Speaker 1: Dark Tails Uncovered returns with a second season that plunges
deeper into the unknown, exploring tales that linger in the
shadows of the Isle of Wight. In Zombie Isle, White
of the Living Dead, Chapter three, Walking Nightmares, the boundaries
between reality and horror begin to blur as night forecasts
and ominous pale over the island. Here, the walking world,
the waking world is haunted by an unseen force that
pulls the living and the dead together, trapping them in
a relentless loop of fear. Whispers of the past intermingle
with horrific visions, and as locals attempt to unravel the
island's cursed history, they come face to face with nightmares
that don't end upon awaking. Prepare yourself for a journey
where sleep offers no escape and every shadow holds secrets
waiting to be uncovered. Welcome to Dark Tails Uncovered, Season two,
where terror is just always just a breath away. Chapter three,
Waking Nightmares. The darkness inside the cellar was absolute, broken
only by the weak beam of a single flashlight someone
had found among the dusty shelves. Emma sat back against
the rough, rough stone wall, listening to the rhythmic, terrified
breathing of the others. The air was thick with the
scent of damp earth and metallic tang of fear. Every sound,
the creak of the old house settling above them, the
distant groan of the zombies outside, set our nerves on edge.
It was as if the very walls were closing in,
squeezing the hope out of the small group huddled together
in the dark. After what felt like an eternity, Mark
broke the silence. How long do you think we need
to stay down here? And my glanced at her watch.
That was hard to tell how much time had passed.
I don't know, at least until we're sure it's safe
to move again. We need to conserve energy and stay
as quite as quiet as possible. Georgie, had been sitting
quietly in the corner, spoke up. I've been coming to
the Isle of White for years, but I've never seen
anything like this. What do you think is causing it?
A virus? Some sort of chemical spill? Emma shook her head.
My brother mentioned something about a virus, but we didn't
have any other details. All I know is whatever it is,
it spreads fast. The best way you can do now
is avoid contact with anyone who's been infected. The young
woman with the camera, who had introduced herself earlier as Rachel,
hugged her knees to her chest. Do you think it's
the whole island or just this area? Emma wished she
had an answer, but the truth was she didn't know.
The Isle of Wight wasn't large, but if the outbreak
had started in one of the towns, it could have
spread quickly, especially with so many tourists around the idea
of the entire island being overrun sent a cold shimmer
down her spine. We have to assume it's widespread, Emma said. Finally,
we can't count on rescue or any of the authorities
getting it under control anytime soon. We're on our own.
A heavy silence fell over the group again. They all
understood what Emma was applying. The chance of help coming
with Slim, and their best hope of survival depended on
their own decisions and actions. After a few more minutes,
George suggested that they take turns keeping watch, while the
others rested. We'll need our strength. We're going to survive this,
he said, I'll take first watch. Emma nodded, grateful for
the reprieve. She wasn't sure how much sleep she would
get in no place like this, but even a few
minutes of rest might help clear her mind. Awake me
when it's my turn. She curled up on the cold
stone floor, using her jacket as a pillow. The cellar
was silent, but it was a heavy, oppressed silence, filled
with the weight of all that had happened and all
that was still unknown. Emma closed her eyes, tried to
block out the fear that gnawed at her, but sleep
was elusive. When she finally drifted off, her dreams were
haunted by visions of the man on the cliff, his
bloodshot eyes and gnashing teeth. She saw him everywhere, in
the shadow, every dark corner of the manner. And then
there were others, zombies emerging from the trees, the hollow
moans filling the air as they closed in on her,
their hands outstretched, ready to drag her down into the darkness.
She woke with a start, her heart hammering in her chest.
The cellar was still pitched black, but she could feel
the weight of someone's gaze on her. She sat up quickly,
her hand reaching instinctively for her flashlight. Emma. Her voice
whispered from the darkness. It was Rachel, Did you hear that?
Emma turned on her flashlight, the week been cutting through
the darkness. She swept it across the floor, finding Rachel's wide,
fearful eyes reflecting the light. Hear what? Rachel looked towards
the cellar door, her face pale. Something upstairs. It sounded
like footsteps, and he froze. Listening for a moment, there
was nothing but silence. But then she heard it too,
a faint creaking sound coming from above, as if someone
or something was moving through the manner. Georgia had dozed
off during his watch. Shut up, alert everyone, stick whie,
We don't know what it is. They all listened intently,
their breasts held. The creaking grew louder, the sounds of
footsteps echoing through the old house. Emma's mind raised. Had
the zombies broken in? Were there more survivors or something
else entirely? The footsteps stopped, suddenly, replaced by a low
shuffling sound that sent chills down Emma's spine. She glanced
at the others, their faces pale, and the dim light.
Whatever was up there wasn't human, or at least not anymore.
We need to be ready, ever, whispered her voice, barely audible.
If we find the cellar door, would have to defend ourselves.
Mark pulled out a pocket knife. The blade glinting in
the flashlight's beam. Wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.
George picked up a rusted pipe that he had found earlier,
and Emma clutched her camera, though it was clear she
had no idea how to use it as a weapon.
