing towards the grey walls. "Nobody's there, but it's locked. I'm sure someone like you could pry your way in, though." They looked at me with a strangely knowing grin. "I'm sure you've seen your fair share of people prying," they added. That stare they were giving me made my blood cool. They were staring at me as if they were trying to read my mind. And, damn it, it seemed like they did.
I just brushed it off and made a noise that barely qualified as a chuckle, chalking it up to a bad joke at my expense. It wasn't exactly the first time. I just waved and nodded, trying to say 'thank you' without actually saying it straight up, and kept walking. I wanted to get that out of my head, but that stare continued to linger, even after I had gone far enough away—their cackle didn't help in any way.
I left the music off as I did, rather than deciding to listen to my surroundings. Outside of my footsteps, there wasn't much to hear. Just the soft rustling of the leaves and the very distant sounds of cars in the distance. A reminder that I wasn't quite out of the city.
The walk wasn't notable, outside of a perpetual anxiety that I was being watched, or that I'd be caught trespassing by whoever kept Corazon from being demolished. Not exactly a unique feeling when urbexing, truthfully, but it did feel stronger than usual. Then again, I didn't falter—to be honest, I don't think I could've. I had been enamored by this concept and hooked to achieve this goal, it felt like a waste ditching all of that and walking the long way back after stressing for so long. Rory remained a constant in my mind, too, and so I knew that if I did abandon ship, I wouldn't know the truth. So, I kept going.
Eventually, past the cold concrete walls and still foliage, I reached the gates of Corazon. The iron had been rusting, and the bars were too high up for me to see through, so the aura of mystery around the place persisted. On the gate's arch, vines and ivy trailing down each letter, it read: "WELCOME TO CORAZON". I stood still, staring at it, dumbfounded. It was strange seeing it properly, especially after hearing everything about it. I heard nothing but the sounds of nature and the far, far distant sounds of city streets.
I went over to open it, but no matter how hard I pulled and pushed and kicked and prodded, I couldn't get it to budge—not even a slight tilt. It had been locked tight, with the grating sounds of the gate's creaking and banging as well as the quiet fluttering of rusted flakes flying off the gate doing nothing to ease my anxieties. I had to reassure myself that this was normal and that this was just how it felt. It has been a while, so maybe I had to get used to it again.
I could've turned back, but I couldn't. It's hard to pinpoint why. I'd say it were because I had planned for so long, or that because Rory could've been there, but I'd be making assumptions. I just couldn't. All I did was keep going, following the wall to the end of it and planning to continue following it until I found some kind of entrance. I could've climbed over the wall, but that felt like the last resort—and I wasn't exactly geared for mountain climbing.
I placed my right hand on the wall, feeling the roughness, the soft moss, and the cracks and crevices littered on each brick. I listened to the ambient noises of wind blowing and leaves rustling as I walked. It's a surprise that I hadn't gotten tired of walking by that point.
As I scouted around the perimeter of the village walls, I kept my eyes hovering over what surrounded me. Past the graveyard was a vast forest, with endless trees and logs and overgrown ferns littering the patches of ground I could see. If there were any animals, they were nowhere to be seen—the only signs of life around here were the thick shrubbery that kept itself around the town. Still no sign of an access point, but I hadn't been walking for too long.
It would take a long time for me to find another turn. It seemed like the walls stretched infinitely from where I was, and as the seconds went by and I kept dragging myself along with the concrete, I began to wonder not only about how far I had gotten from the road, but about why Corazon stretched this long. Maybe I underestimated how large the average town would be, but this didn't feel right.
The ground shook.
My heart skipped a beat as I froze up, fear shooting through my nerves. My mind turned to sludge as I lost my balance, just barely keeping myself up by resting the palm of my hand on the wall. All the while, my heartrate continued to rise. I took a breath. Then another. And another. And the fear subsided. I sighed in relief, but that didn't stop sweat from inching down my skin. Was it an overreaction? Maybe so, but there was next to no warning—though I guess that's typical for earthquakes. Plus, it wasn't very strong, though the flat ground made the shaking clear as day to me.
Eventually, the feeling of rough concrete smoothened into flat silver. I moved aside, looking at what I had reached—it was a metal door, slowly being reclaimed by nature to the point where vines had obstructed the latch. It had been left ajar as a result. Despite that, though, it looked oddly pristine, especially against the decrepit, moss-covered barricades that had cracks all over. The strangest part, though, was what was burned onto the metal.
Now, I'm not fluent in Greek—at least, I believe it was Greek—so I have no idea what it means. The best approximation of what I believe it said was something along the lines of "Tayua tns Ayvoias". It doesn't translate to anything, but I'm sure it's because of the characters I used. Below the branded text was a closed-eye symbol. Whatever the engraving meant, it did nothing but hook me into Corazon even harder. I felt like I've reached uncharted territory, and I wanted to dig deeper.
I didn't know what was to come. I had no clue if the rumors would be true, or if this place would be worth exploring. The walls were too tall for me to see what was behind it, and the town had been quiet from when I got to the gate to when I reached this access point, so my expectations were solely based on what I'd heard. And I vehemently refused to believe any of those damn rumors, I knew very well why those rumors circulated. And yet... it was all I had for expectations at this point. Maybe there were aswaang in here, maybe I would find Rory lost and confused, or worse.
The only way to know was to open that door.
BREAKING INTO CORAZON
The screeching creak of the metal door pierced my ears as I went past the door frame, my breath hitched and my eyes closed tight. I tried to make as little noise as possible—just because it was a ghost town doesn't mean it's not inhabited by something—so each sound of dust under my shoe or metal clinking against each other shook me. I braved through it, though, and eventually, I opened my eyes.
My expectations were somewhat met—this was no Second Coming of Vigan—but there was something about what I saw that wasn't quite right. Stone paths split off from the sides, dilapidated houses and buildings strewn across the streets—not quite well-maintained, but not where they'd be considered ruins. My surroundings were deathly monochromatic, greys dominating the landscape in a harsh contrast to the vibrant greens I'd seen outside. If it didn't feel dead enough, the town was silent. Completely silent. The only sounds I could hear—crickets chirping, cicadas yelling, leaves blowing in the wind—they all came from past the walls. It felt like I was stuck inside some enclosed space, but all I had to do was look up at the gloomy sky to break out of that illusion.
I couldn't help but stare in awe and trepidation as I took in the view. I'd only ever seen this place through the lens of people willing to twist the truth for a scare. There had always been an aura of mystique to the town, even when all I'd heard from the town were things that I knew couldn't be real, but this had bubbled a feeling of curiosity that I'd never felt. But with that feeling of curiosity comes the chance for it to kill the cat.
That never got me to turn away, though. No matter how afraid I was at the time, that feeling of intrigue and courage crept back in to fill that hole that the fear tore open. I was here for a reason, and it wasn't just to take in the sights (honestly, the sights are hardly anything to care about). So I began to scout the area.
First few minutes, no sign of life anywhere. Interiors were dark, lights were shattered, and doors were left blowing in the wind (some had been completely torn apart). The deeper I went into the town, the quieter it became. It felt dreary pressing forward—the deafening silence only emphasized the lifelessness of this ghost town, and the sounds of hinges creaking and windows clanging on walls when the wind blew through didn't help. It had been a long time since I felt truly alone.
I felt a chill run down my spine. It would've been calming—it's rare to get such empty streets in this country, much more in the urban areas that I've always been around—but when everything looked so derelict, it felt more haunting than anything else. The lack of nature didn't help that feeling. The complete lack of vegetation struck me as odd... there'd usually be at least something past the gate.
The emptiness didn't ease the worry that I wasn't alone, though. No, I didn't think anyone was with me in the grid-like pseudo-suburbia, but it felt like up above, somewhere I couldn't see, something was watching, keeping track of my position. It was all speculation and paranoia, but regardless, it felt too real. And I wish it eased up, but it felt like it got worse as I continued.
Rory must've felt this way. I have no idea what Rory was doing, or why they were here, or whatever else logistically led to Rory being here. Maybe it was the same case with me—apprehension towards the location, and near-unbreakable hesitance, but an insatiable urge to delve deeper and deeper and deeper. Maybe it was the explorer spirit, maybe it was the desire to discover what nobody knew about this town, but it felt less like voluntary appeal and more like a strong magnetic pull.
It felt weird, to constantly have Rory being my motivation. I never knew them well—though, in all honestly, it's not like they gave me much of an opportunity to know them past their academic achievements and their name. Their personality was an enigma, their personal life was practically non-existent, and their interests seemed to be too niche for anyone to know.
Though, it felt like I owed them something. They were a recluse, but it didn't seem like something they took pride in. Maybe I should've tried harder, I thought. Maybe they would've opened up, if I merely talked more. Or less? It's too late to wonder. They're missing, with all leads leading here. I've got a town to scout.
The ground shook.
