Short Story Compilation

The Eyes

The key turned in the lock, clicking softly as it opened. Scott walked inside his apartment. It was dark, empty. Dismal, even. That's odd, he thought. I thought Marty would've been home by now. He flipped the light switch, but no light shone. He flipped it again. Nothing. Click-a, click, clickedy-click. I guess we have a power outage? Suddenly, the door slammed behind him. Fear and confusion spiked in Scott's heart. A scraping sound scratched at the walls. Scott whipped around, seeing no one.

"Okay, Marty, this isn't funny anymore!" Scott called out. "Nice little tricks, but I-"

SCKREEEEECCCHHH!

There was a scracth, much closer to him. He gasped as he turned. Another scratch, this one right at his ear. "Ah!" Pain shot from Scott's face. His shaking fingers gently reached up to his face, coming back dripping with hot, sticky blood.

"Marty," he said again, fright seeping into his words. "I'm freakin' serious man. I'm done with this game!"

A whisper, almost in response to his voice, glided through his ears like a ghost. It suddenly got cold. Freezing. Scott began to shiver as he frantically tried to see something, anything around him. The unintelligible whisper in his ear grew, and more wispy voices piled on top of another. Scott couldn't make out what it was saying. They grew louder. Deeper. The voices were becoming audible, and Scott's breath hitched when he understood what they said.

"Death. Death. Death. Death."

The voices repeated it, chanting it louder and louder. It turned into speaking. Then yelling. Screaming. Then screeching. The screeche grew so loud and so shrill, his ears began to ring. The ringing began to hurt. A lot. Too much. Murderous. Scott held his ears as the screeches in his head and the ringing in his ears and the scratching on the walls attacked him all at once. He dropped to his knees, trying to fight the pain. He was screaming and crying in agony, but everything else was too loud for him to notice.

"MARTY! HELP!" he screamed. "PLEASE! ANYBODY!"

Suddenly, it all cut off. He looked up, confused at the silence and peace around him. A figure stepped in front of Scott. It was a shadowy figure, almost childlike. The only thing Scott could see of the shadow was the eyes. Solid white. No pupil, nor veins. Just white. Pure and open and evil. A deep voice echoed through Scott's bleeding ears.

"Marty's not here anymore."

The eyes grew closer to Scott as he stumbled away in fear. A rotted, yellow-toothed smile joined the soulless eyes, grinning devilishly at him. The voice dropped even lower, becoming demonic as Scott realized the voice was from the childlike silhouette.

"And neither will you."

***

The police never found Scott Peterson or his roommate, Marty Albert. All they found was blood dripping and oozing from the walls.