Do not wander off the path.
A refuge of heavy oak and creeping silence, where the town's youth carve out their corner of escape among the stacks. Overhead sits a row of cramped apartments, where restless tenants hear more than just the settling of the floorboards.
A looming, peeling Victorian structure that collects strays, drifters, and those who have run out of places to hide. The doors on the second floor seem to change numbers when you're not looking.
A subterranean labyrinth of cracked brick and rushing black water twisting beneath Betson's foundations. The damp air smells of copper and rot, and sometimes, the echoes that drift up through the grates don't belong to the living.