‘ how about we DON’T go into a haunted place in the middle of the night? just a thought.’
« I didn’t know the greatest magician of our times was afraid of the dark. » Or was it a warlock? A wizard? Sharon had no idea what the right terminology was to describe someone like Stephen Strange, nor she cared at the moment. She could sense troubles when she smelled some, and that place clearly gave away something of the sort. More like the hideaway of a drug-dealing company rather than ghosts, though, although stories did go around in town about that shack and the spirits that supposedly inhabited it, echoes of pain from the time it had been some kind of lazaret during the Chinese plague in the eighteen-hundreds. But although Sharon had seen a lot in her young life, from aliens and deities to crazy robots wanting to conquer the world, superstition was still something she refused to believe in. It opened the door for too many scary things she wasn’t going to be anxious about until they revealed their existence. « Listen, I’m grateful for the portal, but you can just wait here if you don’t want to follow me in. »
