Chapter 1: The Climb to Nostalgia

The tires of the SUV crunched over the snow-packed road, the sound blending with the faint hum of the car’s heater, which was barely managing to fight the bitter cold. My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles pale against the leather. I exhaled a long breath, watching it fog in the icy air despite the heater’s feeble efforts.

“I swear, this hill gets steeper every year,” I muttered, adjusting my grip as the SUV struggled to climb the winding path.

“Steeper? Or is it just your gut weighing you down?” Caleb’s voice came from the passenger seat, laced with the kind of teasing only a younger brother could get away with.

“Funny. Real funny,” I shot back, glancing sideways at him. Caleb was leaning back, arms folded, looking every bit the laid-back sibling he always had been. His grin widened as he caught the flicker of irritation in my eyes.

In the backseat, Vanessa, my wife, stifled a laugh. “Babe, Caleb might have a point,” she said, poking my side playfully. “Maybe we should’ve taken a sled instead of this tank. It’d probably have been faster.”

“You two act like this is the North Pole,” I grumbled, adjusting the heat dial uselessly.

“Eric,” Rachel, Caleb’s wife, chimed in from the backseat. “You’d think your parents could’ve picked a normal spot to live. Like, I don’t know, in town? What is it with them and this whole ‘house on the hill’ thing?”

“It’s not just a hill,” I said, defending the absurdity of it out of reflex. “It’s more of a landmark.”

“A giant rock,” Rachel deadpanned.

“A hill,” I corrected, not that it mattered. “And they didn’t just pick it. The land’s been in our family for generations.”

“Right,” Vanessa said, leaning forward with mock seriousness. “Because the Cartwrights are secretly royalty or something.”

“It’s called a unique location,” Caleb interjected, clearly enjoying my futile attempts to justify our parents’ decision. “You’ll appreciate it when you see the view.”

The road curved sharply, and suddenly the town came into view. From this height, it looked like a postcard scene—snow-covered rooftops, twinkling Christmas lights strung across porches, and narrow streets winding through the village like veins. The setting sun cast a soft orange glow over everything, making it all seem frozen in time.

“It hasn’t changed at all,” Caleb said, leaning closer to the window. His voice softened, a rare hint of nostalgia creeping in.

Vanessa leaned over my shoulder to look. “It’s like one of those Hallmark Christmas towns. I didn’t even know places like this still existed.”

“Not much reason to change,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road. “Most people don’t move here; they leave. Only the old folks stick around.”

Rachel snorted. “You two are so nostalgic. Next, you’re going to tell us about the legend of the magical rock your house is sitting on.”

I glanced at Caleb, and we shared a knowing look. “You joke, but there actually is a story,” I said, smirking.

“Here we go,” Vanessa sighed, already rolling her eyes.

“No, seriously,” Caleb said, turning in his seat to face Rachel. “The town calls it the ‘Founders’ Rock.’ Apparently, the first settlers thought it was sacred. They even built some kind of altar on top of it.”

“An altar?” Rachel asked, raising an eyebrow.

“For rituals. Sacrifices,” I added, only half-joking. “You know, normal pioneer stuff.”

“Oh, lovely,” Vanessa said, her sarcasm as sharp as ever. “And here I thought we were just coming for Christmas dinner.”

We rounded the final bend, and there it was—our parents’ house. It sat perched atop the hill, a grand and slightly intimidating structure with steeply pitched roofs and large bay windows that glimmered in the dim light. Snow clung to the eaves and roof tiles, giving it the appearance of a gingerbread house someone had forgotten to eat.

“Well, here it is,” I said, pulling into the driveway and cutting the engine. The car shuddered to a stop, steam rising faintly from the hood. I turned to Vanessa, a small triumphant smile on my face. “Still think it’s not worth the climb?”

Vanessa shrugged. “Okay, fine. It’s cute. In a creepy, isolated-on-top-of-a-giant-rock kind of way.”

