Chilling tales for the restless night

Mr. Steele

Shelby was still by the door, her eyes wide with fear as she whispered urgently, "Laura, seriously! This is a bad idea. We need to go!"

"Shush!" I snapped, trying to stay calm despite my pounding heart. "Just keep watch. I'll be quick."

I moved deeper into the house, every creak in the floor making my nerves jolt. Everything was so meticulously clean. Too clean. I had to find something that could prove what I already felt deep down-there was something *very* wrong with Mr. Steele.

I started in the kitchen, searching every surface for a clue. But it was spotless. I went upstairs, into his bedroom, bathroom, even the closets. Nothing. He kept everything disturbingly neat. There wasn't a hair out of place. As I descended the stairs again, frustration gnawed at me. This was going to be another dead end.

But then, in the corner of the kitchen, my eyes landed on a door. Unlike the others, which had been left open, this one was locked.

My gut twisted.

I reached into my pocket, pulling out the trusty paper clip I always carried. With shaky hands, I picked the lock. A soft click signaled it was open, and I slowly pushed the door. A foul, musty odor greeted me immediately-a mix of something rotting and fishy. My stomach turned as I stepped into the dark room, using my phone's flashlight to guide me.

The small space was cluttered with boxes. Some filled with dirty clothes and shoes. But the air felt heavier, like something was buried here, waiting to be uncovered.

I pushed aside a stack of boxes and found one that seemed out of place. It wasn't filled with clothes or shoes, but something much stranger. As I opened the box, my flashlight illuminated what appeared to be a worn, old leather-bound diary.

Curious and uneasy, I flipped it open.

Inside, I found pages filled with bizarre drawings. Disturbing sketches of human figures, twisted and malformed, some with blank, hollow faces. Others seemed to show body parts-hands, feet, eyes-crudely sketched as if from memory. And then there were the recipes, scrawled in shaky handwriting. Ingredients that made no sense. "A pinch of innocence," "the sound of a heartbeat," "blood warmed but not boiled." My skin crawled as I read them.

The further I turned the pages, the more chaotic the drawings became, the recipes more twisted. One was titled "A Feast of Flesh."

My breath caught as I saw a final note scrawled messily on the last page: "Soon. The final ingredient. Soon."

I take the book with me, my hands trembling. This wasn't just a diary. This was a blueprint for something horrific. I had to get out of there with it and show it to the police.

As I stuffed the book back in my shirt, I heard a noise behind me-the unmistakable sound of a door opening. I froze.

"Laura!" Shelby hissed from the doorway, panicked. "We need to go *now!*"

I didn't need to be told twice. I shoved the box back in place and sprinted toward Shelby, hoping with everything in me that Mr. Steele hadn't caught us.

"Wait... I didn't lock the door," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my chest.

Shelby's eyes widened, and she glanced nervously toward the front of the house. "Well, hurry up then!" she whispered back, her voice shaky with panic.

My hands fumbled with the paper clip. I was trying to move fast, but my fingers felt clumsy, trembling with fear. The thought of Mr. Steele coming back and finding us in his secret room made my stomach churn. I could feel the seconds slipping away like sand, and the more I tried to steady my hands, the worse it got.