Genre 
"Good," it said. "Then let's go wake the dead."
"You hear the well," the figure said. Its voice was soft, almost kind. "You hear it because you're almost ready."
Tonight, the fort was restless.
Elara pulled her oilskin tighter and stepped out. Rain slapped her face. The barracks loomed on her left, their windows like dead eyes. The officers' quarters to her right had long since collapsed, but she still saw candlelight flickering there sometimes. She never investigated. Some ghosts, she'd learned, preferred company.
