Point Blank

A decade ago, there was a shift. Nobody knew what it was-why it had come-only that something eerie had crawled into town. At first, it kept itself to the shadows-observing, writhing. As the moon rose then settled, one night after another, the nagging that had once knocked at everyone's skulls shrunk back-yet never fully dissipating within their unconscious.
They thought it had left.
But unlike every other day before, on the 30th evening, the stars had dimmed-thick fog wafting in from the coast, blanketing everything in a light sheen of dew. First, it began to seep into the cracks of their homes-dragging itself up from the creaking floorboards in the impoverished neighborhoods, to slithering through the wrought iron gates of the working class. It couldn't slip through the thick walls of the towering mansions. For now.
By the next moon cycle, the rays of light that once shone down on the shingles of the cozy cottages had disappeared entirely-replaced by an unnatural cloud cover that stifled the air. Half of the population had dwindled-some had packed their bags, turning tail, fleeing for better weather. Others hadn't been so fortunate. The ghetto had fallen first-illness rotting their homes, their very insides-culling them amidst a heavy silence. Fourteen days later, the working class had vanished-the impending economic downfall gnawing at the landscapes of the wealthy, at their dinner plates they had filled themselves. By the third moon cycle, they had all gone.
Floresco, the coastal tourist town renowned in The Empire for its summer prosperity and a knight stronghold, had fallen in a fourth of a year. And no matter how desperately the royal family attempted to cleanse the soil of that territory, it seemed to be an impossible feat. There was no light left in that tainted land. The invisible barrier between the dead and the living had long lifted, leaving the flesh at their mercy.