Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

The night churned with chaos. Above, the pterosaur shrieked, wings cutting storms through the fog. Below, the undead pressed upward, clawing, moaning, their numbers swelling with every breath of fear.

Damien dragged Zara down the tower's far side, using the twisted iron like a ladder. Each step scraped rust against his palms, but he didn't stop. Time itself clawed at their heels.

They dropped into the graveyard, the soil soft with centuries of decay. Cracked headstones jutted like broken teeth, and skeletal roots tangled around the earth as if holding the dead in place—a futile gesture. Corpses stirred even here, half-buried, twitching as if the sound of blood roused them from slumber.

"This way," Damien hissed, pointing toward a silhouette in the fog: the watchtower. It rose jagged from the mist, its stone spine fractured but defiant, a sentinel overlooking the wasteland.

Zara stumbled after him, her breath sharp and shallow. Every shadow seemed alive. "Why that tower? It looks worse than the church."

"Because it's high. And because it might hold answers."

They sprinted, weaving between graves as groans rose all around them. Fingers scraped from the soil, dragging rotted bodies free. The dead were birthing themselves from the ground.

Halfway across, a tremor shook the earth. Zara's scream caught in her throat as something massive crashed into the cemetery wall. The Tyrannosaur—its hide torn, its teeth dripping gore—lurched into view. Dozens of zombies clung to its flanks, biting, clawing, ripping at ancient flesh. The beast roared, shaking loose some of its parasites, but more swarmed like ants up its body.

"Run!" Damien's voice was thunder in the chaos.

They reached the tower's base as the ground quaked again. The pterosaur swooped low, snatching a cluster of ghouls from the graveyard and hurling them into the ruins. Predator and prey blurred into one nightmare orchestra.

Damien shoved the tower's heavy door. It groaned but yielded, spilling them into darkness. The smell of dust and iron filled their lungs. Zara slammed it shut, pressing her body against the wood as fists immediately began pounding from outside.

Inside, silence. Not peace—a waiting silence.

Damien lit a flare, its red glow painting the stone walls. Spiral stairs wound upward, but the walls were carved with something stranger. Symbols etched deep into the stone—circles, jagged lines, runes that pulsed faintly as if alive.

Zara's voice trembled. "What is this?"

"A warning… or a map," Damien muttered, tracing one with his fingers. The stone was warm, almost like flesh.

The pounding outside grew louder. Claws scraped at the door.

From above, a whisper trickled down the stairs. Faint, broken… but human.

Zara's eyes widened. "Someone's here."

Damien raised his axe, flame casting his shadow high on the walls. "Or something wants us to think so."

The whisper came again, clearer this time, carrying words that curdled the blood in their veins:

"The dead are not the enemy… they are the key."

The tower seemed to breathe around them, as if listening.

And the pounding outside grew into a frenzy.