Ben was sitting in the shadows of a small porch, watching the old church and feeling pissed off.

He had found a great spot a few hours ago. One on a hard roof, almost dry, with good cover and a nice view of the loonie bin. Then night had come but the watchman at the gate wouldn't budge at all. One had to take a piss, or go for a round to stretch their legs at some point, right? It was not like anyone would want to break into the place, until Ben came that was. Plus the poor crazies must be locked up for the night anyway, Mae had said. All things considered, the lad's job was pretty stupid. But the bastard wouldn't move an inch.

He'd been standing for a few hours, looking straight ahead with the eyes of a dead fish. Heck, the guard had barely reacted at all when four white-clad figures had left the building, soon after nightfall. -Godfolks, those were-. Maybe he was a former resident from the madhouse, and staying still for hours was an exciting job for him. Ben sighed.

He despised guards. During the war, guards were game for him. Like rabbits. Except them furries weren't so dumb. They didn't stand still, dozing off and waiting to get stabbed. Ben had yet to meet someone who could do the same to a rabbit. With these animals you had to use your brains, set up traps in the right spots. A steady hand with a bow worked too, but you had to be sneaky, or the fast little shits would run off before you could shoot. Not a good comparison then, Ben corrected himself. Or maybe guards were like very fat, old and dumb rabbits.

Defeated by the man's stubborn imitation of a statue, Ben had then considered climbing up the walls surrounding the church. They weren't so tall but some asshole had put spikes on top of them. Not that these would stop the thief, but he couldn't see inside the courtyard from his hiding spot. Nothing worse than standing atop a wall, with spikes dangerously close to your arse, when you realized there had been one more guard on the other side. The story would make Mae laugh for a few days though, he mused. In short, scaling the enclave was tricky and the city's most boring lad was tending the gate, so Ben had got bored. He'd gone away for a bit then, looking to steal something to munch on while waiting. Only to come back to a bunch of buggering pigeons occupying his previous spot

So here he was now, having climbed back down, and cursing his luck. He finished his meal and took a sip of cheap wine from his gourd -he was certainly not going to drink water around here-. It was a nice part of the city though, he tried to console himself. Cobbled, not carved stone like in the upper town, but the houses were square enough.

He might go back and shoo the damn birds off, he considered, but it would attract attention. What was it between him and pigeons anyway? It could be they got word around of his adventures with his a bow, and the bastards were now having their revenge. And then there was the sentinel, still having his staring contest against a wall. Hell, he was possibly winning. Ben was considering just walking up to the entrance and punching him in the face. He sighed.

As unpleasant as the evening has been, it was no real reason to be upset. He was a hunter and the wait came with the job. But these days staying idle made his mind drift to dark thoughts, thoughts of Mae's illness. The young man had to keep himself busy. Considering the third way in wasn't helping with Ben's mood though.

There was a stream passing behind the building, it wasn't water, not really. In Ben's experience, you could see through water, plus you knew what would happen when you stepped in it. You sank. The small canal came from the sewers and went under the crazy house's outer walls. He wondered if he could just cross it on foot. Things wich looked like that you could usually walk upon them. And the stench was terrible. The fact Ben made it out among all the other smells in the city spoke for itself. 'People are civilized in the city lad, like in your damned forests and muddy hamlets' Mae had said. Ben wasn't quite sure of the word's meaning. He could have had gotten it wrong, and 'civilized' meant that their nose didn't work anymore.

After a last glance towards the front entry, Ben headed towards the dreaded sewer. The worst part was, he would have to keep his clothes on. Leaving them outside was a good way to have them stolen, even in the middle of the night. Carrying them over his head was an option but if things went wrong, he would have to run around naked. City folks acted weird when seeing you naked, Ben had discovered. Especially the city watch. Apparently, it was an even worse offense in their book than hunting pigeons. They had chased him a bunch of times for it. Thieves and cutthroats could prowl the streets unchallenged, while the idiots ran after honest hunters or nude people. He shook his head in disbelief.