As we stepped out into the cold, the wind hit like a slap, biting at any exposed skin. Our breaths turned into visible puffs of air as we unloaded the bags from the trunk. The hilltop was eerily quiet—no birds, no rustling of animals. Just the faint whistle of the wind and the crunch of snow beneath our boots.

“Why is it so quiet?” Rachel asked, hugging her coat tighter around her.

“It’s the hill,” Caleb said, hoisting a duffel bag onto his shoulder. “Sound doesn’t travel up here the same way.”

“Sure,” Rachel muttered. “That, or the birds know better than to hang out around your creepy altar rock.”

I didn’t bother responding, mostly because I didn’t have a good answer. Instead, I motioned toward the house. “Come on. Let’s get inside before Mom freaks out and calls to make sure we didn’t freeze to death.”

The door swung open before we even reached it. Mom stood there, beaming, her apron dusted with flour and her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the kitchen.

“There you are!” she said, pulling me into a hug. “We were starting to think you got lost on that hill.”

“Hi, Mom,” I said, returning her embrace. She smelled like cinnamon and fresh bread, a combination that immediately took me back to childhood.

Caleb was next, receiving the same warm hug. “You’re late,” Mom chided playfully.

“Blame Eric. He’s the one who wouldn’t let me drive.”

Behind her, Dad appeared in the doorway, his towering frame filling the space. His weathered face broke into a rare smile as he clapped Caleb and me on the shoulders. “Finally decided to show up, huh? Thought you’d let the wives drive so you’d make it here faster.”

Vanessa and Rachel exchanged amused glances but didn’t comment.

Inside, the house was as warm and inviting as ever. The living room glowed with the light of a crackling fire, and the scent of roasting turkey filled the air. A tall Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner, its ornaments catching the firelight. For a moment, I could almost forget the strange quiet of the hilltop.

Dinner was lively, filled with laughter and stories from the past year. It was the kind of perfect moment that makes you think nothing could go wrong.

But as the evening wore on, I started to notice it—the hum. It was faint at first, barely noticeable beneath the chatter and the crackle of the fire. But once I heard it, I couldn’t unhear it. It was a low, resonant vibration, like the distant drone of an engine. It made my chest feel tight, like the sound was pressing against me from the inside.

“Do you hear that?” I asked Caleb quietly, leaning over so only he could hear.

“Hear what?” he asked, frowning.

“That hum. It’s like…a low vibration or something.”

He tilted his head, listening. After a moment, he shrugged. “You’re imagining things. It’s probably just the wind.”

But I wasn’t so sure. The hum seemed to grow louder the more I focused on it, like it was alive, aware that I’d noticed it. I glanced toward the window, my gaze drawn to the darkness outside. For a moment, I thought I saw movement—shadows flickering between the trees—but when I blinked, the view was still.

“Everything okay?” Vanessa asked, touching my arm.

“Yeah,” I said quickly, shaking off the unease. “Just tired from the drive.”

But even as I rejoined the conversation, the hum lingered, a phantom sound at the edge of my awareness, whispering that something wasn’t quite right.

Chapter 2: A Merry Christmas

The dining table looked like it belonged in a holiday movie—warm, inviting, and decked out with enough food to feed a small army. The massive turkey in the center glistened under the soft glow of the chandelier, its golden skin practically begging to be carved. Bowls of creamy mashed potatoes, glazed carrots, and brussels sprouts with bacon surrounded it like royal attendants. The smell alone—rosemary, cinnamon, melted butter—was enough to make me forget how much I hated the cold climb up to the house.

Mom, still wearing her flour-dusted apron, beamed as she ladled out turkey onto our plates. Her energy was infectious. Even Dad, the stoic anchor of the family, seemed more relaxed than usual, quietly pouring wine for everyone.

“This is perfect, Mom,” I said, slicing into my turkey. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

She waved a hand dismissively but couldn’t hide her smile. “Of course I did. How often do I get all of you under one roof anymore?”

“We’re here now,” Caleb said, raising his glass. “That’s what matters.”

“To family,” Dad said, lifting his own glass with a rare smile.

