Story 1135: Children of the Chant

No one remembered when the children began to sing.

It started in Wither’s Hollow, a hamlet carved into the roots of blackened pines. The villagers woke one morning to the sound of a melody carried on the wind—a haunting, wordless chant that seemed to drift from nowhere and everywhere.

It was soft, like the humming of lullabies remembered from the cradle. Beautiful, even. But it stirred something ancient in the marrow of those who heard it.

Then the children vanished.

The first was Tilda Gray, just seven, taken from her bed in the night. No signs of struggle. No footprints. No door left open.

Just a faint trail of moss growing along her floorboards, fresh and wet despite the dry season.

By the next night, five more were gone.

And by the third night, the chanting had grown louder.

Desperate, the village elders sought the aid of Father Brannick, a traveling exorcist who had once banished an entire coven into salt.