Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

At the edge of Gallow's Reach, where four roads tangled in a cross of cracked stone, no birds sang. No crickets chirped. And no one—no one—spoke above a whisper.

They called it the Silent Crossroads.

Travelers who lingered too long there returned changed. If they returned at all. Some lost their voices. Others lost time. A few were found speaking backwards, their eyes milk-white, lips stitched shut by invisible thread.

Clara Veil came there under a waning moon, chasing rumors of a girl who had vanished—Lina Morrow, age eleven, last seen skipping across the southern path with her red ribbon fluttering like blood in the breeze.

When Clara arrived, her lantern dimmed. The air was thick, yet silent—oppressively silent. No footfall echoed. Her breath made no sound. Even the flame flickered mute.

At the center of the crossroads was a stone plinth, worn by centuries and marked with a single phrase:

"Speak, and be heard forever."

She knelt, examining the mossy corners. Symbols—runic, ancient, like the chants of the Hollow One—laced the base. But more than that, faint scratching marred the stone: dozens of names, etched in desperation.

Suddenly, the ribbon floated down from above. Lina's.

Clara looked up—and saw nothing.

No trees. No sky.

Just void.

The world around her had vanished.

A presence stood behind her—tall, featureless, cloaked in black. No face, only a suggestion of one—formed from shadow and silence.

She didn't turn.

"What do you want?" she mouthed.

No answer came. But her lips moved again—not by her will.

"I offer voice. Eternal. In trade… only truth."

Clara felt her throat tighten, her words pulled from her lungs as if spoken by another.

"What truth?" she asked aloud—breaking the silence.

At once, the world screamed.

The crossroads wailed. Winds lashed from every direction. The plinth cracked. And from the shadows, they came—figures without mouths, dragging their own tongues behind them like ribbons of meat. Whisperers. Bound to silence for eternity.

The cloaked entity pointed toward the southern road. There, Lina stood—eyes wide, lips sewn, tears running silent down her face.

Clara ran to her, cutting the threads with the dagger hidden in her boot. The girl gasped.

"Don't speak," Clara whispered.

But it was too late.

Lina said, "I didn't mean to wish for quiet…"

And the entity surged forward.

Clara thrust her lantern high, the violet flame roaring to life. A roar of light and fury pushed the darkness back.

The figure recoiled, then shattered—splitting into ash carried away by winds from no direction.

The crossroads were empty again.

Clara and Lina stood in the aftermath, the world slowly regaining its voice—birds chirping, trees rustling, time breathing again.

But on the plinth, a new name had been scratched.

CLARA VEIL

She touched her throat.

And wondered—

What had she just given away?