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    Echoes in the Void
    Echoes in the Void
    Echoes in the Void
    Ebook325 pages8 hours

    Echoes in the Void

    By S.B. Fates

    ()

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    About this ebook

    From the mind of S.B. Fates comes a chilling collection that plumbs the depths of the human psyche. "Echoes in the Void" is not just another anthology—it's a journey through the abyss of fear, where eerie atmospheres and ghostly apparitions reign.
     

    • Dive into a desolate town where the constant winds carry more than just dust; they whisper tales of dread and lead to mysterious disappearances.
    • Venture into a Victorian mansion and face the sinister reflections of an ornate attic mirror, which harbors more than just memories of the past.
    • Join a lone passenger on a late-night train journey, guided by a conductor with hollow eyes, as each stop unravels disturbing truths.
    • Experience the haunting allure of the 'Vino del Diablo' from an old city pub cellar, where a sip traps souls in shadowy recesses.
    • And as the pages turn, face the ageing curse of a seaside entity, the terror of a dilapidated movie theater, and the haunting presence of lifelike dolls in a quiet town.
       

    From the supernatural to psychological terror, from urban legends to retribution tales, each story forces readers to confront unsettling realities and the monsters that might be hiding within us all.
     

    Are you brave enough to explore these paranormal occurrences? Will you venture into the world of personal nightmares and face the horrors that lurk in every corner? Dive into "Echoes in the Void" and uncover tales so dark, they blur the line between reality and the unimaginable.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSean Benoit
    Release dateOct 1, 2023
    ISBN9798223493280
    Echoes in the Void
    Author

    S.B. Fates

    Sean Benoit, writing under the pen name S.B. Fates, is a masterful author specializing in the realm of dark fiction. His unique literary style seamlessly weaves together elements of horror, supernatural fiction, suspense, crime, science fiction, and fantasy, creating stories that not only captivate but also challenge the conventional boundaries of these genres. His works are renowned for their complex narratives, richly developed characters, and the ability to transport readers into worlds where the mysterious and the ordinary intertwine. In addition to his literary pursuits, Sean harbors a deep passion for drawing and comic books, engaging in these activities as personal hobbies. This artistic inclination, while separate from his writing, enriches his creative perspective and contributes to the depth and imagination evident in his storytelling. Known as S.B. Fates in the literary world, Sean stands out for his ability to blend a diverse range of elements into his narratives, making him a distinctive voice in the genre of dark fiction. His dedication to exploring and redefining the limits of genre fiction has cemented his status as a notable author in his field.

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      Book preview

      Echoes in the Void - S.B. Fates

      Prelude by S.B. Fates

      In the heart of every shadow, in the depths of every soul, there lies a realm that often remains unexplored—a chasm, if you will, where humanity's darkest secrets and most profound fears reside. It's a place we've all visited in our nightmares, though few can recall the journey with clarity upon waking.

      Echoes in the Void is not just a book; it's a passage to that very chasm.

      As the storyteller of these tales, I invite you to journey with me, but not without caution. For in these stories, we do not merely venture to the outer bounds of horror, but deep within ourselves. We will traverse desolate towns haunted by whispers, traverse the twisted hallways of our own psyche reflected in ornate mirrors, and hear the sinister lullabies sung by the very recesses of our memories.

      Each tale has been meticulously crafted, not to provide mere escapism, but to pose a profound question: What lurks within us, waiting for the opportune moment to surface? The monsters we often fear in stories are mere reflections of our inner demons, and herein, we shall face them.

      Some tales might resonate more deeply than others, stirring long-forgotten memories or regrets. Some might make you glance over your shoulder, questioning the reality you've come to know. But all will ask you to look inward, to confront those echoes in the void of your own being.

      So, brave reader, as you turn each page, remember: it's not the darkness around us we should fear, but the darkness within. And as you dive deeper into these tales, may you emerge not just with a racing heart but with a deeper understanding of the mysteries that lie in the abyss of the human heart.

