In the shadowy depths of the unknown and the forgotten corners of the earth, a chilling collection of horror stories emerges, inviting readers into a realm where nightmares manifest. "Monstrum: Echoes of Terror" curates a bone-chilling anthology ins...
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"The light had drawn them here, revealing not what hid in the darkness, but what waited within us all for its chance to break free."
The sky had been glowing an angry red for days before it happened. Thomas stood on the balcony of the lighthouse, squinting through the haze at the bloated sun, worrying over what it might mean. He had heard the warnings on the radio, but out here on the remote headland, surrounded by the relentless crash of waves, it was easy to feel disconnected from the reports of possible impending doom.
When it did happen, it happened fast. Thomas was preparing his morning coffee when the first brilliant flare erupted from the sun. It lit up the sky brighter than any sunrise, casting stark shadows across the small kitchen. Thomas dropped his mug in surprise, shards and coffee splattering over the worn linoleum floor.
He rushed out to the balcony again, gripping the railing with white-knuckled hands as he stared wide-eyed at the sun. It was still flaring violently, writhing and spewing out plasma like the whole surface was boiling. The ocean below glowed crimson in the glare.
After what felt like hours but could only have been minutes, the flares began to die down. But rather than fading back to normal, the sun merely simmered sullenly, surrounded by an ominous red-black haze. Over the next few days, the skies continued to darken, the sun shrinking to a tiny angry ball glowering through the gloom.
Soon true daylight never came. The world was locked in a state of permanent ruddy twilight. Confused reports trickled over the radio between bursts of static. A massive solar flare had scorched away part of the atmosphere, they said. The only advice was to stay inside after nightfall and wait for rescue if it came.
But after two weeks had passed with no sign of salvation, Thomas had to accept that none was likely to arrive. His lighthouse was remote, perched atop a barren headland too treacherous for casual ships or helicopters. With a sigh, he loaded his knapsack with supplies from town and headed inland to see what fate had befallen the rest of the world.
What he found was desolation. The seaside village was abandoned, windows broken, signs torn down, and blood staining the narrow cobblestone streets. There was no power, no life. Even the gulls and stray cats that once begged for scraps were gone. The oppressive ruddy light and silence was more terrifying than true darkness would have been.
As Thomas hurriedly raided the general store for supplies, he heard the first howls echoing from the surrounding forest. They sounded like wolves or dogs, but with a strange warbling quality he couldn’t place. He ran pell-mell from the village and did not stop until he was back within the secure walls of the lighthouse, breathless and shaken.
Over the next few nights, strange sounds continued to drift out of the gloom. Cries and screams, human and inhuman alike. One morning, Thomas awoke to find a pattern of clawed footprints leading away from the lighthouse door. He would not sleep again for several nights after that. Using spare parts from the generator room, he fortified the entrance as best he could.
