The city wouldn't be maintained and would be repaired by necessity. It was one of the oldest districts in Auburn. The houses were all similar and had been made with cheap practicality in mind. This house was green, and just barely; the weather had worn it to a pale imitation. Wind and time had taken all of its windows, light shone in. Showing floorboards that were cracked and dampened because of an earlier rain. Because of the cracks and holes in the floorboards, no puddles had settled on the upper floor. Their shapes were peculiar, seeming deliberate, in the pattern that were shown from up above.

Water could be heard dripping into the dark basement. Between the cracks, eyes would look up. They were silver, harsh, and different from every other look between those cracks. There were no shuffles or splashes to be heard from below. Only chanting. Voices rose; those of men. A flat tenor at first. More would join into a disjointed harmony, like waves into a fog; the third eruption was in agreement with the discordance; no doubt be the sound of oars slapping those waves. They were now noises, no longer voices. No longer human.

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