The Night the Sky Turned Red - Part 2

The Red Mark

The days that followed the eerie phenomenon of the red sky were anything but normal. A thick, unsettled air hung over the valley, unsettling and strange. Birds had forsaken their usual nesting habits; their once cheerful songs were replaced by an unsettling silence. Dogs roamed the streets, barking wildly at shadows as if sensing something unseen lurking just beyond their grasp. Streetlights, reliable sentinels of the night, flickered incessantly at the stroke of midnight, even under the clarity of cloudless skies. Yet, the most perturbing development was the emergence of a faint red mark on my wrist—an unsettling glow that pulsed just beneath the surface of my skin, like a smouldering ember waiting to ignite.

I soon realized that I wasn’t the only one marked by this bizarre phenomenon. Many in town bore the same crimson stain, but most went to great lengths to conceal it beneath long sleeves or gloves. A few, displaying an unsettling nonchalance, wandered the streets with an eerie calm, their movements unsettlingly synchronized. Their expressions were vacant, as if they were mere shells of the people I once knew. Among them were familiar faces: the butcher, who always greeted me with a broad smile; the mayor’s wife, known for her lively chatter; and even the boy who consistently delivered my mail with a friendly wave.

In a desperate quest for answers, I turned to the town archives and stumbled upon a chilling account from the year 1894. It recounted a night when the sky had turned crimson for a mere seven minutes—but in that brief span, dozens had vanished. Those who returned were forever changed, their eyes devoid of the spark of humanity, as if they’d crossed over to a realm beyond our understanding.

As darkness fell that evening, a small fissure appeared once more above the dilapidated grain mill on the outskirts of town—a haunting reminder of the past. The townsfolk bearing the marks congregated beneath it, their stares fixed skyward, as though waiting for some unseen command from above. My wrist throbbed fiercely, an alarming heat radiating from the mark. In that moment, a primal urge tugged at my consciousness, beckoning me to join their ranks, to surrender to whatever was unfolding.

Just then, a sharp knock reverberated through my quiet home, pulling me back to reality. 

It was Daniel.

He stood in the doorway, his silhouette familiar, yet profoundly altered. His features had an unsettling normality, but it was his eyes—deep and fathomless, entirely black—that struck fear into my heart, leaving me questioning everything I thought I knew.