      Welcome to Echoes in the Void. I hope you find the journey as enlightening as it is chilling.

      ~ S.B. Fates

      Whispers in the Wind

      The Chicago sun was blinding as Rebecca Harlan trudged through her cluttered apartment, sifting through piles of old newspapers and magazines. She had made it her mission to chronicle the unexplained, the paranormal, the downright bizarre. But after her last story, an exposé that went awry, tarnishing her once shining career, she needed something big—a redemption.

      She was almost ready to give up for the day when a faded headline at the bottom of a neglected pile caught her eye: Gale Hollow: The Town That Time Forgot. As she skimmed the story, goosebumps raised on her arms. Reports of disappearances? Strange, unending winds? The words danced before her eyes, a siren song she couldn't ignore.

      Packing just enough for a week’s investigation, she drove into the heartland of Kansas. The closer she got, the more the modern world seemed to peel away, replaced by endless expanses of golden wheat fields, their stalks dancing to a silent tune. But it wasn't completely silent; a soft moan of wind, almost imperceptible at first, grew louder, more insistent.

      The wind was already unsettling by the time she crossed the town's sign, its paint peeling, the name Gale Hollow barely legible. It was as if the very air was warning her away.

      Sturdy, old-fashioned homes lined the streets, standing like stubborn sentinels against the inexorable march of time. Children, instead of playing outside, peered at her from behind curtains, their eyes wide and full of distrust. Men and women paused in their chores to watch her car roll by, their expressions ranging from wary to downright hostile.

      She parked outside a diner, hoping to glean information from locals. The wind howled around her as she stepped out, tearing at her hair and clothes, its ceaseless wail following her inside. The chatter within stopped abruptly. Every eye turned to Rebecca, sizing her up.

      Clearing her throat, she took a seat at the counter. Coffee, please, she said, her voice feigning more confidence than she felt.

      A grizzled man with deep-set eyes and a thin beard grunted and poured her a cup. She pulled the faded article from her bag and placed it on the counter. I'm looking into these disappearances. Can anyone tell me more?

      The room went silent. It felt as if the wind outside had somehow made its way in, its cold fingers creeping up Rebecca's spine.

      A woman at a nearby table, her face lined with grief, clutched her purse tightly. Best leave well enough alone, she whispered.

      Ignoring her, Rebecca pressed on. I'm Rebecca Harlan, a journalist from Chicago. I promise I'm here to help. I just need to understand what's going on.

      The grizzled man leaned over, his breath smelling of stale tobacco. You listen, and you listen good. We don't want your kind here, poking around, opening old wounds. Just drink your coffee and leave.

      Rebecca's heart pounded. Every instinct screamed to flee, but she'd come too far to back down now. She sipped her coffee, its bitterness matching the mood in the room.

      Suddenly, the door to the diner burst open, and the wailing wind swept inside, scattering napkins and menus. The townsfolk gasped, looking to one another with a mix of fear and resignation.

      Through the gusts, a voice rose, soft and melodic. Rebecca, it whispered.

      Rebecca’s heart froze. Was she losing her mind? How could the wind know her name? She stood, money forgotten on the counter, and raced out into the gale.

      The relentless gusts pushed against her, but she trudged forward, drawn by an unseen force. She needed answers. And Gale Hollow, with its unyielding wind and tight-lipped residents, was going to give them to her, one way or another.

      The night had settled over Gale Hollow, bringing with it a darkness so profound it seemed as though it could swallow a person whole. But the dark was not the only entity that came alive when the sun disappeared; the wind intensified, its haunting moan ever-present.

      Rebecca had booked a room at the town's only inn, its floorboards creaking with age. She’d barely finished unpacking when a soft knock echoed through her room. Opening the door, Rebecca was met with a woman in her early forties, her brown hair streaked with gray, eyes red-rimmed and shadowed with loss.

      You're the journalist from Chicago, aren't you? the woman asked, her voice quivering.

      Rebecca nodded cautiously. Yes, I'm Rebecca Harlan. Can I help you?

