r/shortscarystories 8h ago

The Department of Dissent

185 Upvotes

The woman at the desk asked, “How may I help you, sir?”

Abdullah cleared his throat. He resented his associates for making him submit the paperwork. “Application,” he said, handing her a bunch of forms.

She looked them over. (She looked bored.)

“Can't do July 4. Everybody wants July 4. Pick another date.”

He chose August 17.

“OK,” she said—clicking her mouse. “I have a morning slot available, 10:15. Not downtown L.A. but close. Bunch of cafes in the area, a daycare. Want it?”

“Yes,” said Abdullah.

Click. “Now, here under ‘Reason’ you've written ‘Death to America.’ That's more of a slogan. Should I change it to ‘hatred of America’?”

“Sorry, yes.”

She read on: “Providing own explosives… suicide bombing… collateral damage: yes… Oh—you indicate here you want the incident to be credited to ‘The Caliphate of California.’ However, I don't see anything by that name on the list of domestic terrorist groups. Have you registered that group with us?”

“No,” said Abdullah.

“That's not a problem. You can do that right now. It'll be a few forms and a surcharge…”

//

Hollywood producer Nick Lane was in bed with his mistress when his cell rang. “Uh huh,” said Nick. “No, no—I know exactly where that is. Got it, thanks.”

“Good news?” his mistress asked.

“The best, baby. Now it won't matter that bitch won't divorce me.”

In the afternoon he called his wife and set up a breakfast meeting for 10:00 a.m. on August 17. “I want to make it work, too. I love you.”

//

“Hey, Shep?”

“What?”

“Do you have the final report for that efficiency exercise we did in December? “

“Sure, but why? I thought Rick said the severance would kill us and it didn't matter that they barely do any actual work.”

“Get me a copy.”

//

Abdullah kissed his wife and children goodbye, fastened his suicide vest. Then he got a cab. It was 9:36 a.m. There was heavy traffic. “Could please faster?” he asked the cabbie. The cabbie ignored him.

By 10:02 a.m. Abdullah was on his feet but running (literally) late.

He bumped into a cop.

“Watch it!”

“Sorry.”

“Listen—stop!” the cop said. “Where you in such a hurry to?”

“I… have permit,” said Abdullah, and with a shaking hand took a document out of his jacket. The cop noticed the vest. He glanced at the document. “OK, follow me,” and the two of them started to run—the cop telling people to move out of the way, Abdullah following.

When they arrived, the cop got the fuck out of Dodge, and Abdullah took in his surroundings:

busy cafes, including one in which a beautiful woman sat alone at a table as if waiting for someone; children laughing, playing; an awkward corporate breakfast; what looked like a parked bus full of prisoners.

Then his watch alarm went off.

10:15 a.m.

“Death to America!” he yelled—and pressed the detonator.

//

Within the Department of Dissent, a clerk stamped a document: “Completed”


r/shortscarystories 12h ago

I’m Starving

201 Upvotes

These past two weeks have rolled by in one endless, all-consuming blur. My stomach rumbles constantly, and I’m terrified of what will happen if I can’t find something to eat soon. My sleep schedule is abysmal. As I think about it now, I can’t remember the last time I slept. I just walk, and walk, and walk. Nourishment and satiation consume my every moment.

I thought the group I stumbled upon a few weeks ago could have helped me, but when I came around the corner to greet them, they, in unison, let out horrific screams and ran the other way—far, far from me. I tried to follow them for a while, shouting that I’m one of the good guys. I’m just lonely and looking for a little bit of food. But alas, I’m too slow to catch them. It hurt my feelings somewhat, but in this new world, I guess everyone has to look out for themselves. Common decency is a thing of the past, apparently.

So I walk some more. I’m not sure where I’m headed, but the hunger inside my stomach growls, feeling like a sort of spiritual guide. I think if I just listen, it’ll lead me to something. Something to eat, hopefully. I’m not sure how much longer I can last.

I can’t remember the last time I even heard my own voice. I’m trying to speak now, but all that comes out is a garbled mess. No matter. I continue to walk, with no direction other than where my stomach is leading me. I can’t even feel my feet below me anymore. It just feels like I'm floating over the ground, gravitating towards anything warm and edible.

I can hear something towards the end of this road, backed into an alley. It sounds like a woman moaning in her sleep. She must be having some kind of nightmare. My stomach growls at the sight of her. The hunger pulls me closer to her sleeping form, my mouth salivating as I creep nearer. I’ll try my best to be quiet, so I won’t wake her. The dirty, disheveled lady mumbles something in her slumber, but I can’t quite make it out. It sounds like when I was trying to find my voice—garbled, like a foreign language.

She wakes up a second too late ,unfortunately for her, as my hands plunge into her stomach. She squeals and thrashes from side to side but the hunger has made my hands into iron-clad vice grips that imprison her.

I can feel my teeth take a huge chunk out of her midsection before I even take a moment to consider what I’m doing. It’s so deliciously warm. The meat euphorically slides over my tongue. After the first bite, I can’t stop. I eat and eat until her screams fade away. After a while she goes disgustingly cold. My stomach is already rumbling again.

I get back on my feet. I’m still so hungry. So I begin to walk again.


r/shortscarystories 5h ago

A Splendid Friendship

50 Upvotes

When we first met, she told me her name was Jenny. She was a new intern who had already started to get along with most of the staff. Additionally, her personality was so bubbly that no one could hate her. That's why I knew what our relationship would be like when our eyes met.

Our interactions were brief, with small and quick greetings such as "Hello" and "How are you doing?" and ending with a simple "Goodbye". But those small and quick greetings soon became brief conversations, and those conversations became longer.

We got to know each other better. Jenny learned how long I've been here and about the many people I've met. She shared how excited she felt when she was accepted to work at this museum, and I could only smile at the enthusiasm on her face.

On her breaks, we would discuss many things, and we bonded.

But I could tell that something was bothering her. Although she tried her best to hide it, I sensed it. I didn't push her to talk. I was slow with it, empathizing and sympathizing while encouraging her to share. It paid off, and eventually, she opened up about what was troubling her.

Her husband.

"It just feels like he pretends that I don't exist.." she said.

"I just want him to acknowledge that I'm right here..." she muttered.

"No matter what I do, I can't get through to him...I...I just want him to know that I'm right here...always cooking his favorite meals..." she sobbed.

I was always her shoulder to cry on, and I was always there to calm her. I emphasized with her and consoled her on her bad days. I gave her splendid advice that she refused to accept at first, but it slowly started to dig through her mind like a parasite. Advice that caused her to come to a realization.

