MidnightScreams

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I’ve been digging graves for years. It’s not glamorous work, but it pays. Or at least, it did. For a time, anyway.

I never had much respect for the dead, and I didn’t believe in any of the superstitions people tossed around when they spoke of old tombs and cursed plots. To me, a grave was just a hole in the ground, and the people inside were just remnants of the past—long gone, forgotten.

But that was before the mining town.

I had heard about it for months. Old stories passed around the local taverns, whispers about a town so old and forgotten that no one had dared to step foot in it for generations. Supposedly, it was the site of an old silver rush that had turned sour after a series of unexplained deaths and disappearances. Eventually, the whole place had been abandoned. No one came, and no one cared. That was until I heard there was still something of value to be found in the depths of the old town.

It didn’t take much to convince me to go. Money was tight, and I needed a payday. People had already forgotten about the town, but I was sure I could find something of worth. The silver veins, they said, were still buried deep beneath the earth.

It was late when I arrived. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the road as I pulled my rusted old truck to a halt. The town was just ahead, barely visible through the fog that had rolled in with the evening chill. It was quiet—too quiet—and the eerie stillness seemed to press in around me, heavy and suffocating.

I’d been in worse places, and I’d dug up worse graves. This wasn’t going to be any different. But there was something about the town that unsettled me, something just beneath the surface that gnawed at my gut.

I stepped out of the truck, the ground beneath my boots soft with the weight of old earth and forgotten memories. The town was smaller than I had expected, a collection of dilapidated wooden buildings sagging under years of neglect. The walls of the houses were charred and blackened, as though something had scorched them from the inside out. A few rusted mining carts sat along the broken tracks, their wheels frozen in time.

I pulled my shovel from the back of the truck and began to make my way toward the old graveyard at the edge of town. The headstones here were weathered, many of them half-buried beneath the thick moss and overgrown weeds. It didn’t take long to find the spot—the grave of a man who had once struck it rich in the mines before disappearing without a trace.

I set to work without hesitation, the blade of my shovel slicing through the soil with ease. The dirt was soft and loose, and the grave seemed shallow. Perhaps the old man hadn’t been buried very deep, or perhaps the ground had simply given way over time.

As I dug, the air grew colder, and the fog thickened, swirling around my legs like ghostly fingers. I paused for a moment to light a cigarette, letting the ember glow in the darkness.

But as I leaned over the hole, something made me stop. It wasn’t a noise or a movement—it was a feeling. A weight.

I glanced up at the abandoned buildings around me. The town felt alive now, in a way it hadn’t before. A sense of being watched lingered in the air. Something felt wrong, something deeper than just the eerie quiet of an abandoned place.

I ignored the feeling and went back to work. The grave was nearly empty, just a handful of old bones left behind. Nothing I hadn’t seen before. But as I reached into the grave, my hand brushed something cold and metal—a small object, buried beneath the remains.

I pulled it free and examined it in the dim light—a locket, tarnished and worn with age. There was a faded picture inside, but I couldn’t make out who it was. The metal was almost too cold to touch, and the moment I held it, a strange shiver ran through me. The air seemed to hum with a low, vibrating energy, like the ground itself was alive.

I tossed the locket into my bag, telling myself it was just an old trinket. A keepsake from the past. But as I stood there, looking down at the grave, I noticed something strange. The earth around me seemed...wrong. The shadows seemed to shift, as though something was moving beneath the soil.

I stood still, trying to shake off the feeling, but it wouldn’t go away. The wind howled, carrying with it the faintest sound—a whisper, barely audible over the rush of air. I could feel my heart begin to race, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.



Something was watching me.

I backed away from the grave, but the ground beneath me seemed to tremble. I froze, eyes wide. The earth was shifting. Something was rising from beneath the dirt, something that shouldn’t have been.

I should have left then, but curiosity—foolish, reckless curiosity—kept me rooted in place.

From the earth emerged something not entirely human. It was shaped like a man, but twisted, its form jagged and distorted as though the very bones inside had been bent and broken by unseen hands. Its skin was pale, translucent, and as it moved, it left a trail of dark, inky residue behind it.

The figure didn’t speak, but its eyes, dark as night, locked onto mine. And in those eyes, I saw something ancient, something that had been buried long ago.

It pointed a finger at me, slow and deliberate, and I felt the weight of its gaze like a physical force. My breath caught in my throat, and I stumbled backward, tripping over a root that seemed to spring from the earth itself.

And then, the whispering returned.

This time, it wasn’t just a sound. It was a voice, low and chilling, seeping into my mind like ice water. The figure in front of me didn’t move, but I could feel its presence pressing in, suffocating me.


“Leave... before it’s too late,” the voice said, but it wasn’t the figure speaking—it was the town. The earth. The forgotten souls buried beneath the soil.

My heart pounded in my chest as I turned and ran, not stopping to look back. The town, once so still, now seemed alive—alive in ways that I couldn’t understand. I reached the truck, my hands shaking as I fumbled for the keys.

As I drove away, the fog began to thin, and I thought I saw something in my rearview mirror—something following me, too fast to be real.

I didn’t stop until I was miles away, and even then, I could still feel it. The weight of what I had uncovered. The locket in my bag felt heavier now, as if it had become something else entirely.

I tried to forget about the town. Tried to shake it from my mind. But every night, as I lay in bed, I could hear the whispering again, soft and distant, as though the earth itself was calling me back.

And I know, deep down, that it’s not over. It will never be over.

The End: Part One