The Witcher Series is copyright by Andrzej Sapkowski. This story is licensed under creative commons and derivative non-commercial fiction.

The trio moved through the deserted streets of Marabel with caution. Geralt's senses were heightened, his every step deliberate and calculated. His keen eyes scanned the surroundings, searching for any signs of life or the lurking presence he sensed. The air hung heavy with an unsettling silence, broken only by the soft whispers of the wind.

As they ventured deeper into the heart of the abandoned city, Geralt's mind raced with possibilities. What could have driven the inhabitants away or claimed their lives? What kind of monster could be responsible for such devastation? He ran through a mental catalog of creatures that could fit the bill, each more dangerous than the last.

The name that sent a shiver down his spine was the mention of a vengeful spirit known as the Banshee of Gloomfield. Legends spoke of a spirit that haunted forsaken cities, its mournful wails bringing death and despair to all who heard them. It was said to be a relentless creature, seeking vengeance for some long-forgotten injustice.

Geralt couldn't help but worry that the Banshee of Gloomfield had made Marabel its hunting ground. The thought of such a formidable adversary lurking in the shadows sent a chill down his spine. He knew firsthand the devastation a spirit monster could bring, their ethereal nature making them difficult to combat.

His mind continued to piece together the puzzle, considering alternative possibilities. Could it be a wraith, feeding off the fear and anguish of the city's inhabitants until they fled or perished? Or perhaps a higher vampire, thirsting for blood and reveling in chaos? The uncertainty gnawed at Geralt's mind, his thoughts filled with the myriad of dangers that could await them.

As they turned a corner, the remnants of an abandoned marketplace came into view. Empty stalls lined the square, their contents scattered and forgotten. Geralt's acute senses picked up on a faint, lingering scent of decay, mingled with a trace of magic that lingered in the air. It was a scent he had encountered before, one that spoke of death and despair.

"Stay close," Geralt murmured to Ciri and Yennefer, his voice low but firm. "We're getting closer to the heart of whatever's taken hold of this city."

“Maybe they all just decided to visit relatives?” Yennefer said, her hands making intricate motions and chaos magic spinning silently between her fingers.

“Hmm,” Geralt said.

“I can feel…something,” Ciri said, looking at each stall. “It’s like…someone is there, but isn’t”

“Careful,” Yennefer said. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with and there are creatures that can sense your use of sensing.”

Ciri nodded, still staring into every corner and market stall.

A gloom had fallen over the city, a pall. No wind touched their hair, no insects buzzed around food bins, nothing. It was as if the City had been built but no people lived in it.

Food rotted uneaten in stalls, manure from farm animals had dried underfoot, undisturbed.

It all felt so…familiar. What was he missing?

The trio continued their careful exploration, their footfalls masked by the eerie stillness that enveloped Marabel. Geralt's instincts guided him, his Witcher training honed to perfection. He had faced countless monsters throughout his career, but the unknown always carried an extra weight of danger.

A sudden movement in the corner of his eye caught Geralt's attention. He tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for his silver sword. But as he turned, ready to strike, he found only a flickering shadow dancing in the moonlight. The sensation of being watched intensified, sending a ripple of unease through his veins.

The shadow melted through the door of a nearby building.

"We're being watched," Geralt warned, his voice a mere whisper. "Keep your guard up."

Ciri nodded, her face etched with determination, while Yennefer's eyes gleamed with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. They pressed on, their resolve unyielding, determined to uncover the truth behind the ghostly emptiness that gripped Marabel.

Geralt approached the building he’d seen the shadow enter, motioning for the women to follow him. Stone archways led to a heavy oaken door that wasn’t locked. Geralt opened the door, hearing the creak of rusty hinges. He held up a hand to stop Ciri and Yennefer from entering while he took a look inside then motioned for them to follow.

As they crossed the threshold a shriek filled the air, and Geralt fell to his knees in pain. He heard Yennefer yell, then something whumped as she created some kind of barrier around the trio.

“That should deaden the worst of the sonic scream,” she said, tugging at her earlobe.

“What was that?” Ciri said.

Geralt sighed. “Banshee. I was afraid of this.”

Both women blinked. Geralt wasn’t afraid of anything.

He stopped a moment, sighing. “A Banshee is a cursed soul who seek retribution upon the living.”

“We shouldn’t be here,” Yennefer said.

“I’ve never seen one act like this,” Geralt said. “What has it done to all the townspeople?”

“We aren’t being paid, Geralt,” Ciri said. “Do we kill monsters without coin?”

Geralt sighed. Ciri was right, he didn’t have a customer. But that didn’t mean coin would be forthcoming if the townspeople weren’t dead but imprisoned somehow.

“This all just feels, wrong.” Geralt continued into the building, wary of every shadow and crevice.

He took out his potions and drank one to enhance his strength, speed and perception. He felt the cold rush of the magic sweeping over him, the cold embrace of Witcher magic, so addictive yet so deadening.

Silently, he stalked into the building using his enhanced senses to feel his way through. Power radiated from the center, hate. He could feel it there, lurking, poised to attack. It would have some type of physical form, or it wouldn’t be able to cross into this reality. If he could dispatch the physical form, perhaps the people could be saved.

Another shriek came, deadened by Yennefer’s magic.

Now he remembered where he’d felt this before; when he first met Ciri. She had a similar ability to use her voice and stun an opponent.

“Ciri, do you still remember how to call your Voice?”

Ciri nodded, confusion etched on her face. “But you told me never to use it.”

“Perhaps a creature who uses a sonic screech can be affected by one. When we see it, attempt to stun it in return. It might give me a few moments to dispatch it.

Ciri nodded, rolling her shoulders and taking some deep breaths.

Descending some stone stairs, they wound their way down into the inky darkness below. Geralt struck some flint on steel and lit torches, handing one to yennefer and ciri in turn. “Ware that the flames don’t burn you.”

“I can handle a torch, Geralt.” Ciri said, annoyed.

They entered the catacombs beneath the building. A stench filled the air, decaying meat, mold, things rotting. Water dripped from above into inky black pools. Still, nothing stirred in the darkness. Bats did not hang from crevices, eyeless worms did not inch their way along bannisters, and maggots did not squirm in hidden crevices.

So unnatural. It was like they were the ones shifted out of reality, into a plane of existence where nothing lived except them.

He paused at that thought. “Yenn, could we be the ones shifted?”

“What are you talking ab—“ Something shrieked at them, and leaped from a hidden cloister.

Ready for the attack, Ciri shrieked back, and the creature shied away at the last moment. Geralt had barely seen the physical body of the thing, something gnarled, humped and large, with too many teeth.

It’s just a monster, he thought to himself.

Gripping his sword and torch, he moved silently into the cavern the thing had retreated to, running to catch up to it.

Something stood in the center of the cavern, a structure of some kind, with something on it that moved. Frowning he approached it to find a lattice made of wood, with a woman stretched upon it, blood leaking from several wounds as if the thing had been feeding.

“Annabelle!” Yennefer said, rushing to the woman.

“Careful!” Geralt said, “It might be a tra—“

As Yennefer approached the lattice, the Banshee sprang again, wrapping Yennefer in leathery wings.

Monster and prey both flickered out of existence.
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