Young Writers Society

There was once a town hidden away from the world. Nestled between sprawling hills, thick forests and a sparkling lake, this town thrived. As the world gradually became more industrialized, the town slowly adjusted to the steady stream of travelers and tourists passing through. This town would have likely blossomed into a bustling city, but something odd happened to its occupants. On one summer day, a family arrived in the town. They were only heading to a vacation resort a few towns over, but ended up discovering a peculiar thing.

All occupants of the town had vanished.

An investigation was launched, but no information was found. After many years, it was declared that the people had died. No one knew how, but no one cared to learn. It is said that this story is nothing more than a children's tale, told around flickering campfires. But those who live closer to the town have a slightly different version of the tale.

If one visits the town on the darkest nights of the year, they will not only find ghosts and demons wandering the streets. They will find beings from other peculiar worlds, and strange individuals that claim to be from places that simply are not on the map.

You are one of the night time visitors.

You have been brought here against your will, and it is up to you to figure out why you were taken here. But if you want to live to find that out, you must first discover the story behind the disappearance of an entire town.

He awoke to the smell of rot and mold. Soon after the smell registered, the sight that greeted him when he opened his eyes registered as well. He was in a completely unfamiliar building. Dust covered the floor, save for a set of footprints traveling from one side of the room to the other. Unsteadily getting to his feet, he studied the footprints with a groggy sort of confusion. They weren't even going from one window to another; they were simply going from one part of the wall to the one running parallel.

Shaking off his growing sense of unease, he searched for a door. Once he found it, he quickly left the building. He needed some sense of direction, something that could clue him into how he had gotten here and where he had come from.

But he didn't recognize the town he stepped out into.

Even more so, for a town that should have been filled with people, it was completely empty.

Lasan blinked and lowered his fist. This wasn't the confines of his tent, where he'd been able to see the sun set as he'd sat with his legs criss-crossed and read another book. Instead, he was standing in the middle of the street, a light drizzle pouring down and obscuring buildings already hidden in the darkness. What'd grabbed him? Why was he here? Where was he?

He sneezed violently, jumping back a couple inches. Nope, he didn't want to stay out here - it was too cold. He ran to the nearest building, pushing the door open and making his way inside. Most of the rooms were coated in mold, not to mention full of holes with water dripping through them, but one was dry and mold-free enough for him. He sat down at the center of it, crossing his legs again and breathing in deeply. No time to panic.

He wondered if anyone had seen him. But, there wasn't anyone else in this town, was there?

Pulling out one of the small iron daggers from his bag - and wishing he had been smart enough to grab the diamond ones when packing his bag that morning - he approached the building he had seen someone dart into. There was the likelihood that they were in a similar situation to him. On the other hand, he wasn't particularly trusting of a mysterious person in a mysterious town he knew nothing about.

Best to play this one safe.

He tentatively pushed the door open with his foot and looked inside, dagger held out in front of him.

Lasan stared at the floorboards, racking his brain for a plan. He could go outside, since it wasn't that cold. It'd probably take him a couple hours to get hypothermia, thick as his coat was. He'd be miserable all the while, though, especially with his snout sticking out. The rain had to stop or the sun had to come out before he could really explore the town. He wished he'd been able to bring a book here; that'd distract him from the stress.

His head rose. Somebody had just pushed open the door. Flicking his forked tongue out, Lasan caught the smell of metal. His heart doubled its pace as he scrambled to come up with some kind of plan. He didn't want a confrontation with an armed person, so he decided to make a break for it. "Good afternoon!" he called out, tip-toeing his way over to the back door. Or, as much as he could tip-toe with his boots and weight. "Come in! I'll be there in a sec!" He quickly swung open the door and stepped out, running to the adjacent building.

Opening the next building's back door, Lasan threw himself inside. Closing the door enough that there was a little crack between it and the doorframe, he peered out into the rain and waited to see if the stranger would show up.

So it looked like whoever was in the middle could talk, which was a good indicator that he was dealing with a mob of some sort. He hadn't been able to get a decent look at them with the weather conditions and the distance that had been between them earlier at his first glance, but that was alright. A mob was friendly to another mob. It was a simple as that.

Of course, he didn't exactly look like a mob.

He sighed. If only Hero was here. That tended to add the credibility he desperately needed when winning another mob over. At the very least, he could talk now. That would hopefully be just what he needed to win whoever was inside that building over.