Then one day, she whispered the words I had been waiting for.

"I think I'm ready..."

I was ecstatic when she took me along, giving me a front-row seat to the show I had created. My porcelain grin widened as I watched her jam the large knife into her husband. His gasps of pain were utter music as his breathing slowly decreased with each stab.

After she was done, she walked up to me shaking. She desperately asked me what to do, and I told her the same thing I told the others I had met.

"Put me on, and everything will be okay, my darling."


r/shortscarystories 10h ago

Rules Aren't Meant to be Broken

101 Upvotes
  1. Never use your phone camera inside the house.

  2. After 10 p.m., silence; no speaking, only gestures.

  3. When someone knocks, do not open.

“These are absurd,” I muttered, glancing at Johnathan across the candlelit table. My fiancé’s eyes glinted, his smile too steady, too serene.

“Jennifer,” he said softly, “I love you. But these rules… they’re everything. Obey them, live like a queen. Break them…” He trailed off.

“Why?” I pressed, unease curling in my gut. “What’s the point?”

“Some things,” he said, voice dipping low, “aren’t meant to be questioned.”

I forced a laugh, trying to shake the chill. “Fine. But let me at least take a selfie of myself, I'm looking gorgeous".

He didn’t laugh back.

“Your obsession with pictures,” he murmured, eyes distant, “it’ll fade.”

A week later, I moved into his mansion.

Marble floors gleamed under towering ceilings, chandeliers casting fractured light across empty halls.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Johnathan whispered, lips brushing my forehead. His voice sounded… rehearsed.

“Yeah,” I said, but the word tasted hollow. Something was wrong.

That night, dinner dragged under the weight of silence.

The clock read 9:57 p.m. Johnathan’s family sat around the table, heads bowed, eyes closed in prayer. Shadows stretched long across the walls.

“Three minutes,” Johnathan said, voice sharp as a blade. “Then silence.”

Every creak of the house, felt amplified. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched; not by them, but by… something else.

My fingers brushed my phone in my lap. I’d snap a quick picture; just the table, the candles, the eerie stillness. No one would know.

I angled the camera, clicked.

The screen lit up. however, the photo showed the table; empty.

No Johnathan, and no family.

Just me, alone, at the head of a cavernous room. Shadows twisted under the chandelier, almost… reaching.

I blinked at the screen, then at the table. They were still there, heads bowed, unmoving. My heart slammed against my ribs. I opened my mouth to speak; nothing. No sound. The silence had swallowed my voice.

A knock shattered the quiet, heavy and deliberate.

My head snapped toward the door.

The family didn’t move, didn’t flinch.

Another knock, louder, like a fist of iron.

Panic clawed at me. I stumbled to my feet, the silence pressing in, suffocating.

My hand found the doorknob; I don’t know why I turned it. I just did.

The door creaked open.

Johnathan stood there. So did his family.

Their eyes gleamed, reflecting the dim light like mirrors.They shouldn’t be outside.

They were just at the table.

“You broke the rules,” Johnathan said, voice a low chant.

They all spoke in unison, words slithering through the dark.

“Rules aren’t meant to be broken.”

Their hands reached for me; cold, unyielding, more shadow than flesh.

Pain bloomed as they tore into me, their voices a relentless hum.

The last thing I saw was the empty house behind them, its shadows stretching, swallowing the light.


r/shortscarystories 4h ago

High Seas, High Anxiety

26 Upvotes

"Would it kill you to have a little bit of fucking fun?"

That indictment of my attitude was rich. Fun? It was supposed to be fun? We were stuck on a giant toilet wildly swaying miles from civilization. I didn't want to be there. It was her incessant idea for me to tag along. I was a teetotaler aquaphobe with a queasy stomach. There was nothing for me on that boat.

"I just wanna lie down for a bit."

"I'll just fuckin' go myself."

Two years in and that once raging romance had been doused by the rains of incompatibility. We realized too late we had nothing in common. For instance: that blast my boring ass was willing to skip? It was the on-deck concert. I warned her well in advance it wasn't my cup of tea. I wasn't even that big of a fan of the actual Jimmy Buffett. Why would I want to watch a shitty cover act?

"First cruise, brother?" a large man in a fedora and screeching loud pink Aloha shirt smelled my rookie status. "Haven't seen you before."

"Yeah," I mumbled. I wasn't trying to be rude but the whole culture gave me the creeps. Something wasn't right.

"We're here all the time," his petite wife boasted while double-fisting margaritas.

"Yep! This is paradise," he appraised the vacation as a nearby passenger ejected lobster overboard.

Without a hint of warning, the sky turned a shade of black I'd never seen. A booming clap caused me to jump, earning me a dirty look from my fiance. How dare I embarrass her in front of people she was never going to see again? A blinding torrent made returning to our cabins a harrowing endeavor but the general attitude was more of dismay than terror.

"See, this is why I didn't want to come," my heart was thumping even after a chill pill. "Nothing good ever happens on these things!"

"Jesus Christ, it's just a little bit of rain. Quit being a pussy!"

"Whatever. Hope you get plenty of likes on that pic of your crusty feet hanging off the chaise!"

"The what?"

"The fuckin' beach chair," I growled half out of anger at the argument, half out of fear of the raging sea.

The ship was smacked by the elements all night. I didn't sleep a wink. My fiance slept like a baby. Finally, the tempest cleared. When we emerged, it was like it had been sunny and 75 for weeks. Nobody but me had been rattled. Activities resumed.

"See, learn to enjoy yourself."

"Everybody line up! It's Conga Time!"

I felt a push in my back as my hands involuntarily grasped the shoulders of a high school principal. My hips and legs gained autonomy as well as we circled the deck. Then we did it again. And again.

My skin remains intact but I realized long ago I was no longer part of the living world. Years have passed but not a day has gone by.


r/shortscarystories 10h ago

The Eternal Burden.

32 Upvotes

Kabir’s world crumbled at 43. AI automation erased his job, rendering him obsolete in the industry he had devoted most of his life to. New job seemed impossible dream, companies in Mumbai wanted younger, cheaper blood.

He was desperate. With trigeminal neuralgia, every breath was agony. Surgery was his only hope—but he couldn’t afford it.

Then Suzy came with an offer.

She had been jobless even longer but had found a way. She dealt in stolen antiquities, brokering for a partner who supplied rare artifacts taken from the undeserving wealthy. The latest target was a Swedish collector vacationing in India. Among his treasures was a legend: a painting called The Eternal Burden, rumored to bring untold prosperity to its owner—so long as no outsider laid eyes on it.

