Allen's breath made a white cloud in front of him as he kept running in the darkness.

This path looks familiar, he thought, Have I been here before?

He slowed his pace to a halt and looked at his surroundings.

Yup, I've definitely been here before.

Grey, bare trees curled into the pathway around him, like an arch. The wind howled past him. A low-lying fog made the Allen all the more uneasy.

He began walking forward. The trees seemed to arch lower, as if threatening to surround him in their thorny embrace.

As he kept walking, it was getting colder and colder. The air began to die down until all Allen could here were his own cautious footsteps.

After he walked for a while, he looked up, sensing something above him, then suddenly looked down and began to pick up his pace.

Bodies swung from ropes attached to the trees. They were hung by the necks and yheir lifeless eyes looked down upon Allen. They almost seemed like ornaments on a ceiling, except more disturbing.

What was more disturbing was the fact that those bodies seemed familiar.

Luciano..., Alfred thought, Lutz...Viktor...Francois...

Then, their mouths opened and they screamed.

TWICE LOVED, BUT ONCE WAS TRUE

THINE TIME TO LIVE IS MUCH TO GRIEVE

RECANT THY ACTS OR ACCEPT THY FATE

TIS BUT A MEMORY ON ALL HALLOW'S EVE

Allen ran. Ran with every fiber of his being. He had enough of this nightmare. He wanted to wake up. He needed to wake up.

A silhouette of a gate came into view through the fog. Grateful for a sign of civilization, though still wary, Allen kept running until he made it past the gate.

Allen knew his instincts were correct. He had been here before.

He went through the gate and met a familiar sight.

Along the pathway covered in fog were rows of petite houses, enough to barely fit one family. Little signs above shop doors creaked in a nonexistent wind. Nobody was on the streets because nobody was alive there. Everything was completely desolate. This truly was a ghost town.

For some reason, his feet began to walk forward out of their own accord.

He walked past the houses and small snippets from his memory began to flash before his eyes.

Nice little place you have here.

Oh I don't live here...

His feet walked faster.

What are you doing in a place like this?

I was left here, a long time ago.

Allen began to jog.

Why do you keep looking at the gravestone?

A friend of mine lies here. Well, she used to be a friend of mine. Her end wasn't very pleasant...

Allen broke out into a run. He knew where he was going and the thought of it sent nasty chills down his spine.

He darted past the corners of desolate houses and the memories they once held. There was a low brick wall in front of him and he jumped over it and kept running.

Then the fog suddenly disappeared, as if expecting Allen to be in this exact place at this exact time.

Allen was in a graveyard.

He walked among the tombstones, glancing at the names of the dead.

Martha Carrier, died August 19, 1692

Mary Eastey, died September 22, 1692

Ann Pudeator, died September 22, 1692

Ann Foster, died December 1692

Bridget Bishop, died June 10, 1692

Strange, Allen thought, I never noticed the fact that these were all women and they all died the same year....

Allen kept walking and then he stopped. He tensed and his grip on his bat tightened. There was someone standing in front of a tombstone, holding what seemed like a bouquet of flowers. It was dressed in a long black cloak with a hood up and it did not seem to see Allen.

Allen walked slowly forward and raised his bat, ready to strike.

That is until, the figure talked.

"So glad of you to join me today, Allen."

Allen gasped and nearly fell forward.

Oh my god it's you.

"(____)....?"