The Night the Stars Fell
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A Warning in the Sky
The night was supposed to be clear and quiet.
Brian sat on his porch, a mug of hot tea steaming in his hands. The air was cool, thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. Ghost lay stretched out beside him, his fur blending into the darkness.
The forest around them was alive with soft, familiar sounds—the rustle of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl, the rhythmic chirp of crickets. Peace.
Then, without warning, the air changed.
Ghost's ears pricked up. His muscles tensed. A low, almost inaudible growl rumbled in his throat.
Brian frowned and glanced skyward.
And then he saw it.
The first meteor, slicing across the night sky in a streak of burning silver.
Then another.
And another.
Within seconds, the sky was alive with fire, dozens—no, hundreds—of streaks flashing across the heavens.
Brian had seen meteor showers before. This wasn't normal.
Some of the burning streaks were too large, their glow too intense. And unlike ordinary shooting stars, which burned up before touching the earth, these—
These were coming down.
The first impact came seconds later. A distant, muffled boom, like thunder rolling through the mountains.
Then a second, closer.
Brian stood, setting his mug down. The ground trembled beneath his feet.
A third explosion lit up the ridgeline beyond his valley, the glow so bright it turned night into day for a heartbeat.
Ghost sprang to his feet, hackles raised, ears pinned back.
Then—silence.
The meteors were gone. The sky was dark again.
But Brian felt it. Something had changed. The air felt thicker, charged with an electric hum just beneath perception. His skin tingled, his pulse slightly off-rhythm.
And in the distance, past the black trees and rolling hills, something smoked in the darkness.
Something had arrived.
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The Crater
Brian should have ignored it. He knew better.
His instincts screamed to stay away, to mind his own survival, but curiosity was an itch he couldn't ignore.
The next morning, he packed light—a rifle slung over his back, a machete at his side, a simple hunting pack with water and a radio. Ghost followed at his heels, alert, silent.
The hike was two miles northeast, past the ridgeline where the fire had lit up the night before. As he neared the impact site, the forest began to change.
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The First Signs of Something Wrong
✔ The trees were blackened, not burned, but… twisted, as if something had seeped into them.
✔ The leaves had turned brittle, crumbling to dust at his touch.
✔ The ground was wrong—softer, spongier, like something had altered the soil.
✔ The air hummed, a faint vibration just beneath hearing range, like distant static.
Ghost was uneasy, pacing beside Brian, ears flicking at sounds only he could hear.
Then they reached the crater.
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The Impact Site
The earth had been torn open, a twenty-foot crater, its edges lined with steaming black rock. The dirt was charred, but not in a way that looked like normal fire damage.
At the center, something smoldered—a jagged meteorite, half-buried in the loose soil.
And it was moving.
Not physically shifting, but something inside it pulsed.
Brian knelt, his breath slow. His hand hovered over his machete.
The air here felt thicker, the pressure pressing against his skull. His fingers tingled, his pulse off-beat again.
Then Ghost growled—deep, low, primal.
Brian followed his gaze—and froze.
Something was standing at the edge of the crater.
A deer.
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The Reanimated Dead
At first, Brian thought it had been caught in the blast—its hide was torn, its flank exposed to bone.
But it was standing. Moving.
Then it turned its milky, dead eyes toward him.
Ghost snarled, stepping forward.
The deer twitched, its muscles moving wrong, its posture unnatural. Its legs didn't bend correctly, its head tilted too far to the side.
Then it charged.
Brian reacted on instinct. His rifle came up, finger squeezing the trigger.
CRACK!
The shot hit center mass. The deer staggered but didn't fall.
Another shot.
This time to the head.
The deer collapsed—but before Brian could breathe, its legs twitched.
Its jaw opened and closed, spasming. Its limbs jerked, shuddering as if fighting to move again.
Brian didn't think. He stepped forward and slammed his machete into its skull.
Then, for good measure, he lit a torch and set the body on fire.
The smell that hit him was wrong. Not just burning flesh—something chemical, something unnatural.
And as the flames curled around the corpse, Brian saw it.
Thin veins of black ran through the meat, pulsing like roots.
Like something was inside it.
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The First Changes
By the time Brian returned home, he wasn't feeling right.
✔ His hands tingled, the numbness creeping up his arms.
✔ His vision felt sharper, almost too sharp, as if he could see more details than before.
✔ His breathing was deeper, easier, like his lungs had expanded.
✔ His heart rate wasn't normal.
And the hunger—he was starving.
He ate twice his normal meal but still felt empty.
Ghost sat by the fire, watching him. Not like a pet.
Like he was studying him.
Brian looked down at his hands. His calloused palms looked the same.
But something deep in his bones told him they weren't.
Something had changed.
And it wasn't done changing him yet.
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