I snapped out of my introspection as soon as I felt that surge from the ground. It was still weak, but it was enough for it to register—enough for fear to rush through my veins. I had to take a moment to recover, bending my knees with my hands on my thighs, letting my heart slowly crawl back down to a speed that wouldn't be concerning for someone like me to have.
Only then did I realize how far I'd moved. I looked around where I'd ended up in, and while the sights were generally identical, I had walked several blocks away from where I once stood. It's hard to describe the difference—if there were street signs, they'd been uprooted, or the words had been scratched off. I knew for certain I was somewhere else, though—the buildings looked the same, but the state of destitution was different.
It's as incredible as it is odd that this place was still maintained. It wasn't like it was being renovated—there was no chance some of these buildings were salvageable, and it wasn't like there was any sign of recent activity anywhere in the town (at least, from where I was.) Why this place was still being kept as private property by the owner for so long was a complete mystery. Sentimental value? Some covert crime syndicate? Screwing over the government? You know, I could get behind the latter.
Everything was such an intriguing mystery, but I knew that if I delved too deep I'd face some serious punishment. Now, whatever punishment I would receive I wasn't sure of, but it should've been enough of a warning to ward me off.
And yet, here I was, continuing to pursue this mystery like I was Sherlock or something, acting like I had the right to trespass. My legs dragged me deeper into the town, my eyes betraying my mind as it kept itself hooked on the ruins around me. That interest in abandoned places kept me tied to this town like boxes on a truck. And the potential of finding a missing person made it feel like I'd actually have a reason to recce, so that was a plus.
I kept walking. I just needed to find Rory, that was why I was here to begin with. The wind kept blowing and the birds soared by as I persisted. It was getting colder now, and the sudden shift in temperature set a horrible feeling of dread over me. The frigid air only told me one thing—rain was coming. I turned to face the sky, and, wouldn't you know—nimbus clouds slowly approached from the distance, a grey blanket over the blue sky as if I needed any more fucking grey around me.
Fear continued to dance around my mind without any sort of resistance. But this was how it was meant to be, I knew this. This was just how it felt.
But the state of my surrounding color palette took a backseat, because after walking past building upon broken building with an occasional clearing or run-down store, I spotted—from the corner of my eye—a warm tint. It stuck out to me, cutting through skin after brushing across bland, flat walls. I turned to it, drawn to its color after being around greys for so long—and my heart skipped a beat. Among all the abandoned and desolate houses and buildings, a light was left on.
I had never felt such a rough, jagged mix of intrigue and dread until I saw that functioning light. Through such a shattered street, lost to time, there were still signs that this place hadn't been fully abandoned. Maybe it had been on since the town was left to rot? No, that didn't make any sense—this place was abandoned for a century, and any light left on would've burst by now. Maybe some homeless guy lived here? No, that didn't work either. Constant thoughts bounced around my head and none were sensical or comforting.
But no, I'm not backing out. Not now.
I began to drag myself closer to that light, like a moth to a flame. I was wary, of course—God knows if that place was still occupied, not like I could find out just from a cursory glance—but I wasn't interested in risking it. Then again, I was approaching, so it wasn't like it'd help me much. Regardless, I kept going, sneaking towards the wide open door to the building—which, in of itself would've unsettled me.
As I kept closing in, I expected to hear something, or see something. Maybe a person would shoo me out of their property, maybe I'd be pounced on by some stray dog—maybe I'd hear faint whispers, or a loud yell from another person from far away. Maybe I wouldn't hear anything at all. Even as I stepped into the old place, I felt that same dread regardless. Nothing would ease that worry etched in my brain that I was being watched by someone, somewhere.
The interior was just as ruined as the exterior. It felt like I'd entered an archaeological dig site as I trudged through dusty furniture, broken floor tiles, and what looked like shattered glass. It smelled of rot and old food, with a subtle metallic stench piercing my ears just enough for me to register it. It felt more like an irritation in my nose at the time, but looking back, it was very clearly there. The sounds of crackling dust and glistening glass shards, as they latched onto the soles of my shoes, echoed as I kept looking around the area, incessantly interested in what I'd find.
The strangest thing that I found in there was an untouched red cloak. Despite the couch it was draped over being covered in dust and other stains and tints, the cloak was nearly completely pristine, its deep crimson nearly making me mistake it for a bloodied cloth. It couldn't have been, though—it was entirely red and had a closed-eye symbol burned on its back. It took me a very brief amount of time to connect the dots, and more questions sprouted from my mind. This was going to become a pattern.
Other than that, there wasn't much else to see. The building was void of anything that would be worth noting, aside from that carmine cloak and the pungent metallic smell. I never quite found out what caused that, but The building didn't have many interesting trinkets to swipe, nor was there much that hinted at what happened to the town or whoever lived here—nothing but that untouched cloak, at least—but there was still this suffocating aura to the place. I already mentioned the cloak, but the functional lights left a pit in my stomach, and that smell. That pungent, sharp metallic smell crept into my nose—an unwanted guest in my senses. I can only wonder what could've caused that stench—-and I'd think it best to leave it a mystery.
This feeling of fascination persisted even as I stepped back into the silver streets. I'd explored through what felt like every nook and cranny in that building—the nooks that I wanted to explore, anyway—and yet that feeling of mystery had yet to be satiated. It was more that the hunger I felt exacerbated—that pit in my stomach and that desire in my mind strengthened, and it overpowered rational thought—just as it happened before, and would happen many, many more times after.
I kept exploring. I should've stopped, and I even thought that at the time, and yet my feet dragged me to another building. That desire to discover what else could lie in this rotting town remained constant, hovering over my head like a chandelier. Even as I scrubbed through building after building, I kept going. Every warning I passed only kept me more interested. I was unnecessarily insistent on finding out what made the town tick. It should've been so much earlier that I ditched this sinking ship, but I stayed on it like I was its captain.
But I wasn't the only passenger.
It happened so suddenly. I'd been scanning through another building, watching my steps as I avoided every fallen shard of glass or piece of plywood. I took breaths in moderation, worried I'd inhale something unhealthy if I did too much—asbestos, maybe. My eyes couldn't help but glance at the entryways from time to time. It relieved me, even if only barely, to see the backdoor still closed and the windows fluttering in the wind. And through the prowl, I heard nothing but my footsteps and the distant chirps of birds far above the town. Then I heard another set of footsteps.
I stopped in my tracks. My ears raised as rigidly as my hair as I listened intently for that. I immediately wanted to deny that. Was my mind messing with me? That was very likely, considering how paranoid I'd become—I never cleared hallucinations out of my list of possibilities. I held my breath to be completely certain that it was real. I wanted to believe so badly that it was a hallucination, and even now I wished I was just extremely anxious. But I heard those footsteps. And they were not just hallucinations. They were real.
I kept my breath close to my chest. Heard those steps slowly grow closer. Step by step, it got louder. My eyes locked on where I believed those noises were coming from. Slowly sliding past the wall. All the while my heart bashed my chest like it was a drum. I heard a noise as the footsteps passed by—some kind of gasping noise. I didn't try and think of what I was hearing. I couldn't. All that energy went to focusing on whatever was passing by. All that registered to me was just another noise to follow.
My legs were rooted onto the floor, listening keenly as the footsteps and those sickening groans slowly hovered past me from through the wall. The ambient noise of birds chirping and winds blowing outside helped, but only barely—my mind had muted those noises as much as it could. It only wanted to focus on the steps. Step. Step. Step. I sucked my lips in. I didn't move an inch. Only my eyes moved, though at that point I would've been able to hear their wet sliding.
I looked out the window. Or the light flooding in through it. I kept my eyes on it. My heart beat my chest harder and harder. Breath slowly slipping through my hands. And I kept staring, my gaze stuck on the light. Then it passed by.
It blocked the sunlight as it stumbled past the window frame, casting its ghastly, gaunt silhouette onto the floor. My nerves shot up. Heart stopped. Then sped up. Step by step I grew more unsettled. I couldn't help but observe what that thing was. It was too human. And it was making noises that could hardly be linked to one. They looked malnourished—like they hadn't eaten in ages. Limbs were like sticks attached to a cloth torso. And those noises. I ignored them the first time, but now I heard it clear as day. Sickly, sharp gasps. Their throat was dry and coarse. I couldn't help but wince.
I could barely keep my composure. But I knew I had to if I didn't want whatever that was—or whoever—to find me. I forced myself to stay still. To keep my fear sealed, lock and key. To clutch my breath in my hands like grains of sand, slowly flooding out of the gaps in my fingers. That wave of dread hit me hard, washing over me and slowly drowning me. But I had to keep this in if I wanted to breathe.
I listened. I kept listening. Its footsteps slowly faded, and the groans finally stopped plaguing my ears. I could still hear it in my head. What mattered was that they were gone. Not far enough for me to feel safe moving, but it was getting close. Not to say that I felt any less terrified. God knew that I was still in danger. I still had to leave the town, after all, and knowing things were pursuing me—or people, but I wasn't sure anymore—only made things harder. I knew I'd be in danger of being caught, but I didn't sign up for this cat-and-mouse chase.
