When the shadows awaken E-Book

Fiona Dürer

• Herausgeber: epubli
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

"When the shadows awaken" In the depths of a forgotten tower born from the ruins of the world lurks a dark force that threatens to tear apart reality itself. A band of feuding adventurers, each haunted by their own demons, find themselves locked in a deadly race against time as they attempt to unravel the tower's enigmatic secrets. But the deeper they go, the more they realize: the tower is not just a place, but a living nightmare fed by the fears of those who enter it. Pursued by grotesque creatures and magical illusions, the heroes must fight not only against the darkness of the tower, but also against the shadows of their own past. But the greatest danger doesn't lurk in the hallways - it lies in their own hearts. Will the group be able to find the truth and destroy the tower before the shadows of the past bring them down? An epic adventure full of violence, magic, betrayal and a desperate fight for survival.

Leseprobe

Title:When the shadows

awaken

Author:Fiona Dürer

Biography:

Fiona Dürer was born in Munich in 1985 and grew up in a family deeply rooted in the history of art and culture. Even as a child, she had a particular fascination with dark fairy tales and classical myths, which was reflected in her later writing. After graduating from high school, she decided against a traditional course of study and preferred to discover the world in her own way. She traveled around

Europe, worked in various creative professions and gained experiences that shaped her understanding of people and their dark, complex sides.

Fiona began writing stories to process her own thoughts and experiences. Her style is

inspired by the dark beauty of bygone eras, with a focus on magic, violence and theDepths of the human soul. She never took a classic academic path, but developed her skills as a writer autodidactically and studied the history of literature and mythology intensively.

Chapter 1: Arrival of Darkness

The rain poured down from the sky like liquid dirt, lashing down on the muddy streets of the small village of Schwarztal, turning every movement into torture. The few villagers who

were still milling around outside moved quickly, shoulders hunched, eyes looking down. No one wanted to stand in the rain any

longer than necessary. No one wanted to risk looking into the woods. Hartmut stood in his forge and wiped the sweat from his brow with a dirty rag. The

heat of the fire didn't care about the rain, and that was the only thing that kept him alive. He raised the hammer and struck the glowing

iron. "Shitty rain. Shitty day. Shitty life," he muttered as he repaired a rusty scythe handle that belonged in the hands of a farmer rather than his master blacksmith.

The door slammed open and Greta came in with a loud bang, dripping wet but with the usual self-assurance that she always had, even when she looked as if she had bathed in

a gutter. "Hartmut, you miserable scumbag! Are you comingfinally go to the pub or do you have to hammer ten nails for a pittance so you can afford a mug?"

Hartmut looked up and pulled a face. "Oh, shut up, Greta. If I wanted to drink crap like yours, I'd slurp rainwater straight from the gutter."

Greta laughed, a rough, throaty sound that

sounded as little like a laugh as a dying dog. "Then stay here and rub your ass raw on your anvil. But you're missing out, blacksmith. The

priest has been preaching another grim sermon that has people beginning to suspect each other as to who will be dragged into the forest next."

Hartmut spat on the ground, right next to Greta's muddy boots. "They should sacrifice someone so that the forest stays quiet.

Typical. If the priest himself had to drag his fat ass into the trees, there would suddenly be peace."

"That would be nice," said Greta and reached

for an old pair of pliers that were lying on his workbench. She turned them over in her hand, examining them, as if she were considering whether she should use them

to"But I'll tell you something, Hartmut. The old people are muttering about that damned heart tree again. Maybe the shepherdess Agathe will have more luck than the last idiot they dumped out there. Or maybe not." Before Hartmut could reply, a shriek rang through the air outside. Greta turned around and Hartmut dropped the hammer. For a moment there was nothing to be heard except the rain. Then came hurried footsteps, a dull

thud and the sound of bones scraping across wet ground. Hartmut and Greta rushed outside, where a

small circle of villagers had already formed. In the middle lay the hunter Franz, covered in blood, with one arm sticking out at a grotesque angle. His lips trembled and his

eyes rolled halfway into his head. "It... it's coming from the forest..." he stammered before losing consciousness with a final jolt.

"Oh shit," Greta muttered, nudging Hartmut with her elbow. "Guess the sacrifice thing isn't working so well, huh?"

The priest pushed through the crowd, a thin

man with cold eyes and a mouth that always looked ready to spit out an insult. "Back! Make way! The forest is taking its toll, that's all. You know what to do."