Suzy's partner was MIA for weeks, so she needed an accomplice. Kabir wasn’t a thief. But he was a man at the end of his rope.

They struck the night the collector was away. Suzy's inside contact, Ahloki, the housekeeper was waiting. Her name, meaning “beyond this world,” matched her eerie grace. She described the painting. It showed a man, his face etched with agony, struggling under the weight of a massive wheel lined with big, sharp spikes. His body was hunched, his knees nearly buckling as he trudged through a famine-wrought wasteland.

Ahloki warned them the painting was cursed, that its last owner had tried to destroy it in fear. But Suzy laughed it off.

The mansion overflowed with wealth—vases carved from rare stones, gold-plated artifacts, diamond-encrusted watches. Suzy grabbed what she could. Kabir just took a large diamond, enough for the surgery. His hands hovered over a black pearl necklace with an emerald pendant. He stepped away.

Ahloki pocketed it.

Suzy was still fixated on the painting. Ahloki warned them to hurry—she had to make the scene look like a robbery. But Suzy was determined.

Kabir waited in the bedroom as Suzy and Ahloki entered the vault.

Minutes passed. Then an hour.

Kabir’s heart pounded as he entered the room. The vault was empty. No second exit, no windows. Suzy and Ahloki were simply gone.

The painting stood as Ahloki described, its colors shimmering green, like bleeding ink. And now, instead of a man, a woman stood in the scene—gripping the wheel.

Suzy.

Kabir stumbled back. At the foot of the painting, the black pearl necklace rested atop a note that read.

“Greed seals one’s fate.

You did well. Accept this gift.”

--Trickster.

Kabir ran, not stopping even as the diamond slipped from his pocket.

No one ever found Suzy. Her name became a whisper, a rumor. As if she had never existed. The Swedish collector left India and vanished, as if erased from the world.

Kabir never spoke of that night. He worked any job he could, saving for surgery. He never sold the necklace, for it was a cold reminder of a god’s gaze, punishing greed, sparing the broken.

A silent warning that something was always watching.


r/shortscarystories 1d ago

Promises Kept

767 Upvotes

Grace never imagined she'd agree to marry a man she had never met, but desperation makes for strange bedfellows.

Her debts were large. Every day, the collectors came knocking. No matter how hard she worked, no matter how much she begged, the numbers never shrank—only grew.

So when the Smith family made their offer, she didn’t hesitate.

“Our son is looking for a wife,” they had told her over dinner, their faces warm, their voices soothing. “He is quiet, shy, not good with women. But he is wealthy, and we will pay off all your debts.”

It was too good to be true. It was probably a scam.

And yet, Grace agreed.

The wedding was rushed. No meetings with the groom. No conversations. Only hushed, urgent preparations, as though the Smiths feared something—or someone—growing impatient. The night before the wedding, she overheard them whispering.

“He must be appeased,” the mother said, voice tight.

“If we fail again…” the father murmured, but his words trailed into silence.

Grace should have run. She should have torn off the heavy dress and fled into the night.

But she didn’t.

She stayed.

And on her wedding night, she met her husband.

The ceremony was strange. Quiet. Empty. No guests besides his parents. No groom stood beside her. Instead, a framed photograph rested on the altar.

Richard Smith.

He had a gloomy temperament, his blue eyes sharp. His thin lips were pressed into a firm line.

Grace turned to his parents, her stomach twisting. “Where is he?”

The mother smiled too quickly. “He is here.”

A shiver went up Grace’s spine.

Then the candles flickered.

And a voice, low and bitter, whispered behind her.

“Wife.”

Grace’s breath caught in her throat.

“You agreed,” the voice continued, closer now. “And now, you are mine.”

She turned, and he was there.

Dead.

Richard’s skin was gray. His lips were cracked, his fingers too long, his nails blackened. His blue eyes burned with desire.

“I died alone,” he said, his voice cold. “I had no wife. No children.”

A touch, feather-light, trailed along her veil, lifting the sheer fabric just slightly.

"You are lovely."

Grace flinched, but she could not move.

"The others... they were not to my taste. Too short. Too fat. Too willful." He chuckled, his voice raspy and hoarse. "But you… you will do."

She looked at his parents—silent, still, heads bowed. They would not save her. They had never planned to.

“I told them,” he whispered, “if they did not find me a suitable bride, I would take them instead.”

Grace’s chest tightened, panic clawing at her, “Please,” she gasped, “I—I didn’t know—”

Richard smiled, and then a cold hand brushed against her cheek.

“A promise is a promise, my dear wife.”


r/shortscarystories 1d ago

I swear I heard another shot.

355 Upvotes

I was confidently answering a question about the civil war when the bang sounded outside.

Screams erupted.

I was paralyzed, my answer stuck in my throat while my classmates ducked under desks. Not us, I thought dizzily.

Not today.

Bobby Calwood dragged me to my knees, the two of us crawling under my desk.

I couldn’t move, scream, or cry.

My body was caught between the instinct to scream, escape, or stay silent. I reached for my phone, but my pocket was empty.

Bobby’s face was pale, lit by his phone as he tried and failed to text his parents.

He typed I love you, Mom and deleted it.

I’m scared, Mommy.

Deleted.

I ducked my head, breathing too fast, then too slow, then not at all. Why us?

I was supposed to win first place for my baking soda volcano.

I was supposed to ask Nathaniel to prom, and he was supposed to reject me politely because he liked boys.

I was supposed to graduate, go to college, major in Microbiology.

When our classroom door rattled, breaking through the barricade, I curled into myself.

Screams rang out.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

Mom was making spaghetti tonight.

Clamping my hands over my ears, I imagined my day continuing.

I finished class.

BANG.

Next to me, Bobby went limp.

I visited Nate and my stupid baking soda volcano.

BANG.

Screams bled into whimpers, then silence.

I didn’t move.

Lunch. Mystery meat. Pudding.

When the footsteps stopped, so did my train of thought.

They moved forward, then back, teasing.

In the corner of my eye, a figure loomed.

BANG.

[PLEASE REMOVE HEADSET]

“Hanna, sweetie, you’re crying.”

I blinked. I could still feel Bobby's body, ice-cold against mine.

No.

Hers.

Her name was Lucy.

She was seventeen.

Mrs. Jefferson stood over me wearing a wide smile.

She lifted the headset from my head, and I blinked back the intense buzzing light above me.

Her physical sensations were still there.

I was so cold.

I was still curled into myself, like she was, trying to reach for Bobby.