Why couldn't anyone around here make sense? They'd rather stay covered in filth than clean up when the weather allowed. City folks didn't understand what rain was for. Mae often chided him for showering outside and so did their neighbours. Still, there was a limit to how civilized Ben would allow himself to become. He sighed before tying up a scarf over his face, covering his mouth and nose, and then stepping in the muddy waters. It was chest-deep so the crossing was slow and he had to keep his bag above. It'd better rain soon or he was going to reek for a while, then Mae would have him sleep outdoors, Ben thought. Damn city.

Climbing the back of the building proved harder than expected. Ben had dealt with more difficult and higher cliffs in the mountains, but he had never tried it while being all wet and slimy. Luckily the church was old, so the mortar between stones was coming off nicely. Not all bad luck tonight it seemed, he smirked. It took a bit of time but the young man managed, with the help of his knife, to carve big enough holes for his hands and feet. He reached the first window's level, and took a break to inspect the iron bars protecting it. Of course, the damned things wouldn't even shake a little. Ben sighed before resuming his slow and methodical ascend. After a long time, a lot of grunting and sweating, Ben reached the roof. Now having caught his breath, he pulled out a rope from his bag and tied it down to secure a faster escape route. Satisfied, he headed for the small bell tower, stepping carefully on worn tiles.

The young man threaded even slower inside, walking on rotten and squeaky steps. It was pretty dark in there and he couldn't see the bottom of the stairwell, making it a risky endeavor. Ben considered for a moment grabbing the rope wich hung in the middle of the well, and sliding all the way down. Maybe the old rusty bell didn't work anymore. But then, maybe it did, and he would wake up all the crazies and land right in the midst of them. They'd probably be pissed at the guy who rang their bell in the middle of the night. The door he found at the bottom was locked, he realized before taking out his tools. He didn't have a lot of experience picking locks. Folks in the Wilds didn't use them much since everyone there usually carried around an ax or two. The one in front of Ben wasn't much complicated, but the damn thing was old and rusty, so it occupied him for quite a bit. All that was left after was to grease the hinges, pull and pray for silence.

The young thief was now crossing a decrepit attic, stepping cautiously on a cranky floor. He wondered how long the whole adventure was going to take if he had to be silent, when he heard the noise. A strange hum or moaning, unlike any animal he ever heard. Ben had never met any ghost but he figured that if they existed, they'd sound like that. He took a deep breath, and moved on. Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about being quiet anymore. The thought didn't help him much as he headed down another set of dark and dusty steps, thinking of all the crazies lurking around. Mae was going to owe him.

The ominous humming was now getting louder and clearer. Ben went down to find a narrow corridor, where an eerie fog floated in the darkness. Squinting his eyes, he could make out openings on both its sides. The strange chant was coming from the crazies in their chambers, he realized. Maybe that was how they talked to each other. Ben now distinguished different voices. Some were weird shriekings and some completely repeated same words tirelessly. A few ones had a very deep and sorrowful tone, as if their owners understood the terrible place they were held in, and yearned to escape.

Ben's nose recognized the smell of the weeds Mae used, so strong it came through the scarf covering his nose. Thick fumes were coming from inside the various rooms, making it hard to see. The whole thing made for a frightening scene, and he had to take a minute to steady himself before he kept going. Finally stepping further, Ben could discern grids made of iron bars, gates guarding cells with ominous human forms inside each. He was too scared to have a closer look at the inmates, so he hurried forward.

The burglar stopped near the end of the gangway, his attention attracted by a particular door. Unlike the others, this one was made of thick oak and you couldn't see inside. Probably not a cell, he assumed, it might be a good place to start looking for the drugs. Ben knelt down, took out his wrench and pick, and set to work on the lock. A bit of greasing and Ben was now slowly and carefully pushing the door open. As soon as he did, he recoiled from the cloud of smoke wich escaped from it. The drugs' sent was even stronger, Ben tightened the cloth over his nose before risking a peek inside.

