The Day the Sun Went Dark

Simon, a former undergraduate researcher at Falcon Point Observatory, is the only person who knows what is coming. Six months ago, his mentor, the brilliant solar astronomer Dr. James Durlin, threw himself off the top floor of the observatory. The university asked Simon to sort through Durlin's personal effects, and what he found forced him to confront a truth he still cannot convince anyone else to believe: something lives in the darkness during a solar eclipse, and the next one will be catastrophic.

Durlin's notes started as coherent scientific work—trajectories, rotations, alignments—but the most recent papers read like the ravings of a paranoid schizophrenic. They described cosmic beings, prophetic visions of destruction, and a shadowy presence that stalked him at night. "I know something's in here with me," one entry read. "It hides in the shadows. It comes down with the darkness. I saw it during the eclipse." Simon initially dismissed it as a mental health crisis. Then he spent the night alone at the observatory.