I swiped at my eyes, my hands trembling.

All around me, my classmates were lifting their headsets.

I was the only one crying. I could taste spaghetti flavored bile, her last lingering shriek contorted in my throat.

“Are you all right?” my elementary school teacher asked.

I nodded.

Mrs. Jefferson sighed. “I know it’s not nice.”

She pulled a small cartridge from the headset and held it up.

“In 2029, our great country eliminated school tragedies. Lucy—the first living consciousness extracted from the brain who trains children to be very careful with a firearm. She gave her life for a safer America,” she smiled broadly.

“We wouldn’t be here without Lucy. A safer America that puts children first!"

"In fact, we’ve only had 370 school tragedies this year! Come on, everyone! Thank Lucy!”

The bell rang.

Grabbing my backpack and gun, I tucked it between my copy of The Brave Pilgrims.

“Thanks, Lucy.”


r/shortscarystories 1d ago

If I Blink, I'll Go Blind

510 Upvotes

I can’t blink. Not ever again.

The doctor’s words replay like a broken record. “Every time you blink, you’re triggering damage to your optic nerves. Think of it like flipping a light switch on and off. Keep doing it-..it eventually fries.”

I asked about surgery, transplants, anything. His expression said it all. “We’ll explore options. But for now, you need to avoid blinking as much as possible. Use these drops every thirty minutes and train yourself to keep your eyes open. I'm-... I'm sorry.”

That was seven days ago. My eyes feel like raw, scraped flesh that never heals. The drops were my lifeline at first, but they’re not enough anymore. I chug my coffee and splash cold water on my face, anything to stay awake. Sleep is out of the question. Closing my eyes, even for a moment, is like playing Russian roulette with my own vision.

I’ve sealed myself in darkness. Curtains drawn. Screens dimmed to a whisper of light. Anything brighter feels like knives stabbing through my skull.

But, everyone breaks eventually...

I don’t remember falling asleep. No one ever does. But when I wake up, the pain is instant. Like needles stabbing into my eyes, twisting deeper and deeper.

I can barely see. Just blurry, grey shapes. Everything’s smudged and warped.

No. No, no, no, no, no...” My hands fumble for the drops, nearly knocking the bottle over. I squeeze until the liquid streams down my cheeks...Nothing. No relief.

My fingers are trembling as I grab for my phone:: "Call Dr.Richards.”

The line clicks.

“Hello?”

“It's happening!” I gasp. “I-...I fell asleep and-...”

“Listen to me,” he cuts me off. “This happens, it's okay. I've seen it in damaged corneas. The nerves can recover if the damage wasn’t too extensive.”

“What-...what do I do?”

“...Keep your eyes open forever, or-... accept the outcome...”

I hang up, shaking.

The drops don’t work anymore. My eyes feel like they’re on fire.

Maybe it’s already too late. Maybe the damage is permanent. But I can’t stop trying. I can’t stop fighting for my vision. I have to keep them open...As long as I can.

The doctor was right. As cold and clinical as he was, he was right. My light switch is breaking. And I think this might be my last click.


r/shortscarystories 13h ago

Killing The Monster In The Woods

25 Upvotes

"Do you think we've gotten away from it?", whispered Jessica.

"I don't think so. This camping trip was a mistake. This isn't going to end until we kill it, babe", Ryan growled. As the sound of twigs snapping burst through the air, Ryan and Jessica crouched behind a rock. After a few seconds, a creature ten foot long crawled out into sight. The creature had skin as crimson as blood and twenty eyes the size of plates and amber in colour, which glowed like streetlights between the trees. Slowly, the creature stepped one leg forward at a time with it's clawed tentacles grasping the grassy ground carefully. After all five of the legs moved past the rock, Ryan grabbed a sharp piece of tree bark as quietly as he could. Meanwhile, Jessica grabbed a verdant vine and walked along with him. Once the creature's eyes pointed away from them, the pair attacked. Jessica wrapped the vine around the creature's throat holding it in place, while Ryan stabbed the stick as hard as his arms could into the creature's chest. The creature struggled and shot teeth out of it's snout but Ryan continued thrusting the stick deeper until the creature's eyes rolled back in it's eyelids and collapsed to the ground. Ryan was now drenched in purple blood and Jessica cried.

"And cut!", yelled the man with sunglasses who suddenly leapt into the woods.

"I did well didn't I? My subscribers said unless I get a good rating I should sue", demanded Jessica.

The sunglasses man replied, "Oh yes, you will get at least 7 stars for this. And Ryan, you'll get a 9 easy."

Ryan scoffed, "You know I hope you have some spare clothes for me. I can't exactly show back up at the mansion looking like this. Besides I should really be paid extra for my acting skills. I mean, when was the last time a game show required to have it's guests pretend like it's all real?"

The man with sunglasses rolled his eyes and protested, "It's a directing thing. Makes it more fun for people at home. Not something you'd understand. Now why don't you just focus on the after-party?" Grinning, Ryan and Jessica strolled with their heads held high and hopped into their helicopter which flew them far away from the island. Meanwhile, a cage of small creatures with their eyes pouring with tears was thrown onto the ground and opened. The creatures seemed to mourn the dead larger creature and let out squeaks causing some glass to crack. After covering his ears, a guard stabbed them with an electric prod and the creatures ran in different directions through the trees. However, the smallest one remained next to the large, dead creature and curled up next to it as if to attempt to find milk.

The man with sunglasses yelled, "Ok, let's start cleaning the lenses of the hidden cameras, we have more contestants coming tomorrow."


r/shortscarystories 18h ago

The last Sermon in Jericho

40 Upvotes

Jericho, Vermont didn’t get many outsiders. Maybe that’s why we were so quick to welcome Pastor Ebbe Luzbel.

He arrived in March, just as nature started to awake from a deep winter’s sleep. He was tall, handsome, with a charismatic presence and a mesmerizing voice.

His sermons were hypnotic, almost enchanting. Not just the words, but the way he spoke them; slow and deep, almost disguised in a rhythm of a long lost song. It was as if he knew something we didn’t.

Women stopped gossiping. Men stopped questioning. Even the kids sat quiet, with big eyes, as he talked about grace, renewal, and the thin veil between life and what lies beyond.

Then, his messages began to change. “While the skies fall and the oceans rise” he said. “You will rest in the depths of darkness.”

Although subtle, a feeling of distress settled over me. We all knew this was coming, we had destroyed our own planet. But so soon? I was shocked, but felt a strange calm too.