“To family,” we all echoed, the clinking of glasses ringing through the room like music. For a moment, everything felt...right.

Conversation flowed as easily as the wine. We slipped into that familiar rhythm families have, where the gaps between visits melt away in laughter and shared stories.

“So,” Mom began, looking at Caleb and Rachel, “how’s life treating you two out west?”

Rachel leaned back in her chair, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Busy. Caleb’s work has him traveling constantly, and my classes are always a full-time circus.”

“Still teaching dance?” Mom asked, her eyes sparkling with interest.

“Of course,” Rachel said, smiling. “The kids are great—well, most of them. Some of the teenagers could use a lesson in listening.”

Caleb chuckled. “Teenagers don’t listen. That’s why I avoid them entirely.”

Rachel nudged him. “Oh, please. You just like pretending you’re the fun husband.”

“I am the fun husband,” Caleb said, feigning offense.

“Sure you are,” Vanessa chimed in from across the table. “Eric doesn’t have to pretend.”

“Oh, please,” I said, shaking my head. “If I’m the fun one, you’re the one keeping us out of trouble.”

“That’s true,” Vanessa said with a wink. “Somebody has to.”

The table erupted into laughter, the kind of deep, genuine laughter that only comes in the company of family. For a moment, I let myself relax, leaning back in my chair and taking it all in—the warmth, the smells, the flickering candlelight.

Dad stayed mostly quiet, watching us all with that unreadable expression he always wore. But I caught the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, the kind of subtle acknowledgment that told me he was happy to have us all here.

“What about you, Dad?” I asked, breaking into his silence. “Still keeping busy?”

He nodded, setting his glass down. “There’s always something to fix around here. Snow shoveling alone keeps me in shape.”

Mom grinned. “Good thing, too. Otherwise, I’d have to drag you to one of Rachel’s dance classes.”

“Now that I’d pay to see,” Caleb said, laughing so hard he nearly spilled his wine.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Dad replied, though his smirk betrayed him.

After dinner, we migrated to the living room, gathering around the fireplace. The flames danced, casting flickering shadows on the walls, while the Christmas tree sparkled with twinkling lights and old ornaments Mom insisted on keeping year after year. It felt like stepping into a memory.

Caleb leaned back on the couch, grinning mischievously. “Hey, Eric, remember that Christmas when you got your head stuck in the banister?”

I groaned, already regretting this trip down memory lane. “Oh no. We’re not telling that story.”

“Yes, we are,” Rachel said, laughing. “You can’t leave us hanging after an intro like that.”

“It was Christmas Eve,” Caleb began, taking on his best storyteller voice. “Eric here—what, maybe eight years old?—decides he’s going to be a ‘lookout’ for Santa Claus. So he sticks his head between the banister rails to watch the living room.”

“And got stuck,” Vanessa guessed, already laughing.

“Not just stuck,” Caleb said, grinning wider. “Mom had to call the fire department.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” I muttered, though the flush creeping up my neck probably said otherwise.

Mom, laughing so hard she wiped tears from her eyes, added, “It took three firefighters and half a bottle of cooking oil to get him out.”

The room erupted in laughter, even Dad chuckling softly in his chair. I couldn’t help but join in, despite myself.

By the time dessert rolled around—Mom’s pecan pie and a plate of sugar cookies Rachel insisted were “too pretty to eat”—the mood was positively glowing. We exchanged small gifts around the tree, teasing and laughing as wrapping paper piled up around us.

“Okay,” Mom declared, standing up, “we have to sing. It’s tradition.”

“Oh no,” I groaned. “Not this tradition.”

“Yes, this tradition,” Mom said firmly. “You two boys used to love it.”

“That was when we were ten,” Caleb said, laughing. “And terrible at it.”

“We’re still terrible,” I added, but I stood anyway. Caleb followed, grumbling under his breath, and soon our wives joined us. We stood in a circle around the tree, holding hands like something out of a Christmas card.

