Activity

Dirty water splashed on my heavy boots as I made my way through Bröijin—the largest of Englroy’s abandoned prisons. Something dripped from the roof—likely old water that had been trapped in the room above. A few doors creaked as they swung on their rusting hinges. There was a draft blowing from somewhere, but I could no longer feel it as I turned a corner, beginning down another long corridor, going deeper and deeper into this old concrete building.
They say prisoners were once kept here—many decades ago, when the war against the Raanoj burned hotter than ever. The mistreatment of prisoners—no matter which country or race they were of—was the greatest downfall of this secure facility. Many men have died in the scalding prison showers and from meals that were far less than dog fodder. Determined to discover the secrets of this haunted prison, I’ve set out in search of historical facts.
As I advanced to the lowest level of the facility, my flashlight became the only source of light to guide me, as though sunlight were unreal, and windows were nonexistent. There were dripping noises all around me, and a scuffling sound. My mind sorted through the possible options of what could be making a scuffling noise all the way down here—rats, likely.
I grabbed one of the rusting prison door handles, and the cold metal squeaked as it slowly opened. I scanned the cell. Cob webs lined the ceiling, and lying on the floor was a corpse. Not much of the corpse was left—just the jangled bones, several of which were missing. I squatted down beside the body to observe it closer. Sliding a strong glove onto my hand, I reached out and touched a bone. When I brought it higher, it just fell away in powder like particles. Strange. Whoever this unidentifiable person was, they must have died long ago for their bones to be so easily decomposing.
A kind of breeze caused the hairs on my arms and neck to stand up. Not like the typical gentle winds of an autumn day—but rather like someone blowing softly. Following the cold whisper against my neck, a voice called softly. High pitched, but not like the kind of high that would blow your ears out. It was tender, “Where you’re searching, you aren’t likely to find.”
I turned around, but there was no one. The soft breeze blew again, sending a cold shiver through my body. The voice repeated itself several more times before fading into nothing—replaced by a soul-chilling darkness. The prison room was quiet, so much so that I felt as though I could hear the silence. Where were the scuffling rats that I heard not more than several moments ago? Had they decided to hide so suddenly?