Random Horror Stories - 500

It started on a Tuesday, though no one could agree on the exact time. Some people said it fell from the sky at night. Others claimed it showed up mid-morning, glistening on the horizon like something that didn't belong. By the time anyone paid attention, it was already too late.

The first person to find it was Arthur Riley, an old farmer who lived on the outskirts of Ashcroft. His fields stretched so far that he rarely saw his neighbors. That morning, like always, Arthur was up before the sun, trudging through the cold with a shovel over his shoulder. It was quiet except for his boots crunching over frost. Then he noticed something strange at the far edge of his cornfield.

The ground there looked wrong—dark, shiny, and slick in a perfect circle about ten feet across. Arthur squinted at it, confused. As he got closer, his boots made a sound he couldn't place, like stepping into something thick and wet.

The soil was black, but not muddy. It gleamed like oil but thicker, almost alive. Arthur jabbed it with his shovel, expecting resistance, but it clung to the metal instead, like it was trying to pull the shovel in. Arthur cursed and yanked the tool back.

"What the hell…?"

He crouched down, squinting to get a better look. If he didn't know better, he thought he could hear it—a faint noise, like breathing or sucking. He rubbed his temple where a sudden ache had flared up.

"Some kind of spill," he muttered.

But when he turned to leave, his boots wouldn't budge. He looked down and saw thin, black lines reaching out from the circle, clinging to his boots.

"What the…"

He pulled hard, but the slime pulled back harder. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, the ache in his temple sharp now. Panicking, Arthur leaned down, grabbed his leg, and yanked until he fell backward onto the ground. He gasped for breath, staring at his boots. They were still stuck in place, half-covered by the slime. It flexed and rippled like something alive.

Arthur didn't wait. He scrambled to his feet and ran.

------

By Wednesday, Arthur Riley was missing. His truck sat parked next to his barn, but no one could find him. Deputy Carl Landry found Arthur's boots out in the field. He told himself the black goo on the leather was just mud. He told himself that because it was better than admitting what he really saw. He bagged the boots, didn't say anything to the others, and drove back to town.

At the Ashcroft station, Carl dropped the evidence bag on his desk. It was late, the station quiet. The smell hit him first—faint but rancid, like meat left too long in the sun.

"You need sleep, Landry," he muttered.

But he didn't leave. The slime on the boots—it wasn't mud. He knew that. He could feel it in the dull ache behind his eyes, the one that had started as soon as he touched the bag.

The lights flickered.

Carl sat up straighter. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something move. Slowly, he turned his head.

The evidence bag had tipped over.

He froze, his heart hammering. It must've been how he left it—that's all. But then he saw it. A tendril of black slime leaked out of the bag, stretching toward the edge of the desk. It oozed slowly, deliberately.

Carl stood, snatched the bag, and shoved it into the evidence locker. He slammed the door shut, locked it, and left the station without looking back.

------

By Friday, Ashcroft was silent.

Nobody could say when the screams started. Some said it was the Brenners over on Willow Street. Others swore it was Robby, the gas station clerk, who saw something crawling out of the sewers. It didn't matter. By Friday night, the streets were empty. Ashcroft was different.

Eddie Daniels, sixteen, locked himself in his room. He hadn't seen his parents all day. They'd left that morning, but something about the silence in the house felt off. The power had gone out hours ago. Eddie sat on his bed with a flashlight, staring at the door.

He kept thinking about what he'd seen earlier. Black goo oozing from the old drainpipe in the alley. It didn't run downhill like water. It moved uphill. Eddie had thrown a rock at it, watched it ripple, and ran home.

Now he waited, listening.

Then he heard it. A sound, faint but real. Not footsteps. Not a voice. Something else. Eddie crept to the window and looked outside.

The street looked strange—wet, but not from rain. Blackness spread across the pavement like a slow stain. Eddie swore it hadn't been there before. He backed away from the window, heart pounding, and shoved his dresser in front of the door.

Creak.

The sound came from the hall.

Eddie froze. Silence.

His flashlight beam shook as he pointed it at the crack under the door. Darkness oozed through the gap, spreading toward him like ink.

Over the next few days, Ashcroft vanished. Roads in and out went nowhere. The fields turned into swamps of black goo that rippled under gray skies. It spread across houses, streets, trees—even people. It left nothing but itself behind.

No one came looking. The news said nothing. Ashcroft was just a name on a map. Easy to miss. Easy to ignore.

------

One month later, Carl Landry thought he was the last person alive.

He'd holed up in an abandoned gas station just outside town, living on stale chips and bottled water. He didn't go outside anymore. Not since the dogs. He sat with his back to the freezer, shotgun across his lap, staring at the dark windows. The slime had climbed up the walls sometime during the night. It pressed against the glass like it was waiting for him.

He didn't know why it hadn't come inside yet. He stopped asking.

Carl's eyes drooped shut. When he opened them, something was different. The glass wasn't black anymore.

It was broken.

He jumped up, shotgun ready, but the room was empty. He turned to the window. Glass littered the floor. The black slime was gone, but a dark stain spread from the windowsill, creeping across the tiles toward his feet.

"No, no…"

He fired. The shotgun blast roared through the building. He fired again, but the stain kept spreading, slow and steady. He stepped back, breath ragged, until he felt something wet under his heel. Carl looked down.

It was already there.

"No!"

Carl screamed, fired one last time at his feet, and fell to the ground. The blackness swallowed everything.