      The woman took a deep breath, her eyes darting around nervously before settling back on Rebecca's. I'm Sarah Whitman, she introduced herself. I've heard you're here about the disappearances. My son, Luke... he was one of them.

      The weight of her words hung heavily between them. Please, come in, Rebecca gestured.

      Sitting opposite each other, the room's lone lamp casting long shadows across the walls, Sarah began her tale.

      It started with the whispers, she began, her voice barely above the wind’s howl outside. Luke mentioned them one night at dinner. He said when he was out with his friends, they'd hear voices carried on the gusts. At first, it was just laughter or snatches of conversations from days gone by. But then, it changed.

      Sarah paused, swallowing hard, as tears threatened to spill. He said the whispers began calling to him, beckoning him, promising wonders beyond imagination, if only he'd come to them.

      Rebecca leaned forward, her journalistic instincts taking over, Did he ever mention where these whispers were strongest?

      Sarah nodded. By the old barn at the edge of town. That's where they played, where they dared each other to stand close and listen.

      Rebecca's heart raced, the puzzle pieces slowly fitting together. The barn was the same place she'd felt an indescribable pull toward earlier that day.

      One night, Sarah continued, her voice breaking, Luke went out and never came back. I searched everywhere, called for him until my voice was hoarse, but it was like the wind had just... taken him.

      She pulled a photograph from her pocket and handed it to Rebecca. It showed a young boy, around twelve, with bright blue eyes and a cheeky grin. The same boy she’d seen peering through windows, watching her.

      Rebecca's skin crawled, the enormity of Sarah's loss hitting her hard. I'm so sorry, Sarah. I promise I'll do everything I can to find out what happened.

      Sarah looked deep into Rebecca's eyes, a mixture of hope and desperation evident. Please, just bring our children back. End this curse.

      Rebecca nodded solemnly, feeling the weight of the town's sorrow bearing down on her. But she was determined; Gale Hollow's secrets would be unearthed, and she was just the person to do it.

      The Gale Hollow Public Library was an aging structure, its stone walls worn down by decades of unrelenting wind and time. The heavy wooden doors groaned in protest as Rebecca pushed them open, stepping into a world scented with old leather and musty pages.

      Inside, the gloom was nearly tangible, broken only by the occasional flicker of yellow light from an overhead lamp. Shadows seemed to dance across the shelves, taking on lives of their own. And there, behind a massive oak desk, sat Elijah Connors. His spectacles rested low on his nose, and his gray eyes, piercing through the dimness, locked onto Rebecca's the moment she entered.

      Rebecca cleared her throat, gathering courage. Mr. Connors? I'm Rebecca Harlan. I was hoping you could help me understand Gale Hollow's history, especially about the wind.

      Elijah's gaze remained fixed on her, studying, weighing. Minutes stretched in silence until finally, he sighed, his old, weathered face creasing further with the motion. Miss Harlan, Gale Hollow’s past isn't something spoken about lightly. You're dabbling in forces much older and more formidable than you might comprehend.

      Rebecca bristled slightly, her journalistic pride stung. With all due respect, sir, understanding is my job. I’ve faced dangers before in my line of work. I'm here to uncover the truth.

      Elijah's gaze softened ever so slightly, as if he saw something in her—a hint of resilience or perhaps desperation. Very well, he whispered, pushing himself upright. But remember, some truths come at a cost.

      Leading her to a secluded section of the library, shelves filled with ancient tomes and dusty manuscripts, Elijah began his narrative. Long before this town bore the name Gale Hollow, it was home to a woman named Elyra. She was different, both revered and feared. Rumors spread of her power to commune with the winds, to whisper secrets into their gusts and to listen to their tales.

      He pulled out a large, ornately-bound book, placing it on a table between them. The title, Whispers of Gale, was written in ornate script. Opening it carefully, the fragile pages revealed illustrations that looked hauntingly lifelike: swirling winds around a beautiful woman, her eyes closed as if in prayer, or perhaps a curse.

