Egg

Seven dreamers. That's what the press call them. The heavy-metal outfit Woldbreaker have taken the country by storm — one pub at a time, as it should be. Determined to recapture the heyday of heavy metal in the north of England, they roll on long hair, tattoos, black leather, and screaming guitars, fighting back against the rising tide of mass-market, artificial pop nonsense. Dreamers they might be, but they've tapped into something missing from the rolling hills and terraced streets of Britain. Something fresh. Something visceral. Something loud and raw. Something alien. Hauling twenty tonnes of rock and awe across hill and dale in a converted red double-decker bus, Woldbreaker are fuelled by booze, powder, bad ideas, and unwavering self-belief. They're already famous. Close now to something more permanent. Something legendary. Then, somewhere deep on the Yorkshire coastline, a song comes on the radio. Their song. A track they've barely played. A track no one else should have. Following the signal pulls the band off the road and into a village wrapped in mist, old habits, and older hungers. What begins as curiosity turns into survival. Friendships are tested. Sacrifices are made. And something tied to eggs, rebirth, and a very wrong kind of springtime begins to hatch. EGG is a darkly comic folk-horror novella about music, loyalty, and success arriving at exactly the wrong moment. Bloody, bleak, and oddly tender, it's an Easter story — just not the one you remember. What you should remember is this… In Staithes, no one can hear your scream.