The Tales from Urban Nights

Fin had always been a man admired by many. A sharp dresser with a sharper mind, he had built a successful career in urban development, one project at a time. A loving family, a well-paying job, and a future that seemed almost too bright—Fin had it all. But everything changed after that business trip.

It was supposed to be a routine survey, an inspection of a few dilapidated buildings in a remote town. Initially, Fin was to travel with a colleague, but a last-minute medical emergency left him to make the journey alone. He didn't mind; solitude often sharpened his focus. Little did he know, this solitude would become the beginning of his undoing.

---

As he walked he felt the glaring stares of the old people, they looked at him with anger and helplessness for they knew this person would be destroying this whole place, but there was nothing they could do. They stood there and looked at him like he was a heinous criminal. Fin couldn't care less and continued with his survey. 

The buildings were relics of the past, their once-grand facades now crumbling into ruin. The survey was straightforward: assess the structures for demolition and redevelopment. But as Fin walked through the narrow alleys and darkened halls of those forgotten places, a strange unease settled over him. The air was thick, not with dust, but with something intangible—like whispers he couldn't quite hear.

At first, it was subtle. A fleeting sense of being watched, the hairs on his neck standing on end. He brushed it off as fatigue and continued with his work. But as the day wore on, the whispers grew louder, turning into distinct voices. 

"You left them behind."

"Selfish son."

"You only think about yourself."

Fin froze. He spun around, but the corridors were empty. The voice was familiar yet alien, a warped echo of his father's. Shaking off the creeping dread, he hurried to finish the survey and leave, but the voices persisted. 

"You'll destroy everything, just like you destroyed us."

He drove back that night, the oppressive silence of the countryside broken only by the phantom voices that now seemed to follow him everywhere. By the time he reached home, he was pale and trembling, but he told no one. Perhaps it was the isolation, he reasoned. His parents were living an amazing countryside life after their early retirement and he has goes to meet them with his own family in holidays, these voices were ridiculous and what they said made no sense. Must be a trick of the mind. "It would pass", he thought. 

---

But it didn't. 

In the days and weeks that followed, the voices grew louder and more frequent. He heard them everywhere—in the hum of the refrigerator, in the rustle of the wind, in the murmur of the city streets. One voice became two, then four, then a cacophony of accusations. 

"Why did you abandon us?"

"Greedy son."

"They'll all see you for what you are."

Fin's once-dignified demeanor began to crumble. He would sit in his office, staring at nothing for hours, only to erupt into fits of laughter or sobbing. His colleagues avoided him, whispering behind his back. At home, his wife tried to comfort him, but he would push her away, muttering about the voices, about the world watching him, judging him. 

"Fin," she pleaded one night, "you need help. Please, let me call someone." 

But he couldn't understand her. The fear that he felt in every second of his existence bound him. 

"They know," he whispered, his eyes darting to the corners of the room. "Everyone knows. They're waiting for me to fail." 

She stared at him, horrified, as he began laughing uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face. 

---

Months passed, and Fin's decline was unstoppable. The man who once wore perfectly tailored suits was now a shadow of himself. He wandered the streets in a neon green top and ripped shorts, muttering to himself. Chains hung from his waist like a mockery of the polished man he once was. His face was emotionless, yet his voice carried the haunting sound of laughter and sobs. 

One day, his family found him sitting on the side of the road, staring blankly into the distance. His body twisted into a position that seemed physically impossible, his limbs contorted as if rebelling against their natural form. His wife screamed, but Fin didn't react. He just sat there, muttering under his breath. 

When they tried to take him home, he resisted, his body curling and bending into grotesque shapes. The sounds of his bones cracking filled the air, but he didn't flinch. His eyes—empty, yet piercing—locked onto theirs. 

"He's cursed," his mother whispered, clutching her rosary. 

They brought him to a pastor, then an archbishop. Prayers were whispered, holy water was sprinkled, but Fin remained the same. He would stare into their eyes, his lips curling into a faint, chilling smile. 

---

In desperation, his parents chained him in the basement of their countryside home. He didn't resist. He curled into one of his unnatural positions and stayed that way for hours, sometimes days, without moving. The basement became his prison, a dark, damp place where his laughter and sobbing echoed endlessly. 

His wife couldn't bear it. She left him, unable to face the shell of the man she once loved. His parents, hearts heavy with guilt, visited him occasionally, but he never acknowledged them. They tried to talk to him, to reach him, but the voices were louder. Always louder. 

"You deserve this."

"This is your punishment."

"They'll leave you, like you left us."

One day, as his mother descended into the basement, she found him sitting in the center of the room, chains pooling around him like a grotesque throne. His head tilted unnaturally, his eyes empty, he whispered one final sentence before collapsing into silence: 

"They're all watching. Always watching."

---

Fin's life became a cautionary tale, whispered among those who knew him. Some said he was cursed by the spirits of the old buildings he had condemned. Others believed it was guilt that drove him mad, guilt for leaving his parents in the countryside while he pursued his career. 

Whatever the truth, Fin's story ended in that basement, bound in chains, a man undone by forces—whether external or internal—that none could understand. His laughter and sobbing became a memory, an echo of a life consumed by unseen eyes and unrelenting guilt. 

And the voices? They never left.

"Hey, can you hear me?"