Story 1070: Specter’s Garden

In the dead center of the Wexley Woods, where compasses fail and no birds sing, there blooms a garden untouched by sun or season. Specter’s Garden, they call it—a place where flowers grow from bone and vines coil like the fingers of the damned. No map marks its location. Only whispers guide the way.

The garden is said to appear only at twilight, shimmering like a fever dream—alive, but wrong. Too green. Too perfect. And always, always, bathed in a soft, unearthly glow. Many have searched for it. Most never return.

Those who do speak of a presence that walks the garden paths. Not a ghost, exactly. Not a god either.

A Specter.

Marlow Crane, ex-botanist turned wanderer, stumbles into the garden on accident—guided by strange dreams and a hollow song that haunts his sleep. After losing his daughter to the zombie outbreak, he’s been seeking solace in solitude. But what he finds among the twisted hedgerows is no peace.