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Eight
Inspector Eallric's 404 picked up pace as it raced down a sloped, remote alleyway which went on below a bridge that connected Brickfield Row and Dove Route together. The alley, Providence Passage, had congested waste bins - places of tourism for flies and maggots, nearly everywhere one's neck turned.
As the Peugeot 404 zoomed on; below the friable, unkempt bridge, a retrospect of what he'd experienced on Saturday, along Haunted Hart, as he went on police business to Radford Glade, played in his mind. Right from the very moment he'd driven out of the dark, mind blowing scenery, he couldn't firmly say that he'd seen what he did. It was like a dream. A nightmare. And even if by chance, he was certain of what he'd seen and his mental state, there was absolutely no one buying his tale.
A shadowy sensation befell Eallric as him, and his car, were shielded from the su
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The One Way Ticket Ten
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The corroded, metal burglary resistors that extended from left to right - forming various rows, then up to down, (vertically) forming quadrilaterals of varying sizes went from rusty black to boiling lava red before letting out long, unending hisses like a vexed basilisk will as it melted under the palms of Gerey Wysalt.The resistors became bright red liquids and fell onto the ground as dense blobs before burrowing into the floor - and walls as brown, charred holes and letting out a suffocating fragrance.After a minute, Gerey was free and with a lot of difficulty, he climbed up his small window.As delicately as possible whilst trying to wrap his mind what was before him, he relaxed on the floating broom of Sir. Oswic and gripped it tightly (hoping it wouldn't catch fire) to avoid him swaying to the left, or right, then falling off.
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The One Way Ticket Sixteen
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