Mom started us off with a cheerful rendition of “Jingle Bells,” and before long, the room was filled with slightly off-key but enthusiastic singing. Even Dad joined in for “Silent Night,” his deep voice lending an unexpected steadiness to the melody.

“Merry Christmas, everyone,” Mom said softly as the last notes faded. Her voice was thick with emotion, her smile radiant.

“Merry Christmas,” we all echoed, the warmth of the moment wrapping around us like a comforting blanket.

For a brief moment, everything felt perfect.

But then it changed.

At first, I thought I imagined it—a low, insistent hum, so faint it barely registered over the crackling fire. But as I focused, it grew louder, vibrating in my chest like the growl of a distant engine.

I glanced around the room, wondering if anyone else noticed it. Then Rachel spoke.

“Did you hear that?” she asked, breaking the spell.

“Hear what?” Caleb asked, frowning.

“That noise,” Rachel said. “Like...a hum. Or buzzing?”

My stomach twisted. “I heard it earlier.”

“You didn’t say anything?” Vanessa asked, her tone sharp but laced with worry.

“I thought it was just me,” I admitted.

“What are you all talking about?” Mom asked, looking between us.

“It’s probably nothing,” Dad said, his calm voice cutting through the tension. “The wind, maybe. This house makes all kinds of noises in the winter.”

But the hum grew louder, more invasive. It wasn’t coming from the house—it was coming from outside.

The lights flickered, once, twice, then went out. The fire dimmed, its flames shrinking until they were little more than embers. In the sudden silence, the hum was deafening.

“What the hell is that?” Caleb said, standing up.

I moved to the window, my heart pounding. Outside, the town was dark, the faint glow of Christmas lights barely visible in the distance. But something was moving—shadows flitting between the trees, quick and erratic.

“What is it?” Vanessa asked, her voice trembling.

I turned back to her, my face pale. “I don’t know.”

The hum shifted, rising in pitch, sharper now, like it was crawling into my head. Mom collapsed to her knees, clutching her ears. “Make it stop,” she sobbed.

Before anyone could react, a sudden, violent pounding echoed from the front door.

The Chaos Begins

“Don’t open it,” Rachel said immediately, her voice sharp with fear.

“Who would be out here?” Caleb asked, moving toward the door.

“Wait,” I said, grabbing his arm. “Something’s not right.”

The pounding grew more frantic, rattling the door on its hinges. From outside, a voice called, “Help me! Please!”

I hesitated. The voice sounded...wrong. Distorted, like it was coming through a broken speaker.

“Help me!” the voice repeated, louder this time. The pounding stopped, replaced by a scraping sound, like nails dragging down the wooden door.

“What the hell is going on?” Vanessa whispered, clutching my arm.

The hum was unbearable now, pressing against my skull. Mom was sobbing on the floor. Dad pulled her back as the sound of shattering glass ripped through the room.

The first scream came a second later, and the nightmare began.

Chapter 3: The Calm Before Hell

The hum stopped.

At first, none of us believed it. The sound had been so pervasive, so constant, that its absence felt unnatural, almost oppressive. The silence settled over the house like a thick blanket, suffocating in its weight.

“Is it...gone?” Rachel whispered, clutching Caleb’s arm.

I listened hard, straining my ears for even the faintest echo of that low, bone-deep vibration. But there was nothing. Just the creak of the house settling and the soft crackle of the fire.

“It’s stopped,” I said finally, though the words felt heavy in my mouth. “At least for now.”

For a long moment, we all just stood there, unsure of what to do. The relief was fragile, tentative, as if the hum might return at any second. But as the minutes ticked by and the silence held, the tension in the room began to ease.

“Maybe it’s over,” Vanessa said, her voice laced with cautious hope. She pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Maybe it was just...I don’t know. A fluke.”

Dad shook his head, his expression grim. “That wasn’t a fluke.”

“Then what was it?” Caleb asked, his tone sharp. “Because if you know something, now’s the time to tell us.”

Dad didn’t answer. He just stared at the fire, his jaw set in a hard line.

