The Night the Sky Turned Red - Part 1

The Sky Cracks Open

Millstone Valley had long been a sanctuary where the most peculiar events were limited to friendly debates about who baked the tastiest pies for the annual summer fair. Its tranquil charm and close-knit community fostered a sense of normalcy—until the night of September 14th shattered that illusion forever.

 

At precisely 11:37 p.m., a profound rumble rippled through the earth, resonating like the deep growl of a slumbering giant. At first, the residents dismissed the disquieting sound as mere thunder. Still, their confidence faltered as the serene, starry sky morphed into an unsettling crimson hue, casting an eerie glow over the quiet valley.

 

From my porch, I witnessed an unimaginable spectacle: a jagged tear tore through the very fabric of the sky, resembling a colossal wound in the universe. A torrent of pulsing, red light cascaded through the rift, flooding the ground below and draping the landscape in ghastly, blood-coloured shadows that danced ominously.

 

Then they emerged.

 

Tall, slender figures glided effortlessly from the fissure, their movements unnaturally smooth and silent, as if they were floating on a still pond. They possessed no mouths or eyes—only glossy, glass-like faces that mirrored the world around them, devoid of any humanity. When one turned toward me, I was met with a startling reflection: it was my brother, Daniel. The very same brother who had vanished two years prior without a trace, leaving behind a cavern of unanswered questions and hollow memories. His reflection twisted and flickered, as though caught in a dream, and he mouthed three urgent words:

 

“Don’t trust them.”

 

Before I could scream or even blink, the phantoms retreated into the rift, which snapped shut behind them like a book closing with a definitive finality. In an instant, the ordinary night sky resumed its place, as if the extraordinary had never taken place, leaving me breathless and bewildered.

 

By dawn, the local news stations labelled the phenomenon as an “unusual atmospheric disturbance,” a dismissive phrase that failed to capture the terror I had witnessed. Yet, as if to remind me of the events that transpired, a chilling note was slipped under my door shortly after sunrise:

 

“They will return for you.”