Scary stories I wrote

The Possession Watcher

Evelyn Grayson had never been an ordinary woman. From a young age, she'd been haunted by shadows only she could see-dark tendrils that clung to certain people, whispering lies and secrets she could not understand. Her mother dismissed it as a vivid imagination, her friends as daydreams. But Evelyn knew better. These shadows were not figments; they were real, sinister forces lurking in plain sight.

As she grew older, Evelyn's visions only sharpened. She could pick out the possessed in a crowd, sensing a pull like gravity toward strangers with darkened eyes or a strange hitch in their gait. It was as if a voice deep within her whispered, That one. That one isn't right. The more she obeyed this instinct, the clearer the signs became-tiny, almost imperceptible hints of malevolence that even the sharpest eyes might miss.

It was on an autumn night, as Halloween approached, that Evelyn found herself drawn to a small, decrepit town nestled within the hollows of Maine. She'd been studying reports of strange happenings-cattle found dead in the morning with no trace of blood, a young boy missing for weeks only to reappear with no memory of his time away. The townsfolk whispered of bad luck, of curses that clawed at their peace, but Evelyn knew better. She had felt the pull.

Arriving at the town's only inn, Evelyn checked in under an alias. She'd learned the hard way that her warnings weren't always welcome. After all, who wanted to hear they were living alongside monsters, that people they trusted might harbor something evil inside? The innkeeper, a pale, waifish man with hands that trembled as he handed her the room key, avoided her gaze. Evelyn sensed it immediately-the faint, foul scent of rot that clung to his clothes, the way his fingers twitched in time with some invisible beat.

In her room, Evelyn scrawled her notes on the walls. She did this every time she traveled, leaving behind a web of warnings and connections only she could decipher. The inked scrawls grew like dark vines around her bed, tracking her suspicions. She lay down only to feel her heart quicken; sleep was becoming an increasingly foreign sensation.

That night, she heard the soft, dragging sound of footsteps outside her door. Slow, deliberate. A sound far too close to the heavy breathing that always accompanied her visions. Evelyn sat up in the darkness, barely breathing, as the footsteps came closer and closer, then halted just outside her door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Evelyn," a voice called, low and guttural, just above a whisper. Her heart pounded, and sweat beaded on her brow. She hadn't given her real name to anyone in the town.

The door shuddered, as though someone were pressing their entire weight against it. "Evelyn... you see things... don't you?"

Her breath came out in jagged bursts. She bit down on her lip, willing herself not to respond. They know, she thought, they know I can see them.

The voice continued, calm and unhurried, "You've been watching us for years now. But have you ever stopped to wonder who's watching you?"

As the words slithered into her mind, Evelyn became aware of a crawling sensation on her skin, like a thousand invisible spiders inching up her arms and legs. It took everything in her not to scream. She clenched her fists, drawing blood from her palms as she squeezed tighter, desperate to keep herself grounded. The shadows in the room seemed to thicken, becoming heavier, pooling toward the walls like oil dripping down invisible cracks.

Evelyn knew she had only one choice. In a voice barely more than a whisper, she uttered the sacred words she'd read about in ancient texts, a prayer of protection she clung to in her darkest moments.

But her words fell dead in the air, swallowed up by a dark, ominous silence.

The door to her room creaked open, and the innkeeper stood on the threshold. His face was obscured by darkness, but she could see his eyes, black as coal, gleaming with something ancient and hungry.

"You're no watcher," he whispered, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "You're prey."

The shadows in the room slithered toward her, reaching with fingers made of darkness, clawing at her skin and soul. She tried to scream, but her voice was lost as the room spun around her, and she felt herself sinking, being dragged into a pit of infinite darkness.

In that moment, Evelyn realized the terrible truth: it wasn't that she could see the possessed. She had simply been the lure, a candle drawing them in, one by one. She had spent her life convinced she was the hunter, but in the end, she had been their feast.

When the innkeeper left her room that night, the townspeople noted, his gait was different. More confident. Almost... triumphant.

No one ever saw Evelyn Grayson again, but if you listen closely on autumn nights in that old town, you might still hear her whispers in the wind, begging for release from the shadows that had finally claimed her.

Word count not including this: 852