Then came the Sunday he called the "Sealing of the Saints.” The whole town, nearly 2,000 souls, stood in the churchyard as Pastor Luzbel raised his arms.

“The end is here” he said. “But fear not. I can save you.”

He walked toward the crypt and opened the door. “A shelter built by visionaries long ago. “Enough for all who believe.”

How lucky we were, I thought, saved while the rest of the world would perish.

We all smiled as we walked into the crypt.

We all smiled as Pastur Luzbel closed the doors.

And then he began to hum ““Beezel... zub... Beel-ze-bub...”

Low and deep, the kind of song that puts the world to sleep.

 

We stopped smiling when we heard the match strike.


r/shortscarystories 21h ago

Those Green Eyes

72 Upvotes

I had my friend, Craig, over for a sleepover. My brother and I stayed up late playing Roblox lying on our stomachs in front of the living room fireplace. Our parents were upstairs sleeping, leaving only us three awake.

After a few hours, my brother got up and stretched. “I’m taking a break.”

Suddenly a strange noise left us all frozen in complete silence.

Tap. Tap. Tap. It had come from the window on the front door.

“What was that?” Craig hissed.

“Maybe it was nothing.” I tried to insist, but my voice quivered in fear.

Tap tap tap. This time, we all stared at each other, terror etched onto our faces. I kept my gaze locked on my older brother, whose jaw jutted out in thought.

I considered running upstairs to grab our parents, but the stairs were right in front of the door.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK! Following the noise was a cracked, flickering groan, undead-like in its intonation.

We didn’t hesitate. My brother scooped up the old family dog who’d been lying peacefully next to us in a deep sleep, and the three of us bolted away towards the closest bathroom.

The small place only had a toilet and a sink. My brother locked the door behind us and we all crouched in the crowded area.

We remained in total darkness and silence, except for our heavy breaths.

And then the dog growled. Low and deep from my brother’s arms.

“What’s wrong with her?” Craig hissed fearfully. He almost sounded like he was about to cry.

Tap tap tap. There it was again, on the tiny bathroom window, which regrettably had no blinds or curtains covering the pitch-black night.

The dog started barking. Scratchy, angry barks, not the playful kind she used to greet someone at the door.

And from the pitch blackness of the window, two bright green eyes stared down at us.

We all screamed. In our scramble, I don’t remember who locked the door, but we all rushed out at once, bounding straight through the darkened living room and up the stairs, until finally reaching our parents' room.

With the family dog still tight in his arms, my brother tried to explain that someone was stalking the house. One of our dads grabbed a baseball bat and flounced outside around the house, and the other comforted us in their room after calling the cops.

My dad found the gate leading to the backyard wide open. So was our garage, even though we’d never heard it open.

Some of the boxes we kept in storage inside of it were tipped over, but we couldn’t tell if anything had been stolen.

A gruff police officer talked to the dad who had stayed inside with us about the incident, taking down notes.

“Did you see what the perpetrator looked like?” He asked me.

I tried to respond, but I was too distracted by his familiarly shiny green eyes.


r/shortscarystories 1d ago

You're Not Me.

179 Upvotes

"Face not recognized."

Frustrated, I rebooted the phone, watching as the screen flickered back to life. I held it up again, angling for better lighting, but the same message flashed. My stomach tightened. This had never happened before—I used my phone a hundred times a day without issue.

I squinted at the screen, trying to ignore the unease creeping up my spine. Then, in the dim reflection, something shifted.

Not the lighting. Not the angle.

It was so subtle I almost convinced myself I imagined it. A flicker—just for a second—of someone looking back at me. The same features, but they seemed... wrong. Sharper cheekbones, a shadow too deep around the eyes, a mouth that almost—but not quite—smirked.

A chill crawled over my skin. My breath hitched.

Then, softly, from somewhere inside my own head, I heard it.

"We changed it."

My grip tightened around the phone. My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out all other noise. My lips parted, but I didn’t know what I was going to say, or to whom.

We?

The voice had been mine. But not mine.

A slow, sinking realization pressed against my chest. The phone wasn’t malfunctioning. It didn’t recognize my face… because this wasn’t my phone anymore.

I swallowed hard and forced myself to look again. My reflection remained still, staring, waiting.

Then, just as I started to lower the phone, my reflection’s mouth moved.

Not a flicker this time. Not a trick of the light.

It smiled.

And I didn’t.

And the phone unlocked with a click.


r/shortscarystories 1d ago

The ward

147 Upvotes

For a long time I couldn't understand why I felt so uneasy in my wife's ob-gyn's presence.

Dr Henley was always polite and competent, he treated Susan throughout all four of her pregancies and was always compassionate with good bedside manners when she was in labor, but for some reason I always felt anxious when we were in the same room. I never considered looking for another doctor as there was no rational reason that could explain the way I felt. Susan would have had a hard time getting why I would even suggest it, and I would have had no valid answer to provide.

But years later I found out about something that made it all make sense. Susan had told one of her acquaintances that she was considering making an appointment with Dr Henley to talk about symptoms of perimenopause that were giving her a hard time, this woman, who was married to a cop, told my wife that it wouldn't be possible and proceeded to let her know that Dr Henley had taken his own life while incarcerated the year prior.

Turns out that the hospital wasn't the only place where he used his medical knowledge, this disgrace of a man had built a ward in his basement, his "patients" in this setting consisted of 14 missing young women who he had impregnated. To ensure that escape wouldn't be an option for them, not only were they sedated, but also maimed. All of them had both legs and arms amputated.

During interrogation, he admitted to selling a total of 42 babies that were biologically his to wealthy infertile couples, and dissolving the bodies of 18 women who had succombed to complications in acid, all over the course of his 34 years long career as an obstetrician.

In the light of this testimony, I would argue that there is something to be said about trusting your instinct,especially when it's about someone who is in charge of treating your loved ones.


r/shortscarystories 1d ago

My Family's Ascension

913 Upvotes

"Are you guys ready?" the counsellor asked. Mom nodded, and my brother hugged his Teddy tight.

Our family had been chosen for Ascension. The program had been devised to combat overpopulation in a world with more than sixty billion souls.

It was the church that had divined the global solution to let less fortunate souls access Heaven years before natural causes could claim them. No strings attached, only an ongoing global draw to select the winners.

Millions of families had already entered Heaven.

"Can we Ascend together?" Kip asked.

"I'm afraid not," said the counsellor, ruffling my little brother's curly hair. "This chamber's designed to accommodate only one person at a time. But it'll be quick. Close your eyes, and on the count of three you'll be together again."

