It happened in Ashbrook - Chapter Seven: The Tower Falls

The night chosen for the attack was moonless, the sky a blank canvas of black. The townsfolk gathered behind the abandoned mill, their faces drawn tight with fear and exhaustion. They carried the dynamite in burlap sacks, rifles slung over their shoulders, and torches clutched in trembling hands.

The sheriff, pale from blood loss but unyielding, gave the order. “We strike fast. Plant the charges, light them, and run. Don’t look back.”

No one spoke. Words had become dangerous in Ashbrook. Too often the children echoed them back, repeating conversations they were never present for. It was as if every syllable was recorded and replayed for their tormentor.

The group moved silently through the cornfields. Stalks brushed against their shoulders, whispering like conspirators. Every rustle sounded like footsteps, every gust of wind like a breath at their necks. Still, they pressed on, until the looming silhouette of the water tower emerged against the dark horizon.

It stood impossibly tall, its steel legs rusted, the tank blotting out a section of the sky. But it wasn’t just a structure anymore. Something pulsed within it. A faint glow leaked from the seams, and the hum—always the hum—vibrated through the earth beneath their boots.

The doctor swallowed hard. “It’s alive,” he whispered.

The sheriff motioned for silence. They split into teams, each carrying a bundle of dynamite. The plan was simple: rig the base, set the charges, and pray it was enough to bring the thing down.

But as they approached, the children emerged.

They stepped out from the corn in perfect formation, dozens of them, their silver eyes catching the faint glow. None carried weapons. None needed to. They were weapons.

The sheriff shouted, “Don’t stop! Plant the charges!”

The adults surged forward, shoving past the children, who didn’t resist—at first. But then their mouths opened, wide, impossibly wide, and the hum poured out of them. Louder than ever before. The ground split, dirt rising in jagged mounds. Eardrums ruptured; men and women collapsed, clutching their bleeding heads.

Still, some pressed on. The sheriff, teeth gritted against the agony, strapped a bundle of dynamite to the nearest steel beam. Others followed, fumbling with matches as their vision swam.

That was when Timothy appeared.

He climbed onto the base of the tower, his small body outlined by the glow. His voice boomed across the field, amplified by something greater than lungs.

“You think you can break his house?” he said. “He lives in all of us. He lives in you.”

And the sheriff faltered, because for a split second, Timothy’s voice had been his own.

The doctor screamed for them to light the charges. Someone struck a match, shielding the flame from the wind, and jammed it into the fuse. Sparks hissed to life. Others followed suit, until the base of the tower was a ring of burning cords.

The children’s humming intensified, the vibration building into a quake. Steel groaned. The sky rippled like water, stars bending and twisting. And then the tower screamed.

Not the metal. The tower itself.

The sound was like a dying animal, guttural and enraged. The glow from within brightened, spilling through rivets and seams, a blinding white that seared the eyes. The charges went off in rapid succession, thunder cracking the night apart.

The base of the tower blew open, steel legs shearing away. The tank above buckled, tilting, groaning under its own impossible weight. With a deafening crash, the water tower toppled, collapsing into the cornfields in a spray of sparks and molten light.

The hum stopped.

For the first time in months, Ashbrook was silent.

The survivors staggered back, ears ringing, lungs burning with smoke. Some wept, others laughed hysterically. For a moment, hope returned. Maybe they had done it. Maybe they had severed the Tall One’s hold.

But then Timothy rose from the wreckage. His small body burned and broken, bones jutting through flesh, yet he stood. The glow from the shattered tower pulsed within him now, radiating through his ruined skin. His silver eyes blazed like twin suns.

“You’ve only freed him,” he said, his voice a chorus of a thousand mouths. “Now he doesn’t need the tower. Now he needs only you.”

And above Ashbrook, the sky split open.

Source: Some or all of the content was generated using an AI language model