- Created By NoxRequiem
The Babysitter
Two brothers get in a fight while their parents are away, and punishment follows.
I could feel the floor dropping away beneath the bed, and the bed itself falling away next. My blankets were the last to go, and I was up, walking toward the open door into the hallway.
Mother and Father were in the living room with the television playing softly. They smiled at the screen, didn’t even glance at me as I walked by.
Then I was in the kitchen. The dark kitchen, staring down into the dark basement where no one went anymore. My body carried me down without so much as a pause on the top step. My mind, however, clawed at the back of my skull, desperate for the clean air upstairs. But down, down, down I went. Down into that darkness where the dust settled over everything and orphaned noises drifted without cause.
In the basement, the rest of the house was muted. All I could hear was my own breathing, my bare feet against the carpet. There were no working lights down there, just the moon- and lamplight from outside through the glass block windows. All I could see was the space in front of me. Everything else was a black funnel directing me forward, toward the door that we always kept shut.
I reached that door and placed my hand on the knob. Now even my body rebelled. My joints locked up. My hand felt like lead, my veins like tangles of rusty wire. I knew what waited in that empty bedroom; I wasn’t sure I could take seeing it one more time.
But I knew the rules, and my fear could only keep me paralyzed for so long.
I went inside.
Read the rest: http://www.thenoctrium.com/ghost-stories/the-babysitter
Don't Let the Light Go Out
A man stays at the office late to get some work done. He thinks he's alone, but who's playing with the lights?
The lights went out again. I sat perfectly still, my eyes wide in the darkness. I could feel something on the other side of my door staring back at me through the metal. I could hear something giggle, high-pitched like a woman—no, not a woman; a child. It was a mean laugh, a knowing laugh, a laugh that seemed to say, “I know where you are. Now I have you.”
Asher Road
A man gets in a wreck and tries to give his girlfriend directions over the phone so she can pick him up. A third party has other plans:
A deep groan rumbled through the night, and my stomach tied itself in a knot. She’s going to kill me. For good measure, I turned the key one last time, but the car still wouldn’t start. It just made that unhealthy groaning sound before falling utterly quiet.
I gave myself a moment to calm down and think. I was stranded. The car—her car—had veered off the road and flattened its front end against a tree. I hadn’t sustained any injuries, save for a bruise on my forehead, so I wasn’t in any real danger.
You sure about that?
Read the rest of Asher Road here: http://www.thenoctrium.com/ghost-stories/asher-road
Glasses
A man who has worn glasses his entire life discovers a new, terrifying world when he takes them off:
I wasn’t alone out there; that much I could tell. I could hear them breathing around me, moving with me. Their footsteps escorted me down the driveway. I can’t see you anymore, I thought. Now leave me alone!
It was hard to guage how far I’d walked. It seemed an eternity ago that I’d stepped outside my home, but I was taking tiny steps. Although I couldn’t see them, it felt like my tormentors were pressing in, standing as close as they could without actually touching me. I wanted to run back to my house, but I had to prove to them that they were invisible to me. I had to keep going until I was sure they were gone—
Read the rest here: http://www.thenoctrium.com/ghost-stories/glasses
Red Handed
A father tries to comfort his son against irrational nightmares, but he may need more comforting than the child.
I’m awake, but it feels like a dream. Light creeps in from the hallway, and there’s a small voice making unintelligable noises. But I left the light on, I think. Why’s he still scared?
Did I imagine it? Did the light just flicker?
My son’s voice gets louder, and I hear the terror. I feel it. My wife’s warmth is a tether; I cling to it because I know what will happen if I get up to check on our boy.
The light from his room flickers again, no mistaking it this time. His chanting turns desperate, and I recognize the lullaby he sings to himself. It won’t do him any good. Tears ride his voice, corrupting the melody’s soothing purpose. He doesn’t need lullabies; he needs a firm shoulder to curl against, a strong arm to ward off his nightmares. He needs his father.
I relinquish my wife’s warmth and cross the hall. My son’s door is halfway open, as I left it, and I can see the child in his bed. The lamp on his dresser buzzes like a fly in its struggle to stay alive. The strobe effect deceives my eyes and causes the blackness to creep in at the edges, and my son sits at the center, staring across the room at something I can’t see as he sings pitifully to himself.
He hears my footstep, turns to face me. “Daddy—”
The light goes out.
Read the rest here: http://www.thenoctrium.com/ghost-stories/red-handed
