Story 1022: Spirits of the Bone Trail

They said the Bone Trail only appeared after sunset.

A crooked path of ivory markers winding through the bloodgrass of Widow’s Valley—each bone bleached under a pale moon, each one pointing forward like a skeletal compass. No one knew who laid the trail, only that it was cursed.

Or worse—alive.

Ren and Theo, scavenger twins hardened by the zombie outbreak, didn’t believe in stories. They followed trails for supplies, not ghost tales. But that night, beneath a swollen red moon, the Bone Trail called to them—literally. A low, rhythmic hum echoed across the valley, vibrating through their marrow.

Then they saw it.

Bones. Dozens. Clean, glistening, freshly laid.

And leading somewhere.

They should’ve turned back.

But greed is louder than fear.

The trail led them past hollowed corpses of beasts stitched together with bramble, past trees with ribs for branches, past a crumbling statue of a blindfolded woman holding her own skull.