The End

The world ended at 4:00 a.m., but nobody knew it.

Emma woke to silence. The kind that pressed against her ears and buzzed like static. Her phone lay on the nightstand, dark and cold. No calls, no messages. Strange. She hadn’t received a single message since she went to bed. She shook her head, chalking it up to a network glitch, and went to the window to pull back the curtains.

Outside, there was no dawn. No city lights. Just an endless, consuming darkness, swallowing the streets and houses whole. Everything appeared frozen, still as if caught in the snapshot of some unknown force. She squinted, searching for any flicker, any sign of life. Nothing.

Panic crawled up her throat, but she suppressed it. She walked downstairs to find her roommate, Sarah, hoping she'd be up. But when Emma opened Sarah's bedroom door, the room was empty, and the sheets were stiff and brittle, like they’d been left untouched for centuries.

With growing dread, Emma opened her front door and stepped into the street, calling out for anyone. Her voice echoed, hollow and distant, as if swallowed by an invisible void. She was alone.

Her skin prickled, and she sensed something watching from the dark—a presence that felt timeless, heavy, and ancient. She couldn’t see it, but she knew it was there, lingering at the edge of the shadows, just beyond her sight.

She turned to go back inside, but her door was gone. Her house was gone. She stumbled back, her footsteps loud in the unnatural silence. There was only blackness behind her now, creeping closer, inch by inch, a void that devoured everything in its path.

Her heart raced as she ran, but the blackness closed in, swallowing every trace of her world, leaving her trapped in its silent maw. She could feel her memories fading, dissolving like mist—the laughter of friends, the warmth of the sun, the smell of the earth after rain—all slipping away.

Then she heard it. A faint whisper, barely audible, yet cutting through the silence with chilling clarity.

"You are the last."

Emma opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. The dark surrounded her, closing in, pressing tighter and tighter until it was inside her. Her vision blurred, and the world dissolved into cold nothingness. She felt her own essence slipping away, her existence dwindling to nothing.

The darkness had claimed her.

And then there was only silence.

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Echoes of the End

In the hidden valley town of Eldridge, everyone knew of the legend—the tale of "The End." According to whispers and worn records, every fifty years, a curse would descend upon the town. For seven nights, one person would vanish, taken by something that dwelled in the shadows. And when the seventh night was over, "The End" would claim one final soul before leaving the town in silence...until its return.

As the fifty-year mark approached, the townsfolk became anxious. Most boarded up their homes, clinging to their loved ones, desperate to wait out the cursed week. But Tom, a young man who’d grown up in Eldridge hearing these tales, didn’t believe in the curse. He brushed it off as a silly superstition, laughing at the panicked glances exchanged among the elders.

The disappearances started anyway.

The first night, Tom heard whispers that old Mrs. Fletcher, who lived alone on the hill, hadn’t answered her door in the morning. Her house was empty, her bed cold. By the third night, the Smiths, a family of four, had gone missing as well. Tom’s bravado began to fade as each night took someone new, and he noticed the town growing quieter and emptier.

On the seventh night, his best friend Caleb disappeared. Tom felt a chill settle in his bones. There were no more people on the streets, and windows remained tightly shut, doors barred. The silence was thick, almost alive.

It was the eighth night, and the town had become a ghostly shell of itself. Tom locked himself in his home, sealing every door and window, hoping that the walls would keep him safe. But there was something else—a single candle placed in the center of his room, just like the old tales mentioned. Tom could never understand why the candle mattered so much, but now he found himself clinging to it, as though it could somehow keep him safe from whatever was lurking in the dark.

As midnight struck, his candle’s flame flickered. Tom watched it, feeling his heartbeat quicken with each shiver of the flame. The air grew cold, and a faint hum filled the silence, like a breathless chant. He closed his eyes, focusing on the dim light that kept him company. But then, the whispers grew louder, clearer, as if they were calling his name from within the walls, from every shadow.

"Tom..."

The whisper was so close, like a hot breath against his ear. He froze, his hands gripping the candle, desperate to keep it from going out. But the flame was already fading, no matter how he shielded it.

And then, with a final whisper, the candle went out.

In the darkness, Tom felt an icy hand grip his wrist, pulling him towards something vast and hollow, a place where sound died and shadows swallowed the light. He wanted to scream, but his voice was lost in the thick, eerie silence. He felt himself sinking, deeper and deeper, as if falling through the earth itself. The last thing he heard was the whispers—calling his name again and again.

The next morning, the townspeople who were left found his home empty. A faint chill lingered in the air, and in the center of the room lay a single, half-burned candle. It flickered briefly when they stepped inside, as if mocking them, before going dark forever.

And the town knew: the curse was finished—for now. But someday, The End would echo through Eldridge again.

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"Loud":


Late one night, Jane sat alone in her tiny apartment, her only company the silence around her. She liked the quiet. It helped her think, helped her write.

But tonight, the quiet seemed heavier, almost oppressive.

She’d just settled in when the first noise shattered the silence—a loud, unmistakable sound of a chair scraping across the floor. Jane froze. Her heart pounded as she realized it was coming from her dining room, a few steps away.

Jane stood, trying to rationalize. Maybe it was just a neighbor. But she knew the walls in her building weren’t that thin.

Another noise—a loud, heavy thump—came from the same spot. She cautiously moved toward the dining room, heart in her throat. With each step, the sound grew louder, a guttural dragging like something scraping against the floor.

Suddenly, she heard it right behind her: a loud whisper, clear as a bell.

"Louder."

Jane whipped around, but there was nothing there. She felt her stomach twist, fear gnawing at her mind.

Then, it started again. Louder this time, like a distant scream echoing through the walls. Every noise in her apartment began to amplify, each one blending together in a chaotic symphony that grew, filling every inch of her mind. Footsteps—dragging and scratching—coming closer, voices whispering, a chorus of pain and anger.

She clapped her hands over her ears, but it didn’t help. The sound seeped in, burrowing into her mind, reverberating off the walls.

Suddenly, her own voice screamed, "Stop!"

The noise vanished. Silence.

But when she uncovered her ears, she saw a figure in the mirror—a twisted version of herself, its mouth wide open in a soundless scream.

And then, with a loud, final whisper, it leaned in close, "Louder."


---

The next day, Jane’s neighbors reported the eerie silence in her apartment. The police found her lying in front of the mirror, her mouth open in a silent scream, the word "Loud" scratched all over the walls.

No one could explain it. And when her apartment went silent once again, some say you could still hear the faintest whisper of her voice, begging for the noise to stop.