He had heard them leave the building and run across to the adjacent run. They must have been fairly heavy, which meant it would be easy to figure out his next approach. He did a bit of surveillance - swiftly and quietly, because he wouldn't be as good at his job as he was if he couldn't do at least that - and confirmed his suspicions when he saw the footprints leading to the door. They were a bit unusual, to say the least.

So he did what the mysterious person likely wouldn't have expected: he quickly entered through the front door. No time for an escape, not when he was already silently approaching where they were.

He came to a stop at the end of the hallway the backdoor was in.

There was his mysterious person, peering through a crack in the door.

He slipped his dagger back into his bag.

"Hello," he cheerfully said, giving a little wave.

Lasan hissed out a curse and tore the door out of its hinges. Whoops. He looked back and down at the stranger. Knifeless, but they (he couldn't tell, thanks to the hair and the jacket, though the voice sounded masculine) had a bag, and they could still be dangerous. Not to mention that the stranger had copied the tactic Lasan had used to run away.

"Hi!" Lasan said. He smiled, in the hopes that the stranger would be scared off by all the teeth. Then Lasan stepped out into the rain, set the door about where he thought it should be, and ran off to the building across the street. This time, he made his way down the stairs, opened a door, and ran into what he guessed had once been a cellar. It was dark and damp, no doubt thanks to the barrels scattered around, but he figured it'd have to do. He propped two of the barrels against the door and then made his way to the other side of the room, squeezing himself between some of the other barrels.

"Ugh, won't this guy take a hint?" he muttered. At least he was in a more secure position this time. Except for the occasional sneeze, but that probably wouldn't be a problem.

He sat up with a groan, putting his hand to his forehead, which was pounding. As Cornyx blinked open his eyes he winced - everything was so bright, even moreso than usual. Maybe he should've let up a bit on the beer last night. . .

The black-eyed young man pushed himself to a full sitting position. He didn't look like much: a t-shirt, jeans, and rugged sneakers with holes in them was his attire and he couldn't have been older than eighteen. The only noticeable thing about him was the oddly dark hue of his irises and the length of his onyx hair that went down to his shoulders.

The first thing he noticed was the smell of mildew. The second was the flexibility of the bed he sat on. He looked around, realizing that he wasn't in the cell where he'd thought he'd spent the night - rather, he was in a rotting, dilapidated cottage.

He wanted to cry out in frustration when the mysterious mob ran away again. He looked down at himself, then up at the broken door. Was it because he didn't look like a mob himself? The person he had encountered certainly wasn't a player. That much he could tell. There had been no indicator that a new chosen had arrived, and he would have seen white text above the mob's head instead of hearing him speak. Just because he didn't recognize the type of mob the person was didn't mean that they weren't a mob too.

He once again followed the footprints to the mob's new location. Readjusting his goggles in his hair, he quietly slipped inside. The track was easy to follow; the mob's feet must have been covered in mud, and there was a clear path from the door to the cellar.

But when he tried to push on the cellar doors, they wouldn't budge.

It appeared that the mob had taken the extra step of blocking off the sole entrance into the room.

He did have a strength potion on him, but something told him a show of brute force wouldn't exactly be the best way to gain the mob's trust. So he sat down beside the closed doors, leaned up against the wall, and started talking.

"I'm not going to harm you," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. A yawn kept threatening to sneak into his conversation. "I just woke up here and I wasn't sure if you were friendly. Which was why I had the dagger out earlier."


When he awoke, he was propped up against a well. The well in question was old, covered in foliage and smelled terrible, which was good enough reason for him to get to his feet and grab his bat from the ground beside him. The last thing he remember was hunting that ghost. He had undoubtedly finished the job; he could clearly remember getting the annoying thing to pass on.

So what did that leave?

A prank, possibly, but unlikely. They tried their best to keep things quiet about the world hidden behind what all of the normal people thought was true, and the risk was simply too high when he was out helping rid people of their supernatural problems.

There was also the chance he was dealing with another supernatural thing. Maybe a vengeful demon, or a spirit he hadn't completely taken care of. Heaven knew he had made an enemy or two. Fixing the straps of his small backpack and casually resting his bat on his shoulder, he made his way to the building closest to him.

Lo and behold, he found a man sitting inside.

And one look at his soul proved that he definitely wasn't human.

"Hey there," he said, ready to swing his bat at a moment's notice, "you wouldn't happen to know how I ended up here, would you?"

