A Tomb of Mirrors
The real nightmare would begin when the greater haunts came.
I could not waste a second, so I floored it downtown. The streets were a horror show of limbs and shattered skulls. Bloated haunts, stuffed from their feasts, snored as they floated in the air.
When my car suddenly died, I stepped out and, with a wave of my hand, summoned the nearest haunt, slapping a cool million in gold coins into its palm. "Get me downtown, pronto."
The haunt, grinning ear to ear, nearly lost its head, literally. It slapped its head back on and, turning into a dark mist, whisked me away to the city's heart.
Bab Populer