A short story by Trey Routh
On a desolate stretch of desert highway, a Native American soldier returns home from war but something ancient is waiting for him in the dark. As his car breaks down under the moonless sky, a figure appears. Tall, dark, and impossibly still, it stares. Watching. Waiting.
Haunted by trauma and a heritage filled with warnings he once dismissed, he must now confront a horror both personal and primal
Some things don't live in the dark.
They are the dark.
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