Sunday Screams: A Father’s Shadow
🕯️ The Nightly Storyteller: A Moss-Covered Cemetery The wind sighs through broken stone, brushing against the name I whisper like a spell. “Dad.” They say grief fades. But some shadows stretch across lifetimes. He’s been gone for years now—so has she. But I still hear him in dreams. That slow chuckle. The creak of the hallway as he checked on me late at night. He wasn’t a perfect man… but he was mine. And now? I speak to silence. And sometimes… it answers back. The sky feels too pale today. The air… too thin. There’s something unnatural curling beneath my skin. Something watching. I see them now—auras. They wrap around people like invisible fire: Red. Green. Violet. Each one pulses with intent. With… hunger. > (Buzz. Unknown Number.) “They pulse with intent,” the voice hisses. “Red—rage. Green—grief. Violet… hunger.” I doubled over. That word did something. Twisted something. I gagged as the scent of rot and sickly sweetness invaded my throat, like funeral flowers dipped in decay. ...