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From Wicked Things
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It’s just an average walk in the night.

People move through the streets in throngs, confident that the glaring neon lights will ward off the darkness around them. On street corners women peddle their goods, sex for cash, while vendors in low slung hoods are only too happy to oblige more chemical needs. And then there are the others.

The average man can’t see them, but they’re there. That alleyway on Fifth stands shrouded in darkness and people pass it without a thought to the homeless man hunkered in the back corner, his eyes fixed hungrily on them. Just a few blocks away college students attend a party in herds. One is not what she seems. As I walk by she smiles at me, and for a moment her straight white teeth glisten a little too much.

A few blocks down the streets become darker… less populated. Less welcoming. Across the street a neon sign buzzes and flickers in the night. Palm readings, $30.00. If only the couple slipping through the doors knew the truth of the woman across from them.

As the clouds part overhead and the full moon glows down over the city, I hear a call in the night. A long, drawn out howl that sends goosebumps across my skin and a shiver down my spine.

There’s no escaping the supernatural here. The streets of Haven are drenched in blood and power, a beautiful struggle of the paranormal against the paranormal. There’s just something about Haven. Something about the soil under our feet that draw them here. The city is big. The nights are dark. And there are far more things happening around you than you could ever dream. Very dark and wicked things.


Also See: The Dangers, Setting