"Be careful of the waters you tread in, Mr. Crawford because you might become the very thing that lurks beneath."
In the gritty underworld of London, Rhazien Crawford leads a double life. By day, he works as a detective, solving crimes and bringing...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
TW: There is a light mention of hanging and graphic depictions of death. Spoilers alert: it's related to a murder. I was careful with this scene and the last one, making them as vague and limited in detail as possible to respectfully avoid upsetting my readers. Please read at your own risk! This is the final part of Chapter 5.
As Rhazien cautiously stepped inside the small and quaint old home, he was immediately struck by the peculiar atmosphere that enveloped him. A thick layer of dust on the windows obscured the outside world, casting a hazy glow throughout the living room. The furniture was arranged haphazardly, with a dated sofa and a couple of armchairs occupying most of the space in the living room. The sofa had seen better days, its upholstery frayed and stained in places.
The lifeless room was adorned with an old stone fireplace, which stood tall and lifeless against the far wall. Above the fireplace, a worn kettle hung by a rusty hook, its once-shiny surface now dulled by years of neglect and disuse. The fireplace was surrounded by a pile of dry, dead wood, which seemed to have been gathered long ago and left untouched ever since.
The walls were scattered with shelves overflowing with leather books, trinkets, and knick-knacks, some of which looked like they had been collecting a thin layer of dust. The air was thick with the musty smell of old books and furniture. Rhazien could see the dust particles dancing in the light that filtered through the windows. The kitchen was cramped, with an old gas stove that looked like it had seen better days as cobwebs decorated every corner of the room. The old floorboard groaned beneath Rhazien's boots as his gaze flicked toward the wallpaper peeling in some places, revealing the faded paint beneath.
Rhazien's gaze followed the staircase leading to the upper floor as they stood by the entrance. The wooden steps, worn out by time, let out a series of creaks and cracks as the two ascended the stairs carefully. When they reached the single door at the top of the staircase, an overwhelming smell of decay and rotting leaves caught Rhazien's nose, causing him to wrinkle his nose in disgust.
"Sheesh, the stench has gotten worse. Ick-!" James gags, stretching out his arm and pushing the wooden door open with his forearm.
Rhazien began to furrow his brows as he entered the small bedroom. The skeleton of what remains as a bed sat in the corner of the room while a small table was pushed up toward the window. The once-white walls were now yellowed and peeling, and the wooden floorboards creaked beneath his feet. In the opposite corner of the room sat a dilapidated wooden dresser with a few drawers missing while a dusty mirror hung above it.
Rhazien's eyes were fixed on the window, and what he saw made his heart sink. A surge of electricity coursed through his veins, causing a sharp pain in his gut as though he had been stabbed with a knife. The sight before him was sickening, causing him to avert his gaze away. All those years of hunting the creatures of the night and investigating mass murders and homicides - the many deaths Rhazien witnessed - it was something he never got used to, primarily when they used to be living and breathing people.
