The corridor was empty and dark. The tiny torch couldn't penetrate more than a few feet.
Footsteps echoed in rythm. Thud, thud, thud, thud. This was a stupid idea, but better than sitting duck.
Thud,
Thud,
Thud,
Thump.
An old book somehow made it's way below the foot.
The pages were turned slowly, with a crinkle. Where ink should be, was blood. All the illustrations were the same red-brown shade as the words.
One such illustration caught the eye. Slit pupils of many eyes, sharp yellowed out teeth, and clawed fingers emerging from the neck, it was a horror not meant to be captured in paper.
Then there'd be a scream, and the house would be silent, waiting for the next to arrive.
YOU ARE READING
Inktobers
Short StoryHi! So this book will have all my Inktober stories over the years. I might be a little behind though, so sorry if I am (U • _ •)
