For the 13 days leading up to Halloween, I am trying an experiment by rewriting the same story in 13 different styles, reflecting the various horror subgenres as part of my Thirteen For Halloween series. You can find the original version HERE. So, feel free to come back and weigh in with your opinion of which style worked the best!

Half-buried in an abandoned bunker beneath the rubble of a world undone, Anaïs lay still on a makeshift bed. Shadows flickered on the walls, cast by the dying embers of an ancient lantern. Its fuel, like the hope that once ignited humanity, was almost spent. The air carried the weight of rotting metal and damp soil, a putrid tribute to the civilization that once thrived.

Suddenly, the dwindling light seemed to get sucked into Anaïs’s eyes as they snapped open. Her eyes glowed a menacing red, illuminating her twisted smirk. Casting aside the cloak of deathly torpor, she rose to her feet.

From the corner of the dim room, a quivering voice emerged. “Anaïs? Is that you?” Leo, a skeletal figure garbed in tattered clothing, stumbled into her light, his eyes wide in a blend of recognition and terror.

Anaïs, her form now grotesque and shadowy, looked down upon him. “Leo,” she intoned in a chilling whisper, void of warmth or love.

“You disappeared for days, Anaïs. What happened to you?” His voice cracked, eyes teary, as if grappling between hope and an unspeakable dread.

Her surroundings recoiled from her as if she exuded an anti-life force. “The world happened, Leo. I’ve become what it made me.”

At that moment, a distant growl reverberated through the bunker walls, punctuated by human screams—ugly reminders of the mutants and survivors clawing for existence in the wasteland above.

Anaïs made a move for the exit, but Leo grasped her hand. She looked down, her eyes softening for just a moment. “Don’t,” she warned, but her voice wavered.

He tightened his grip. “You were my mentor, Anaïs. You taught me to fight, to survive. Let me fight for you now.”

For a moment, her cruel facade cracked. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

The air outside was a chaotic blend of ashes and lost hopes. As Anaïs emerged, her eyes surveyed the skeletal skyline, monuments to human folly. Leo followed, catching up to her.

“Stop, Anaïs. We can reverse this. Find a cure,” he pleaded.

Her laughter was a cacophony of despair. “No cure can absolve the world’s sins, Leo.”

He took a step closer, unwavering. “Then let me help you find your way back to what you were. Even if it’s the last thing I do.”

As they stood there, whispers of dread and awe began to emanate from the shattered remnants of the world. A new force had risen, darker than the night—Anaïs. But alongside her was Leo, a stubborn glimmer in the all-consuming darkness.

Anaïs’s eyes shifted nervously, her malevolent glow faltering. “They’re here,” she hissed suddenly, eyes widening as her gaze fixed on something horrifying in the distance.

Leo followed her eyes to see shadows—dark, monstrous forms—moving rapidly toward them.

And so, as the last rays of the dying sun disappeared below the horizon, two figures stood in the wasteland—one embodying its utter despair, and the other, its last shred of hope. But looming before them were shapes far worse than either, and the night was yet young.