We decided to check the house, more to give ourselves something to do than out of any real expectation of finding answers. Caleb and I started with the first floor, while Vanessa and Rachel stayed in the living room with Mom, who was still shaking like a leaf. Dad stayed by the window, his eyes fixed on the dark expanse of the town below.

The kitchen was untouched, save for the shattered window from earlier. Glass crunched underfoot as Caleb and I carefully stepped inside. The cold air streaming in from the broken pane made my skin prickle.

“Looks like they didn’t get far,” Caleb said, nodding toward the broken window. A dark smear of blood marred the sill, a chilling reminder of the attack we’d barely survived.

I knelt to inspect the glass. “Whoever it was, they were trying to get in bad.”

“And now they’re gone,” Caleb said. He sounded more uneasy than relieved.

The rest of the first floor was intact. The dining room was eerily pristine, the table still set with the remains of our Christmas feast. The sight of the half-eaten turkey and overturned wine glasses made my stomach churn. It felt wrong, like stepping into a picture frame of a memory that had already been destroyed.

The last place to check was the basement. Caleb and I descended the creaking stairs, the flashlight beam cutting through the thick darkness. The air down there was colder, damper, with a faint metallic tang that I couldn’t place.

“Think it’s the furnace?” Caleb asked, his voice low.

“Maybe,” I said, though I wasn’t convinced. Something about the air felt...off. Heavy.

We searched every corner of the basement, from the old storage shelves crammed with dusty boxes to the ancient furnace that hadn’t been used in years. But there was nothing unusual. No signs of intruders, no strange markings on the walls, no vibrations beneath our feet.

“It’s just a basement,” Caleb said finally, his breath fogging in the cold air. “Let’s get out of here.”

I didn’t argue.

When we returned to the living room, Dad was still at the window. His face was pale, his eyes wide with something that looked like fear—or disbelief.

“Dad?” I said, stepping closer. “What is it?”

He didn’t answer. He just pointed.

I followed his gaze out the window, and my breath caught in my throat.

The town was on fire.

From our vantage point on the hill, we could see everything. The streets below were a swirling mass of chaos, lit by the flickering orange glow of burning buildings. Explosions erupted in the distance, sending plumes of smoke billowing into the night sky. Cars careened wildly down the streets, their headlights cutting erratic paths through the darkness. And above it all, the screams—shrill, panicked, and unrelenting.

“What the hell...” Caleb breathed, coming to stand beside me.

People were running through the streets, their movements frantic and disjointed. Some were fighting, their silhouettes locked in brutal struggles illuminated by the flames. Others stumbled aimlessly, their arms flailing like marionettes controlled by unseen strings.

“It’s like...” Rachel started, her voice trembling. “It’s like the whole town’s gone insane.”

“Doomsday,” Vanessa whispered. “It looks like doomsday.”

I couldn’t argue. The scene unfolding below was nothing short of apocalyptic. It was as if the town had been swallowed by hell itself, the hum replaced by an even greater chaos.

“We have to do something,” Caleb said, his voice urgent. “There are people down there—”

“There’s nothing we can do,” Dad interrupted, his tone cold and final. “You saw what happened earlier. If we go down there, we’ll end up just like them.”

“But we can’t just sit here!” Caleb snapped.

“And what’s your plan, huh?” Dad shot back. “Charge into the middle of that with a flashlight and a prayer? You think that’ll help?”

“Stop it!” Mom’s voice cut through their argument, trembling but firm. “This isn’t the time.”

Caleb looked like he wanted to argue, but he bit his tongue, his jaw tightening as he turned back to the window.

As we watched, the chaos seemed to grow worse. More buildings went up in flames, their walls collapsing in showers of sparks. A group of people surrounded a car that had stalled in the middle of an intersection, dragging the driver out and beating him with horrifying precision. A woman in a torn coat screamed as she was pulled into the shadows by a mob.

The hum might have stopped, but whatever it had triggered was far from over.

