Random Horror Stories - 500

Stolum stared at the wall. It wasn't even a real wall. Not anymore. It felt hollow, like a thing that had once been there, but now was just a part of the house. He'd tried to get some sleep earlier, but there was no point. Not anymore.

He had always been one to feel alone. At least, that's what he thought. It was harder now, though. The shadows in the corner of his eyes didn't leave. They would dance when he wasn't looking, only to vanish when he tried to catch them. It wasn't just the dark corners of the room anymore; it was everywhere. The hallways, the bathroom, even the kitchen. Shadows followed him like something alive.

He didn't tell his parents. They never noticed. They never noticed anything anymore. They were too busy with their lives. His mom would cook, and his dad would watch TV in the living room, never speaking to him unless it was to tell him to clean his room or do some homework.

If Stolum ever spoke up, they brushed him off, their eyes glazed over. They were real, but they weren't there. And that made him feel... angry. He didn't even know why.

One day, Stolum woke up with a cold sweat covering his skin. It wasn't the same. The house felt wrong. The air was thinner, and the walls seemed to bend and buckle with each breath. It was a feeling that crawled into his bones, but he ignored it. Just a weird dream. That's all.

Except, it wasn't.

As he ate breakfast that morning, a voice—soft, barely a whisper—pressed into his mind. You can't run away from me. Stolum froze, spoon halfway to his mouth. His mom didn't seem to hear anything, but he did. It was the same voice he had been hearing for days now. Every time he went to sleep, every time he closed his eyes, it was there. It didn't make sense.

"Mom," he said, barely above a whisper.

She didn't respond. She just kept stirring the eggs, her face blank, her eyes distant. His dad had long since retreated into his usual chair, the one in the corner by the window.

Stolum stood up. His hand was shaking. "Mom," he said louder, but there was no answer.

He stepped back, his stomach tight. His eyes darted to the corners of the room. There they were again—those shifting shapes, darker than the shadows that should've been there. They were reaching out, pulling at him, wanting him to come closer. He didn't want to, but something inside him told him he had to.

The voices grew louder.

"Stolum."

His parents didn't move. Didn't even blink. Stolum's pulse thudded in his ears. They weren't his parents anymore. They couldn't be. Something else had taken them. Something was feeding on them, and now it wanted him too.

He backed out of the kitchen, eyes wide, his breath coming faster. He could hear it now. The scraping noise. Scraping against the floorboards. It was closer, like something was crawling through the walls. Get out. Get out.

He turned, ran down the hallway, and then stopped dead. The door to his room was open. His bed, his clothes, his books—all gone. The room wasn't even there.

It was just a black void.

He couldn't scream. There was no air in his lungs. His chest was tight, his vision flickering like a faulty light bulb. He stumbled backward, tripping on his own feet. And that's when he felt it. Cold, jagged claws wrapped around his legs, dragging him back into the dark.

The last thing he heard was a whisper against his ear. We were waiting for you.