Story 1177: Screams in the Sewer Depths

Beneath the rotting belly of the city, in a maze of tunnels forgotten even by the rats, the screams echoed again.

Evelyn Blackmoor adjusted her lantern, its flame barely holding against the oppressive damp. The map she clutched—torn from the journals of the mad grave-scribe Jasper Crane—had led her to this juncture: a rusted grate smeared with handprints. Some human. Some not.

The city above no longer slept. Since the Thirteenth Lantern had flared to life, nightmares walked cobbled alleys and haunted reflections. Evelyn had followed their trail to the only place that still stank of old gods and older lies: the Sewer Depths.

A splash behind her.

She turned fast, pistol raised, but nothing moved except her own breath fogging the lantern glass.

Then she heard it. A scream.

Not the sound of pain, but something worse—joy in agony. Dozens of voices, twisted and layered, called from below. Not for help. But in celebration.