The Hauntings of Thunder City (Hold :3)

The Journey Begins

The mules were loaded up early in the morning. Mine was the only donkey. His name is Karkar. He’s a good mule.

The journey between Sky City and Thunder City is about eight kilometers. It’s not bad. Snow City is about a hundred eighty away from Sky City. I’m not sure how it thrives. It’s built in snow. And, more importantly, Sky City is everything. It is the capital of this infinite block world; center of trade. Producer of food and armor. 

But Snow City is more of a village than anything, I remind myself with a smirk. They have to farm their own food. Imagine that. That would be… shameful. Let’s leave it at shameful.

Yes, all of the bustling, rich towns are within ten kilometers of Sky City. And that is because that’s the only way. 

For me, Thunder City is home. Thunder City belongs to Mister Eu, among my very best of friends. I founded East Thunder City. I built the apartment building that was the home of the haunting.

That’s why I didn’t turn the job down when I heard of Porter’s… passing.

We had all known Porter to be a stripper. The only thing we expected Porter to die of was an STD. That said, he was one of the sixteen who survived. Forty people in that building, and only sixteen lived. Those sixteen are now insane.

But he was nice enough, when he wanted to be.

Seth decided that there was to be no mingling between the survivors of the incident. Porter started screaming yesterday morning, for no apparent reason… He demanded to be placed in confinement with his friends. With Ridder, with anyone. That was all he asked. 

But Seth’s ruling stood firm.

In the end, Porter screamed long enough that his vocal cords literally tore. He then closed his mouth.

We were busy with others. Some of the survivors had such horrible trauma that Porter didn’t even rank on the importance scale.

So it was too late, by the time we realized he’d bitted through his tongue. Far, far, too late. 

He bled out within minutes, despite our staff’s best attempts to save him. He refused to tell us why he had killed himself, although, as I muse now, he couldn’t, even if he wanted to.

Seth’s only opinion on Porter’s death was that there were now twenty-five dead, and fifteen alive. Only fifteen we had to care for.

It seems cruel to outsides, but, in reality, it’s triage. Seven of the fifteen are vegetables. All of them refuse to sleep, simply stating that if they do, the Entity will claim them as his own…

All of this is rambling nonsense to Seth, who now confidently strides through the stable, checking all of our supply bags.

“Men, this is still a three day ride!” Seth booms. “You need to pack rations for three days, if not more!”

I admire his leadership. I truly do.

Then I notice a stack of manilla envelopes under his arm.

“Sir?” I say. “Sir?”

He glances at me, then smiles his wide, charismatic smile.

“I’ve been looking for you, Kell, you silly bastard.” He hands me the envelopes.

“Um, what are these, sir?” I ask, confused.

“The testimonies of the eight who aren’t vegetables,” he says, frowning a little. “Do you have room for them?”

“Um, yes, sir,” I say, hastily shoving them in-between apples and loaves of bread.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “It’s a long enough ride without a weighed down animal.”

“I’m sure, sir,” I say, clearing my throat and grabbing Karkar’s reins.

“Read when you can,” Seth says.

“I’m sure I will, sir.”

Seth chuckles.

“You don’t have to call me sir, Kell.”

“Oh, thank you…”

“Seth,” he says quickly. He turns to walk away before pausing and adding, “Kell, use the telegraph as soon as you get there. Keep me informed.:

“Will do.”

“And, for Eu’s sake, investigate the rest of the city. I’m sure it’s nothing, but it would kill him to have to shut it down.”

I swallow hard as I imagine Eu’s face. Shining and happy now, but if Seth made him close his city? It’d be like commanding him to shoot his son. He’d rather turn the gun on himself.

“I will, Seth.”

Seth turns around and smiles widely at me.

“Safe travels, Kell.”

Then he ambles off, to check on (and surely whoop the asses of) my other officers.