It took a minute after the noises completely disappeared for me to release all that tension. It built up in every muscle, every vein, every nerve, and when I let that all release, it felt great. I broke out of that awkward pose I'd stuck to, arms going slack and head dropping down, as I let go of the breath I'd held with a tight fist. I shouldn't have breathed so much, especially knowing the risks, but I needed to let that fear out. But I knew that relief could only last for so long—I was still in Corazon, and I wasn't willing to be found.
I stood back up, taking the same careful, shortened breaths I'd been taking earlier. The sounds of crackling glass and crisp leaves pierced my eardrums, sharper than they did before that close encounter. Each step felt like a piston slamming onto a piece of metal, and every stray breath felt like fire spewing out of a blowtorch. Everything felt louder now, and my stomach churned every time I heard a noise.
And then I reached the door outside. I shut the door when I came through, and God I wish it was as easy when I had to leave. But I couldn't—that inclement feeling of dread built up to this moment—the moment it froze me solid. I felt paralyzed. A paralysis I hadn't felt when out exploring. My breath grew more stilted, and my hands couldn't stop shivering. And yet, as I hovered my hand over the rusted doorknob, it stiffened. I couldn't get myself to twist it.
I don't know what it was. Not exactly, anyway. I knew it was fear—if anything would stop an immovable force, it would be that—but what the fear was of was smudged in my mind. It could've been a litany of things. So much had happened by then, it could be one or two things, or all the things, or something else entirely. Regardless, it kept me still. It kept my veins rigid, my nerves wooden. Neurons firing, screaming at me to run, but to such a point where they're too overwhelmed to move an inch. It was like my wrist was tied to a chain and I'd already stretched it too hard.
I had to take a deep breath, even against my fear of inhaling something dangerous. And another, and another. It eased my nerves enough for that paralyzing feeling of dread to melt. Don't get the wrong idea, though—I wasn't relieved in the slightest. I was still afraid, after all. But I had to tone that down, or else I would've been stuck petrified inside some random house for far too long than usual. Any longer and I would've become a garden statue.
I opened the door. Slowly. The long, grating creak of the hinges made me wince. My teeth ground together with the force of a hydraulic press. I sculked out of the building. Carefully avoided the stray pieces of wood and the decaying frame. Listened intently for any noise that I might make. The squeaks of the floorboards against my soles. The fluttering of tree leaves skating across the pavement. All of that sounded like gunshots to my ears at that moment. As it did before, and would happen later.
When I stepped out, I took a deep breath. A breath of fresh, not-dubiously-poisoned air. The sun was beginning to set, and I had to leave quickly if I wanted to avoid explaining why I was out so late. The gloomy sky left a shadow over Corazon that would've chained me to the building if I didn't psych myself up enough to slide my hands off the cuffs. And it was getting chilly. My jacket and its pull-strings blew in the cold winds as I looked down the streets. They all looked the same.
I had no idea where I came from.
I groaned. It was a moment of respite from the constant dread I'd felt—nothing could snuff out sheer disappointment—but that wasn't to say I was getting any better. I'd gotten so hooked in this place's mystery, that I had to face one I'd brought onto myself. And now, I knew something was out to get me. It was something I couldn't even comprehend, or want to comprehend. I knew damn well how little I wanted to spend my last moments here, so I knew I had to book it.
And I did. I ran down the same streets, the greys growing warmer and darker as the lowering sun cut through the heavy clouds. Felt the breeze blow through as I ran against the wind. I could feel the pulses in my veins, the strain in my lungs, the pounding of my heart. I couldn't tell where I was going, nor did I think I'd even know at any point—everything looked the same, and I never decided to take any note of my surroundings. Some urban explorer I was.
With all those rumors and all that speculation I heard around the school, I should've taken the hint before I even got on that jeep. This place, no matter what kind of contradictory, "unsettling" myth my peers could've come up with, was absolutely no place for some dumb 16-year-old to be going into and sneaking through. It was secluded for a reason. There were so many signs, too—and yet, I didn't back out. Even against all the times I doubted it, I never... left.
It was odd. I knew I had to leave—that struck me right in the cranium multiple times over—and yet, I never did. Something about that place kept me tied to it like I'd sunk to the bottom of the ocean with a ball-and-chain tied to my ankle. I wanted to swim back to air, but I couldn't lift my foot off the sand. I was forced to look up and see the sky below the surface. Maybe that ball-and-chain was Rory. The knowledge that they could be here. But even then, it got blurry. Rory had to go missing for a reason, but then again, who could've been sure that Rory even went here?
The ground shook.
I froze in my tracks. Straightened up like a board. My eyes shot out my sockets. I nearly fell straight onto the concrete. I heard the windows and the chairs of the buildings around me shiver, and I might've even heard a crack or two stretch from a wall. All the while, all that introspection slid out of my mind. It had been a while since the last tremor, so I had no reason to prepare. Who could prepare for earthquakes, anyway? It wasn't even that strong—though, to say it was as weak as the others wouldn't be quite right. It felt stronger that time. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my heartbeat. God knew I needed a break at that point. And yet, I didn't.
I heard gasping.
When that rough wheeze entered my ears, I felt all my hair stand up. That effort to slow my heartbeat became pointless as I craned my head towards that noise, my heart rapidly pressing against my ribcage. I felt a chill run down my spine, eyes forced to face it. And I saw it, alright. Everything else faded. It was like staring through a windpipe. Nothing else registered but that thing. That thing sickened me just by looking at it. Its pale, bloodless skin put my pallid horror to shame. It seemed just human enough for me to think it was, even against its thin stature. It was not human, though. I knew that much. And my nerves told me all I needed to know, and all I needed to do.
Run.
IN THE HEART OF CORAZON
I ran. Ran down the decaying streets as the world around me turned into streaks of greys and browns. Ran as that thing let out a guttural screech. Like nails against a chalkboard, or a fork against metal. Ran as I kept my eyes locked ahead. No time to turn away. No time to hesitate. No time to stop and breathe. I just had to run. My entire body felt weaker, and I could probably have lost control of myself, but I had to keep going if I wanted to stay alive. This wasn't a matter of getting caught trespassing anymore. This was a matter of if I wanted to join the missing posters. And that was a hard pass.
I couldn't tell how close it got. Its constant, insistent footsteps never seemed to tell me enough of where it was. I didn't have the time to know. I just needed to go as fast as I could. Carrying all that junk in my bag certainly didn't help. My chest didn't need any more strain than it did as I kept my sprint. My short breaths couldn't fill my lungs enough to balance it. And yet it never once crossed my mind to stop. I doubt even God knew what would happen to me if I got caught.
A door left ajar grabbed my attention in a chokehold. Without thinking, I sprinted inside, shutting the door and slamming the lock shut. Immediately, the smell of metal pierced my nose again. This time I knew it was something strange. I couldn't take my time taking a breather here, though, because it was still on the prowl, and the banging on the door was a good reminder fo that. Unlike my meticulous scouting through the past few buildings, I rushed through, ignoring anything that I'd consider too valuable or antique to damage.
My heart rate skyrocketed as I heard the door get torn apart scratch by scratch, the sounds of its guttural groans growing clearer and clearer. I couldn't catch that break I so desperately wanted. My eyes immediately locked in on a set of stairs by the end of the house. I couldn't look for a light in time, nor did I think I'd have time, so I shuffled through my bag, looking for a flashlight—if I wanted to get up that staircase, I needed to see what was up there first. A couple of dropped stuff later, and I felt the plastic on my hands.
Switching it on, I stepped up the house's rotting staircase, the peeling paint latching onto my legs and hands. The darkness only helped exacerbate that dread that had been building up since I was face-to-face with that thing—or since I even got here, for that matter. It had already begun getting dark outside, and this was a major roadblock in my goal that, quite frankly, never decided between saving Rory or deserting the mission at hand. It always teetered to both outcomes like it were a metronome.
At the end of the staircase were two doors. Both were as decayed as the rest of the house. I reached for the first door handle I could find—and as I placed my hand on the withered knob, the door below me completely shattered, letting that thing into the house. Its howl pierced my ears, and I couldn't help but flinch.
My hand desperately tried to open the door, even after trying again and again and finding the knob completely unmoved and firm. I heard the sounds of it shambling its way through the house, crashing through tables and chairs—no sense of thought, all unorganized chaos—and it kept me in a constant state of terror. My mind, as cloudy as it had gotten, immediately switched to the other door, and swung it open. I slid to the corner of the room the door closed into, gritting my teeth in anticipation of the loud thud the door would yell. And the thing heard it—oh, yes it did, and it made sure to let me know with another aching screech.
And everything went quiet.
