Vengeful Cursed Spirits

Kaiser casted himself towards the vague illumination of the single tubular light bulb. Faint figures stirred across it, catching their defined forms as he came closer.

“Where’s Mr. Hunt?” He asked to one of the three men, clothed in white garment. They stood in front of an underground dungeon as it may be… as it should be.

“Well, well, well…” the man grinned and removed his gray cap, revealing a face of a middle-aged man; shallow crow’s feet forming on the corners of his droopy hooded eyes.

“It’s been a while, Kaiser. What have we got this time? Can we cross the other realm now?”

“Soon,” Kaiser’s voice remained low. He didn’t have any problem engaging a conversation with them; however, he’s in a hurry.

"He’s in his lair,” one of the men joked. Heaving a deep breath, Kaiser nodded and stepped into what he always believes to be one of the gates of hell. It’s dingy and the air feels dry despite having liquids randomly dripping from the clammy ceiling.