The calls start as stories. Then they become warnings.
The storm wasn’t supposed to come.
And it didn’t come alone.
Bisbee, Arizona. Summer, 1987. Late at night, radio host Steve Richards is on the air when a sudden storm rolls over the desert.
Then the calls begin.
At first, they’re strange. Isolated. Easy to dismiss.
But with each new voice, a pattern starts to form.
Something is in the town.
Something moving through the storm—watching, waiting, and playing by rules no one understands.
Trapped in his booth, Steve can only listen as the situation unravels. As fear spreads. As the calls grow more desperate.
Until one realization cuts through the noise:
Whatever is out there isn’t just being heard.
It’s listening back.
And it’s getting closer.
Horror Heard in Real Time
Strange Skies unfolds through the voices of a town in crisis.
Each call reveals a piece of the story—fragments of fear, confusion, and encounters that don’t make sense until it’s too late.
What begins as a series of disconnected accounts slowly becomes something larger.
Something coordinated.
Something watching.
This is a story about isolation, perception, and the moment when the person listening becomes part of the story itself.
Perfect For Fans Of
Perfect for fans of cosmic horror and slow-building dread where the unknown is never fully explained.
Readers who enjoy the creeping unease of The Colour Out of Space and the unsettling, fragmented storytelling of The Twilight Zone will recognize the same sense of mystery and escalating tension.
This is a story for readers who prefer atmosphere over answers—and horror that lingers in what isn’t fully understood.
A Story Told Through Voices
Told through a late-night radio broadcast, Strange Skies presents its horror in fragments—each caller adding to a growing picture of something impossible unfolding across the town.
The result is a narrative that feels immediate, intimate, and increasingly claustrophobic as the night wears on.