Superstition

The city, somber in its predawn silence, smelled thickly of sin. The singular pinpoints of light that shot out of various residential windows provided little clarity – conversely it shrouded the scene in a shadowy red glow as if glazed with the blood of a murder’s past. No one stepped on this stone street but I, for who in a town so saturated with superstition would dare travel a path plagued by a witch’s curse but myself?

I was intelligent – what had I to fear in the whisper of a winter wind, a phantasmagoric creature of the night? A sound slithered behind me. Solitude surrounded my person and I tried to come to my senses. My hand clenched the parcel I was holding, but something struck my temple, sending me to the ground with a clatter. Far above me I hear a cackle riding the wind and then - God, no – blackness.





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