A tiny window shone a bit of moonlight there, revealing a narrow room and an empty straw bed. Ben gasped at the walls, they looked like nothing he ever saw. The gray plaster was covered in uncanny drawings from the bottom up to the ceiling. The wooden floor had been carved as well with the same odd designs. Fascinated, the thief took a step in to have a closer look. Layers upon layers of writings had been scratched everywhere. Ben couldn't read but he knew what letters looked like, and some of the ones in front of him were very different. Stranger or fancier he didn't know. Mae once told him that different lands used different characters and languages. It was plain stupid. As if reading wasn't difficult enough, you had to learn it all over again once you changed countries. Dark stains sprinkled the whole picture, revealing upon inspection to be blood. Someone hurt themselves a lot of times, etching these curious murals. Ben couldn't help but wonder why. Probably one of them crazies, but in his mind, writing was supposed to be for smart and special people. Scribes and generals, and those were rare in the Wilds. The cracked folks sure screamed a lot but they didn't scribble, right? And if the room's owner wasn't insane, how would one have so much stuff to tell? So much that entire damn walls didn't suffice?

A soft sound, almost impossible to discern amidst the ambient shrieking and moaning, made him freeze. A scratch, coming from close, right behind him. The young man was holding his breath, standing still in the entrance, listening. Another scratch. Ben almost cried out in fright. Was the mysterious writer behind the door? Was he still working at this late hour, unconcerned by someone entering, with only a few rays of moonlight to go on? Was his task so important?

Ben was torn between curiosity and fear. He could now hear more distinctly the dreaded noise, faint but regular. But the situation was so unnatural, the work seemed so important, that Ben felt it wrong to intrude. What would Mae do in this situation? -Oh shit, Mae! - He was here for her, he scolded himself, not to watch loons doodling on walls dammit.

He stepped out cautiously and hesitated a bit at the entrance. Crazy or not, the poor bugger merely wanted to write, didn't he? Heck, what was the harm in leaving the cell open? Plenty of fresh walls to go around outside, no need to ruin your work by writing all over it again. Have some fun lad, Ben thought, and left the door ajar. He headed downstairs feeling slightly good about himself.

The floor bellow was a lot quieter, there were no inmates around. A stone hallway with a small altar, a few benches and a couple openings on the sides. A few religious statues and windows made of colored stained glass. Well, it was an old church, no surprises there. Ben glanced at the two side doors. Third lock picking of the night he sighed, as he set himself to work. He must have been getting the hang of it, for it didn't take long. Then Ben went on to the hinges, they seemed well maintained but a bit of grease could never hurt.

This time the young man made sure to check behind the door after opening it. The room looked like some sort of cellar, with a dozen barrels and few shelves on the sides. He closed his eyes and let his nose do the job. Mae often teased him about it. She had said he probably was some kind of half-dog, seeing how much better his sense of smell was compared to hers. Ben now understood that it wasn't her fault, the woman was civilized. It didn't take him long to find the weeds and putting them away in his bag. The thief exited the storage room, locked it behind him, and headed back the way he had come from.

Ben slowed down before reaching the loonies' floor, wondering if he would see the mysterious scribbler. Funny that he forgot how scared he originally was of the place, now curiosity had taken over. But the door to the strange room was still in the same position and the passageway was empty. He was a bit disappointed but well, he had found what he came for. He shrugged and walked on.

"...brother?" A faint voice asked amidst the crazy humming.

Ben stopped short with surprise, the movement making the cloth covering his face fall down. He was unsure if he had really heard something. Guards usually shouted, and stupid things at that, such as: "Halt!" or "Freeze!". Ben wondered if it ever worked. It must not have been a guard then. It should be safe to turn his head around, he reassured himself. It probably should.

"Brother, is that you?" The small voice insisted. Ben gasped, then he decided to risk a look.