Hartmut clenched his fists. "What to do? How about you go in there and pay tribute to your damn forest yourself?"

The priest looked at him as if he were a naughty dog. "Be quiet, blacksmith. Your anger will only anger the forest more." Greta grinned broadly. "Oh, sure, Mr. Priest, I'm sure the forest will shit its pants in anger if Hartmut forges a few nails here."

A quiet laugh went through the crowd, but the priest raised a hand and silence returned. "Agathe is being prepared. She is weak. Old. She understands the need."

"Necessity, my ass," Hartmut muttered, but Greta grabbed his arm. "Leave it, blacksmith. This will only get uglier if you interfere."

"It couldn't get any uglier," saidhe said, as the crowd dispersed and the rain continued to pour down on the empty village.

Chapter 2: The First Sacrifice

Night fell like a dirty curtain over Schwarztal, and the atmosphere in the village was so quiet that even the rain seemed to muffle its blow. In the middle of the village square stood

Agathe, the old shepherdess who had barely been able to speak for years. Her face was a furrowed landscape of wrinkles, and her eyes

were as dull as old nails. Two of the stronger men in the village held her by the arms, but she did not resist. She had resigned herself to her fate weeks ago.

The villagers stood around the square, soaking wet and with a mixture of fear and relief in their eyes. Everyone was glad that

they themselves were not the victims. Everyone could already feel the cold of the forest in their bones.

Hartmut stood a little way off with his arms

folded in front of his chest. Greta leaned against a dilapidated barrel next to him and gnawed on a piece of bread as if she were at a mediocre theater performance. "Look at

those idiots," she said quietly and shoved another piece into her mouth. "They really think the forest gives them peace,when they

drop off an old woman. What's next? Babies? Maybe the village cop?" Hartmut snorted. "The village cop would make more sense. More meat." Greta snorted and almost choked on her bread. "You tell them that out loud. I want to

see the priest try to drag one of those animals into the clearing." The priest stood before the group with his

arms raised and muttered a prayer monotonously. His thin cloak clung to his bony shoulders and his voice was as dry as the dust in the forge. "The gods of the forest

demand our sacrifice. Just as our ancestors respected the forest, so we should respect it. This sacrifice will save us from their wrath."

"Yeah, sure," murmured Hartmut. "The forest respects us so much that it tears hunters to pieces and eats the cattle. Great deal."

"Psst," said Greta and nudged him in the ribs.

"I don't want us to be next. The priest has a look like an executioner." The two men dragged Agathe towards the edge of the forest. Her bare feetshuffled

through the mud, and she made a strange, throaty noise, like an animal that had just realized it was about to be slaughtered. "I go in, but I can't get out," Agathe said suddenly, her voice hoarse and brittle from years of silence. "The forest is hungry. Always hungry." Greta shuddered. "Nice parting words, right? Could go straight into the village chronicle."

Hartmut shook his head. "What a damn shit. The old woman should have at least brought a knife so she could defend herself."

"Against what? Trees? You can't stab a fir tree, you idiot." Hartmut was about to reply when a scream cut through the night. All heads turned and a

panicked murmur spread through the crowd. The scream did not come from Agathe. It came from the forest.

For a moment everything was quiet. Even the rain seemed to stop, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Then came a sound that froze everyone in the village: the crack of

wood, as if a tree were falling, followed by a deep rumble,that seemed to come from the depths of the forest.

“What was that?” asked someone in the crowd, his voice shaking with fear. “That was the forest,” said the priest, but his voice was quieter and he suddenly seemed less sure.

"Shit," Greta whispered. "It sounds like the forest itself is getting up to punch us in the face."

Hartmut grabbed her arm. "Come on. This is

going to get ugly. I don't want to stand around here when the old people start sacrificing each other."

They retreated, leaving the crowd in the square, where the tension was almost palpable. The men who had taken Agathe into the forest did not return. Their absence

caused the villagers to huddle even closer together, as if they could protect each other. In the smithy, Hartmut sat down on a wobbly

stool and lit a candle. Greta threw herself onto the wooden table and pulled a bottle of schnapps out of her bag. "Do you want some too?"

"Sure. Seems to be the only medicine that helps." They drank in silence while the rain continued to drum against the roof beams.

Hartmut wiped his face and looked at Greta. "You know, I don't think this is the last victim we'll see today."

Greta took a deep sip and grinned. "Well, I'm glad I'm not an old shepherdess. Cheers, Hartmut."