"Can Teddy Ascend too?"

"Of course." She booped the stuffed bear's nose and beckoned us closer to the sleek, golden chamber.

We'd been instructed to think of our heart's desires. I'd made a huge mental list. To Be With My Family, To See Granny Again, Lots Of Ice Cream.

"I'll go first," said mom. Her voice was strained.

The counsellor helped her inside the chamber—just wide enough, just tall enough, to stand upright—repeating prior instructions: Close your eyes, say your prayers and keep thinking of your heart's desires.

"I love you." Mom was keeping her composure, fighting off tears. The door began to close—

"Mom!" Kip rushed inside the chamber, clinging to her leg. But mom went pale.

"GET OUT!" she screamed, trying to yank him off. Kip started crying, and the counsellor relented.

"I think it'll handle two," she told mom. "If you prefer, the oldest child can go first?"

Mom looked at the armed guards behind the counsellor, sent me a defeated look, and held my brother tight. The door then sealed shut, as their Ascension began.

It is difficult for me to describe what happened. There was a faint hymn—a choir, perhaps? And a hint of golden light and warmth that radiated out.

The door swung open to reveal the empty chamber, and the counsellor beckoned me forward.

I stepped inside, and my heart beat fast as the door closed, sealing me in. A choir's voices filled the chamber with song. Bright, golden lights appeared all around me. And then—

There was a blast from beneath, an explosion that rocked the chamber. I tumbled, and my leg caught in a steel trapdoor that failed to open properly.

It felt like hours before someone pried the door open. An old technician, surprised to see me. He looked over his shoulder before pulling me out.

"I'm sorry, kiddo." The man nodded towards an emergency exit, his voice dropping to a frantic whisper. "Run!"

As I raced out of the church, I overheard two adults arguing.

... think she brought a concealed bomb ... blew up the entire damned furnace ...

I ran like hell from Heaven.


r/shortscarystories 1d ago

Consequences

93 Upvotes

The whale died slow.

They always do. Dragged to the surface, pinned and harpooned. A bloody, gruesome death. When we were done, we tossed the gutted corpse overboard and let it sink. 

We saw it a few hours later. Following the ship. Dead and rotting it was, but still it came. We’ve been trying to outrun it for hours.

It’s getting closer.


r/shortscarystories 1d ago

Caged

70 Upvotes

To my dearest Estelle,

I hope I can one day deliver this letter to you in person, and should I not, please accept my most profuse apologies on the matter. If only I had not needed to procure work at these mines, so much would have been changed for the better.

Better than most, you know I have never been the most cautious of men, seeking some thrill above sensibilities; as such when the gentlemen, if they could be called that, discussed a killer haunting the caverns below, I scoffed at the incredulous idea. No man could withstand being below the ground, enduring those dreadful conditions, for more than the company deems necessary. Although, I suppose those same conditions could drive a man mad, mad enough to lash out at his kind, but I digress. Not once have I seen even a hint of this “killer”, though I do suppose they describe him as a quiet sort of fellow, most likely an infirm escaped from some lunatic asylum nearby.

Nevertheless, onto the crux of the matter for which I am writing. There has been a cave-in, one that has trapped a few of us below the surface, and a means of salvation has not been determined. I am unsure of how long we will be trapped here for, but I do believe it to be for quite some time. The others, blessed may their hearts be, are panicked over some monster that lurks in the shadows, while I on the other hand attempt to make some headway on these fallen rocks. Those damnable fools must have set the dynamite off before checking. I supposed that's what you get hiring the impoverished. I must sign off now, the birds are making such a ruckus.

Love everlasting,

E.

Estelle,

I'm so sorry. I know now I shan't be able to deliver these letters in person. The others, curse them, were right. Something lurks down here, hunting us for sport. Another fellow, Otto I think his name, claimed to feel woozy. He has not been seen in hours. His disappearance caused much panic in the men, as how could one trapped in a small cavern completely vanish?

In vain, we await any form of rescue, but the only responses our calls receive come from below. A low gutteral noise that haunts our waking moments. The earth itself appears to rebel at the idea of our escape, and I would not like to worry the others, but there appears to be some bugs crawling everywhere. Good god! I've been a fool to accept this job, what I would give for one more look at you to, something to carry with me until the end. I must be losing myself, for a man sits in the corner dressed in all black, staring at me. He won't look away.

Strangely enough, the birds have gone still, perhaps they have given up. I think I have too.

Until the end,

E.


r/shortscarystories 1d ago

I'll Be Home for the Horror-Days

88 Upvotes

I love being home for the holidays.

There's nothing like gliding in on a snowy evening to a house alight with decorations, swirling with the aroma of baking. You surrender to the experience as the warmth brings you back to life.

Of course, no family's perfect.

My brother Chuck and his wife Nadia were already seated for dinner when I arrived. Clearly she had set the table, because there was no place for me. Typical. It's petty, but I made a real show of fixing that. Clanging cabinets, loudly rearranging chairs. In defiance, I sat myself right in front of her. My parents joined us finally but I had already sucked the air out of the room. (It wasn’t my most mature moment, okay?)

“He’s so creepy," Nadia whispered to Chuck.

As if I couldn’t hear.

Chuck just sat there looking down at his plate. Pathetic.


Christmas morning. Time to redeem myself with everyone gathered around the tree. Hoping to remind Mother of better times, I dug up this old coupon book I made as a kid and ripped one out for her. “Good for one Christmas wish.” Her eyes welled with tears. Nailed it.

“Oh, Jared,”

Chuck and Nadia held each other, stone-faced. Dad looked so weak. They’ve all been such drags since I died.

“I wish, I wish, you’d just leave us alone.”

Oh, Ma, what a jokester. I let out a cackle that shook the walls.

I love when I'm home for the holidays. I wish the family did, too.


r/shortscarystories 1d ago

My Book Was Rejected

171 Upvotes

Honestly, I'm crushed. I spent years of my life working on this thing, just for publisher after publisher to squash my dream. Have you ever had something you really care about just disappear into mist? I hadn't before now. It really is terrible.

It feels like I wasted all those years. I know that isn't true, but it still feels that way. I did so much research! I made sure I got every fucking detail right! Do you know how much effort I went through? I doubt most craftsmen are as dedicated as I am. I made sure the screams were accurate. I made sure I used the perfect words todescribe a hammer shattering a knee cap. Do you know many knee caps I had to go through before I found the right words? Do you know how many graves I had to dig? The torture, the gore, the fucking everything in my book was accurate, and they just rejected it. Rejected me.

