Angelic Monster

My theory is that Frank likes to spy on his tenants.

Alright, A few years ago, I moved into a cheap one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of town. It wasn’t the best place—thin walls, outdated appliances, and an eerie, musty smell that never quite went away—but it was all I could afford at the time. My landlord was an older guy named Frank, who seemed friendly but a little… off. He gave me the keys and mentioned one weird thing before I moved in:

“If you ever hear noises at night, just ignore them. This building is old. It creaks.”

I laughed it off, assuming he was talking about pipes or the occasional rat in the walls. But after my first week there, I started to notice strange things.

At first, it was small. My kitchen cabinets would be slightly open when I was sure I closed them. A few pieces of food seemed to go missing from my fridge, but I figured I was just being careless. Then, I started hearing noises.

Late at night, when the city outside was dead silent, I would hear faint scuffling—almost like soft footsteps—coming from my living room. Every time I got up to check, nothing was there. My front door was locked. My windows shut. I told myself it was just the building settling, just like Frank had said.

Then one night, something happened that I couldn’t ignore.

I woke up around 3 AM to the sound of my closet door creaking open. My heart nearly stopped. My closet had one of those sliding doors, and I knew I had shut it before bed. I lay there, frozen, listening. The room was completely dark except for the faint glow of the streetlamp outside.

Then I heard it.

A slow, quiet breath.

It was coming from inside my closet.

I bolted up, grabbed my phone, and shined the flashlight toward the slightly open door. I couldn’t see much, just darkness inside. But I wasn’t taking any chances. I ran out of my apartment and called the police.

When they arrived, they searched my place but found nothing. No signs of forced entry, nothing missing—just an empty apartment. I felt embarrassed but also uneasy. The officer asked if I wanted to stay somewhere else for the night, but I said I’d be fine.

The next morning, I decided to check the closet myself. I moved my clothes and boxes out of the way, feeling stupid for even doing it. But when I pushed one of the back panels, I heard a click.

It swung open, revealing a hidden crawlspace.

A crawlspace big enough for someone to hide in.

Inside, there was a small pile of food wrappers. Crumpled water bottles. And a sleeping bag.

Someone had been living there.

I packed my things and moved out that same day. Frank acted surprised when I told him, but I could tell he knew more than he was letting on. I never got an answer about who had been staying there or how long they had been watching me.

I still think about it sometimes.

Because the scariest part?

I never heard anyone leave that night.

So Cute You Could Die

I’ve never been a fan of babies. Actually, that’s putting it lightly.

But there’s few social taboos as huge as telling a parent that their newborn is anything less than beautiful. And, well, I find it hard not to be brutally honest when all babies resemble potatoes to me.

So when my social butterfly coworker Geraldine returned from maternity leave and started showing everyone a picture of her baby, I made sure to steer clear. Still, each water cooler break, my fellow employees’ transfixed reactions to her kid grew more sickly-sweet.

“Oh my gosh, you must be so proud” gushed sales rep Fiora, gazing down at the polaroid. “She’s so cute you could die!”

“How absolutely friggin precious!” sang file clerk Donny, holding up the photo to his face. “She’s so cute it just kills me!”

“Okay, you’re making my ovaries ache” trilled receptionist Mona, looking over the snapshot. “She’s cuter than a heart attack!”

At the time, I rolled my eyes at each of these effervescent displays and turned my attention back to my work. People often speak in those sorts of ridiculous exaggerations, so I thought nothing of it. Imagine my utter shock when I heard the news the following day.

Fiora, Donny and Mona had all been found dead in the parking garage, having seemingly suffered heart attacks the previous night.

It was an absolutely insane coincidence. All of them had looked at that baby photo of Geraldine’s and all had died in the same way, on the same day. I could draw no other conclusion: the picture of baby Brooklyn was cursed.

Sitting at my desk, barely concentrating, my mind jumped from possibility to possibility. Could her baby itself be some eldritch demon, killing people to hide its identity? Or was it harvesting their life source through the photo, to sustain itself?

My curiosity was simply too great to resist. I decided to finally glimpse this fatal frame for myself.

