Capítulo 114: Chapter 114
Mikhail had heard of the place only in passing. A whisper in a tavern, a warning from some old man who couldn't hold his liquor. The Western Zie Town, they said, was a place that no one could find on a map. You didn't arrive on purpose. You didn't leave on purpose either.
But he hadn't listened. He was bored. Tired of the same towns, the same faces, the same noise that followed him like an echo. So, he decided to leave his life behind and wander, as if wandering could ever fix anything.
What did he know of towns? Only that they could be avoided. But the Western Zie Town—there was something about it, something that hadn't left his mind since he'd first heard its name. That's why he was here, alone, trudging down the dusty path toward the horizon.
He didn't expect much. A town, some old structures, maybe a few half-dazed souls. What did he know? Nothing.
The town didn't look like much when he arrived. The buildings were cracked, leaning at odd angles, like they'd been abandoned long ago. They weren't really built so much as shoved together. Broken windows. Empty doors. A few plumes of smoke curling from chimneys, though there was no warmth in it.
He didn't expect anyone to greet him. No, he didn't want that. He had nothing to say, and he was sure they had nothing to say to him. Just the quiet buzz of old life that filled the air, too thick for Mikhail to breathe.
The ground underfoot was uneven, strewn with dirt and debris. He stepped lightly, trying not to disturb whatever had been left behind. The more he walked, the more the town felt less like a place and more like a memory—fading. Something forgotten.
The first person he saw was a man standing by a well. He didn't say anything, didn't look at Mikhail directly. His hands rested on the stone like he was waiting for something. Mikhail stood there for a while, looking at the man. Then, he moved on. No words.
Further into the town, the buildings got worse. Some were crumbling, barely standing, the wooden frames warped and tired. There was a smell in the air now, sharp and sour, like decay, like something old had been left to rot and forgotten. There was no wind to carry it away. It stuck, hung low between the buildings, suffocating.
Mikhail kept walking.
In the distance, he saw something that made him stop. A group of people huddled together in the center of the town, standing in a half-circle. They weren't looking at him, but they knew he was there. Their faces, pale and drawn, seemed not to register his presence. The longer he stared, the more they felt wrong. Their movements were stiff, like they were stuck in time. He didn't approach them. Instead, he watched for a while, confused and unsettled by their stillness.
He was supposed to leave, to walk away. But instead, he turned, leaving them behind, and kept heading deeper into the town.
It was then that he noticed the silence.
It was wrong.
At first, he thought it was just the usual emptiness, the sound of his own steps and breath. But then it hit him—there were no birds, no animals, no rustle of leaves in trees, no distant chatter of people. Nothing. Not even the town seemed alive. There was no sound, except for his own heartbeat. The air was thick, almost like something was waiting.
It felt like the town wasn't really there, like it was some half-formed thing that was neither here nor gone. And the more Mikhail thought about it, the more it bothered him. He tried calling out, just to break the silence.
No one answered.
As he passed another alleyway, he saw something strange. It was a child. A boy, maybe six or seven, sitting on the ground, playing with something in his hands. Mikhail squatted down, hesitant to approach. The boy didn't look up. He didn't even seem to notice him at all.
Mikhail watched for a while, waiting for some sign of life, some glance, a twitch, anything that would confirm that he wasn't just hallucinating.
But the boy never moved.
And when Mikhail finally stood up to leave, he realized that he wasn't alone. The boy had stopped playing. He was staring directly at Mikhail now, his face unnervingly blank, his eyes black as voids. No pupils, no reflection of light. Just empty, endless darkness.
Before Mikhail could move, the boy spoke.
"You're not supposed to be here."
Mikhail didn't respond. He didn't know how to respond. The boy had no reason to speak, but somehow, the words seemed to crack open the stillness around them.
"I don't want to leave," Mikhail muttered, trying to shake off the unease.
The boy didn't reply. Instead, he tilted his head to the side, almost mechanically. He didn't blink.
Without a word, Mikhail backed away, unsure of what he was feeling. The strange presence of the town was growing on him, creeping under his skin, filling his lungs.
But when he looked up again, the town was gone.
He stood in the middle of an empty field. Nothing. No buildings. No alleyways. No roads. Just endless grass and dirt beneath him. The town had disappeared. Just like that.
Confused, he took a step forward, then another. He walked for what felt like hours, but there was nothing. Nothing but emptiness, stretching out to the horizon, as if the town had never existed at all.
And then, as if to mock him, the town was back. The buildings rose from the ground, the smoke curled back into chimneys, and the sounds of those strange, lifeless people filled the air again. The child was gone, but Mikhail knew it didn't matter. The town didn't care. He wasn't supposed to be there, and he knew it. But he had no way out.
The town had claimed him. It would never let him go.
Years passed. Time stretched. Mikhail's hair grew long, his clothes ragged. He had tried to leave so many times, to find a way out, but every time he reached the edge of the town, it was like the ground turned to mud. Or the horizon turned to stone. There was no way to leave. There was only the town, and its hollow streets.
He met others who were caught, like him. They were lost, confused, and they never seemed to age. But the fear kept them together, like animals huddling under a strange sky. And Mikhail realized, with a cold clarity, that they had all been forgotten. The town was fading from history, from memory. And no one would ever remember them.
But still, every now and then, a traveler would wander into the town. And the town would take them, too.
As for Mikhail, he disappeared that night. But no one remembered him, not really. Not until someone else wandered in, a few years later. And the Western Zie Town claimed another soul. Then, after a time, it vanished again, forgotten by most, until it reappeared to claim someone new.
The town would wait.
And those who found it would never leave.
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