Spy Mage System
Chapter 287 - 287 The Story of a Troubled Town

287 The Story of a Troubled Town

The interior was dimly lit, with flickering overhead lights that cast eerie shadows that danced along the worn and tattered seats. The musty scent of old upholstery and dampness filled the air, hinting at the bus’s age and neglect.

The windows were covered in a thick layer of grime, allowing only faint traces of light to seep through and distort my view of the outside world. The glass was etched with what appeared to be random patterns, but upon closer inspection, I noticed faint symbols scratched into the surface. Weird.

The bus’s floor was strewn with debris: discarded ticket stubs, crumpled newspapers with ominous headlines, and unidentifiable stains that sparked my imagination in unsettling ways. An unsettling creaking sound echoed through the bus as it sways on its suspension, amplifying my sense of unease.

As the bus lurched into motion, the driver offered no words of comfort or reassurance. Instead, he fixated on the winding road ahead, steering the old vehicle through the dense forest.

The other passengers on the bus were an odd assortment of characters, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts and fears. They avoided eye contact, clutching their belongings tightly and whispering in hushed tones. The silence was only broken by the bus’s creaks and groans, as well as the distant howl of an unseen creature lurking in the shadows of the surrounding woods.

As the bus continued on, footsteps reverberated behind us, forcing me to look. I immediately regretted it. This figure was wearing this hazmat suit that looked as if it was made of foil.

“You’ve been on this bus before?” he asked, his voice sounding like a nail being dragged across dirt. “Y’all don’t look like you’ve been on this bus before.”

“Correct,” Hans said. “We just needed a ride ahead.”

All of a sudden, the man began to chuckle as he pulled away from us, his head lowering down to our elevation.

.....

“You’re in for a ride,” he said, revealing his teeth, which were stained yellow. “A very bumpy ride.” I gulped, unsure of what he was conveying. “What do you mean by…bumpy?” Hans asked.

The man began to chuckle more, but this time, the volume of his voice rose to a different level.

“This town up ahead is one where once you get in, it’s hard to get out. Crime follows you until you leave this town.”

“What town?”

“Raven’s Gorge.” His voice sounded like he was describing the town as some sort of ghost town littered with monsters and beasts that would eat you up if you were still in the streets after curfew.

Too dark? My bad.

“Raven’s Gorge, a small, isolated town nestled in a densely forested valley, has a mysterious and eerie background that keeps outsiders at bay. The town’s history dates back to the early 1800s when a group of settlers, seeking refuge from persecution, established the settlement. Its name comes from the large population of ravens that seem to congregate around the steep cliffs surrounding the gorge,” he said, lowering to the same peak as me.

“Over the years, Raven’s Gorge has become known for a series of unexplained phenomena and chilling occurrences. Many believe the town to be cursed, as residents have reported strange sightings, unsettling whispers in the wind, and an unusually high number of accidents and disappearances,” he continued, to which he gestured for me to scoot over for him to sit. I had to at this point, before this man decides to make his next horror story.

“The town’s most infamous event occurred in the late 19th century when a mysterious fire engulfed the local school, taking the lives of several townsfolk with it. The cause of the fire was never determined, and many believed it to be the work of a malevolent force. Since then, the charred remains of the school have become a haunting landmark, a constant reminder of the town’s dark past,” he said, ending his rant by looking at me, with his eyes piercing into my soul.

He had hazel eyes that grabbed my attention and contained me.

It was hard to look at, but harder to look away. “In Raven’s Gorge, a series of chilling crimes has been plaguing the town for decades, casting a dark shadow over the close-knit community. Known as the ‘Moonlit Murders,’ these gruesome crimes occur only on nights when the moon is full, and they have become an unnerving part of the town’s folklore,” he said, standing up to his feet to which he broke this smile that extended all the way to his cheeks.

“The first Moonlit Murder occurred in 1957 when a local farmer was found brutally slain in his own barn. The scene was ghastly – the victim’s body mutilated beyond recognition, with strange symbols carved into the flesh. The murder sent shockwaves through the community, as nothing like this had ever happened before in Raven’s Gorge.

As the years passed, the Moonlit Murders continued to haunt the town. Victims were found in various locations, but always with the same chilling hallmarks – mutilated bodies, cryptic symbols carved into the flesh, and the eerie glow of the full moon casting shadows over the grisly scenes,” he said, his hand clenched as he looked up the ceiling, as if the lights planted on top was the dark, night sky.

“Local authorities have tried in vain to solve the mystery behind these horrific crimes. Many theories have been put forth, from the work of a deranged serial killer to supernatural forces at play. However, no solid evidence has ever been found to pinpoint the true identity of the perpetrator.

Fear and suspicion have gripped the residents of Raven’s Gorge as the Moonlit Murders continue to cast a long shadow over the town. Neighbors become wary of one another, and outsiders are met with distrust. The tight-knit community once known for its resilience now replaces itself fractured, with whispers of the town’s dark curse growing stronger with each passing full moon.

As the town struggles to come to terms with the chilling reality of the Moonlit Murders, the unanswered questions and unsolved crimes continue to haunt the people of Raven’s Gorge. And as the full moon rises once more, the townsfolk can’t help but wonder – who will be the next victim of the sinister force lurking in the shadows?”

He froze, stopping his performance, which me and Hans’s faces were scribbled with shock. “Wow, I think I wanna get off,” Hans said.

“No can do,” the man said. “The bus itself was warning enough.”

“Why do you guys pick up people anyways?” I asked. The man sighed, as he shook his head. “Raven’s Gorge shouldn’t be Raven’s Gorge, which if enough people populate this hell-ridden village, then perhaps, maybe we can stop these lurking shadows within our midst.”

“So you basically kidnapped us,” I said. The man rocked his head in half-denial. “Somewhat.”

I think that’s what broke Hans’s water.

“Nah, nope! We’re not doing this!” Hans said, getting up from his seat. “Uh, excuse me, monsieur!” he shouted, to which the bus driver looked back. He was chubby, with a pointy nose and bushy brown eyebrows.

“Yes?” he asked. Hans stopped. “Stop this bus right now. I have a person to look for, I have a person to save, and I’m not being dragged to some town so you guys can kill me!”

“Calm down, there’s no point,” the bus driver said, his voice sounding the equivalent of a pig. “The only way you’re leaving his bus is either by death, or heading to the town to compete in the Exile’s Gauntlet.”

“Who and what?” Hans asked.

“Have you ever read the Hunger Games, or at least watched the movies?” the man in the hazmat suit asked. “That’s what it’s like. Every year, some people petition to face the game, so that they can exit this village. People vote for who will fight as well. The players, which consist of twelve teams in pairs, will fight to be the last one standing. Then, we’ll treat you and send you on your way.”

“Heh, nonsense,” Hans said. But something about that comment refired a memory in my brain, that caused worry to beat in my chest.

“Uh, Hans,” I muttered. “We forgot the suitcases.” Hans stopped, and I could imagine the series of feelings racing through his head.

“The suitcases…” he repeated. Then, he stormed forward at the driver and shouted, “You better let us out of here, right now! Let us go!”

But his message was drowned out by the series of passengers yelling at him to sit down.

“Listen to me!” Hans pleaded. “Get us off, because it’s very important! I know this, listen to me!” Then, a man who had a gray newsboy cap and a vest gripped Hans’s shoulder.

“Get off me!” Hans bellowed, shoving his elbow into the man’s chest, making him wince and triggering a flurry of guns to be pointed at him.

Hans’ heart raced as he looked around, panting, and saw guns pointed in his direction from all sides, except for the man wearing a hazmat suit and a vest.