“Sure, I’ll look at your baby, Geraldine” I agreed as she thrust the picture out to me, too. Tentatively, I glanced down to see…

…a perfectly normal baby girl, sleeping in a cot. I felt fine. Nothing to indicate being cursed at all.

“Congratulations, Geraldine,” I replied, relieved. “She seems like a great daughter.”

Hours later as I’m leaving the office, I still can’t help but feel silly for believing there was ever a curse.

Suddenly, midway through unlocking my car, I feel a sharp prick in the side of my neck. I spin around in enough time to see Geraldine pulling a syringe out of me. Her eyes are incensed, her teeth gritted in maternal rage.

“What the hell!” I cry out as heart attack-inducing toxins surge through my body. Geraldine merely wags her finger.

“That’s the last time one of you idiots mistakes my baby son for a girl!”

(here is another story I wrote a long time ago)

~~~

Imagine this: You’re just a normal, average guy, right? You take a few college classes here and there, you work a part time job—nothing special.

You work at an old convenience store late at night. It’s usually really slow at that time, so you spend your time reading superhero comic books. Every now and then, a customer might walk in and buy a pack of gum or bandaids or something.

So one night, your shift is nearing an end, and you’re almost done with your comic. You’re slumped back in your chair, feeling groggy.

You hear someone wall in thanks to the soft ring of the bell hanging over the door.

“Welcome,” you call out, eyes still glued to your book.

The stranger doesn’t respond, but many don’t, so you don’t think much of it.

Five minutes pass when the lights shut off. You curse under your breath as you set down your comic on the counter. It’s only when you look up, you realize it.

The stranger is standing right in front of you, right at the counter. How long was he there?

It’s impossible to see him clearly in the dark, even with the streetlights shining in from outside. He seems to be wrapped in a long, black trench coat, and his head is covered in a hoodie coming from under it. You can’t see his face, except for his eyes. You don’t know if you’re imagining it, but they appear to glow a sickly yellow and are lined with dark red veins.

You’re frozen. Your heart’s racing, but you can’t move. It felt like time itself had stopped.

Finally, logic enters your brain, and you jump from your chair. Stop looking at me like that! You don’t actually say it, but you almost do.

“I’m so sorry, it’s just a power outage, I’ll call someone. Sir? Are you okay?” you ask.

He doesn’t reply. You fumble for a flashlight.

So you continue. “I’m sorry about all this. This has never happened before, really. Can I borrow your phone?”

The lights flicker back on. You blink, struggling to adjust for a moment, when you realize it.

The man is gone.

Over the next few weeks, you keep seeing figures out in public that you swear is him. You catch him on a bridge up ahead, or disappearing behind a building at the corner of your eye.

You must have been tired that night, you need to keep telling yourself. So why do I keep seeing him?

You try to ignore the lingering figure. You pretend you don’t see it. But it’s getting harder and harder.

And he’s getting closer, and closer.

You become more terrified as time oasses. You scroll through the internet for hours, and flip through dozens of books. No answers..

You sleep with all the light on and a baseball bat under your bed—if you can even sleep at all.

He’s like a disease eating you. You begin to get weaker and weaker, and soon, you fall ill.

The thought of being stuck in bed scares you. You can’t run. And he knows this.

You ignore the doctor’s order to stay in bed, and one day, you pass out. You wake up in a hospital. You’re relieved to be surrounded by nurses and doctors.

You’re eating dinner one night when the power shuts off.

You press the button to call the nurse, but nothing happens. No lights, no sound, no nurse.

The room is getting colder and colder. You scream for a nurse. The feeling of alone-ness increases.

You’re relieved to head the door open. You say “Nurse! Thank you! There’s been a power outa-“

Glowing, yellow eyes.

He’s watching you, right at the foot of the bed. Towering over you.

“Who are you?l you scream. “Leave me alone!”

The figure doesn’t move. The room is getting colder, and it feels like your fingers are going to fall off. You scramble to get up out of bed, to run. Instead, you pummel right onto the ground.

The figure kneels in front of you, and you let out another blood-curdling scream. He takes off his hoodie.

And you see your own, smiling face staring right back at you.

