Michael made his way quickly through the night, his boots sinking into the soft soil, cushioning his steps and rendering his paces soundless.

Suddenly, foul luck possessed Michael’s legs and he went skidding; he continued to slide until he came to a stop, finding himself in the middle of a dip in the earth.

Around him, grass blades heavy with moisture were too sluggish to even rear their tapered heads at him.

Enclosing the area except for one exit that also served as an entrance were wooden fences, their blunt ends protruding threateningly.

Michael felt the frigid air crawl up his sleeves in small gusts, brushing against his skin softly with phantasmagoric fingers and making his coat billow around him.

This place looks familiar…

The fog coiled and eddied in the distance, becoming opaque enough to stand out against the dark sky.

It snaked around his ankles and tugged at his shirt as he turned around, trying to identify his surroundings.

Civil War…sunken road.

He gulped.

The Bloody Lane.