Scary stories I wrote

The Last stop

(A/n: 2 chapters in one day)

It was supposed to be just another late shift for Grace, working the graveyard at The Last Stop, an old roadside diner far from the city. The place had a certain charm, but after midnight, it transformed into something eerie. The flickering neon sign outside was the only light for miles, and the wind howled as it swept across the empty highway. It was usually quiet this time of night, with only the occasional trucker stopping in for coffee and a bite to eat. But tonight, something felt different.

At around 2 a.m., a man walked in. He was tall, scruffy, with a long coat that brushed the ground. His face was gaunt, and his eyes never quite met hers as he sat down at the counter. Grace tried to make small talk, asking if he wanted coffee or a meal, but the man only muttered, "Just coffee. Black."

As she poured his cup, Grace noticed something strange. His hands were covered in cuts, as if he'd been crawling through something sharp. "You okay there?" she asked, trying to sound casual but feeling a knot form in her stomach.

He didn't respond right away, just stared at the swirling black liquid in his cup. Then he whispered, "I made a mistake."

Grace's unease grew. She glanced around the diner, but no one else was there. The man was the only customer. The silence stretched on uncomfortably, broken only by the soft hum of the diner's lights and the sound of the wind outside.

"What kind of mistake?" she asked, her voice wavering slightly.

The man looked up at her for the first time, his eyes filled with something dark and terrifying. "I let them in," he said, his voice low and hoarse. "They're coming."

Before Grace could ask what he meant, the lights in the diner flickered. Then, the windows rattled as if something massive had slammed against them. Grace gasped, backing away from the counter. She glanced outside but saw nothing but the empty stretch of road. The man stood up, slowly, his eyes darting to the door.

"They always find me," he whispered, almost to himself.

Suddenly, the front door burst open, and a cold gust of wind blew in. But it wasn't just the wind. A dark figure appeared in the doorway, tall and impossibly thin, its face obscured by shadows. Grace's heart raced, and the air seemed to grow heavy, pressing down on her chest.

"What-what is that?" she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

The man didn't answer. Instead, he bolted toward the kitchen door at the back of the diner. Grace, paralyzed by fear, watched as the shadowy figure slowly stepped inside, its form distorting like smoke. The air around it shimmered, and Grace could hear a low, rumbling growl, like something ancient and hungry.

Without thinking, she ran after the man, fleeing into the kitchen. But just as she reached the door, she heard a sound that made her blood run cold-a wet, ripping noise followed by a scream that was abruptly cut off.

She stopped in her tracks, her body trembling. Slowly, she turned to look back at the dining area.

The man was standing there, covered in blood, his eyes wide with shock. But it wasn't the shadow figure that had killed him. It was something-or someone-else.

From the darkness, a second figure emerged. This one wasn't a shadow. It was a man-a tall, muscular man with cold, calculating eyes. He held a knife in his hand, dripping with blood.

"Did you really think you could run forever?" the man said in a calm, almost gentle voice. "You made your choice, and now you're going to pay for it."

Grace's breath caught in her throat as she realized the bloody twist-there was no monster after the man. He had brought the real monster with him.

The man with the knife smiled as he wiped the blade clean on his sleeve. "I always find you," he said, stepping toward Grace now, his eyes gleaming with something cruel. "Now, I suppose you're in the way."

Grace screamed, but there was nowhere to run.

Word count not including this: 703