~~~

Other stories by me:

One of my favorite short stories ever is this Creepypasta called Shut that Damned Door by WriterJosh. Highly recommend you read (or listen) late at night in the dark when you’re super tired

I loved this! Idk why it didn’t get more attention

Saturday Story #2: Down By the Bay

In the several years I've lived in this small town, it never rained. I remember growing up, not knowing what rain was until my parents and I visited extended family in another state. During the week we were there, there was a day where it downpoured. I remember sitting on one of the couches in the living room, curled up out of fear and asking my parents what was going on. They told me that it was raining and explained very broadly how the water cycle works. It was such a brand new and interesting concept to me. The instant returned home, I wanted to tell my friends about rain. My parents told me not to, that we were living in a decade long drought and that bringing up rain would make people sad. I didn't want to make anyone sad with my excitement, so I simply forgot about telling anyone.

Then I remembered.

About a year ago, a new family moved into town. They seemed like a run-of-the-mill, suburban family. Their eldest child, the daughter Korie, was my age (16), and their youngest, the son Thomas, was seven. They moved right into our neighborhood, right down the street. We were on summer break at the time with only two weeks left until school. And when school did inevitably come around, I decided to try and make friends with Korie.

Korie was probably one of the nicest people I've ever met. She was calm and would always strike up a conversation with me before class started. She had this way of talking to people that would instantly put them at ease. Countless times I would make jokes that she had some sort of undiscovered super power, or maybe she was a long lost goddess. She would always smile, giggle and shake her head at me. I'd invite her over after school and sometimes on weekends if her parents didn't have any plans. It was one of these weekends that Korie would inevitably ask the question.

"Isn't it weird that it doesn't rain here?"

"What?" I replied, somewhat caught off guard.

"Yeah, haven't you noticed? Ever since I moved in it hasn't rained once."

I remembered what my parents told me; "It's because we're in a drought. It's lasted for decades at this point."

"A drought ?" Korie looked at me, confused, "Weird. I feel like my parents would've known about one before we moved in."

We were both silent for a moment before Korie's phone buzzed.

"Parents need me to watch my brother, I'll see you later."

Then she left.

I had lived in this town all my life and never thought the drought was weird. No one else did. And maybe her parents just never looked into the town's history far enough to know about it. Maybe all they knew was that the crime rate was low and the houses looked decent.

Never did I think that maybe, just maybe, there was a secret being kept, that even I didn't know.

Life continued on as it was. Wake up, eat breakfast, get ready, go to school, get home, do homework, hangout with Korie, go to bed, and repeat. My usual boring routine, interrupted by a knock at my door on one Thursday afternoon when Korie had stayed home.

It was Korie's dad.

"Hey, kiddo. Your parents home?"

"No, my dad's at work and mom's running a bunch of errands before her shift."

"Oh," There was something in his facial expression that I couldn't place. It was like uneasy curiosity. "Would it be alright if I asked you something then?"

"Uh...sure?" I scanned over him, a little freaked out. I didn't know Korie's dad that well, and absolutely wasn't sure of his intentions in that moment.

"So, Korie mentioned to me that this town is in a drought, and that you were the one to tell her. I was just wondering if that's true?"

"I mean, it's never rained once in my life since I can remember, so yeah, I think it's true."

"And everyone in the town knows this?"

"Probably, a lot of them have been here for generations."

Korie's dad just stared at me as he thought. It felt like I could see the gears turning in his head.

"Okay, well, thanks for the talk, pal. I'll uh, I'll see you around then." He gave me an awkward smile before stepping off the front steps and heading down the street. I figured that would be the last time Korie's dad would be interested in the drought. It wasn't. Soon after, he started protesting at Town Hall and trying to publish articles in the local newspaper about how a town was trying to hide a drought from the media. He created conspiracies over it, things like the government was doing some sort of testing, or this was once an uninhabitable site caused by radiation. He went crazy. All over a drought. A lot of the townspeople simply huffed and shook their heads at the whole thing. A few tried to argue with him, and some even tried to silence him. That was the weirdest part. There were a handful of people treating this weird guy's dilemma like it was taboo. Not like he was crazy, but like he shouldn't be talking about it. It confused me, all of this over a drought? Why would people even bother?

