The apartment was old and decrepit, but it fit my current financial situation. It was a perfectly nondescript property, save for the “Do Not Feed the Attic” sign taped to the wall below the attic entrance.
The landlord had a thick accent from some place I could not recognize, so I assumed the sign was somehow lost in translation. It had to be.
That first night, though, I heard a growl from above, much like the rumbling of an empty stomach. Call me curious, but I decided then that the dead mouse in the trap would head upstairs tomorrow morning.
The things that came from below arrived hungry. They tore through our crops, and when they ran out, they started on the people.
At first, they seemed impossible to kill, attacking under the cover of night and impervious to weapons. We soon found out, though, that light was their enemy.
In the ravaged farmers’ fields, we hastily constructed lighthouses powered by the heat of the daytime sun. When the things emerged from their burrows, it triggered the lights, turning the invaders to dust.
Everything seemed to be going well, until they learned to evolve. The light is now their friend.
It was subtle at first, but over time, it became clear that my reflection was moving on its own. It was sneaky at first but soon became more brazen once it realized the gig was up.
My reflection began taunting me, mouthing insults that were easy to understand. The breaking point came when it mimicked slicing my throat.
I flashed out a fist, intent on smashing the mirror, but my reflection caught the movement and pulled me inside. Now I am the one mimicking his moves and feeling envy as he lives my life. I will catch him out eventually.
On the outskirts of Las Vegas sits a small town known as Cauldron. It is home to a population of 666 people, none of whom ever sleeps, and who never grow old.
The town is close enough to the neon glow of Sin City that it attracts the attention of tourists, all sucked in by the name and the number of residents.
Each visitor to Cauldron leaves filled with great food and happy times, yet somehow sapped of all energy. The people of Cauldron need fuel to stay awake. It’s not easy maintaining that magical population count and serving Master.