I kept my breath hitched as I kept my ears raised for the sounds of it slowly crawling up the stairs. Each creak of the wood floorboard sent that same feeling of quivering paralysis through my veins and up my spine, barely able to keep myself still, with its quiet groans akin to chirping not helping me keep my composure. I gripped my flashlight tightly—tight enough for its protective cover to crack in my hands. Everything happened so fast, and now it took a screeching halt. A screeching, groaning, air-deprived halt.
It stepped inside. I kept my breath snuffed below my lungs, letting my vision blur and my chest cave in on itself. My eyes were held open like metal prongs kept them peeled. I couldn't see much of it past the door, nor did I want to, but I could sense it. The quiet whines of the flimsy floorboards and the husky, painful gasping were enough to tell me so. And the parts I could see were not any more comforting than anything else about that thing. It looked painfully human. Human enough to be recognizable, but not enough to trick anyone. The sight of it and the thought of it being in such close proximity terrified me, and I clutched onto my flashlight even tighter.
I glanced at my flashlight. An idea sprung to mind as I held it. It wasn't the strongest, but it was sturdy. And judging by the thing's sickly figure, it would've been very fragile. I wanted to shoot down these thoughts—let this thing leave on its own accord and figure it out myself. But I didn't want to deal with it for longer than I needed to, and it wasn't like it would feel the same if it saw me. My chest had sank lower and lower and I stared at that thing, hands clamping on my flashlight tighter and tighter. I couldn't hold my breath any longer, else my lungs collapsed in on themselves.
So I risked it. I ran behind it and slammed the door shut. It snapped its head towards me, spinning on its neck like an owl's. The coarse throaty shriek it made hurt my ears and sent shockwaves down my spine but I had to keep my composure if I wanted to subdue it. I saw its mouth. Too many incisors. Too fleshy. I stared at it dead in its eyes, clutching the flashlight as I raised the flashlight above my head. I was fully ready to swing it down, and I could hear the crack on its skull in my head.
I couldn't even bring it down before something obscured my vision. It latched onto me like a clamp and I could barely see past whatever it was. All I saw was pink flesh and all I could feel were sharp pains in my skull. Sharp pains that dug down into my skin. I could feel the bridge of my nose growing number and number, and I could feel it moving from the inside. I grabbed onto whatever sunk its teeth onto my face, and the feeling of pulsing wet flesh nearly made me gag. And yet I had no time to do that, so I tried to pull.
My hand gripped as tight as it could and I kept pulling and eventually, I tore it off my face, tossing it aside. It fell to the floor, and through all the blood dripping, I saw what stuck itself on my nose. My eyes widened. A long, proboscis-like tentacle stretched from the thing's throat, so wet and gum-like. I watched as it sucked the tentacle back in, the rough slurping noises sending chills through my spine like bullets. All the while, it stared at me, and when it was all back in, it let out an ear-piercing screech. It only motivated me to attack it again.
And so I ran at it. And I swung the flashlight down. And I kept going. Over and over I bashed the flashlight's rear end on the thing's head, barely even looking at it or processing what I was doing to it or the flashlight. Everything was a blur. A fiery, red blur. And I kept going. I couldn't tell—nor did I want to—whether or not the sounds of cracking were from the flashlight or the skull. It didn't matter. I had a spare flashlight, but it didn't have a spare head. And I kept going. Over and over and over. I only stopped when I felt the battered flashlight remnants pierce my palm's skin.
When I let go of the fragmented flashlight, I looked at what I'd done, heaving. My hand had begun to bleed, so I had to get a bandage from my bag, but I couldn't move quite yet. I stared at what was left of it. Its gaunt figure had lay limp, its head collapsed in on itself, and yet there was hardly any blood but mine. Its hand was twitching, but there was no chance it could recover from that. I could hardly calm down after that, and even after I wrapped my bleeding hand with gauze, I couldn't ease that distress that built up. I killed something. Not quite a man, but close enough for me to feel like I'd done something terrible.
Beats dying, though.
I couldn't look away, not properly. It was a sight I'd never expected to see in any context. And it felt strange because of what I'd heard. Those rumors, the ones about vampires and aswaang littering the town. Pale figures linger amongst the darkness, ready to pounce at whatever they find first. It sounded ridiculous when from the mouths of my peers, but here I was. In the midst of said pale figure. Having taken the life of said pale figure. The rumors were true. I couldn't fully process that, and I still can't process it. But they were true. I killed it.
Even after looking at the corpse of whatever the hell that was over and over, I couldn't believe anything I'd seen. There isn't a way to describe the mixture of fear, confusion, and relief I felt in those few minutes. The threat was gone for the moment, but there was still getting out—and getting out with the knowledge that these things exist in the first place. If I didn't get killed by people trying to keep this information buried, I probably wouldn't be able to live having to keep all of these hidden anyway. I knew I couldn't just forget about everything I'd seen so far. The thought of going back to normal life, knowing that things like that could exist—the thought was disconcerting.
Saying I was here to recce felt like a lie now. Was it ever even true?
I had to leave soon. Any longer and I would've died of overthinking. The sun had begun setting by now, and trying to run around this cursed town in the dark sounded worse than any nightmare my subconscious mind could ever dream up. Plus, there wasn't exactly a way to explain away how long I'd been gone, or where this bandage came from. Trying to explain that I was in the most infamous supernatural site of the damn city would've shoved unwanted attention onto my puny hands. Thinking of that outcome made the thought of leaving so much more enticing.
The only issue now was how to leave. I'd gotten lost already, and now I was even farther away from the vaguely familiar.
It took me far too long to look around the room I was in. It was dimly lit, and darkness crept in from every corner like a spreading virus. The only source of light had been a half-working bulb above me that constantly flickered. It buzzed like a mosquito perpetually lingering by my ear, and God knew I wanted to swat it. The room smelled of the same metal and worn paper, and it made everything feel somewhat cozy, strangely enough. Even despite the corpse in the middle of the room.
A lot of things would've made this a respite if it weren't for... that. I was standing on creaky, wooden floorboards, with the nails still shining under the sickly light and somehow not a pile of dust. The window had been left open, revealing the dark street outside. The room looked like a study—outside of the bed and closet, the shelves against the walls filled with decaying books, and the large desk in-between them seemed as though it was the hideout for some recluse. On that desk—looking just as rotted as the rest of the building—were some pens and a notebook, left open by whoever used it last.
Then I noticed the chair.
Draped over it was another red cloak. And that closed-eye symbol again. The same one from the metal door I saw when I got here. Same metal door with the strange phrase that I couldn't decipher. Tayua tns Ayvoias. It was probably Greek, but whatever language that phrase was didn't matter. All the possible reasons that could explain all of that were not ones I liked. Was it a cult? Some organization? A familial group? A corporation? Honestly, all of those could just be the first option.
I wasn't entirely sure until I read that notebook.
I approached it, and almost immediately, the musky smell of the paper entered my nose. I sneezed immediately after. Probably inhaled some dust. I put on my mask almost immediately after. I inched closer to the book and looked through it—the ink was dried and smudged, and the pages were worn. It felt like they would disintegrate in my hand if I held it too hard. I tried my best to be careful with it, but I could feel bits of the paper turn to pieces as I turned the pages.
I read the book, even against my mental state then. And god, that book was something. From what I remembered, anyway. It's all fragmented—again, my brain was at its worst—but the memory of how I felt reading it, that subtle yet unbearable disgust and horror that slowly swam through my veins, oh that was as clear as day.
It was a journal. Seemed to be written decades ago. No date on it. The author loved skirting around the fact that they'd joined a cult, calling it an organization. There was no way to skirt around calling fellow acolytes "brothers" and having their decisions made by two people. Both names were redacted, though—and the black splotches over the names looked slightly less aged than the rest of the writing. Then again, I'm not an archaeologist, so who's to be sure?
And I wish it ended at the group of deluded madmen—but it got worse, somehow. The writing grew more and more stilted, and blood was mentioned over and over. It started to appear every five pages, then every three, then every single page had a mention of blood. Some pages had blood on them, but not sprayed over them—it looked like it dripped onto the pages from the writer. I'm not a blood spatter analyst either, but it's still something noteworthy, I suppose.
There was something recurring that did concern me—a constant mention of the town square, the heart of Corazon itself. Bringing people to it, all named, without another mention after the entry. Nothing was more of a warning and a clue than that. A warning for me to not tread too far, and a clue... a clue to Rory's whereabouts. If anywhere here...
I would've kept reading, and maybe I would've even kept some more information in my head if I did, but a folded piece of decrepit paper caught me like students to drama. It was embedded in the groove of the journal, bronze in color, and folding apart by the edges. It stuck out from the rest of the journal—each of its pages more illegible than the last. It wasn't like there was much past it, anyway—two pages later, the notebook became completely blank. Short-lived writer.
I unfolded the rotting parchment, and it unveiled something I'd desperately needed—a map.
The map didn't encompass the entire town, but it felt so large already. Houses upon houses upon buildings upon buildings—the sheer idea of the density overwhelmed my strained mind, as if I didn't live in the most populated city in the country. God knows how big the place actually was—for how long I'd been wandering, the place felt like an infinite labyrinth. This incomplete piece of the puzzle only left that question to bubble further. But I would take whatever I could get, and damnit, I needed something to familiarize the location.
