Anchors in the Shadows

The Funeral Home

The clock tower loomed above the town square, its stone face weathered, its hands frozen at midnight. Damien approached quietly, the strap of his bag tight against his shoulder, his pulse quickening with every step. The streets were empty, the streetlights casting long shadows across the bricks. She was already there. Nyx leaned against the base of the tower, her leather jacket catching the faint glow of the streetlight. She looked like she belonged to the night sharp, untouchable, waiting. “You’re late,” she said, though her smirk betrayed amusement. Damien shook his head. “I’m right on time.” Nyx pushed off the stone, closing the distance between them. “Good. I was starting to think you’d chicken out.” “I don’t chicken out,” Damien replied, trying to sound steady. Her eyes flicked to his bag. “Flashlight, water, hoodie. You came prepared. Cute.” She tilted her head, studying him. “So, Lockey… ready to break into a funeral home?” Damien swallowed, adrenaline buzzing in his veins. “Yeah. I need answers.” Nyx’s grin widened. “Answers, adventure… same thing.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “Besides, sneaking into forbidden places is more fun with company.” Damien’s chest tightened. The way she said it like this wasn’t just a plan, but something intimate made his pulse race. For a moment, it felt less like a mission and more like a date. They left the tower behind, walking side by side down the brick streets. Nyx’s stride was confident, her presence magnetic, and Damien found himself stealing glances at her in the glow of the streetlights. She caught him once, smirked, and didn’t look away until he did. The funeral home loomed at the edge of town, its stone walls heavy and silent, its windows dark. Damien slowed, staring at the building’s faded sign and shuttered doors. It looked less like a place for mourning and more like a tomb. “What exactly are we looking for?” he asked, trying to ground himself. Nyx shrugged, her smirk flashing in the dim light. “I don’t know. File cabinets, pictures, reports, old records. Whatever Henry’s been hoarding down there.” She paused, her tone dropping into a mock-spooky whisper. “And hey… watch for ghosts, Lockey.” Damien let out a nervous laugh, “Just call me Damien.” Nyx’s grin widened, her eyes glinting as if she’d caught him off guard. “Fine, Damien. But…” She leaned closer, her voice dropping again. “Ghosts don’t care what you’re called.” The joke lingered in the air, but the chill crawling up Damien’s spine didn’t fade. Nyx didn’t hesitate. She led him around the side of the building, stopping at a narrow back door half hidden by overgrown shrubs. She crouched, pulling a small set of tools from her jacket pocket. Damien blinked. “You carry lock picks?” Nyx smirked, sliding one into the keyhole. “Of course. You never know when you’ll need them.” Her fingers moved with quiet confidence, the faint scrape of metal against metal filling the silence. The lock clicked, sharp and final, the sound echoing too loudly in the still night. Damien’s chest tightened as if the darkness itself had heard them. Damien shifted uneasily, watching her work. “Where’d you learn that?” Nyx’s grin widened, though her eyes stayed on the lock. “Had a lot of free time as a kid.” She pushed the door open with a flourish, stepping back to let Damien see the dark hallway beyond. “See?” she said, her voice low but playful. “Easy.” Damien tightened his grip on the flashlight, the weight of the moment settling in. Inside, the air was colder, pressing against his skin. Dust swirled in the beam of his light like restless spirits, and the faint tang of chemicals clung to the walls. Nyx slipped inside first, her steps light, her presence steady. Damien followed, his beam cutting through the shadows, catching glimpses of faded wallpaper and tarnished plaques. “The basement,” Nyx whispered, glancing back at him. “That’s where Henry keeps the good stuff.” Damien nodded, though a flicker of doubt gnawed at him. Did he really want to see what Henry had hidden? Together, they moved deeper into the funeral home, the creak of the stairs echoing like a warning.