imagine the stories—hundreds of them, whispered over decades. A woman found in her kitchen, nothing but a pile of soot and a single unburned foot, the stove cold as stone. A farmer in his field, charred to nothing while the grass around him stays green. No screams, no smoke, just silence and a lingering smell of something wrong. Scientists scramble for answers—chemical reactions, freak accidents—but the truth slips through their fingers like ash in the wind

Their voices are silenced beneath the weight of coal waste. The nation mourns. The National Coal Board shrugs off blame. But amid the grief, whispers begin to surface. Whispers of dreams. Of warnings. A girl who saw the blackness coming. A boy who drew the end. A woman miles away who felt it in her bones. Could this tragedy have been foreseen? Could it have been stopped?to the eyes of true evil, it’s hard to ever feel safe again.

What’s chilling about these encounters is the undercurrent of inevitability, the idea that evil isn’t always waiting for an invitation—it’s already here, woven into the fabric of ordinary moments. A face in the backseat warps into a monstrous visage. A casual experiment with black magic unravels a family. Hands from nowhere drag a man back into a nightmare he thought he’d escaped. Each story whispers the same truth: there are things in this world that don’t just challenge what we believe—they shatter it. And once you’ve looked into the eyes of true evil, it’s hard to ever feel safe again.