Pentober 2026 - Day 16: Storm

Ok so, what is Pentober? Promptober? It's a writing tradition that's been around the web for a while where you write up a short story every day in October based on prompts. Some go for pen and paper, some digital; everyone has their own style. I'll be posting here, and I'll be using the prompts from https://www.topinfiction.com/p/pentober-2026 

House rules are that I vomit-write the story; no planning, just taka taka taka on the keys. I get ONE edit at the end of the draft (if I even have time, lol), then we post it. House rules also say that I get to play catch up and do multiple days separately on one day or combined if work gets wild and I can't write. Get it? Got it? Good! Here we go.

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A straight line of storms was forming up on the horizon, over the plains; it was a derecho, that brutal genre of rainstorm that generated hurricane force winds, thunder, and lightning in a burst. They were unexpected. They were dangerous. They were about thirty minutes away.

Sirens began to cry; streets emptied out as people rushed home or got into the nearest building or shelter. The tone died out a few minutes later and the grid was pindrop silent for a moment. The hush was broken by the woosh of wind, the cracking of branches, the clapping of thunder. Dark skies consumed the midday sun; black was interrupted only by flashes of lightning painting the sky shades of purple and yellow.

The ground shook and buildings trembled as trees fell. Glass bowed and burst against the strain of gale force winds. Flood waters began to rise as debris clogged up drains.

Then, as fast as it started, it was over.

Clouds broke and light streamed through the clouds. Blue returned to the palette, then yellow, white, the sparkle of light reflected off of broken glass. People began to emerge from their hiding spots. The clatter of life began to resume, sirens and saws fired up as crews cleared roads and directed traffic around detours.

If you looked, you'd see the line of storms crashing up against the mountains and lifting up high. Rain turned to snow and the barren caps were painted white. The summer droughts might be abated this year; enough icepack meant streams were fed all summer.

Elsewhere, in a disaster response center, evidence was logged. Footprints, patches of hair, bitemarks, injuries that couldn't be explained by glass or treefall or debris or some other natural phenomena.

"The storms bring the beast," one investigator said.

"Yes, but what is the beast?" said another.

They weren't sure. No one in the disaster response center, located deep within a mountain, was sure. It changed shape every time a storm happened. Some said that it wasn't a beast, it was multiple beasts that entered through the storm, others said that it was one beast that changed itself to the nature of the weather.

Blast doors slowly opened; a retrofitted car rolled into the facility. It was one of the field agents. Badge 4958, badge name Richard Ziafre. His cover was that he was a stormchaser; he held up a drive to the security camera in front of blast door two as he started punching in his access code.

"I think I got it on camera. I got something real."

The next layer of doors rolled open.