      Elyra was wronged by the town's founders, Elijah continued, his voice taking on a grave tone. In their ignorance and fear, they deemed her a witch. They took from her something precious and, in their cruelty, banished her from Gale Hollow.

      Rebecca leaned in, feeling the chill of the story down to her bones. What did they take?

      Elijah hesitated, his fingers tracing the illustration of Elyra. Her child. A boy, not unlike young Luke Whitman.

      The weight of the revelation hung heavily between them. Rebecca felt her stomach drop, the pieces connecting in a horrifying pattern.

      As she was driven out, Elijah’s voice grew colder, she screamed a curse. The very winds she loved and communed with would become Gale Hollow's tormentor, taking as they had taken from her.

      Rebecca's heart raced. And the barn?

      Elijah's gaze darkened. It was her home. Where she last saw her child, and where her heartache is strongest. The vortex you seek, the essence of her wrath and sorrow, resides there.

      Rebecca swallowed hard, the implications dawning on her. How can the curse be broken?

      A sad smile touched Elijah's lips. Ah, that, Miss Harlan, is a mystery lost to time. But if anyone can uncover it, it would be you.

      Their eyes met, mutual understanding passing between them. Rebecca, with a heavy heart, knew her journey into the heart of darkness was just beginning. And Elijah? He had just passed the torch of Gale Hollow's haunting legacy to the next seeker of truth.

      The wind picked up as Sarah led Rebecca through the narrow streets of Gale Hollow. Their steps echoed on the old cobblestone, adding to the eerie ambiance. Even in daylight, the town seemed to be shrouded in a mist of unease.

      The first sign was the children's playground. It was still. Not silent, because the wind carried its whispers and the occasional metallic groan of the rusted swings, but lifeless. A teddy bear, its eye hanging by a thread, lay abandoned in the sandpit, victim to time and neglect.

      Sarah, Rebecca began, How do people... I mean, after someone goes missing, how does life continue here?

      Sarah paused, her gaze distant. It doesn't. Not really. We go on because we have to, but Gale Hollow isn't living. It's surviving.

      Rebecca tried to imagine the weight of such existence, each day shrouded in trepidation, awaiting the wind's next victim.

      They ventured further, and soon they stood in front of an old Victorian house, its facade a victim to rot and decay. The door hung open, creaking softly with the breeze. Sarah, without a word, led the way inside.

      The interior was a time capsule. Dust coated every surface, and yet, it was clear that life had once thrived there. In the dim, shadowy living room, a phonograph sat silent on a table, its needle forever lifted from the groove of a record. A faded photo of a smiling family, their faces now strangers to history, was placed neatly beside it.

      The kitchen told a more harrowing tale. A pot of soup, now mold-covered and rancid, sat on the stove. Plates were set at the table, half-eaten meals frozen in their final moment.

      Rebecca felt the bile rise in her throat. God, Sarah... it's like they were taken in an instant.

      Sarah's voice trembled. Because they were. No one hears the whispers until it's too late. And then, in a gust, they're gone.

      They explored house after house, each telling a similar story. A bedroom where the covers were thrown back, a pair of glasses left on a nightstand. A workshop where tools lay abandoned mid-project. A diary left open, its last entry a haunting testament to the town's inescapable fate.

      But it was the clotheslines that left the deepest impression. Clothes, faded by sun and storm, fluttered eerily in the ceaseless wind. They were the spectral remnants of those taken, flapping like lost souls trying to find their way home.

      Rebecca, ever the journalist, took careful notes, her hands shaking with the gravity of each discovery. This is... I've never seen anything like it. It's like the town is caught in this... this limbo.

      Sarah nodded. That's Gale Hollow. We're trapped between the past and the ever-looming future. Waiting, always waiting, for the wind's next move.

      The sun began its descent, casting long shadows over the town. Sarah turned to Rebecca, her face pale and drawn. We should head back. The wind gets stronger at night. And you don't want to be outside when it does.

