First the cattle stopped breathing. Then the neighbors stopped blinking on time. It’s the dead of winter, and on Alex Whitaker’s farm, the cold isn’t the only thing settling in. It starts at the fence line: the cows are standing still. Too still. They don’t move, they don’t eat, and their breath doesn’t steam in the freezing air. They are merely shapes where animals used to be. Alex and their sibling, Riley, try to keep the farm running, but the silence is spreading. It isn’t an infection. It isn’t a sickness. It’s a hollowing out. When the phenomenon moves from the pasture to the town, the familiar faces of neighbors and family begin to change. They still walk, they still smile, and they still perform their chores—but they are moving on a delay, repeating old habits without a soul to drive them. As the Sheriff tries to bury the truth in a sand pit and the town begins to fracture, Alex must decide how far they are willing to go to save what’s left of their family. Because in a town of walking shells, the only thing more dangerous than the empty things outside is the grief that keeps you opening the door. The Husk is a chilling rural horror novella about the things we hold onto long after they are gone. Perfect for fans of quiet horror and atmospheric dread.