Story 1088: The Choirboy’s Maw

In the aftermath of the Dead Choir’s destruction, something was left behind.

In the village of Glenhollow, abandoned during the first waves of plague, a new sound emerged—high, clear, and sweet as a child’s voice singing lullabies through the fog. Those who heard it found their dreams turned sour, their shadows growing teeth.

The survivors, ragged and half-mad, called it the Choirboy.

But no one had seen it and lived.

Mara Vens, a former bellringer who had once clung to faith, stumbled into Glenhollow one dusk, chasing rumors of a song that could heal—or devour—the soul. The streets were buried in thorny vines, walls caved in as if by unseen jaws. Everywhere, there were gnawed bones—too large to be animal, too twisted to be human.

In the center of town stood the old church, its steeple snapped like a broken finger, its bells shattered across the ground. Yet from its hollow mouth drifted that song—a boy’s voice, calling for anyone who still remembered warmth, family, light.