      Rebecca agreed, the weight of their discoveries heavy on her heart. As they made their way back, she couldn't shake the feeling of countless eyes watching them from the shadows, the lost souls of Gale Hollow, yearning to be remembered, to be heard above the ever-whispering wind.

      The sun hung low in the sky, casting elongated shadows that seemed to dance with the wailing wind. Rebecca, with her journalist’s notebook clutched tightly in hand, was deeply engrossed in conversation with Sarah outside Elijah’s library when the sound of gravel crunching under tires caught her attention. A patrol car, unmistakable in its livery, pulled up, and out stepped Deputy Nolan Grey.

      He was tall and broad, with a stern face that had seen more than its fair share of hardship. His uniform, though clean, showed signs of wear, as if he’d been in it for far too many hours.

      Miss Harlan, he said with a curt nod. His voice carried an edge, like a knife just waiting to be used. Heard you’ve been poking around, asking questions.

      Rebecca squared her shoulders. It’s what I do, Deputy. I ask questions. I uncover the truth.

      Grey’s gaze darted between Rebecca and Sarah. Gale Hollow doesn’t take kindly to outsiders, especially ones that stir the pot. You should’ve realized that by now.

      Sarah, ever protective, stepped forward. Nolan, she’s just trying to help. My boy, Luke, he—

      Grey cut her off with a raised hand. I know, Sarah. I know about Luke. But raking up the past, talking about witches and curses—it won’t bring him back.

      Rebecca, sensing an opening, tried to reason. Deputy Grey, if there’s something more to these stories, if there’s a way to help, shouldn’t we try?

      His jaw tightened. Stories. That’s all they are. Every town has them—myths, legends. They’re tales to scare kids, not something a grown woman from the city should concern herself with.

      Yet, as he spoke, Rebecca caught it—a slight tremor in his voice, the briefest flicker in his eyes. There was fear there, deep-rooted and visceral.

      I've seen things in my time here, Grey continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, Things I can't explain. But chasing shadows and listening to the wind won't solve them.

      She took a step closer, locking eyes with him. Then help me, Deputy. If you truly believe there’s nothing to these tales, stand with me. Prove it.

      For a long moment, there was only the sound of the wind, its howls echoing the unspoken tension between them.

      Finally, Grey let out a long sigh. Look, Miss Harlan, I’m sworn to protect this town and its people. If you’re going to stick around, just... be careful. And remember, not everything is as it seems.

      With that, he climbed back into his patrol car and drove off, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.

      Sarah, looking more troubled than before, turned to Rebecca. I told you, this town... it’s got its secrets. Even Nolan, as hard as he is, he’s been touched by them.

      Rebecca watched the retreating vehicle, the weight of her mission settling heavily upon her. Secrets, she murmured, her gaze resolute, have a way of being uncovered. And I intend to reveal every last one.

      Gale Hollow, always restless, now thrummed with an agitated energy that seemed almost sentient. The evening sky, an unsettling hue of dark purple, loomed overhead. Clouds churned and twisted, forming shapes that shifted from one grotesque figure to another. The streets were desolate; the only movement came from the occasional curtain twitching in a window, revealing an eye peering out before quickly disappearing.

      Rebecca's room at the local inn was stifling. The gusts, stronger now than she’d ever felt them, pressed against the window panes, creating an eerie whistle that seemed to beckon her. Her pulse quickened, drawn irresistibly to the cacophony outside. Picking up her recorder, she cautiously stepped out.

      Each step felt like wading through thick molasses as the wind whipped around her, playing with her hair, tugging at her clothes. It was as if the town itself had transformed into a breathing entity, and she was now in the very belly of the beast.

      Raising the recorder, she pressed the 'record' button. At first, the device only caught the roar of the gale. But slowly, other sounds began to emerge. The winds carried with them snippets of conversation, garbled and out of context, yet deeply unsettling.

      ...don’t go... please...

      ...she knows... she’s coming for you...

      ...hide while you still can...