Emma cursed herself for not being better prepared. She had
always prided herself on being resourceful, but now face was
the reality of the situation. She felt woefully unprepared. The
cellar had seemed like a refuge, but now it felt
more like a trap, a place with no escape if
the undead managed to break through the door. The shuffling
grew louder, closer it was heading towards the stairs. Emma's
heart pounded in her chest as she first, slow, deliberate
step echoed down the staircase. She raised the flashlight, aiming
at the cellar door. They all braced themselves, ready, knowing
that whatever came through the door could mean their end,
another step, then another. The heavy, labored breathing of the
creature above filled the air, a sound that seemed to
reverberate through the walls. Emma gripped the flashlight tighter, ready
to switch off at a moment's notice to plunge them
back into darkness. The footsteps reached the door, and for
a moment everything went silent. Emma held her breath, the
tension so thick she could thought it might she fought
it might choke. She could feel the others trembling beside her,
their fear palpable. Then a single heavy thud shook the door,
that was followed by another and another, each more forceful
than the last. The old wood creaked and groaned under
the strain, and Emma knew it wouldn't hold for long.
Get Ready her voice, she hissed, her voice barely above
a whisper. With the final With a final resounding crash,
the the door burst open, slamming against the wall with
a deafening bang. The flashlight flickered, casting wild shadows across
the cellar. As the figure stepped into the doorway, Emma's
breath caught in her throat. The creature standing before them.
Was barely recognizable as a human. Its skin was motted
and decayed, hanging loosely from its bones. Its eyes, once
filled with life, were now clouded and lifeless. Fixated on
the small group huddled in the cellar, it let out
a guttural moan, its rotting mouth opening wide as it
staggered forward. Now Emma shouted, turning off the flashlights and
punding them, plunging them into darkness. The cellar erupted into
chaos as the group sprang into action. Mark lunged at
the creature with his pocket knife, the blades sinking into
its flesh, a sickening squelch. George swung his pipe with
all his might, and the dull thud of metal against
bone echoing through the small space. But the zombie was relentless.
It clawed at them within human strength, its fingers curling
around Mark's arm as it tried to pull him close.
He struggled against its grip with a creature's strength was overwhelming.
Ever fumbled for something, anything to use as a weapon.
Her hands clowns closed around a heavy stone, and without thinking,
she brought it down on the creature's head with all
the force She could muster. There was a sickening crunch
as the stone connected, and the zombie staggered. As its
grip on Mark loosened again. George shouted, swinging the pipe
once more. Emma raised the stone and brought it down
again and again, until the creature finally collapsed in a
heap on the floor. Its body twitched for a moment
before going still, the cellar falling into an eerie silence.
Once more. The group stood there, panting, their eyes wide
with shock and horror. The zombie lay at their feet,
its body its head a bloody, misshapen mass. For a moment,
none of them moved, as if unable to believe what
they had just done. Finally, Emma dropped the stone, her
hands trembling. She could feel the adrenaline draining away, and
even behind a cold, sick feeling in the pit of
a stomach. Is it dead, Rachel asked, her voice barely
above a whisper. I think so, Emma replied, but she
wasn't sure. She had no idea how to tell if
these things were truly dead, or if they would get
back up again. The thought sent a shiver down a spine.
Mark stumbled back clutching his arm where the creature grabbed him.
We can't stay here, he said, his voice shaky. If
more come, we won't survive another attack. Emma knew he
was right. The seller had been a temporary refuge, but
now it was compromised. They needed to find a new
place to hide, somewhere more secure. We'll leave here as
soon as it's safe, Eva said, her voice steadying as
she forced herself to think clearly. But we can't go
out there blindly. We need to come up with a plan.
George nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow with a
shaky hand. We need supplies, weapons, anything we can use
to defend ourselves. There's bound to be something more useful
with the manager in the manner, We'll have to search quickly,
though the noise we just might attract more of them.
Emma glanced at the others. Rachel was still pale, clutching
her camera as if it was a lifeline. Mark was
wincing in pain, blood sweeping through the tear in his sleeve.
Whether the zombie grabbed him, they were all on edge,
and the idea of going back into the Man in
the Manner, back into the part of day was daunting.
Should we check the arm, Emma said to Mark, kneeling
beside him. We don't know if the infection spread through
scratches or bites. We need to be cautious. Mark nodded
his face grim as he unwrapped his sleeve. The wound
was superficial, but the skin around it was already red
and swollen. Emma felt a pang of worry, but she
pushed it down, trying to stay focused. We're clean up
when we find some supplies, she said, keeping her voice calm.
Right now, we need to move. They made their way
up the cellar stairs, Emma leading the way through the
with a flashlight. The manner was eerily quiet, the only
sound of the creaking with any sound the creaking of
the old house had as it settled in the night,
The darkness pressed in on them, making every shadow seem alive,
every corner a potential threat. And we reached the top
of the stairs and paused, listening. The shuffling sound from
earlier had stopped, but it didn't mean the danger had gone.