Cornyx started as the door opened, leaping to his feet and adrenaline only further heightening his senses, even if it did clear his mind somewhat. The first thing he noticed was the bat that was in the stranger's hand. The second was the cross. The third was a distinctive scent that was rather off-putting, even if he couldn't place it.

There was something about him that made Cornyx's instincts scream for him to flee or to fight. He was dangerous - but, then again, he wasn't the first figure he'd run into who wanted to hurt or kill him.

He winced involuntarily as the man spoke. It was loud. He shook his head. "N-no, sir," he answered softly.

Great. Just great. The guy had chased him down again. Lasan couldn't believe a word the guy said. Well, except for the thinking Lasan was a threat part - that's what everyone who didn't know him assumed. Still, if the guy really wasn't interested in harming him, then why go all this way and spend so much time following him?

Lasan wouldn't give the guy the dignity of a response. He took his boots off and pulled his overcoat over his ankles. Shuffling away from the wall, he allowed his tail to poke out of the hole he'd cut in the coat. He shuddered in the cold cellar, looking around at all the barrels. Another flick of the tongue told him that odd smell was alcohol. Probably whisky. Nothing safe to drink.

With the guy blocking the only entrance, Lasan decided to try a trick. Walking over to the other side of the cellar, he pushed barrels around for a minute or two. "Aha!" he said out loud, while trying to be quiet enough that the guy wouldn't be suspicious. "Found a staircase! This'll get me out of here."

He was torn. On one hand, he doubted that the mob had actually found a staircase - it was a bit too convenient, especially when if he hadn't noticed it upon entering the room. On the other hand, he didn't want to risk losing the mob if he had, in fact, found a staircase.

He eventually decided to remain exactly where he was. If the mob left, then so be it. He could track him later on going off of his footprints. They were unique enough that he would likely have little to no trouble following them.

He let himself finally yawn, and indulged himself with a stretch. "My name's Zalio," he said. He opened up his bag and began to dig through it for the potion he had in mind. Rather than waste it, he decided to wait to see if the mysterious mob opened the door. "What's yours?"


"Well," he said, "I suppose that's a good thing. Otherwise I would have to swing this bat at you, and something tells me you would not like it."

He kept the bat rested on his shoulder, though he doubted he would need to use it on the man in front of him. He looked like he had just come out of a hangover, and it wasn't like he was actually trying to attack him. Which was just a tad bit disappointing, since swinging his bat into something bad always made him feel a little less stressed.

"So, what do you call yourself?" He pointed at his chest with his free hand. "You can call me Dean."

"C-Cornyx Blackthorne, sir," he said with the utmost politeness. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Dean." He was very cordial but his demeanor was wary and guarded.

Nope, still not worth a response. It hadn't been a smart plan, but this guy had caught on to it too easily. Which just made him more dangerous. Lasan went back to the barrels he'd squeezed between earlier, sneezing twice in the process. This was a terrible hiding spot. The cellar clearly hadn't been used in a long time, so it wasn't nearly sturdy enough to keep in heat. That or there really was a hole somewhere, bringing in all the cold air. In any case, he wrapped his tail around his stomach, pulled his legs back into his coat, and shivered. He really wished he was wearing more under his overcoat.

Doomed if he stayed. Doomed if he left. Just great.

"Dean" - as he was going by, this time around - struggled to keep a straight face at the comment. The combination of Cornyx not figuring out it was an alias and being given the honorific of "Mr." made him desperately want to laugh, especially when he had no other outlets for his growing levels of stress. He had relatively few thoughts about what was happening before this moment. Now, however, the situation was truly beginning to sink in.

There were so many potential problems. First off, there was a council meeting in only a day or two, and the last thing he wanted was to leave his poor brother in charge of handling all of those stuck-up brats. Then there was the fact that he should have been returning home in only a couple of hours - assuming, of course, that no time had passed since his last memory before this place. Then there was the most frustrating thing of all.

The paperwork.

He tried to think of all the things he could possibly be missing during his extended trip, and just how much work he'd be left with when he returned. His brother could only do so much, and the new arrivals would throw a fit if his brother showed up in his place. Even if he concealed his more revealing parts, there was only so much that magic could do.

If he didn't have a mental breakdown, it would be a miracle.

"Do you usually deal with the supernatural?" he asked, trying to shift his attention from his growing list of worries to something that might provide a clue on how to get out of here.


Okay, so the mob didn't want to talk.

He'd give him a few more minutes before he broke through the door. He didn't want to resort to something like that, but there was nothing else he could do when the mob wasn't even joining in on the conversation.