Chapter 3: The Whispering Trees

The next morning, a strange silence hung over the village. The rain had stopped, but the ground was still muddy and slippery. Black Valley looked like a dead body whose

blood - hope - had long since leaked out. No one spoke loudly, and the doors of the huts remained locked.

Hartmut stoked the fire in his forge, but the embers didn't really want to flare up today. The wood was damp, the coal crumbly. He cursed quietly to himself, grabbed the tongs

and slammed them angrily against the anvil. "Shitty day. Shitty life. Shitty forest." The door burst open and Greta stormed in,

her hair disheveled, her eyes wide open. She had the look of a woman who had either been drinking all night or had been in a fight - or both. "Hartmut, you lazy pig, you won't believe it!"

“What now? Has the priest finally dragged his butt into the bushes himself?” Hartmut lowered the pliers and reached for a half-empty beer mug that was on his workbench. Greta leaned on the table, herdirty nails scratched across the old wood. "Agathe is back."

Hartmut froze, the beer mug stopped halfway to his mouth. "What? You can fool someone else."

"I swear to you, Smith. I saw her with my own

eyes. Or, well, what's left of her. They threw her body in front of the church steps like a sack of rotten potatoes."

Hartmut knocked the jug down so that the contents spilled over the workbench. "Shit. The old woman should have stayed in the forest. Why is the forest bringing her back?"

"Let's ask the forest itself," Greta said dryly, folding her arms. "Maybe it'll whisper in your ear while it rips your balls off."

Hartmut snorted and grabbed his heavy leather apron. "Then I'll just go. Someone has to tell the idiots that their great sacrifices are useless. Are you coming with me, or do you want to stay here and play with my nails?"

"I'll come with you," said Greta, grinning. "The nails are probably more interesting than the guys out there, but at leastthey smell of more than soot.”

A group had already gathered in the village square. Agathe lay in the middle - or what was left of her. Her arms were twisted like dry branches, her skin was greenish, and her chest was torn open. Something had torn her from the inside out. The people murmured nervously, but the priest stood silently next to the corpse, his lips moving in a silent prayer.

"It looks like she swallowed a tree," said Greta, wrinkling her nose. "What do you think, Hartmut? Maybe she was trying to show the forest how to eat sacrifices?" “Shut up,” hissed Hartmut, stepping closer. “This isn’t funny.”

“Yes, a little bit.”

Hartmut ignored her and looked at Agathe more closely. There were small splinters of wood stuck in her chest, sticking out of her

flesh like thorns. They looked like roots trying to grow out of her body. "The forest has sent them... back," the priest finally said, his voice quiet and shaky. "A sign. We have somethingdone wrong."

"No shit, Sherlock," Greta growled. "Maybe the forest just wants to stop swallowing your victims because it's getting on its nerves."

The priest glared at her, but before he could reply, a cold wind blew across the square. The leaves of the trees rustled softly, although none of them were moving. It sounded like a whisper, an eerie murmur that seemed to come from all directions at once. The people moved closer together. A woman started to cry and an older man hastily crossed himself. Greta raised her eyebrows.

"Well, that's quite a greeting. Do you hear that too, or have I completely lost my mind?" Hartmut nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the

tree line. "That's not the wind. That... sounds like voices."

"Voices that are probably telling us that we're next on the menu," said Greta with feigned

calm. "Wonderful day, Hartmut. I knew it would be great when I saw you today." Suddenly the whispering stopped, and the

silence was worse than the noise. People held their breath as if they expected the forest to spit something out—more bodies, more horror.

Hartmut took a step back and grabbed Greta by the arm. "Come on. Let's get out of here. If the forest wants to talk, it can also send a letter."

“And what about this one?” Greta nodded towards Agathe’s body, which was still lying in the middle of the square.

“She can’t complain anymore.”

"Good point." Greta let Hartmut pull her away, but she cast one last glance at the trees that stood at the edge of the square like silent sentinels. For a moment she thought she had

seen something - a figure, half hidden in the shadows, with glowing eyes that looked directly at her. But when she blinked, it had disappeared.

"I'm telling you, blacksmith," she murmured as they walked down the road. "If the forest is coming to get us, we might as well get drunk before it happens."

“You’re right,” Hartmut replied grimly. “But maybe we shouldalso find out what is really

going on here before the same thing happens to us as Agathe."

"Well," said Greta and grinned, "I hope you're better at surviving than doing nails."