Following the chilling success of their first collection, Lady Eckland, Glenn Riley, and new collaborator, Bella Darkwood return to guide you through the shadowy corridors of fear with their second compendium, *Whispers In The Dark 2*. These master...
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Vietnam War
The air was thick and humid, seeming to cling to us as we moved through the dense jungle. Shafts of hazy sunlight struggled to penetrate the canopy overhead. Every breath felt heavy, laden with the scents of damp earth, pungent vegetation, and lingering gunpowder. This place reeked of death, though whether from the recent battle or the deeper darkness that awaited below, I could not yet tell.
“Keep sharp, men,” I said, more to steady my own nerves than anything. We had been briefed, of course, about our unusual mission. But no amount of warning could have prepared me for the oppressiveness of this jungle, the ominous weight that pressed down with every step we took into that fetid green hell.
We were seeking out the entrance to the Viet Cong tunnel networks, to clean them out and reclaim them for our side. Probing the dank underground maze was deemed high strategic importance for advancing our position against the elusive guerrilla fighters. What Command didn’t know—or more likely refused to openly acknowledge—was what else lurked down there in the lightless depths: ghosts.
Oh yes, we had all heard the stories whispered among the other platoons. Tales of patrols who ventured into those tunnels, never to be seen again. Or those that did return, shaken and hollow-eyed, babbling about sounds and apparitions that had no earthly reason. Command wrote them off as battle fatigue, minds cracked from prolonged exposure to combat. Just another casualty of this unforgiving war.
But the haunted look in those soldiers’ eyes...that was real. They had seen something down there in the cold dark, something that stole men’s souls, if not their lives.
And now Command was sending my platoon down into those same nightmare tunnels on some damned fool’s errand, expecting us not just to survive the Viet Cong traps and ambushes, but to somehow accomplish our mission while fending off whatever evil had broken so many good men already.
My radio operator, Brooks, sidled up beside me. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Cap.”
“Stow it, Corporal,” I said brusquely. “Let’s just find that damn tunnel access point.”
Brooks scowled but kept silent. He was a good man, steady nerves usually. But this waiting, the not knowing what we would face down there, was eating at all of us. Still, I couldn’t let doubt take root. I was their commanding officer. If I crumbled, so would they all.
“Over here, sir! I think this could be it!”
Lieutenant Bowen waved us over to a dark gash torn in the jungle floor, half-hidden under writhing vines and knotted roots. As we approached, a foul odor wafted up from below, like rotten meat left to spoil. Several men instinctively wrapped scarves over their faces.
Brooks clutched his rifle tighter. “Smells like death down there.”
“Can it, Corporal,” I snapped. Then taking a small flashlight from my belt, I turned to the men. Time to be the fearless leader again. “I’ll scout it out first. Get some ropes and make sure the radios still work down there in case we need extraction. And keep those weapons hot. Am I clear?”