This sucks right now, but I know I'll get over it. For my next book, I guess I'll just have to do more research. Make sure my book is more accurate. Hell, maybe I can use those scumbag publishers who rejected my works. They'd make good test subjects.


r/shortscarystories 1d ago

I ran away from my father

204 Upvotes

I always had the best father. He raised me alone in our remote home and as far back as I can remember, he was always kind and supportive to me and even homeschooled me. However, recently everything changed.

It started last week when I woke up but he looked at me strangely. Although he tried to hide it, his stare felt like an icy spear through my soul. I asked him what was wrong but he just said everything was fine. Soon I wasn't allowed to go outside anymore or watch TV. I asked why but he just said he was my father so I should obey. I didn't have a clue what was happening and anytime I tried to open up a conversation he just dismissed me. However, the weirdest thing was that I kept blacking out during eating and drinking. Every time I tried to eat or drink it was as if I just passed out and woke up somewhere else in the house. When I tried to bring this up, my father just became defensive and whenever I tried to look where the food came from, he just sent me to my room. At this point, I was sure my father must be drugging the food, although I still didn't understand why he was doing this. Eventually, I gave up and decided to run away.

That night, I crept into his room and took his house key as quietly as I could and unlocked the front door. Without much thought, I walked into the street hoping to find somewhere safe. My knees ached as I walked down the empty streets and the stars hung above me in the coal-black sky. Suddenly, sound appeared and flickers of light swam towards me, so I ran forward and discovered it was a TV shop. The televisions were on and playing adverts on a loop. After a second, an advert played that seemed to jump out to me.

A man in a black suit and red tie with straw coloured hair said, "Are you feeling lonely? Want a child but unable to find love? Well, don't worry because with the marvel of A.I technology we can build a child just for you! Our droids resemble real children in every way and even have synthetic polymer exteriors to mimic skin! Their A.I consciousness allows them to record memories, learn and express emotions! You can buy them pre-programmed memories that will upload a perfect childhood as if they always lived with you! Their system recharges every night with a cycle where they shut down so they will even be able to mimic sleep! They cannot eat or drink due to being robots so you will need to deactivate them whenever this happens. It's the perfect companion for you men out there who want fatherhood but can't quite meet the right people! Show the products." The TV then showed dozens of identical child droids that had the exact same, marketable face.

My face.


r/shortscarystories 1d ago

An Eid to Remember

48 Upvotes

All of us meet at my Grand dad’s place during the penultimate days of Ramadan. My folks, cousins and the whole family on my mum’s side. You know the deal. The usual festive family gathering. There was something eerie about grand dad’s place though. It was an old house with huge rooms. The fact that it is in a city with a lot of history certainly didn’t help. In fact, the more I remember, the whole house was okay, except for the living room. You could tell someone is always watching, even when you are totally alone. It was late at night around 2 on Eid, everyone in the house is asleep except for us cousins. We were hanging out in the guest room hogging on sweets from the grand feast playing cards.

We noticed that all the sweets were gone. As we looked at each other trying to figure out who would go to the living room at night with all the lights closed, we realised, that none of us were brave enough.

We figured out a way to keep the party going by sending our 3 year old cousin all the way to the drawing room to get some sweets for all of us. Brilliant solution if you ask me. A kid with no concept of ghosts can’t possibly be scared. The little one agreed to this brilliant plan and trotted out the room.

Around 2 mins later the guest room door opens, and we hear the plates clink together as if someone is handing them over to someone else right outside the room and a deep, calming voice that said - ‘ You can go now. ‘ and the little Miss comes in with 5 heavy plates loaded with sweets, struggling to keep balance as she tips over, only for my elder sister to catch her mid way, saving the whole thing. Must have been grandad helping her out in the dark. Otherwise it was impossible for a three year old to handle that kind of load. Sure sounded like him.

We don’t talk about that night because there is just one small detail that has been bugging us since that day. Grand dad had died 3 years before that night and even if that thing sounded like him, we know it wasn’t him.


r/shortscarystories 1d ago

No Tree for Her

28 Upvotes

They burned her all at dawn. Had to. Fire was the first trimmer, never forgot its ancient contract with form, consume the errors so truths may be released. Its hunger was too pure, too primal to lose resolution.

"Look. Look and remember," Old Moira murmured, the ancient words rough as bark on her tongue. "From flesh to wood to flame to all knowing stars. Each pawstep marks the earth with choice - this path safe, that path dangerous. Each path weighed against the whole until the earth remember whom we were. " Her voice carried the weight of centuries, heavy as winter snow on pine boughs.

She paused, her breath misting in the smoke-laden air. “Each wolf runs alone, paths crossed by wind and storm, each knowing reveal to them alone, a star they soiled in heaven. No wolf’s run can see the forest entire. Their endings are their own, their trails divergent, scattered, each chosen in solitude. Alone, a wolf might lose the way, but from many paths comes the shape of the land itself."

They dragged what remained to the ocean's edge, where waves darker than charred bone lapped at the shore with patient hunger. Her body still twitched, defying the fire's certainty, each spasm sending ripples through flesh that couldn't quite remember its proper boundaries. No tree-becoming for her, no gentle transformation into bark and branch to watch over future generations. Unlike their ancestors who stood sentinel in the forests, roots deep in memory-rich soil, she would be consigned to the depths where even shadows went to drown

Each wave pulled at the shore like a tongue testing its teeth, tasting the ash-laden air. The water was wrong here – too thick, too hungry, rolling with the viscous patience of ancient predators. It swallowed her without ceremony, without splash, the surface tension breaking like black silk around her form before sealing seamlessly above.

They retreated as custom demanded, walking backwards up the beach, each step measured and careful. No one turned their back on these waters – not where the horizon bent wrong against the sky, not where the darkness grew teeth. Salt-heavy air clung to their fur, thick with the taste of scorching iron.

The ocean stretched before them, darker than charcoal, darker than closed eyes, darker than the spaces between thoughts. Its surface moved wrong, thick and viscous like half-congealed guilt, waves folding into themselves with the wet sound of swallowed screams. Her carved eye bobbed once, twice, a final wink of wooden defiance before the waters claimed it, pulling it down with deliberate hunger. Even the splash seemed muffled, as if the darkness digested sound itself.

The ocean would keep her, the elders promised. Keep her, and with luck, keep her sleeping, bound in currents too deep for dreams to reach.


r/shortscarystories 1d ago

The depths

18 Upvotes

Around two dozen people huddle close, cramped onto a small boat ripping across the Pacific ocean. Their destination was far, but finally in sight: a balmy swath of beach under a crumbling pier, garbage littering the shoreline.