      The voices circled her, playing a torturous game of cat and mouse. They seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. One moment, a soft sobbing would appear to her left, the next, a maniacal laughter echoed from her right.

      Suddenly, the wind shifted, and a new voice, clear and distinct, cut through the maelstrom.

      Rebecca... Rebecca Harlan...

      Her heart caught in her throat. The voice was eerily familiar—a voice she hadn't heard in years. The voice of her younger sister, Abigail, who’d tragically passed away when they were children.

      Tears streaming down her face, Rebecca responded, her voice breaking, Abby? Is that you?

      The voice continued, its tone cold and mocking. Did you really think you could come here and uncover our secrets? You're in over your head, big sis.

      Rebecca stumbled backward, a wave of nausea hitting her. The winds were playing with her, feeding off her fears, her regrets, and her memories.

      As she retreated, another voice joined the symphony, a low growl that sent shivers down her spine.

      You shouldn't be here, Rebecca. The winds don't forget. The winds don't forgive.

      Terrified, Rebecca turned and fled, the voices chasing her, growing louder and more aggressive with each passing second.

      Just when she felt she couldn't go on any longer, the door to Elijah's library burst open. The old man, his face etched with worry, pulled her inside, slamming the door shut behind them.

      Rebecca, panting heavily, slid to the floor, her recorder clattering beside her.

      Elijah, kneeling beside her, whispered, They're growing bolder. The winds, the voices. They sense your intent, your desire to uncover the truth. But remember this, Rebecca: some truths, once unearthed, can never be buried again.

      The inn's wallpaper seemed to close in on Rebecca—old, peeling designs, reminiscent of a time when Gale Hollow might have known some cheer. In her room, the incessant howling of the wind had become a backdrop to her waking hours. The dim lamplight cast long, grotesque shadows that played tricks on her eyes, causing every corner of the room to appear as if it were alive and pulsating.

      She clutched her recorder, playing back the disjointed whispers she'd captured. Over and over, she tried to decipher any coherent message, but it was maddeningly elusive—always just out of reach. The replayed cacophony of voices layered upon the ongoing gales outside became a symphony of chaos.

      A knock at the door interrupted her obsessive listening. It was Sarah, her eyes red-rimmed and carrying the unmistakable weight of a mother's grief.

      Rebecca, Sarah began hesitantly, have you... have you heard him? Among the voices?

      Rebecca, caught off guard, responded, Who? Heard who?

      Sarah gulped, tears forming, Luke. My Luke.

      Rebecca's heart sank. She hesitated, not wanting to give false hope. Sarah, there are so many voices. I can't distinguish... Her voice trailed off as she met the desperate gaze of the broken mother.

      Sarah’s voice trembled, He used to tell me, you know? About the voices. I never believed him. Thought it was just a child’s imagination, nightmares, maybe.

      Pulling a chair, Sarah sat down, her body quivering with every word. He'd come to me, late at night, clutching his teddy bear, saying the wind was talking to him. Telling him secrets, stories... threats.

      Rebecca's gut churned. What kind of threats?

      Sarah’s eyes glazed over, lost in memory. Terrifying ones. About being taken away, about never seeing me again. About joining the others in their eternal dance.

      A chilling silence enveloped the room, save for the ever-present wail of the wind outside.

      Rebecca hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. Do you... hear them too?

      Sarah looked up, her eyes piercing. Every day, every night. They won’t let me forget. They want me to know he's with them.

      Rebecca, her throat tightening, whispered, Sarah, I want to believe it's all in our heads, that this place and its isolation are playing tricks on us. But... the things I've heard...

      Sarah reached over, taking Rebecca's hand. It’s real. And we need to find a way to end it. For Luke, for all of them.

      The night deepened outside, and the two women sat in solemn solidarity. The wind continued its relentless assault, a reminder that in Gale Hollow, one was never truly alone. The weight of their shared grief and mounting terror bound them together as they faced the unknown horrors the wind might bring.

      The Gale Hollow library had seen better days. Its grandeur faded with time, and now, it wore a

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