Murder on 13th Street

He clutched the letter in his hand, not trying to crush it but disallowing it to be carried away by the wind. He stood at the bus stop, staring off into the distance, the howls of the late evening echoing through the streets. He stood opposite the town of enquiry, and could feel his emotions beginning to arise and so dug them even deeper. His spikes were desperately trying to run away from the eeriness of the town, sending signals of sharp flares to his skin, in an attempt to sever their connection from this rogue host. "Next time I'll bring a coat," he thought.

He stepped off the pavement and began to cross the road, into this no man's land with his hood up, hands in his pockets and looking down. The ground seemed to be dark in colour, flat with a twinkle but had a cobbled texture. He may have been expecting to get mugged or stabbed but was truly surprised when he heard laughter, genuine children's laughter of all things and the sounds of their tiny feet tapping sporadically across the ground. He looked up and saw two children, who seemed to be partaking in a sleepover due to their attire, running around playing a form of tig. 

He was taken aback but didn't interact with them any further before walking again towards the heart of this small town. That wasn't what he was anticipating. He took in the architecture of the houses, all somewhat similar to each other, they were mostly a couple of floors, with different sized windows sprinkled on them and similar colours of exterior wall. From what he could tell though, the inside of the houses were what truly separated the houses, "judging books by their covers," he thought to himself. 

As he began to put his head back down, he noticed a woman standing on the line between the street and a house with a trail of smoke rising slowly above her. He walked past the woman who seemed to be smoking a cigarette before backtracking in front of her, "yes?" She asked, with a slightly nasty tone, to which he responded, "13th Street?" The woman seemed confused and asked something with almost motherly concern, "are you lost, dear?"
"Sorry, never mind," he apologised and resumed walking.

That was when he thought, "assume the opposite of what the letter says," as the layout of the houses turned from structured and orderly and the look of them were more cuboidal to taller, thinner more cylindrical and built unevenly spaced. Eventually, it was practically dark and he was almost the only one on the streets, he could feel like people were watching him, more than usual anyway. He soon found what looked like a bar and decided this may be a good place to start but before he could get a good look of what the sign said, he walked in, cautiously. Fortunately, he was right, and it was a darkly lit, brown tinted mess with broken pieces of glass, splashes of blood, torn shreds of clothing and toppled over tables and chairs everywhere. 

A bartender then came into view commenting on the ruckus that had just finished before he entered, depsite him not hearing any shouts or roars through the town, before suggesting he should sit down while they finished cleaning up. He decided to follow what they said and waited for them patiently to complete the exorcism that this place would need. They then walked over and may offer a drink or ask how he was doing but regardless he would shake his head. The bartender may have been confused by his answer but they wouldn't question it. It seems though as if they had began talking about something but it all went over his head. However, they then posed a question which may have been about why he was here or his opinion on something but he decided to be upfront. He wasn't sure if this would garner the same response to the woman but that didn't stop him from saying, "I'm a P.I, looking for a place called 13th Street. Have you heard of it?"