The author had scribbled on the map—a line stretched across a large portion, circles dotted around buildings, and pinholes on certain buildings. It looked frantic, like they were in a hurry—though I'm not a psychologist, the frayed lines and shaky circles speak volumes. I followed the line down the roads it wound through. From the house where it started, the line reached the center of the town—nearly a direct walk down.
The Heart of Corazon, where Rory might've been—merely a jog away from me.
I was prepared enough to start that walk. I swiped the map from the journal and snagged my phone as a backup flashlight (I should've taken photos, but I didn't know if I wanted the world to know I went to the epicenter of the paranormal and killed something in it), and opened the creaky wooden door. The darkness had consumed more and more of the house, a blanket of inky blackness lathering each corner—the weaker flashlight on my cellphone barely wiping any of it away. The silence made everything darker—all I could hear was my breathing, and my view tightened to a vignette. At that moment, anything could be ear-piercingly loud.
And before I took one step down, I heard something. I heard many things.
It was a cacophony of footsteps. Rushing and alert and incessant footsteps. And gasping—so much gasping. It felt like it came from everywhere. The muffled clamor always lingered no matter where I turned. It surrounded me like vultures over a rotting corpse. And it was the closest I'd ever felt to that. Some people may have thought it was a group of policemen or something. Trying to drag them out of this hell and send them to another one for 6 years. But I knew better. Those weren't policemen. Those weren't men at all.
I slowly walked to the window. Tried my best to avoid making any noise. And there I saw... a pigeon. Oh, god.
To describe what happened to that pigeon would be against my interest and my stomach. As soon as they got to the pigeon it immediately got overwhelmed. All I could see were many of those things. They desperately tried to nab the thing for themselves. I turned away immediately. I sank underneath the window's frame. The loud gasps and groans as they pushed each other away, all collectively trying to consume the pigeon—it was barely enough for me to handle. Trying to shuffle away from the window or leave the building felt more unfeasible. The headache barely did anything to help with that.
I looked at the corpse in the room again. I had no choice. I could still hear them. I remembered the feeling of its proboscis latching itself onto the bridge of my nose. It wasn't something I'd ever want to let anyone else experience. Seeing it happen was worse. I couldn't imagine more than one on my body without nearly fainting.
I knew better than to let that thought guide me. So I stood. I stood as still as possible. Now I know the threat. Now I know what could happen if I move. And I knew just as well that moving would've been a slow-setting and painful death sentence. How does blood feel when it's sucked out of you? I certainly wondered while I stood. The fate I feared I'd face if I made just one small mistake.
The cold setting in from the core of the wound, spreading across the skin, then the frostbite from the capillaries to the veins around the face, then the head—the pains growing worse and worse, stronger and more painful, beating against the walls like it were begging to leave, all the while that chill courses through slowly-emptying blood vessels, head growing number and number, then the arms, hands, legs, feet, all the while dizziness sets in as the body grows more and more limp, weaker and weaker, skin turning pale, and—
The noises stopped.
When I realized, I couldn't help but look at that empty scene. There was no sign of the pigeon. Nothing but a small puddle of red. Maybe that was why everything was so barren...
It took me time to melt away from that frozen stance. Even with the footsteps and the shuffling and the breathing gone, I feared the outcome of one of them being smart enough. It's difficult to blame me for my apprehension. Who knew, maybe one was waiting for a noise to lunge towards. I certainly didn't, and I refused to learn the hard way. After a while, though—even when I was unsure of my safety at the time—I went down the stairs. It'd be pathetic if I didn't risk my life for something stupid at least once, right?
I shrank after each step creaked against my foot. The darkness could've sucked the life out of me if I didn't have that light, and even then it wasn't bright enough to be comforting. And as I went further through the house, I saw what that thing did as it rampaged through. Knocked-over vases, scratched wood and wallpaper, and shattered glass. Sawdust floating through the air in front of the door, left shattered and swinging, blowing in the cold wind. All the while, warm lights bled through the windows against the pale light from my phone.
I stepped out of the house. The first thing I saw was that puddle, and I immediately wanted to go back in. I couldn't, though, no matter how much I wanted to. The sky had become a deep blue by now, with the streets slowly growing into black silhouettes. The streetlights were turned on, a reminder that I wasn't wandering through the stencil of a city street. I didn't even bother trying to question why there was enough power for lights—there wasn't a point to. I just had to get to that library, and it was right at the end of the road I was on. And, after checking the map, I began walking down the street.
My carefulness grew weaker as I kept pressing forward. I was still wary, don't get me wrong, but I was less worried about taking it slow and stealthy to avoid those things, and more worried about how long I'd been in the town for, and how I'd barely made any progress in my search until that point. It was always that faint feeling of intrigue that kept me tied to Corazon by the neck. Nothing should've kept me in there, nothing should've made me want to stay and scout for so long—and yet, there I was, hours spent in that damn place. If I didn't do anything of worth for this long, then at that point I should've just fed myself to those things.
I needed to stay stealthy, keep myself from attracting any attention. And I'd done that for so long already—backing away, trying to keep myself alive, keep myself unscathed. But there's nothing that enforced that, nothing told me that I had to play it safe. I could've fought back if I wanted—I've done that already. I still need to be careful—god knows what could happen if I wasn't—but I didn't have to be so strict on myself, right? I just had to keep walking.
So I kept walking. Right in the middle of the street, no attempts to hide. My eyes wanted to look around to ensure there wasn't anything lurking, but they were pointed straight forward to the general direction of the library. The sodium-laced streetlights kept me warm against the frigid, icy wind, with the only other lights being from far-from-inviting decaying houses. The quiet sounds of cricketing and buzzing past the borders reminding me that there was a vibrant, less suffocating world out there. And God, did I long for it by now. But if I wanted to get a hit of thrill, then I'd keep going and find that old classmate of mine. And if I didn't find anything, I'd leave knowing that Corazon was never meant to stand this long.
And, for a while, I felt free to walk. To skim through the roads of broken buildings and frail lights, map in tow, following its directions and escaping scot-free (well, maybe with some bandages and a short hospital visit). The weight tied around my waist grew lighter and lighter, and I could finally breathe the air. And I thought that'd last, this feeling of relief, no matter how weak it was. At least it was something. But history repeats, and it's not a feeling to trust anymore. Because as I approached the library, I heard the gasping once more.
I didn't turn back. Not even once. I didn't want to. I didn't need to. All I needed was that gasping to enter my ears for me to kick into a sprint. My eyes kept themselves locked forward. The library was just a direct walk away. I had no reason to defy that path. Not even with it yelling and thrashing to grab onto me from just a few meters behind. Hiding was probably the better idea and this encroaching darkness would've been a good mask. Maybe I should've been stealthy. But there was no time to strategize. Too late to do that. Just had to keep running.
It wouldn't be long before I threw myself into the library. It was darker than I expected—the only source of illumination being the distant streetlight bleeding through the first few steps past the door. Otherwise, it was complete darkness. Slowly, I shuffled deeper into that vast void, trying my best to disappear into it as it followed, crashing through the window. I kept my mouth shut. My breathing to the minimum. I could barely even let myself blink, even as I locked my eyes on it as it stalked through the library. I could barely see its face against the light. It was a faceless hunter for all I was concerned.
I watched it. Very closely. I could feel myself backing away. Even against my instincts to stay still, I slowly backed away, until I hit a bookshelf and couldn't back out any further. I kept my breath held, smothering it with my bare hands as my eyes stayed focused on it. Slowly, it went into the darkness that I'd snuck into. It brushed against shelves and tables, its feet echoing large creaks on the floorboards. That great abyss wasn't safe, I knew that, but by then I believed in its reliability way less. It couldn't see me. I had to get it through my head before I folded. If I can't see it, it can't see me. But oh, I could hear it so. And I know it could hear me too.
Trying to attack it like the last one would've been far too tight a rope to walk on. Even after caving the last one's skull, I couldn't psych myself up enough. There was no preparation for these things—it was fight or flight, and both seemed equally fatal against these inhuman figures. Especially when both of you are shrouded in darkness. Trying to bash its skull or attack through any means would've been too difficult to risk. I had to stick with holding my breath until it left... and it needed to leave very soon. My lungs would crush themselves if I kept the CO2 buried any longer. And yet one unexpected event or one stray breath and my rationale would've died before I did.
My ears were open. Everything sounded so clear. It was chittering. Its breathing was ragged, like it was being pulled out of the throat. Its footsteps were irregular and uncoordinated, less of a prowl and more of a shamble around the library. I could only vaguely see its silhouette—hairless, with pale cracked skin and clouded yellow eyes. Its lips had been falling apart, chapped beyond recognition. Its clothes were torn, like they used to fit, and when it opened its mouth to chitter I could see its teeth, unnaturally jagged. What were these things...?