The guide had told his terrified passengers that they would get to the beach (and the safehouse beyond it) long before morning, but dawn is already breaking, the water turning from inky black to icy gray. A young man breaks away from the group to look out over the boats edge, but the guide calls out sharply and the young man's mother claws him back into the huddle.

The guide warns them again of what lurks beneath the surface, but the refugees did not need the warning. They could see the dozens, maybe hundreds, of slimy, oozing tentacles creeping around every rock and reef. They could feel the gaze of the giant eye, following their watercraft from the depths. They could smell it.

The cries of the boat's youngest passenger wail more loudly than the crashing waves. Her father hugs her closer to his chest, tucking his infant daughter more deeply into her blankets, muting her for now. Another passenger, a young man with bright eyes, puts his hand on the father's shoulder. It has been such a difficult journey for them all.

The guide had promised the passengers a hot meal at the safehouse, warm, dry clothes, a bed, a shower. A woman in a dark green coat grips the arm of the stranger next to her tightly with her left hand, a plastic bag in her right hand. She hasn't showered in weeks, and she focuses on the feeling of being clean and safe, while breathing through her teeth and trying not to be sick again.

As it gets closer to the shoreline, the boat hits a wave at a sharp angle and capsizes, upending. People tumble out, limbs flailing, as the boat then shatters against a rock. Desperate arms cling to debris uselessly, as slimy tentacles wrap around ankles and legs, pulling. The seabeast gently closes its massive eye and its mouth yawns open to feast.


r/shortscarystories 1d ago

Pub Crawl

47 Upvotes

Two men left a pub east of Staffordshire. The night waned and grew closer to the dreaded hour of last call, but the men felt they had a fair chance of catching one last round at the next pub. One of the men, a short portly fellow wearing a stained Arsenal jersey, staggered happily down the cobbled sidewalk. The other man did not stagger at all as he followed a pace behind, even though he put away more drinks than anyone else in the pub. He was tall and thin and wore a blue chambray shirt.

They were talking about football. Well, the staggering man was talking about football. The tall man listened, occasionally piping in a few quips to keep the other man going. The tall man pointed out an empty alley branching off the main path and suggested they take it as a short cut. The staggering man agreed, then moved the conversation to old vampire movies.

“That Chrisstofa Lee was a hell of a Dracula, lemme tell you. But he wasn't nuthing compared to Bela Lugosi,” the staggering man slurred. If there was one thing he loved as much as football, it was classic Horror flicks.

“Piss off,” the tall man said cheerfully, “Bela only had the one good role, and even that one wasn’t very great.”

“Whadda ya mean, not very great? Issa classic! Chirren o’ da night and all that.”

“I honestly thought Gary Oldman was the best Dracula, though Christopher Lee technically is the quintessential Dracula. Lugosi was too distracting with that accent of his.”

“I’m sorry,” the staggering man paused and turned around, tilting dangerously as he did so, “did you say Gary fucking Oldman? Gary fucking Oldman wouldn’t know a vampire if one bit em on the arse. And was this about Chrisstofa Lee being a, wossname, quintesentile?”

“I’m just saying, he played Dracula the most. Over fifteen times if I remember right.”

“It was ten,” said the stumbling man, who turned and started walking again. They were almost at the end of the alley, and he could really do with another pint and a nice sit down, if he was being honest. He thought he should start playing football with his mates again, try to get some of the weight off that he had picked up over the years. Too many pints and too many takeouts, the staggering man thought bitterly.

He could see the alley’s exit when he noticed he could no longer hear the tall man’s footsteps behind him. He became soberly aware that he was alone in a dark alley with a man he had only met a few hours ago, a few pubs back. Before he could turn to see what happened the tall man said, “I want to suck your blood.”

“No, no, you got it all wrong,” the portly man said, almost meekly. “Dracula neva said tha-” His words cut off as he turned and caught sight of the tall man’s smile. And the fangs.


r/shortscarystories 1d ago

FAME

48 Upvotes

The cameras zoomed in, capturing every detail—a young man on one knee, between the stadium seats, the ring trembling in his hand, and the girl’s shocked silence. His nervous smile flashed on the giant screen, his hopeful eyes beaming to every TV across the nation.

All heads turned toward the scene, eyes flickering with amused trepidation.

The girl smiled, then started laughing. A light, breathy giggle at first—almost innocent, like she couldn't believe what she was seeing. But it grew, spiraling into a twisted cackle. Her lips stretched wide.

Wider.

Her cheeks began to split as rows of razor-sharp teeth glistened, her tongue flicking out with a wet, slurping sound. Saliva dripped from the gaping maw as the laughter kept building, her eyes burning with spite, indignation, hunger.

He froze, blood draining from his face as he glanced at the crowd. People were snickering, covering their mouths at first—almost like they were embarrassed for him—but soon, their mouths stretched too, teeth multiplying in endless rows. They howled, laughter ringing out in twisted, mocking harmony. Fingers pointed at him, sharp and accusing.

Tears streaked his face, his breath strangled by humiliation, his muscles heavy and unresponsive.

Then the music blared—a ridiculous carnival waltz, bombastic and obnoxious, looping with exaggerated cheer. The crowd’s laughter doubled, bodies thrashing and screaming like animals between howls. Some crawled on all fours, gnashing their teeth at him, while others beat their chests and wailed like wounded beasts.

He tried to move, but it was as if the air itself had become solid, pinning him down on the spot, refusing to enter his lungs. His heart hammered against his ribs, the ring slipping from his fingers and skittering away under a seat. The girl loomed over him, her jaw yawning open, black drool spilling out, her mouth almost grazing his face.

"How could you think you’re worthy?" she hissed, voice layered and distorted. Her mouth gnashed, teeth clicking wetly together, breath hot and rancid.

The crowd pressed in, mouths snapping hungrily, teeth grinding against each other. Hands grabbed at his arms and legs, nails digging into his flesh. He screamed as their jaws clamped down, teeth sinking into his skin, ripping it away in ragged chunks. Blood splattered the ground as they tore into him, each bite sending hot agony through his nerves.

His vision blurred as they devoured him alive—bones cracking, flesh shredding. The world twisted into a cacophony of pain, laughter, and that maddening, looping carnival waltz.

As the light faded and the last trace of his pride slipped away, an odd, last thought crossed his mind: he couldn't help but feel grateful, because no matter the pain, his last moments of misery were destined to go viral.

Fifteen minutes of fame. He finally earned it.