r/nosleep | Reddit Horror Stories • Collection

My Eyes Said Death

Mabel Matthews was a warm but cheeky old lady who lived in a picturesque house on the "nice" street of my childhood suburb. Tall with white, downy hair, Mabel was a favorite of all the neighbors. She’d walk each morning and mid-afternoon, save for rainy ones, passing out cookies and telling wild stories about her youth as a California hippy. All the neighborhood moms would tell Mabel about their health problems—aches and pains, fertility difficulties, "the blues"—and Mabel would recommend supplements, oils, home remedies, and a twist of lemon in the water. Sometimes, she’d invite them over for a look inside their eyes. Iridology, she called it.

“They say the eyes are the window to the soul,” I once heard her say with a crackling chuckle. “Well, I don’t know about spirits and such, but the eyes—the eyes don’t lie.”

Mabel had a penetrating gaze. When she set her eyes upon you, you could feel it—from the hairs of your head right down to your toenails. You could feel her gaze passing through you, as though examining each molecule to see what lay beyond.

Once, after my mom and dad had a particularly bad fight, my dad skulked off to the garage and my mom drooped listlessly on the couch. When the doorbell rang, my mom freshened her face, applied a few dabs of foundation under her eyes, and opened the door to Mabel’s sunny smile.

“Just taking my afternoon stroll, and thought you and the kids might like some cookies,” said Mabel, holding out a plate. On it were little gingerbread men, frosted up with suits and ties—just like the clothes my dad wore to work.

“Hey neighbor,” said my mom with a smile, leaning in for a hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

Mabel wrapped my mom into her arms, patting her back with her free hand. As my mom drew away, though, Mabel took her by the elbow and gazed intently into her eyes. “Mm-hmm,” she hummed, knitting her brows. “My dear, you are so strong for those children.”

A crack shattered my mom’s facade. A sob escaped, a gasp. She choked back a cry, sending spittle flying into the air—but Mabel didn't flinch. She only moved her hand down to clasp my mom's. My mom, in turn, broke down crying right on the doorstep. Mabel swept past her, asked if she could take a seat, and looked next at me. Stretching out the plate, she offered me a cookie. When I picked one, Mabel took one herself and, with a quick bite, snapped the head right off. Its necktie hung there on its body like a noose.

“Your mother does more for you than you know,” she told me, chewing on the little man’s head, waving its frosted body in my face. “You need to start taking care of her soon. Now, run along, Little Sunshine.”

I scrambled away as my mom sat beside Mabel, weeping. “I just don’t know what to do,” she wailed, when the words finally took form in her throat. “He just doesn’t listen to me. Mabel, please, what should I do?”

The tears shook me. I'd never seen my mom cry in front of anyone before—not anyone who wasn't family. Ragged breaths choked her. Her voice a warped recording of her usual lilt. In my memory, it has that quality of an oldies song wafting unevenly over the radio; like Mary Wells bemoaning her two lovers in the form of one imperfect man.

"I just don't know what to do," my mom's sobbing intensified. "It's getting worse. And the kids-"

Mabel just listened, eyeing me as I left the room. You need to start taking care of her, she'd said. But I had no idea how. I could hardly take care of a rabbit—how was I supposed to take care of a mom, let alone my own? The burden of responsibility felt heavy on my shoulders and unsettling in my chest, so I shook it off and hid away.