Pitter patter.
Pitter patter.
The sleepy suburbs of Mulciber Fields were once again greeted by the rain. There was barely no sunshine there, as the heavens often sought them out with a 'good morning' and a light shower. Nobody complained, of course; everyone had grown so used to the misty cold weather. What was odd in the neighbourhood was when it didn't rain.
One often had chills passing by house number 6. Some say it was haunted by ghosts of a married couple, but it was obvious that it was being inhabited by a living person, as people saw someone alive leave the front door every day. But what was true was the residents of Mulciber Field