Random Horror Stories - 500

The rain pounded down against the windows, a relentless barrage of water that seemed to soak everything in its path. Inside the small house, there was only the quiet shuffle of bare feet against hardwood and the soft creak of the floorboards. Six-year-old Thomas sat in the corner of his room, his eyes fixed on the shadows creeping across the walls. It was late. Too late for him to still be awake, but the silence felt too thick, too suffocating for sleep.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to push away the sleepiness. The storm outside raged on, but there was something else in the air. Something heavy. Thomas couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. It wasn't the storm; it wasn't even the way the lights flickered now and then. It was something else, something crawling along the edges of his thoughts.

He glanced up at the window, the droplets streaming down in uneven lines. He liked to watch the rain, the way it blurred everything outside, as though the world were being erased little by little. He used to imagine the water would wash away the bad things. The things that made his mom cry sometimes. Or the way his dad looked at him when he thought no one was watching.

His eyes drifted over to the dresser, where his toys were scattered carelessly. The room seemed smaller tonight, darker, as if it had shrunk in the middle of the storm. He hugged his knees to his chest and tucked his head down, trying to ignore the cold feeling crawling up his spine. It didn't work. The feeling was still there, pressing against him, clawing at the edges of his thoughts. He didn't want to look, but he did anyway. His heart stuttered when his gaze landed on the figure standing in the doorway.

It was him. But it wasn't.

The boy in the doorway looked just like Thomas. Same messy brown hair, same dirty pajamas, same small hands that clutched at the doorframe. But there was something wrong with the way he stood. His posture was stiff, unnatural. His face was too still, too perfect.

Thomas blinked. The boy didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stood there, staring.

He swallowed, feeling the cold sweat creeping along his neck. "What… What are you doing here?" His voice was small, trembling, but the other boy didn't answer. He didn't even seem to notice Thomas was talking to him.

The silence stretched on. The only sound was the rain outside. Then the boy took a step forward. One slow, deliberate step.

Thomas backed up, his heart racing, his mind screaming at him to run, but his legs wouldn't move. He just sat there, watching.

The boy stepped closer. Another step. His feet didn't make a sound as they met the floor. The silence grew thicker, heavier. Thomas felt like he couldn't breathe. The other boy stopped right in front of him. He reached down, his hand slowly coming to rest on Thomas's shoulder.

Thomas gasped, the cold touch sending a shock through his body. The boy's hand was too cold, too hard, and Thomas couldn't pull away. The boy's smile twisted into something that didn't belong on a child's face, something wide and far too sharp. It wasn't a smile. It was a grin.

Then the boy spoke, but not in a voice that Thomas recognized. It wasn't his voice at all. It was low, raspy, and filled with a coldness that made the hair on Thomas's neck stand up.

"You're not supposed to be here."

Thomas's eyes widened. His throat tightened, and he could feel the weight of the words pressing against his chest. "What do you mean? Who are you?"

The boy's grin grew wider. "I'm you," he said, his voice distorting, changing, warping. "I'm what you were supposed to be."

Thomas could feel the walls of his room closing in around him, the air thick and suffocating. "No… no, you're not. You're not me," he whispered.

The boy laughed, but it wasn't the laugh of a child. It was hollow, empty, like something that had died long ago. The sound made Thomas's skin crawl.

"Yes, I am," the boy said. "I'm the one who was supposed to stay. You were the mistake."

Thomas's chest tightened. "No," he said, shaking his head. "No, I'm not. I'm real."

The boy's eyes darkened. "You're not real," he hissed. "You're nothing. You never were. And now, you're nothing again."

Thomas felt a pull, a strange sensation tugging at him from the inside. It was as if the air itself had grown heavy, pulling him downward. His body felt too light, his limbs too weak to move. His eyes locked onto the boy's face, and he couldn't look away. The boy's grin faded, replaced by something colder, emptier.

The room seemed to bend, twist, and then there was nothing.

When Thomas blinked again, he was no longer sitting in the corner of his room. He was standing. The room was darker now, the shadows stretched out and filled every corner.

He looked down at his hands, his small, trembling hands, and realized they weren't his anymore. They were the boy's hands.

The realization hit him like a slap to the face. He wasn't Thomas anymore. He was the other one. The one who had always been meant to be here.

His heart pounded in his chest as he took a step back. The floor was colder beneath his feet, the room colder, emptier. There was no sound anymore. No rain. No wind. Just silence. He wanted to scream, to fight, but his voice wouldn't come.

He turned toward the door, but before he could reach for it, the walls around him seemed to ripple. The door seemed to melt away, replaced by an endless void. The air grew thick with a pressure that made it hard to breathe. He tried to run, but his feet wouldn't move. It was as though he was rooted to the spot.

Then, he heard something. A low, guttural sound that didn't belong. It wasn't the sound of the storm. It wasn't even the sound of his own breathing. It was something deeper, something darker.

And then he saw it.

The boy.

The one who had taken his place. He stood there in the doorway, his eyes wide and empty. His grin had faded, replaced by a hollow stare. He reached out, his hand long and unnaturally thin.

Thomas's heart raced as the boy's hand touched his shoulder. The coldness spread through his body, icy and unyielding. He tried to pull away, but his body didn't respond. His arms felt heavy, his legs too weak.

"Welcome back," the boy whispered, his voice thick with malice. "You were never supposed to leave."

The room around them seemed to dissolve, fading into the blackness.

Thomas tried to scream again, but no sound came. His body felt light as if he were floating. Then he understood. He wasn't real anymore. The boy wasn't just his double. He was the one who belonged. The one who had always belonged. And now, there was no place for Thomas.

There would never be a place for him again.

And the boy, the one who had always belonged, stepped forward, his cold hand tightening around Thomas's throat.