The ground shook.
The tremor was much stronger this time, the shiver rippling from some unknown epicenter—and I could hear the books on the shelves rumble and bump into each other. Even it flinched at the sudden quake. The quiet but clear sounds of cracking around me made it feel like the ceiling or the walls would collapse at any moment, but that wouldn't be the only worry I'd have. The books on the shelves fell off, landing all over the tiled floor of the library, on it, and on me. Thuds echoed around me as the sudden throbbing pain shot through my body, and I couldn't help but groan. And immediately I regretted my decision. That instinctive side leaked through the cracks—and now I'd see the outcome I feared.
Its screech kickstarted my fight-or-flight response. My heart beat fast enough to work as a drum roll, and I could feel my restless hands shaking in the wind. I scrambled to stand up and ran towards the door, still ajar from my entry, swinging it wide open, shattering the rusted hinges. It hit the floor, the sounds of snapping wood and clinking metal ringing around the library, and that only served to aggravate it more.
In the whirlwind, against my conscience, I turned back.
It wasn't until it clamped onto my face again and cut through the bandages before I realized. Desperately swimming through my veins to suck out all the blood from it—the numbing feeling rushing through once again, this time quicker, and I struggled to pull it out while my vision grew darker, my grip growing weaker, and head, lighter. Didn't help that it held onto the bridge of my nose as tight as a screw was to the threaded hole. But in my distress, I kept pulling, and nothing would stop me from getting that bloodsucker out of my face.
After a struggle, I grabbed onto the wriggling tongue-tentacle thing and ripped it out of my face. Blood seeped through the bandage and poured through the proboscis as it tried to get it out of my grip. It was slippery and wet, its squishy texture challenging my willpower to keep it curled in my fist as it struggled to draw it back into its throat. The knowledge that it was from deep inside some non-human's esophagus should've gotten me to let go, but I didn't want to, knowing it could do it again and cost me a couple pints.
And, in my daze, I pulled it.
I heard a loud, fleshy tear, like the sound of ripping leather or skinning a dead animal. It was wet and sloppy, and I could hear its ear-piercing wail. I fell to the floor, feeling the force of that tubular tentacle dissipate. A loud thud followed, and so did the quiet sound of blood pouring out—but just for a moment. It stopped quickly, and sounded more like honey spilling out a jar than blood out of an animal. I looked at the snake-like tongue, following it to its source deep in the darkness. I couldn't see what I pulled out. I didn't want to see what I pulled out.
The library was silent after that. Hearing the tweeting birds and the rustling leaves outside calmed me down as I replaced the torn bandage with another. I wanted to take a breath, but the weak smell of metal wasn't interested in letting that happen. My head began to spin, and I felt like I needed to stop with the stress at least for a moment, so I stayed in that library. I suppose when you give blood, you don't exactly do track-and-field immediately after. Head still ached. Had to drink water and eat some snacks I had packed to alleviate it, if only barely.
I would've stood up sooner, but from the distance, I heard what I could best describe as an omen. A crowd of footsteps echoed from far down the street, still very quiet but oh so clear to me. It would be long before they got to the library, but my senses screamed at me to sink into the darkness like I did earlier. Its corpse, though, it was still there, and I hesitated. The pungent smell didn't help, either. But I had to if I didn't want to get my blood sucked out of me.
I stumbled towards the dark, nearly tripping on a shelf, before I crouched, holding my breath. Not just to keep myself as invisible as I could, but because of that smell. That smell was terrible. I stared outside as I tried to get farther away from the light, still peering in from outside. Usually my friend. Now was a snitch.
The steps grew louder, thunderous and chaotic in nature, no form of organization other than to group as a pack to hunt anything with a beating heart and a flowing vein—certainly looked like they needed it. But I wasn't a willing donor, and one leech hurt enough. I couldn't imagine five.
From the dark, I watched them. They flew past the library like hungry leopards hunting for prey. I saw them under the light, but they were too fast for me to register more than their pale skin and bloodied mouths. They made that same rough gasping noise, almost growling but too breathy to consider it as one. It was like they were desperate for air, but I knew what they really sought was the bitter, rusty ichor. And I kept myself far, far away from them. Kept my breath held tight, and kept my eyes locked on the pack.
One stopped for a moment to look in the library. I swear we locked eyes for a moment. I could see its eyes—clouded, a lack of life more prominent than any other emotion, but I could tell it was hungry. When I saw the eyes, I felt as though I were dead. It could've stepped inside and found me there, and taken enough blood for me to stop fighting back. And yet it didn't. It just followed the rest of the pack, making noises comparable to a chirp.
I had to take a moment to breathe after that. God knows what would've happened if I moved even an inch.
I stood up after a few minutes. I probably should've rested for longer, and my head was still churning, but I had to move. I'd rather be found alive with a migraine than dead or missing with one. So I walked again—slower this time, and closer to a shamble—allowing the lifeless boulevard to be my backdrop once again. Even with the sun having abandoned my side, everything felt the same. Cold winds. Dreary silence. Ever-present dread. The emptiness of all the buildings teased me. Beckoning me to enter.
I could swear I heard whispering. Though, by that point, I wouldn't trust any sounds I'd heard. My mental state had already been on the decline since I stepped through that metal frame, but it slowly sunk, like a weight down a trench. It wasn't very welcoming before, but it kept growing more and more unsettling as I learned more, wondered more, wandered more. I began to sweat, the coldness intensified by the winds still flowing through the roads. It was easy to push away before, but now that I've nearly lost my blood (and my mind) repeatedly, I couldn't deny it. I was scared shitless.
And yet I kept going. I walked further and further until I reached the dark, desolate town square. The only lights were the few working streetlights around the place, held inside cages to mimic lanterns. It looked enough like a town square, but there was a stark lack of people. Just the wind, neglected benches, untouched gazebos, dying trees... it wasn't new, not in this place. And yet it still didn't sit right with me at the time. Nor does it now. I had seen many places like this in my time around Matina, so you could guess what I felt standing here. A place so familiar, and yet it couldn't be any more different.
I walked to the central area. My footsteps against the cracked asphalt and frail leaves rang in my ears. I let the cold embrace of isolation sink in as I walked ever closer to the plaque in the center of the plaza. It seemed a statue or similar stood there, but wherever it once was, it was gone now. All that remained was a plaque, endowed in some form of metal that might've been shiny in the past—but all it was now was a rusting hunk of scrap. I could just barely read what it said. "The Heart of Corazon." There might have been more, but the grime made it illegible.
I had to stand there for a moment, just to... think. I've gotten so far, even though I should've left ages ago. And I struggled to think why. I wish I could just say my mind was aching, maybe the blood loss was screwing with it, or that I was still there for the search, ready to find this damsel in distress and sweep them away to safety. But I was no heroic adventurer, no. I was merely a hiker lost in the mountains, hopeless to be found. Dragged around by this pretense that I was going to help Rory, but in truth, I felt like a mindless drone waddling around the town uninvited. God knows what Rory's state is now, but I sure didn't take into consideration that something else happened to Rory.
As much as I say that Rory and I were close to some extent, I never truly knew them. We worked on group projects together and we'd say hi whenever we saw each other, but that's about it. I hardly ever saw Rory outside of school anyway. I've seen everyone else I was batchmates with at the time, but never them. Maybe they were sheltered, maybe they were that reclusive, I wasn't one to speculate. But the point is, I didn't know them. Not enough to go into this odyssey to save them from a fate I wasn't certain they were going through.
I should've stopped long ago. Back when I dropped off from the jeep. Back when I packed my PPE in my backpack. And sure, I could say that I have no choice now that I've gotten so far, but that would just be a crutch, even if true. I had to live with that, I realized. The now-melancholic darkness started to close in. And I could've walked off there—I nearly did.
The ground shook, and I remembered why I was there. No point letting go of the rope when I'm so close to the other end.
I took a deep breath. I needed to prepare myself—god knows what I'd find at the end of this rope. Cold winds—even colder now. Probably the sweat. I looked at my map, walking towards a streetlight for better light. Under the warm light, I see clearer—the line ends by the town square, just past the center, with a circle scrawled on one of the buildings. The town hall. I looked up and locked eyes with it. The lights are on, and the door is left open. Amongst the darkness, a light that wasn't a harsh orange was a relief. A horrifying, intimidating relief.
I slowly walked towards the town hall, putting the map back inside my bag. Its exterior was just as decrepit as the rest—the dust and mold were almost palpable—and yet from what of the inside I saw through the door, it looked less so. But it was hard to judge, not unless I came in. And I did that—though, believe me, I was terrified of what I'd find. Maybe it would be another person. Maybe more of those things. Who's to say at that point?
