Sunday Screams: Dawn of the Dead (1978)

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Monologue – The Storyteller & the Necklace

"You trust me," the scarab whispered, its voice curling around the Storyteller’s mind like smoke. "If you want to live, you must trust me."
The Storyteller’s fingers clenched the necklace, the cool metal cutting against the warmth of the late afternoon sun. "And if I fail?" he asked, voice tight.
"You won’t." The scarab’s shell gleamed crimson in the fading light. "But I will. And you… you might just survive."

The wind shifted, carrying the scent of damp earth and faint smoke. A tremor ran through him. The air thickened, pressing against his skin. Then it began. Fingers stretched into razor-sharp claws, skin bubbled into vambraces over his forearms, legs elongated unnaturally, wings tore through his back with a wet, leathery snap, and horns spiraled from his skull. His eyes bled dark violet, glowing ominously in the twilight. The faint scent of ozone and iron mingled with the smell of trampled grass and dirt.

A scream tore from his throat—not human, not natural, but bone-shaking—and his attackers barely had time to react before being thrown aside. Dust and debris swirled around him as he prepared to unleash his fury.


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Movie Review – Dawn of the Dead

George Romero’s Dawn of the Dead isn’t just a zombie movie—it’s a commentary on societal obsession, consumerism, and fear of stagnation. Set in a shopping mall, the survivors’ struggle isn’t just against the undead—it’s against monotony, desperation, and the mindless repetition of life itself. Romero’s attention to tension, character moments, and inventive gore cements this as a landmark in horror cinema.

Did you know? Many extras were actual shoppers, giving the zombies chaotic, unpredictable movements.

Tidbit: Iconic zombie makeup took 8–12 hours each day, leaving actors trapped in prosthetics for most of the filming schedule.



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The Storyteller Chronicles – The Field Battle

Val’s stomach knotted, goosebumps prickling her arms as the wind whipped across the open field. The late sun cast long shadows through the tall grass, the air thick with the smell of damp earth, ozone, and coppery blood. Her palms were slick as she gripped her orbs, heart hammering against her ribs.

The Storyteller had become something inhuman. Fingers stretched into claws, arms sheathed in taut, veined skin, legs elongated unnaturally, wings tearing through the air with wet, leathery snaps. Horns spiraled from his skull, and violet eyes glimmered with predatory focus. Every breath carried the metallic tang of blood and ozone, every heartbeat thundered like war drums.

Draeven and Seithara advanced, but the ground shook beneath the Storyteller’s steps. In a blur, he lunged at Draeven—bones snapped with a wet crunch, armor shredded, and Draeven’s scream ended abruptly as he was lifted and hurled into the dirt, dust and blood spraying into the wind.

Seithara’s dagger flashed, but the Storyteller’s claws twisted her arm unnaturally. Her scream was swallowed by the wind as he flung her into the nearby trees. Limbs bent unnaturally, leaves and branches shredded, and she hit the ground twitching before motion faded.

Val’s stomach lurched, fear slicing through adrenaline. She hurled orbs at Xaitheris, each strike sizzling across the ground, sending tremors through her arms. Xaitheris faltered, losing control over Nyra. His rage twisted him into a lunging attack—but Kaelen intercepted, shredding him before he could strike. Xaitheris collapsed into dust, carried away by the wind.

Nyra stumbled, bruised but alive, her chest heaving as she realized she had survived—barely.

Then the REWIND Clerk stepped forward, and Val’s gut twisted in horror. The transformation was grotesque and alien:

The Shell: Iridescent chitin covered the clerk, segmented like a monstrous insect, pulsing under the fading light.

The Tentacles: Ropy, barbed appendages twisted outward, some unfurling into a cloud of inky mist that burned and obscured.

The Face: Eyes milky and sightless, mouth frozen in a silent scream. From it emerged a circular, toothed maw, spinning and chittering, a guttural vibration filling the field.


The Clerk absorbed the broken bodies of Draeven and Seithara, tentacles wrapping them into its bulk, and Val could feel the Abomination grow stronger with each motion. The wind carried the scent of burnt grass, iron, and ozone. Goosebumps prickled her legs again as she gripped her orbs, heart hammering in her chest.

Val was terrified in a way she had never been—exposed in an open field with monsters before her, her only defense the orbs in her hands and Kaelen at her side. The battlefield had shifted. Two monsters, impossibly strong, stood before her. And the open sky offered no shelter, only wind, dust, and the looming threat of annihilation.


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Abilities & Fighting Style – The Chronicle Abomination

Strength: Tentacles capable of shattering bone and demolishing walls.

Speed: Lurching, unpredictable, able to scale walls, trees, or launch across open ground.

Rewind Flurry: Rapid-fire strikes from multiple angles.

Ink Storm: Cloud of acidic ink to obscure and burn.

The Snare of Story: Tentacles ensnare victims, forcing them to relive fragmented, horrific memories.


Val’s battle had only just begun. The open field amplified every movement, every scream, every vibration in the dirt and grass. Everything she knew had vanished.


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Closing Lines

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And if you dare… drop a comment and tell me your favorite scary movie, urban legend, or horror memory.
We’re just getting started—and things are about to get dark.

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