She paused as she pushed the cellar door open, wincing
at the creak of the hinges. The hallway beyond was empty,
but the stench of decay hung heavy in the air.
Emma motioned for the others to follow. As she stepped out,
her senses on high alert, were split up cover more ground.
She whispered her vast boily, her voice barely audible. Rachel,
you and George checked the kitchen and the ground floor.
Look for anything we can use, food, water, knives, whatever
you can find. Mark, You and I were head upstairs.
See there's something useful in the bedrooms or storage areas.
Rachel nodded, though she still looked terrified. George gave a
tight lipped smile, trying to reassure her, and they headed
off towards the kitchen, their footsteps soft on the wooden floorboards,
and a remark turned towards the ground staircase, its ornate
banister covered with a thick layer of dust. The air
was cold up there, and the oppressive silence makes Emma's
skin prickle with unease. They moved cautiously, each step a
potential creek that might give away their presence. The second
floor of the Manner was even more dilapidated than the
ground floor. Wallpaper pill from the walls in long curling
strips and cobwebs clung to the corners like ghostly veils.
It was as if the house itself had been forgotten
by time. Emma led the way down the corridor, trying
to ignore the sense of dread that tightened her chest.
She opened the first door they came to, revealing what
had once been a bedroom. The bed was still made,
its sheets gray with dust, and Amrie stood against one wall,
its doors ajar revealing old muff and eaten clothes hanging
limply in the hangars. Mark searched the drawers of the
nightstand while them arrifled through the armorie to find something,
anything that might be useful. But there was nothing of value,
just remnants of a life long abandoned. Nothing. Mark muttered,
closing the drawer with a frustrated sigh. Let's try the
next room. They moved on, checking each room they came across.
Most were the same, dusty, decaying, and empty of anything
that could help them. But as they reached the end
of the hallway, Emma pushed open a door that led
to a small study, and she felt a small flicker
of hope. The study was clutted, filled with old books, papers,
and knick knacks. But what caught Emma's eye was the
heavy oak desk in the center of the room. Its
drawers were still intact, and she quickly begun rifling through them. Jackpot,
she murmured, and she pulled out a heavy box of matches,
a small flashlight, and most importantly, our heavy revolver. It's
metal cold against her skin. It felt like a life,
a small measure of safety, and a well gone mad
Look at this, Mark said from across the room, holding
up a first aid kit he'd found in a small cabinet.
It was old, but the contents looked usable. Bandages, antiseptic,
and a few other supplies they could use to treat
his wound. Emma couldn't help but smile, the first genuine
smile she'd managed since his nightmare began. It's not much,
but it's something. Let's head back to the others. They
made their way back downstairs, the revolver tapped securely in
Ever's waistband. As they reached the bottom of the stairs,
Rachel and George emerged from the kitchen, their arms full
of supplies, canned food and a couple of knives, and
a large bottle of water. Looks like We did pretty well,
George said, his tone attempting to be lighthearted, but the
worry and his eyes were clear. Did you find anything?
Emma showed them the revolver in the first a kit,
and Rachel's eyes widened in relief. Oh my god, she whispered.
At least we have something to defend ourselves with now.
Emma nodded, but her mind was already raising ahead. They
couldn't stay in the manner forever. It was a temporary shelter,
nothing more. Eventually they'd have to move on, find a
way off the island, or at least somewhere more secure.
We need to come up of a plan, she said,
her voice firm. This place won't hold on if more
of those things shows on show up. We need to
figure out our next move, where to go, how to
survive when until help arrives. Is it anywhere on the
island that might be safe? Might be safer? Rachel asked,
her voice tinged with desperation. A place that's easier to defend.
George rubbed his chin thoughtfully. There's Osborne House on the
other side of the island. It's a large estate, and
there's a good chance it hasn't been overrun, yet it's
isolated with high walls and sturdy gates. If we could
make it there, we might be able to hold out
for a while. Emma considered it. Osborne House was a
long shot, but it was better than staying here waiting
to be overrun. It's risky, but it might be our
best bet. We'll need to move carefully, avoid any towns
or populated areas. We stick to the back roads and
wooden paths. We might have a chance. Mark, still wincing
from his wound, nodded, we can't stay here. The longer
we wait, the more dangerous it gets. Let's gather what
we can and leave at first night. Ever agreed they
would need to take advantage. They would need every advantage
they could get, and daylight would make the journey marginally safer.
We sh'd all get some rest, she said, though she
doubted any of them would sleep easy. We need our strength.
As they settled in for the night, Emma couldn't shake
the feeling that they're worst was yet to come. The
island was a powder keke, and they were just waiting
for the spy final spark to ignite it outside the
wind hold, carrying with it distance. Most moans of the undead,
a chilling reminder of the horrors that awaited them beyond
the walls of the manor. But for now they were alive,
and as long as they were alive, there was hope.
Emma clung to that for even as the darkness closed
in around them, her mind already planning their next move
in the treacherous landscape of the Isle of Wight. Tomorrow
they would face whatever horrors awaited them. But tonight they
would rest, if only to gather the strength to fight
for their lives once more.