Tanyard Creek

Stranded on a forgotten stretch of road, you find yourself alone as daylight begins to fade. The forest around you feels endless—silent at first, almost peaceful. Then the broadcasts begin. Crackling through the air like a broken radio, distorted emergency warnings echo from somewhere deep within the trees. They repeat. Glitch. Change. They start to sound… personal. There are no towers. No speakers. No reason for any signal to reach this place. Yet something is transmitting. Something tall enough to disappear among the trees. Something that doesn’t just make noise—but uses it. As night falls, the sounds grow closer. Louder. Wrong. And whatever is out there is no longer just broadcasting. It’s listening. Watching. Learning. Out here, direction means nothing. Silence doesn’t last. And the voice calling from the darkness might not be a voice at all.