Gloomer was staring at the woman in the chair, but he no longer saw a person. It was just a corpse.
Her eyes had fallen out, leaving behind hollow, darkening sockets.
At least the chair had stopped moving on its own. That realization helped him finally pull himself together.
Gloomer wasn't a fool.
He took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to vomit, and forced himself to step closer.
In his short life, he had witnessed anomalous phenomena a hundred times. A chair moving on its own wasn't enough to truly shock him or feel like a real threat.
A corpse was still a corpse.
It was rare for a corpse to suddenly come to life and sing you a lullaby.
The way the woman had died… that mattered.
If he didn't figure out what happened here, he'd end up in the same chair one day.
He raised the lamp, carefully inspecting her body. There were no wounds on the skin. Her clothes were intact, no signs of struggle. But the eyes… they hadn't just fallen out — it was like something had pushed them out from inside.
Gloomer reached out and gently touched her neck.
Warm.
He jerked his hand back.
Corpses weren't warm. Not after this much time.
She had died recently. But something happened to her right before that. Something that left no wounds, but twisted her body from the inside out, bringing her to this state.
Her hands still rested on the armrests. As if, at the moment of death, she had just been sitting there.
Gloomer swallowed hard.
This wasn't a natural death.
And it had happened very recently.
He moved slowly through the house, inspecting the objects left behind. Everything looked like people had left only a few hours ago. Half-eaten food on the table, abandoned mugs, even a candle that had burned down to its base.
Gloomer turned and stepped outside.
Rain.
It was everywhere. It had been falling for three nights now, soaking the ground, filling the air with damp rot.
But if it had all happened recently… then there should still be tracks.
Gloomer froze, scanning the mud.
And there they were.
Not just human.
Footprints trailed out of the village, merging with the rain-soaked ground. At first there were many, then fewer. People had walked in the same direction. But among them were… others. Inhuman.
He crouched, squinting.
The prints were strange. Some looked like paws, others like human feet — but too deep.
As if people were walking, and then… something changed them.
Gloomer straightened up and moved forward.
Rain pelted his shoulders, water streamed down his face, but he kept walking.
He didn't know how much time passed. Minutes? Hours?
The tracks led him to the shore.
And there… they ended.
The mud gave way to sand, which the rain had already washed away.
Gloomer stared ahead.
The sea.
It was…
Black.
Not dark. Not stormy. Black, like tar. Like a bottomless pit that swallowed light.
Gloomer slowly stepped back.
He didn't know what it was.
But he wasn't going any closer.
He knew that if he took one more step — the sea would take him.
He turned and ran back.
Something was wrong.
Yes. He understood now.
The rain.
It was black!
Not just the sea — even the rain falling from the sky was black, leaving behind a strange, ominous residue.
Not murky, not dirty — black, like infected tar.
How hadn't he noticed it earlier?
Wait…
Was the water we drank yesterday… also black?
Shit… but we're still alive. So maybe it's not that bad.
As Gloomer made his way back, he tried to piece together the scattered fragments in his head. But the more he thought, the more he realized — he had too little information. Too much didn't add up.
The rain kept falling. Puddles reflected a gray sky, and the streets looked smudged, as if someone had wiped them with a careless brush. In this blurry landscape, he spotted a familiar face.
—Kai.
The boy was known for his rare kindness. Tall, always smiling — but today, he looked different. Older. Tired.
He was the first to notice Gloomer, but didn't recognize him right away.
Gloomer smirked — no surprise. He hadn't changed much, but Kai had always had terrible eyesight and could barely recognize people from a distance.
As Gloomer got closer, Kai called out:
—Gloomer? Shit, when did you get back? I thought maybe you liked it out there so much you forgot about us.
Gloomer studied him more closely.
—God, Kai… you look awful.
—That's 'cause I'm allergic to rain, — Kai snorted, but his smile faded quickly. — Can you believe that? Out of all possible allergies, I get rain. And it only showed up now...
—You should be proud, — Gloomer chuckled. — As a follower of Mother Nature, it's clearly a divine gift.
Kai paused for a moment, then gave a small nod.
—You're right.
But Gloomer felt something off in his voice. Even if he agreed, he knew it wasn't that simple. That rain wasn't normal.
And what Gloomer said was more of a joke than real comfort.
—You know… I missed you. But I think I missed those bits of bread you always handed out even more. They tasted special. You gotta let me try some again!
Kai shook his head apologetically.
—Sorry, Gloomer. Not happening right now.
—Why?
—There's barely any food left.
Raindrops slid down Gloomer's face, clung to his hair.
—The supply's stopped, — Kai added quietly. — It's been two days since anything arrived.
Gloomer said nothing.
That bread really had been special. Way better than the stuff he grabbed from those houses.
But that didn't matter now.
He still had enough food, and good enough at that — everything he'd taken with him.
Now he was sure.
Something had happened.
Something that proved this was an anomaly.
After talking for a while longer, he made his way back to the wooden house by the shore — night had already thrown its heavy blanket over everything. Most were asleep.
Most.
Vale was sitting by the fire. He was fiddling with his clothes, turning his boots over to dry them near the flames.
Without even lifting his head, he muttered:
—Gloomer, what, you into evening walks now? You used to do nothing but lie here whining on days like this.
Gloomer let the jab slide.
—I've got news, Vale. About the missing adults.
Vale let out a heavy sigh.
—Oh god, Gloomer, not this again? Maybe the adults disappeared 'cause they got tired of babysitting idiots like us.
—Maybe. But listen—
—No, seriously. If they come back, tell them I was working real hard.
He yawned, stretched out on a mat, and tucked his arm under his head.
—Besides, if things are really that bad, morning won't fix it anyway, right?
Gloomer clenched his jaw and gave a tight smile — oh, morning could change a lot.
But he said nothing.
Vale always joked around with Gloomer, dismissing his cautiousness as pure paranoia.
Gloomer knew he wouldn't convince him. With a sigh, he sat down in the corner, quietly wringing the water from his clothes.
Morning came quickly.
But it felt like night had never really ended.
He woke before anyone else. Moved to the door quietly, trying not to wake the others.
He stood there like nothing had happened.
Like the sea had always been black.
Like the adults had never existed.
Like he'd never heard birdsong.
Like there had never been any guards, either.
Gloomer blinked, staring at the damp walls of the house.
He didn't understand why he'd thought otherwise just yesterday.