There were many theories as to what happened to Erik inside the rundown mill in the outskirts of the quaint little town on the island in the middle of Lake Isu, but the theories seemed to contrast with everything I saw when I came down there to investigate. The town was small, and when I say that I mean it’s really small. The houses are painted in dull colors like brown and gray; they are huddled so close together like sardines in a can, and a couple can barely argue about anything before the next door neighbors decide to come over and see what’s wrong. It seemed odd that such kinds of people living in a town so archaic-they still had working primitive hand pumps for drawing water from like, the past centuries-would miss the presence of an archaeologist roaming around the narrow dirt roads with his tool belt, eating in the lone diner with the red and white tiles, and talking to local folk of the town’s history.
I decided to head to the abandoned water mill where Erik was found lying in a pool of dried blood. I paused at the doorway, expecting it to be full of cobwebs and such, but it was fairly okay. Traces of the blood were still left on the creaky hardwood floor, and the scent hung in the air like none of it was ever wiped away. I looked up and saw that half the roof had already given way, and I saw the rising moon look down at me. I continued to observe the surroundings. The wheel on one side of the mill was already in pitiful condition, and the mayor said it has been abandoned for almost twenty years. The lake had shrunk for the water no longer flowed in and out, and mosquitoes breed in the green, moss-filled water. Some of the beams inside the structure are no longer stable. Erik would never have come out here for any reason. The floorboards creaked, though I was not moving.
I had fun with this week’s challenge. It’s been so long since I worked on one. It’s not as elaborate as I want it, but I can still work on that.