When I walked past the threshold and closed the door, I took in the sight. A little blurry in my head, the details. Gone were the lights so incandescent you could feel the sweltering heat—it was a drab grey, these walls. Mold and grout crawled from the ends of the walls, the wallpaper peeling at the seams and the walls with frames hung on them—some empty, some with photos inserted, some with paintings. The area had that musty smell, signature of these buildings. I could hear the quiet whirs of fans around the area and the humbuzz of the dim fluorescent lights, too. Why was there still power if the rest of the area was abandoned?
A reception stood to the side. "CORAZON TOWN HALL" in serif was plastered above the reception. And to its left, I saw a trail of wooden doors swinging by whoever was last here. And judging by the greyish-brown footsteps on the floor, it wasn't very long ago...
I followed the open doors, tracing the footsteps. Less of a willing walk, more of a hesitant stroll. I felt like I had to investigate everything I saw in the trail I could see—not like there was anything else to do. My mind was as quiet as everything else here. I missed that ambient chatter I used to hate. I missed the gossip. It was all so incomplete with the silence. Chairs and tables littered the area, all unused and hoarding dust. Several doors were left open, but more were shut. There wasn't a point investigating them, no matter how tempting it was. These open doors were leading me somewhere, but did anyone want me to follow?
I had my eyes on the paintings and the photographs throughout my walk. It wasn't a long walk, but I took my time processing everything. Some photos had faces scrawled out of them, and many more had faces I didn't recognize. Ever since cameras could only process greys, Corazon had stood. Seeing the town in a state more alive than I'd ever seen or heard was surreal. But there was one thing that stood out to me as stranger. It was in one of the photos.
It looked ordinary, dated sometime in 1952. Just a photo of two people standing by the town square. "Keeping this town alive!" said some writing. One was an adult, the other a younger person, probably in their late teens. The older man sported a barong—I could only assume that was the mayor, or something—and his face was neutral. But the other person... I knew it looked familiar, and it only clicked after looking at them for long enough. Their face. Their wolf cut. Sunken eyes with what looked like black eyeshadow. The all-black attire.
I had seen this person.
They looked the same. The exact same. It was as if the person I saw earlier was plucked right from the photograph. And I have no other natural explanation for it. I was still loopy, sure, but there was no mistaking it. Was that person I saw a ghost, haunting me? Warning me not to go into this town so I don't get killed? Or maybe it was luring me closer, because that's certainly what that person did. My brain couldn't compute it, and if I tried too long I'm sure it would've fried in my skull.
I couldn't linger too long, but that photo... god knows what that photo meant. Whatever it was about, I didn't want to know. There was so much to it and it would've slowed me down. I've already been in there for too long. So I kept going, trying to block out that photograph from my mind. That person from my mind. No, not even person. God knows what that thing was, but it certainly wasn't just a damn person. I just kept walking, sights locked on the end of this trail of open doors.
It was a cafeteria, then more hallways, then a small library. Then it was a conference room, then more hallways. All that same drab gray, that same peeling paint revealing the pale concrete innards, that same rot creeping from below and spreading like veins. And the same trail of footsteps. I didn't know what else to do but follow the trail. Would I have just stopped when I was nearing some kind of epiphany?
That photograph could've been that epiphany, but I suspected there was more...
Eventually, the trail led to a staircase down. It was the end of the line—the staircase stood as the only path I could take that wasn't backtracking. Even as I opened the other doors, its creak deafening and pulling my heart as if it was tied to the knob, there was nothing else. Just documents and storage. The staircase was the only
path forward, and its dim lighting allowed darkness to enter the frame once again. I could only hope that wouldn't get worse. It was oppressive, and yet it was so alluring. I had to walk down. I had to.
So I slowly walked down the steps. I would've held the railings if they weren't inevitably covered in dust. If malls open every day can't keep theirs from being blanketed in lint, there wasn't a chance I'd try in this decrepit building. I kept myself on guard the entire walk down. Every time I heard the step of my shoe against the tiles or the shuffling of my clothes against each other, I felt that familiar stomach-churning feeling of low fear. It was subtle, but it was painful all the same. Was this a mistake? Maybe so. But I'd made many today. This was just one of them.
As I trudged down the steps, the feeling of isolation slowly grew. The lights were dimmer and the sounds of the light's humbuzz and my footsteps against the tiles became all I was left with. My breath grew weaker—it felt like I couldn't take in the air like upstairs—and I could tell the place hadn't been lived in for very long. Trespassing wasn't exactly a new thing to this walk, but this reminded me of that fact. That I was trespassing. That I wasn't supposed to be here. That I should've turned back ages ago. And yet I didn't, so here I was.
I reached the end of the flight of stairs after a few minutes. It was cramped and difficult to breathe in. Probably the smell of iron growing stronger. At the bottom was the payoff, the end goal. A metal door, the same as the one on the borders outside. Just as pristine. Around the room were some worn boxes, papers atop it decaying at the ends, and I left them be. There wasn't a point. I was face to face with another door, and with the same writing again: "Tayua tns Ayvoias." Though, there was a piece of paper stuck on the wall next to it—"DO NOT ENTER UNLESS PERMITTED TO" hand-written on the wall. The ink has faded and the page seems dried. How long has this been here?
Whatever the case, I knew I was getting closer to a conclusion.
I stared at the door. I stared at the engravings. The words in serif. The closed-eye. I wished it felt like I was outside again, standing below the blue sky with the sun shining over. The air was breathable and the scariest thing to me was being seen by the owners. I wished I felt that readiness to explore, to see what I'd find, at least one more time tonight. But that wasn't true. It was dark, the air was bland and smelled of metal, and all I felt was fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of knowing. Fear of finding something I wasn't supposed to find. And the fear of not being able to find what I was looking for. Why would Rory have gone here? Did they go here? Does it matter?
I took a deep breath—a breath short enough for the stench to not linger—and twisted the handle.
Immediately, I felt the air grow colder. I stared at what I saw past the door, a mix of emotions clashing against each other in my brain like a freak accident. It was like I opened a door to the void—past the frame was complete darkness, with only a small part of the floor lighting up revealing crimson rock. That void snatched my breath and yanked it out of my body. And turning on my flashlight didn't give any answers, either. It merely gave rise to more questions.
My eyes couldn't believe what I saw—a cave stretching down seemingly infinitely, my flashlight bright but not enough to rid that oppressive darkness that permeated the trail. It smelled of metal and the temperature was an unpleasant, sharp chill, and I couldn't make up my mind. Why was this here? What was so important about this cave that it had a pathway below the town hall? I was itching to know, but just as itchy to run away and never come back.
But from far down that cave, I could hear something. I couldn't tell what it was from here, it was too far away, but it sounded like... water being poured, or some kind of liquid. It was something wet, from all I could tell. And I could hear breathing, too—not labored, merely relaxed breathing. That combination drew me in, even against the amalgamation I called my emotions at the time practically pulling on my shirt to drag me out. I wanted to call out for Rory. I don't know why. There was no way for me to know who that was. I just had that urge. It could've been desperation, I don't know.
Regardless, I decided to find out myself. I shambled through the cave, the echoes from my footsteps keeping me teetering off the edge. The light was no help in easing my worries—the darkness stalked me, encroaching on me with every slight movement. It grabbed onto me as I walked, following my every move with its hand on my shoulders as I continued to pursue that damn sloshing. All the while, I could hear a low hum, and I could feel the ground shiver as I did. It was too subtle for me to think it real—maybe I was just dizzy—but hindsight tells me it wasn't lightheadedness keeping my feet unsteady.
The cave felt like it stretched miles. The farther I got from the door to the staircase, the less I could steady my breath—I could only see the portion of my light illuminating the walls of the cavern, the reverberations of my footsteps and the long, drawn-out ring of my breath slowly dragging me farther and farther away from my comfort zone, and into the unknowable depths below it. All the while, the only other thing I could hear was the dripping of stalactites and that same wet wading and quiet, serene breathing. My grip on the flashlight tightened—as tight as I could hold it, anyway. Further I went, the more I felt like whoever was at the end of this wasn't Rory. I just had to prepare for that.
The sounds got louder, closer. The relaxed breathing sounded less and less like it was relaxed. I could hardly name what kind of emotion it sounded like, but I knew it wasn't serenity. Was it distress? Anger? Satisfaction? I couldn't name it. And the wet sounds, they weren't the pouring of water, I knew that much—but what it was exactly, I couldn't tell. There was something akin to tearing, but that was it. And I could feel an ebb and flow from all around me. The walls, the floor, the ceiling—I could feel some kind of slight pulsing. By then I knew it wasn't a mere dizzying spell that held me captive—though I'm sure my lack of blood helped worsen that feeling.
Eventually, I reached another door. In a cave, seeing another door felt wrong. I thought this place to be untouched, but I did come from another door, and this place is beneath a town hall, so who's to say? Regardless, it was a sight I could not have thought I'd see in the depths of the cave. It was metal, just like the rest, with only a label engraved on it. "The Heart." And I could see it was left ajar, just like many of the other doors. From the crack, I could hear the sound clearly. That tearing. That breathing. That ebb and flow. I did not know what to expect from past the metal frame. God knows what I would find—or maybe even He would be as lost.
