It began with a hum.Not a noise, exactly, but a vibration felt deep in the bones. The people of Ashbrook woke in the middle of the night, hearts pounding, ears ringing, and yet no sound filled the air. Only the children seemed calm. They rose from their beds like sleepwalkers, their eyes half-closed, their lips moving silently as if reciting a prayer.
From the fields came the lights.
They hovered low over the cornstalks, drifting like lanterns caught in a slow current. At first there were two, then four, then a dozen. Each sphere pulsed with a dull, white glow, sometimes dimming, sometimes flaring so bright that the rows of corn looked skeletal in their illumination.
Neighbours gathered on porches, clutching flashlights and rifles they had no intention of firing. The sheriff drove out with his deputies, sirens wailing until the radios cut to static and the cruiser’s engine died mid-road. Every attempt to photograph or film the lights ended in failure—the screens turned black, cameras froze, batteries drained in seconds.
It was as if the lights refused to be captured.
The children, however, saw everything. They pointed, giggling, reaching out as though they could pluck the orbs from the sky. Some began walking toward the fields, bare feet slapping against the pavement. Parents screamed and dragged them back inside, but the children kicked and thrashed with inhuman strength, their voices blending into a single chant:
“He is here. He is here. He is here.”
At precisely 3:11 a.m., the lights converged. They spiralled upward, merging into a single, massive glow that hovered above the water tower. The hum grew stronger, rattling windows, cracking plaster in ceilings. Then, just as quickly, the light blinked out. Darkness swallowed the town.
In the silence that followed, three more children were gone.
Their beds were empty, sheets still warm. No doors had opened, no windows broken. Parents swore they had been holding their children tightly when the light faded, only to find their arms clutching air.
By dawn, panic had become hysteria. The sheriff barricaded the roads leading in and out of Ashbrook, insisting no one leave until the situation was “contained.” Some claimed he had orders from higher authorities. Others believed he was just afraid of letting the story spread beyond the town.
At the clinic, Emily deteriorated. The thing inside her spine had grown restless, making her convulse with spasms so violent the nurses feared her bones might snap. Her mother wept by her bedside, begging the doctors to cut it out.
When they finally scheduled exploratory surgery, the lights returned.
That night, as the surgeon prepared the instruments, every bulb in the clinic flickered and died. The emergency generator failed. In the pitch dark, Emily sat upright on the operating table, eyes glowing silver.
“He won’t let you take it,” she said, her voice layered again, like two people speaking at once.
Then the doors burst open. Not slammed, not broken—simply opened, as though by invitation. A rush of icy air swept through the room, carrying with it the faint smell of ozone and soil.
The staff scattered, but Emily’s mother froze, staring at the silhouette that filled the doorway.
It was the Tall One.
He ducked beneath the frame to enter, his elongated limbs folding and unfolding like those of an insect. His skin rippled with colours, blending into the shadows until only his eyes remained visible—two blindingly white orbs that pierced the room.
Emily’s mother screamed, but her voice was drowned out by the silence. Not true silence, but the same suffocating hum that pressed down on everyone’s skulls.
The Tall One extended a hand, impossibly long fingers curling with precision. Emily slid from the table and walked to him without hesitation, her small hand fitting into his claw-like grasp.
“No,” her mother sobbed, collapsing to the floor.
Emily turned once before leaving. Her face was blank, her glowing eyes devoid of recognition. She did not see her mother anymore. She saw only him.
And then they were gone, swallowed by the shadows, leaving behind only the cold echo of the hum.
When the lights came back on, the surgical instruments were twisted, bent into shapes no human hand could have formed. The X-rays of Emily’s chest lay scattered across the floor, each one marked with a new, unmistakable detail: the object near her heart had multiplied.
There were now three.
Source: Some or all of the content was generated using an AI language model
No comments:
Post a Comment