The city was quiet.
Too quiet.
Corey walked with the others through a wide, cracked street bordered by buildings that leaned at odd angles, as if the weight of something unseen had bent them over the years.
The ground was pale grey, making it seem like it was lifeless, and patches of black moss moved subtly at times due to the bone-chilling wind or due to the steps of the group.
Everything around them seemed wrong, and this wrongness was not obvious or due to seeing something grotesque.
No.
It was when they saw things that were subtly misaligned.
Windows looked like they had been drawn in the wrong places. Lamps hung from invisible poles. A bench sat in the middle of the road, half-sunken into the stone, and its metal frame bled rust.
Faint whispers brushed against their ears every now and then, but when they turned to look, nothing was ever there.
