A Frozen Whisper
An archaeologist unearths an ancient, ice-veiled secret in a remote village
In a remote, snow-draped village, whispers of a discovery fluttered like the falling snowflakes. An eminent archaeologist, Dr. Elara, had uncovered a stone entrance, long hidden beneath the frost, promising to etch his legacy into eternal history.
The villagers gathered, their faces a tapestry of awe and trepidation. Dr. Elara brushed away the last of the snow, revealing ancient symbols carved into the chamber’s door. With a reverent touch, he pushed it open, his eyes glinting with greed.
Inside, the chamber whispered secrets of a bygone era. Walls were adorned with intricate inscriptions and artifacts lay untouched by time. Dr. Elara’s torch flickered across the relics, casting dancing shadows that seemed to celebrate the discovery.
As he ventured deeper, a cold unease crept over him. The air grew denser, the silence deeper. Then, he saw them. Figures, carved in glistening obsidian, stood in silent vigil, their eyes a piercing ice-blue. Their expressions, almost life-like, seemed foreboding under the torchlight.
In the darkness, a sound echoed—a cracking, like ice breaking. Dread moved over Dr. Elara like frost over glass. The statues weren’t statues at all.
The creatures surged forward with a chilling hiss. Dr. Elara was impaled with a spear, his final breath a frozen whisper.
Before long, the last scream gurgled to a stop, and a wool-thick silence settled over the village. Snow continued to fall, blanketing the crimson-dappled drifts in deceptive serenity. Only the glint of ice-blue eyes, moving amongst the shadows, betrayed the horror that now roamed free.
About the Creator
Rory McKenzie
I write gritty, contemporary Young Adult and New Adult fiction, immersing readers in the complexities of coming of age and the first steps of adulthood. Themes are often mature.
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Bahama Mama
I met him on the last day of my holiday to Nassau that year. He was lying on a sun lounger – sorry, the sun lounger; the one by the pool, but furthest from the nuisance of the DJ-booth, with good access to the bar and the beach. The perfect spot, in other words, which is why I’d wake up early every morning to get it. An unbroken ritual of some four years of holidaying on the same island at the same resort with the same parents.
By Rory McKenzieabout a year ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Hey there, just wanna let you know that this needs to have the disclaimer added to the beginning or ending, stating that it was created with the help of AI 😊