Capítulo 113: Chapter 113
Tobin arrived in Western Zie Town when the sun was barely a whisper behind the hills. The road had been a winding mess of broken asphalt and dried grass, like no one had tended to it in years. The town, however, stood there—quiet and still, like a forgotten painting, frozen in a frame. He didn't know why he'd come. Maybe he thought there was something here—something he could fix or make sense of.
The first thing he noticed were the people. They weren't right. They didn't look like people. They didn't look like anything. They walked with their heads slightly tilted, eyes fixed on nothing, like they had forgotten how to blink.
Their faces were all the same—blank, hollow. As if they'd been hollowed out from the inside, leaving nothing but skin stretched tight over the bones.
Tobin didn't know how long he'd been in the town before he realized that he wasn't alone anymore. The people—if they could still be called people—seemed to be watching him. Not closely, but enough to make him feel like they were waiting for something.
He thought about leaving. Thought about turning around and never coming back. But when he tried, the town didn't seem to let him. The road was different. It had changed. The way out wasn't the way out anymore.
The next morning, he went to the tavern. He needed something. Needed to drink away the unease he felt. The bartender was the same—skin tight over bones, eyes too wide, smile too wide. He poured the drink without asking and without saying a word. When Tobin raised the glass to his lips, he noticed the reflection of the bottle in the bar mirror. The bartender wasn't reflected.
He hadn't even noticed it when he first walked in. But now that he had, his throat tightened. He turned the glass in his hand, trying to shake the feeling, but it wouldn't leave.
The silence was too thick in the room. The people in the tavern stared at him with their eyes too wide. The way they blinked—if they blinked—was wrong. There was no movement behind them. It was as if they were pretending to be alive, pretending to be human. He couldn't even tell if they were breathing.
"Can I help you?" the bartender finally asked, his voice low and emotionless.
Tobin blinked. He didn't answer. The air was too thick in the tavern, pressing against his chest, squeezing all the thoughts out of his head. He didn't even realize he was standing until his legs shook with the weight of the moment. Something was off—he could feel it crawling up his spine.
"What's wrong with this place?" he asked, his voice rasping.
The bartender's smile stretched wider. "Nothing's wrong. Nothing's ever wrong." He took a slow breath in, and Tobin watched his chest rise in a way that didn't make sense. It was like the bartender was breathing with no lungs. It was wrong. Everything about this was wrong.
"Then why is everyone here like this?" Tobin's voice was thin now, more like a whisper than a shout.
The bartender didn't answer. He just stared.
Then the door to the tavern opened. A man walked in, but he wasn't right either. His hands were twisted at unnatural angles, and his face was an impossible shade of pale, stretched too far across the bones. The way he moved didn't make sense. It was like he was made of cracks, cracks that stretched and bent every time he took a step.
He smiled at Tobin. The smile was too wide, like it was too much for his face. Like the skin couldn't hold it. But it didn't stop.
"Why don't you come out and see the rest of town?" the man asked, his voice low and raspy.
Tobin took a step back. "I don't want to," he said, his voice quiet but firm.
The man didn't take it as a no. He just smiled, crooked and twisted, and nodded slowly.
Tobin didn't know how long he stayed in the tavern after that. The hours bled into each other, and the strange, silent people watched him like hawks. Time didn't mean much there. When he finally left, the day felt like it had just started, even though it was already dark.
He walked down the narrow street, unsure of where to go. The houses loomed over him, their windows dark. The road felt like it was pulling him in every direction, dragging him deeper into the town with each step. The streetlights flickered, casting long shadows, but the town didn't feel empty. It felt like something was waiting, something just out of sight.
He passed a house with a door hanging slightly open. He couldn't help himself. He walked closer, drawn to it like the rest of the town was pulling at his bones.
Inside, everything was silent. The walls were bare. There was no furniture. Only empty space. The smell hit him first—dust, rot, something more, something ancient. He didn't know what it was. His skin prickled. He should have turned back. But something stopped him. He had to keep going.
The door behind him slammed shut.
Tobin spun around, heart in his throat. There was no one there. But the air had changed. It was wrong now. It was thick with something that shouldn't be there. Something that had never been there.
He stepped forward, cautiously. The hallway ahead of him was darker now, like the shadows were bleeding into each other. The walls seemed to close in. Every step felt like a hundred. Every breath felt too heavy.
Then he heard it. A low, distant sound. A voice. It wasn't a voice. Not really. It was more like a hum. A thing made of air, made of breath, but not human. The hum grew louder as he walked further, pressing in from all sides. He couldn't escape it.
And then he saw them.
They were in the hallway. Just standing there. Watching him. Their eyes weren't eyes. They were dark holes. Their mouths opened wide, and the sound spilled out. The hum. The low, inhuman sound. They didn't move.
They didn't need to.
Tobin didn't think. He turned and ran, but the hallway stretched on forever. The walls grew closer, the sound louder. His chest tightened with panic, his breath sharp, but he couldn't get away. He ran faster. But no matter how fast he ran, the walls closed in, the sound grew louder, and they were still there, waiting.
He stopped. He didn't know why, but he did. He was too tired to run anymore. The hum was so loud now it drowned out everything. He closed his eyes. He wanted it to stop.
Then the door opened again.
Tobin's heart raced. He stumbled out of the house. He ran into the street, but the town was different now. The houses stood in strange angles. The people were there. Watching him. Waiting.
They weren't human anymore. They hadn't been human for a long time.
He ran.
Through the streets. Down the alleyways. Past the buildings. But no matter how far he ran, he couldn't escape. The town was everywhere. The hum followed him. The eyes followed him. They weren't real, not like they should have been. But they didn't have to be real.
And they never stopped following.
Hours passed. Or maybe it was days. Tobin didn't know. But when he finally saw the road again, he thought—just for a second—that he might escape.
He ran faster. He didn't look back.
And then, just when the town was behind him—just when he thought he was free—it wasn't.
The darkness caught up.
The sound was louder than ever.
The shadows swallowed him whole.
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