The Keening Winds : Scary Stories – Short Horror Story

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Beaches in winter are beautiful. Their peaceful overcast skies demand nothing, and give nothing in return. They blend seamlessly into the endless expanse of the sea, creating a cocoon of silence punctuated only by the gentle lapping of waves upon the shore.

It is in one such place that you find yourself now. You always knew that you would end up here, in the end. You could never completely shut out the keening voices carried on the wind, calling to you. Some nights the air was still, but they never failed to return. The inevitably was comforting, as it was the only certainty left in a writhing and roiling world. And now the time to answer has arrived.

You disembark from your car, door open, engine thrumming. It chirps indignantly at your negligence, but you continue on your way. You don’t need it anymore. A flimsy guardrail bars the path ahead, jagged edges rusting in the salted air. You’ve stood at this precipice many times before, but this time you will not be deterred. Your breath turns ragged as you step over the deteriorated barrier, and in an instant a feeling of elation washes over you. You know now that this is pure, this is right.

The asphalt gives way to soft sand and rolling dunes as you proceed down a delicately sloping trail. The loose grains envelope your feet as you walk, embracing you and welcoming you. Excited whispers surround you as the cattails bend and shiver in the cold winter air. Then, finally, you see it. As you round the final bend of the twisting path, the sea stretches to the horizon before you. Its grandeur and permanence render you breathless. You move entranced towards the beckoning waves.

But the infinite dark waters bely their tantalizing promise. Is this truly your destiny? Are you really prepared for what comes next? The keening winds rise to meet your trepidation, adamant and beguiling. They’re here with you now, as they always have been. Their cutting words and promises of salvation fill your mind, and you step forward.

Daggers slice through your skin as your first step plunges beneath the frigid surface. The pain is visceral, raw, and… real. You charge forward, drunk on the intoxicating sensation. The keening winds howl in delight as they draw you deeper…

…but then you stop. A lone, mournful voice soars above the cacophony and begs you to come home. Home, where it is warm and safe. You think you recognize it from long ago. It’s a happy memory. A cherished one. You turn back toward the shore and wonder if it’s not too late to…

But it is. Undulating black tendrils rise from the waves and seize your arms, your legs, your mouth, your eyes, your throat, and you know the yawning abyss has you. The keening winds cackle in satisfaction as they drag you under.

And your vision fades.

And your thoughts fade.

And you are nothing.

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