My attitude quickly changed as soon as Korie went missing. It happened a week ago. Her dad reported her missing when she didn't come home from school, after he rushed over to our house. He looked so disheveled and frightened. I didn't know where she was either, I thought she had stayed home sick that day because she wasn't at school. The town joined the police's search efforts. We were out looking for hours, some of the adults posted things on social media for their friends in neighboring towns to see. News stations covered it. I was so shocked, scared and confused. I prayed that no one in the town had taken her. I prayed that she wasn't hurt, hoping that her dad's outburst hadn't caused someone to go over the edge.

I've been crying for the past few days. She was my best friend. Everything feels off. And today, when I looked out my bedroom window, I saw it.

The town has been in a drought for decades.

Today..

it finally rained.

Childhood can be scary.

A collection of some of my hand-drawn horror looping animations!

Another short story I wrote as a kid. Not too bad, but a little cliche. If I come up with something better I will rewrite it.

Hide-And-Seek

I forced myself to breathe softly, praying I wouldn’t be heard. His footsteps drew near, closer, closer, before the door slowly creak open, and I let out a blood-curdling scream.

Josh took a step back, aghast. I got up from my hiding spot in the bedroom.

"Sorry," I said.

"Why did you scream? I wouldn’t have found you."

"I can’t help it, it’s a force of habit!"

"It’s 12 AM! You’ll wake someone up!"

Alex’s brother is at the store, and her parents are working the nightshift. Who am I going to wake up, the house?!"

"The neighbors,"

"Whatever,"

I followed him as we scouted for our other two friends, Alex and Sarah. First, we found Alex. Then a big, nasty, hairy spider. Then Sarah. Then, oh wait. It was my turn.

After I finished counting, I started my long, hard hunt. It took me ten minutes, until I could find the first person. It was Josh, in the closet, who grinned at me the entire time he followed me searching. Next was Sarah, behind the laundry machine, who made fun of me for taking too long. Last, was Alex, in a cabinet, who took the longest to find. We were awestruck at how she could fit in such a small space! When asked how she did it, she modestly replied "Don’t know, it’s not too hard."

It was at that moment, we heard a key turn in the front door. Alex whipped around and whispered "It’s Felix! Let’s surprise him by hiding in the basement!" We all tiptoed into the small room, and crouched behind the door. It was cramped, hot, and smelled faintly of old wood. Alex clicked off the light to avoid detection as the older boy finally got the door opened after struggling with the lock. Alex chuckled as her brother walked to the living room, muttering about how the little brats finally went to sleep. The T.V. clicked on, and I cringed at the sound of a familiar macabre scene of my well-disliked movie play on; the scene I loathed the most played at a grotesquely high volume.

We held in our giggles, waiting impatiently for him to near the door. The T.V. shut off. Silently, we listened. Felix groaned angrily, mumbling, "Dumb T.V." Silence. Then we heard a scream.

"Whoa!" he said. "What were you doing in there?"

"Playing hide and seek," we heard Alex’s voice reply, definitely not in the basement. I froze. My eyes widened at the click of the door lock, followed by Alex’s menacing laugh breaking the sinister silence.

Our dairy farm still prints photos of missing children on all our milk cartons.

It’s educational for consumers to know what each dairy cow was fed.

Here’s neat story by PriorityHuge7544 on reddit titled Promises Kept.

That night, I tossed and turned in my bed, sweating, as visions of the tooth-framed orifice in the center of my mother’s face descending on that sandwich visited my dreams over and over: the unsticking of the dry flesh of her lips as they parted, the soft click of her tongue as it released from the roof of her mouth and extended fully to wrap like a coil around the bread and meat before retracting quickly back between her mandibles. Every time the motions of her snatching the sandwich repeated, her teeth became elongated, sharper, glistening pearly white. A glint of light bounced off of her fangs, blinding me and sending a metallic ringing through my nerves. The sound of the food being swished around between her cheeks became an unbearable deafening static in my brain.

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Tusk

Short story: a tense horror story about the monsters we hide at home