“This isn’t random,” Dad said suddenly, his voice low.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

He gestured to the town. “Look at them. They’re not just panicked. They’re...coordinated. Like something’s controlling them.”

“That’s insane,” Caleb said, shaking his head. “They’re just scared.”

“Are they?” Dad asked, his eyes narrowing. “Because I’ve seen scared people before, and this isn’t it.”

I didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. There was something deeply wrong about the way the townspeople were moving, the way they seemed to work together even as they tore each other apart.

“We need a plan,” Vanessa said, her voice breaking the silence. “If this spreads—if they come up here—what do we do?”

“We hold the house,” Dad said immediately. “It’s defensible. We’ve got supplies. We can last until morning.”

“And then what?” Rachel asked. “What if this doesn’t end in the morning? What if it just gets worse?”

No one had an answer. The fire crackled softly, the only sound in the room besides our shallow breathing.

Finally, I spoke. “We’ll take it one step at a time. Tonight, we stay here. We keep watch. And tomorrow...we figure out what’s next.”

As the night wore on, the chaos below showed no signs of stopping. We took turns at the window, keeping watch while the others tried—and failed—to get some rest. Every so often, the screams would rise in pitch, a fresh explosion would light up the horizon, or a shadow would flit too close to the base of the hill.

But through it all, the hum didn’t return.

And somehow, that was the most unsettling part of all.

“Don’t turn on the generator.”

Dad’s voice sliced through the room, startling us all into silence. Caleb, who’d been pacing near the fireplace, froze mid-step, his frustration twisting into disbelief.

“What do you mean, don’t turn it on?” Caleb asked, his tone sharp. “Dad, we’re freezing in here! We can’t see anything!”

“If you turn it on, they’ll see us,” Dad replied, his voice steady and grave.

“Who?!” Caleb shot back, gesturing toward the window. “We’re on top of a hill in the middle of nowhere. Who’s going to see us?”

“The ones the hum has already touched,” Dad said, turning his gaze toward the window. “They’re out there. I’ve seen this before.”

The weight of his words pressed down on all of us. For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire and the distant cacophony of screams, crashes, and explosions carried up the hill on the wind.

“Dad, what are you talking about?” I asked, stepping closer to him. “What do you mean, you’ve seen this before?”

Dad looked at me, his face shadowed in the dim light. “Because I have,” he said simply.

The silence in the room was deafening as we waited for him to continue. His gaze drifted to the fire, the flickering flames reflected in his eyes.

Dad didn’t answer right away. He moved to the window, peering out at the inferno below. The flames from the town cast eerie shadows across his face, making him look older, more weathered.

“The hum,” he said finally, his tone heavy with something I couldn’t quite place. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard it.”

“What?” Vanessa asked, clutching the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

“It was in the ’90s,” Dad said, still staring out the window. “Your mom and I were living in New Mexico then. A small town, quiet and peaceful—kind of like this one. And then people started hearing it. A low, constant vibration. The Taos Hum.”

I frowned. “The Taos Hum? You mean the conspiracy theory?”

“It’s not a theory,” Dad said, turning to face us. His voice was sharp, his expression deadly serious. “I was there. I heard it.”

He sat down heavily in his chair, the firelight flickering in his eyes.

“At first, it was just an annoyance,” he said, his voice low. “People complained about headaches, trouble sleeping. Some said they couldn’t concentrate. But it was more than that. It got into your head, made you paranoid. Angry. You’d snap at people for no reason, see things that weren’t there. And then...it got worse.”

“How worse?” Rachel asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dad’s jaw tightened. “The ones who could hear it started losing control. They’d lash out—at friends, family, strangers. It was like they were being...possessed. Driven by something they couldn’t fight. People started disappearing, and when they were found…”

He paused, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. “They weren’t the same. Some of them were violent, like rabid animals. Others just...stared. Vacant. Empty.”

“Empty?” Vanessa echoed, her voice trembling.

“Like their souls had been stripped out,” Dad said. “Whatever was left was barely human.”

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