I was so far in. I couldn't turn back, no, not when I was so far in this place. Leaving with this knowledge without finding what truly lay at the end felt like a disservice, an anti-climax. And at the end of the day, it was against why I went here. I wanted to find something. If I left at the most important part, I'd betray the whole reason I was here. No matter how apprehensive I was, I had to find what lay in Corazon. So I took a deep breath and opened the door.
Past the creak was a cliff face. On the edge stood Rory. And past Rory... was a heart.
A massive, human heart.
To describe how I felt would be futile. Standing in the shadow of this gargantuan heart, with Rory standing on the edge of the cliff, seemingly unphased, while the unbearable stench of iron and rot flooded my nostrils... it was an emotion I fear I could never replicate or explain. My eyes widened, and I couldn't keep them from watering as the sight overwhelmed me. I would've been relieved to see Rory, but nothing could explain what I saw. Nothing could explain the heart. The massive, fleshy mass of muscle, large pumps the size of sewage pipes throbbing in the air, connected to god-knows-what, all underneath the town so close to my school. How was I meant to explain this?
In my panic, I glanced at Rory. The image I saw is far too vivid in my mind for my own comfort. The scene that lay in front of me would never escape my mind—it was engraved there and would be for as long as I remained alive.
I heard the tearing from them. It was fleshy. I could hear the bubbling of blood and the struggle of rending the sinew apart. And I noticed their hand, soaked in blood. Their blood. On its grip was a kris, just as crimson as everything else. And the creak of the door lingered, lingered long enough for them to turn to me. And it was a sight I couldn't understand. His face... his mouth, the jaw, the skin was being torn off, the pieces of flesh left on the rock below their feet. I couldn't breathe, seeing their visage distorted and maimed by their own hand. And their eyes were empty, emotionless—God, they were numb—and I couldn't help but stare at them, even with the massive heart in the backdrop. Suddenly, the smell of rot made sense. Nothing else did.
I couldn't keep my voice inside anymore. There was no reason to. So I couldn't help but ask. "What the fuck?!"
"Avery..." Rory spoke. Their voice, even against the self-imposed vivisection, was just as clear. Just as I remembered. It made me coil, and I couldn't help but step back. "Avery, why did you come looking?" I looked at the massive damage left over from the maiming. The innards looked inhuman.
"Rory, what is..." I could barely speak. Trying to collect words from my mind was pointless when all it was now was a ruin with a stark lack of electricity. All that was left were questions, sprouting from the remnants. And I could hardly word them, not at the time, not now. "What the fuck is happening here?!"
"You're not supposed to be here," Rory said, head tilting. "You need to leave."
"No, Rory, not without you," I insisted. I wanted to step closer, but I couldn't, not with the heart behind them. Not with the gap. "I'm taking you to a fucking hospital, Rory, I swear to God—"
"Please," Rory said. Their voice grew desperate. "You're here too early. Please, leave. Please." They lifted the kris up higher, pointing the bloody blade at me. "I don't want to do this to you, Avery, not right now."
"What are you talking about?!"
"Just leave, before—"
The world shook.
The heart churned, and a fierce tremor shot through the cave. I could barely get back on my feet as I ran down the cave, back to the staircase. I glanced at Rory and the heart once more before I left my view, and they merely turned back around and began to cut through their flesh again. I wanted to stop them, but the strong convulsion of the cavern forced me to abandon them. I found them, but... nothing could tell me I wanted to find anything else I saw there.
My heart was beating faster than ever before, and it could've punched a hole through my chest if any faster and any stronger. My hands were shivering, but I could hardly tell amidst the chaos surrounding me. Everything was a blur, and I could hardly see where I was running with the pale, weak light from my cellphone.
As the shaking toned down, I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. The staircase. My reprieve. I picked up the pace, trying to keep my feet on the ground amidst the shivering, all the while everything I had seen today flashed before my eyes. The grey streets, almost entirely devoid of life. The things that roamed those streets, desperate for blood. The cloaks. The journal. The heart. The heart. The fucking heart. That damn heart. Why was there a heart? Why was Rory so unphased? The massive, monolithic heart, bigger than a school building, that fucking heart.
I kept running. Up the stairs, through the doors, and out into the town square. By then, I felt tiredness set in, and my legs buckled. I fell to the pavement, looking up at the moon. The moon. That beautiful, fat, shining moon. I could take a proper breath now. Even with the time in that town hall being brief, it felt like a millenia. I stared at the moon, barely able to move my legs, as I tried to process everything I had seen by then in vain. Not even now do I have any idea of what I saw. What I went through. God knows how to rationalize any of that.
Eventually, I could muster up the strength to stand. I slowly shambled through the streets, following the map towards an exit. By that point, my brain was too fogged to think of anything else, and it was in such a cluttered state that any other thought was incomprehensible. Not like I needed to think about anything more than leaving at this point. I was lucky to not have encountered any more of those things on the way... I probably couldn't have avoided them otherwise.
I knew I was approaching salvation when the streets became more and more familiar. That warm light left on in one of the buildings, the same destitution that littered the avenues I passed, all coming together when, at the end, I reached the same door I came from. I opened the door, the loud ringing creak piercing through my eardrums. For some reason, I hesitated for a moment. I stood in front of the gaping exit, staring through it like I still had things to recover. Rory was far from saving by now. I snapped back into reality eventually, and finally stepped out of hell, and into purgatory. It was better than nothing, I supposed.
Hearing the sounds of nature again—the leaves rustling in the wind, and the animals cooing in the distance—it felt surreal, and it felt relieving. I was free from the grasp of Corazon around my neck... physically, anyway. There was no possible way I could erase that day from my mind. There was no way freedom from hell would overpower the memories of being there. I shuffled back through the shrubbery and into the road, the reprieve of freedom not being enough to ease that fear.
As I walked down the road (it was too late for any tricycles to pass by, nor was there a reason they'd look for passengers in here), though, I heard a voice.
"Satisfied?"
I turned to face the figure. It was the stranger. And all the same as earlier—all black, wolf cut, sunken eyes. They could've blended into the trees if not for the moonlight. And from what I retained from earlier, I felt like I was looking at a ghost. "I hope that was worth your time, Avery," it said, grinning. Its gaze stared through my skin and into my soul. "Because that was certainly worth mine."
"What is your deal?" I asked, trying to ease my nerves. "You're not supposed to be here, not in this state, anyway."
"I could say the same about you," they replied. "You've seen a lot."
I furrowed my brow. "What are you?"
"If I told you, you wouldn't be able to get over it." They snickered, "Much less than now, anyway."
I wanted to say more, but the stranger cut me off. "You should be home by now," they said, turning away and walking down the sidewalk. I stared at them for a moment, trying to figure out what in the hell I was looking at. Then they stopped, and turned to face me once again. They smiled, their glare piercing through my facade like a needle through skin. "I'll return the visit someday."
I blinked, and they were gone. I stood there for a moment, staring at where the stranger once was. My brain had already stopped functioning properly, with everything that's happened this one night. God knows how I could even respond to that, or anything else I experienced. I tried to think. No avail. There wasn't a point to. And yet, those last few words—they stuck with me.
I walked down the streets, past the graveyards lit in the moonlight, and past the sari-sari stores closed off. I had to stop walking at some point, in fear that my legs would fail once again, but I reached where I stopped eventually. Through that, and the jeep ride after, I tried to think of everything today. It was all a garbled mess in my head, and every thought I tried to conjure merely devolved into a maddening series of nonsensical words and images. Even the walk to my dorm wasn't immune to the insanity that scourged my brain. Nor was my sleep that night, or the night after, or the night after.
The day after, I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling for most of the day. My head was still throbbing, but I could barely process it. I couldn't think about my surroundings at all, not unless someone needed me—and by then, everything would flood back. It was all just Corazon. The streets, the residents, the town square, the heart. That heart, and Rory. Whatever Rory was doing there, it wasn't pleasant. And I don't want to imagine the reason.
Until now, I can't explain what I saw properly. If I try to think too hard, it'll become a jumble of words that don't connect. Maybe the lack of blood affected me permanently. But it's hard not to believe it was because of how unbelievable my experience was. I could hardly go to school, or do anything for that matter, without thinking of the heart. The sight was impossible to erase from my mind—it had clung onto my brain like a spider's web. And every time I saw Rory's missing poster, I couldn't help but picture what became of them—the last time I saw them. They looked far from recognizable by that point. And yet they could speak without their speech devolving into a gurgle.
And that last thing the stranger told me. "I'll return the visit someday." I couldn't help but think of what that could've meant. Ever since then, I'd been very careful in my dormitory. Doors stayed locked, windows tightly sealed, screws tightened. I could never rest properly with Corazon in my mind. To think my original worry was getting caught... frankly, it hasn't changed. But the stakes are raised even higher now.
When you hear urban legends, you fear what you're told. But what you don't hear of is far, far worse.
