The road to Durir is straight and flat. The dryscrubland surrounding it offers little distraction for weary travelers.As they enter the town, they gaze with gratitude at old billboardsadvertising motels and restaurants. Mountains to the west block thesetting sun, leaving a dark, foreboding shadow over the dusty flatlandsoutside town. Although it was built in a land of endless, torturousrustic to quaint, from quaint to dull, from dull to dying and from dyingto dead. No one lives there, not even those without homes. Decayingconcrete and steel crumble and sag. No birds nest in abandonedbuildings; no animals invade what once was forbidden. Weeds grow andcultivated plants, once cherished, have long since died.

Durirwas a thriving town, but when the railroad closed, many people losttheir jobs and businesses closed. The community was close-knit, buthopelessness engulfed it. The citizens gave up - their spirits died.

People started leaking out of Durir a few at a time, not enoughto make visible change. In their haste to escape, many left belongingsbehind. It was dead within five months, though the last citizens wouldhave testified it died with the community spirit. A shadow of despairswallowed the town.

The shadow of Durir is what spooks travelerswho hurry through the sad town. If they stayed long enough to exploreit, they would discover something to haunt their dreams.

Thehouses sit untouched by time, wind or rain. They haven't decayed likethe rest of the town, but sit in the echo of their former lives. If atraveler ever ventured into one of the homes, he would find echoes oflaughter, piano practice and the smell of dinner. The echoes would begone before the traveler's mind could acknowledge them.

The townis as full of ghosts as shadows. Not the spirits of those buried in anycemetery, but the memories of people who made their lives there. Thetown is waiting for a person with a sharp mind and strong heart to freethe city and banish its shadows.

The shadow is waiting. Waitingfor the person who will come to free the town. Waiting like soured milkand unforgiven anger. Waiting in its own hate like a puddle of filth.Waiting.