Mary and Dale are making a story about an old accident in a pesticide factory. The area has been abounded ever since, left a toxic desert, and they drive up to make some research and photos.
Something moves in the shadows.
You can listen to the video below, or read the original story here.
It wasn’t the treads’ fault. It was the people controlling them. Mind control. There was no escape. The treads were everywhere, connected to every mind, every thought, every heartbeat.
Milka opened the door.
-Come in, he said. -Fast!
He looked down the street. Up the street. Then closed the door.
-Are you OK? Tanker looked at him with a worried frown. His friend had always been nervous by nature, but he acted strange.
-I’m perfect! Milka guided Tanker in to the living room. -Do you feel it?
-Feel what? Tanker looked around the room. Suddenly he realised what it was. The treads were different. They didn’t tell him what to do. He looked at Milka with big, scared eyes. -What did you do?
There was a box in the basement. A box Makki had never seen before. It had strange drawings and symbols on it. Faces with creepy expressions.
He tried to open it. The cover didn’t budge. He pulled and pushed, turned it around. Shook it. Something moved inside, but it was securely sealed.
He got crowbar, pushed it in under the lid. Held on to the box, pulling the crowbar down. The lid broke.
He looked inside. He couldn’t see anything, but it smelled horrible, like rotting road kill. He turned it up side down to see if something would fall out. It didn’t.
Disappointed he dropped the box on the floor and went upstairs. He started cutting some bread. He was home alone, and he hated cooking. He ate a sandwich, and went into the living room, sat down in front of the TV. He felt strange, like if someone was watching him. He could hear sounds as well, weird whispering noises…
You can read the story here. It has been rewritten. Witches Brew (audio narration)
The sun was going down, painting the sky in a thousand colours reflected in the beautiful landscape below. In the city streetlights were coming on, one by one as the shadow of the hills slowly crept through the quarters. They could see the fields where they played as children, the mountains. The ocean. The vast sea stretching out, seemingly with no end. She had always dreamt of the ocean, the unknown beyond the waves.
Maybe some day he would take her.
They had been sitting there for a long time now, just staring into eternity. Feeling the silence. Breathing. Existing.
Look! Paladin said to his mother. A book with Grandpa’s handwriting!
Oh, my! Who would have known grandpa was a writer. And the name, “Tales of the Horror”. Haha! Your dark and sinister Grandpa…
They both laughed. Grandpa had been the funniest man alive, always cheerful and friendly. The only moment Paladin had seen him sad was the weeks after Grandma left him.
He sat down by the desk and started reading while his mother kept organising the old things in the attic. They would have to make a lot of trips out here the coming weeks, a lot of things had been piling up through a long life.
The first story was about…