It took all the self-control he possessed to stifle a scream of fear. Then, losing it, Ben ran like hell towards the stairs. As fast as he could and without looking back. He reached the base of the bell tower, before taking up the moldy stairs in a flight, not caring for noise nor safety. He went up to the roof. Ben didn't stop there either, he sprinted towards the rope had tied up. Deciding the climb would take too much time, he cut the thing loose and jumped down the canal. The adrenaline of the fall somehow managed to help to clear his mind a bit. Ben remembered about the drugs he carried while mid-air. In a desperate effort, he threw the bag towards the street before hitting the waters in a loud splash.

The combined impacts of the surface, the sewer's smell, and the cold shook him out of his terror. Ben hurried out in search for his goods. He wanted to put some distance between him and the cursed edifice as soon as possible. The bag had opened during the fall, most of the herbs had been lost in the stream. Ben cursed as he swiftly salvaged what he could, and resumed his escape. He risked a few nervous glances behind him during his flight. Nobody, rather no... thing was following him. Still, he kept running.

****

Ben was sitting outside Mae's, his back against the wall. The shack's door opened, shaking him off his reverie. He realized the day was well on its way now, when did the sun come out? A warm cup appeared in front of his eyes. Mae had brewed him some more tea. He took it gratefully and noticed as he thanked her that she looked a bit better. She must have used most of the meager stock he brought, he thought bitterly.

"So, are you ready to talk?" She asked. He nodded numbly.

"Good, because I was starting to consider sending you to live over there with the loonies. All that talk about ghosts and dead girls walking." She rolled her eyes.

"Saw what I saw." The young man answered, stubbornly.

He shivered as he remembered the thing, it must have been a girl judging by its size and shape. She wore some kind of robe and had long black hair covering her face. Well, most of it. The bit he had seen was blackened skin, like a burned corpse. He'd seen enough of those during the war to know for sure. Only those didn't walk, and they certainly didn't call him brother. He shuddered.

"I've seen you fight and kill men twice your size, lad. Sure, you looked scared the whole time, but you fought them all the same." Mae remarked.

"And you can sleep like a baby in the middle of the forest, with damned beast howling all night long."She continued, Ben shrugged.

"Never thought I would see the day a girl make you piss your pants is all." She concluded, surprised.

"Shit! I left that door open!" Ben cried as he scrambled to his feet.

"You damn bumpkin! Calm the hell down and talk to me!" She shouted as she put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down.

"The scribbler! Left the door open... The ghost must've..." Ben blurted incoherently.

He was now breathing heavily. What an idiot he had been, leaving the room open for the mysterious artist, and feeling good about it. The poor bastard might have been perfectly happy, alone with his writings, but Ben had to open the cell. And now he was probably dead, eaten by the ghost. All for him to lose most of the weeds in his escape, bringing only a few copper's worth to Mae. His hands were shaking now, his mind racing in all kinds of weird directions.

Then Mae slapped him, hard. The hurt snapping him out of it, Ben finally turned to look at her. She was standing over him outside the house, her face showing worry lines.

"You must have breathed some of the friggin' fumes. A good amount, I would say. Makes you all messed up if you're not used to it." She explained. Ben shot her a dubious glance before sitting back down.

"Had a cloth on m'face the whole time, Mae. Pretty sure I didn't breathe much shit." He recalled.

"You didn't have anything on, when you came back." She pointed.

"Well, I... Shit! It must've slipped when I ran away." He realized.

Ben was sure of what he had seen. But then maybe the rest, his current state and all, were the results of the damn drugs. It made sense, but that didn't change the fact he left the scribbler to his fate with the walking corpse. It must be how he escaped, he realized, feeling guilty. Maybe the ghost was too busy eating the poor bastard that he let Ben run off. That felt wrong. He was glad to be alive but the artist and his work seemed special, important.

"What 'bout the dead girl? I'm tellin' you it wasn't no damn hallucination."

"I have an explanation." She shot back. Ben straightened up, giving her his full attention.

"Well, while you were busy muttering to yourself and leaking shit on my doorstep, I asked around. Turns out the story is quite famous." Mae gave him her 'I know it all' grin.

Ben hated when she did that. Couldn't she just tell the whole damn story straight, without pausing to tease him?