Writing horror one nightmare at a time

[moonlightwraith13]

Static on the Baby Monitor

“Static isn’t always static.”

Nora hated leaving her baby asleep upstairs, but the monitor helped. Or it used to.

One night, through the static, she heard breathing. Not the baby’s soft, gentle breaths — this was slow. Heavy. Adult.

Then a voice whispered:

“Shhh… you’ll wake her.”

Nora froze.

The baby wasn’t crying.

Wasn’t making a sound.

Footsteps creaked across the nursery floor.

Long, dragging steps.

The monitor crackled again.

“She’s beautiful… she looks like you.”

Nora sprinted upstairs, heart exploding in her chest.

The nursery was empty.

Her baby was asleep.

But in the rocking chair, gently swaying back and forth, was a large indent. As if someone had just stood up.

Later, when Nora checked the monitor footage, she saw a shadowed figure lean over the crib.

Then the voice:

“See you soon, Mommy.”

[moonlightwraith13]

The White-Eyed Girl

“If you see her, don’t blink.”

Caleb first saw her in the grocery store. A girl no older than eight, standing motionless in the cereal aisle.

Her eyes were pure white.

No pupils.

No iris.

Just blank, staring emptiness.

She didn’t move when he passed her. Didn’t breathe.

Later, as he walked to his car, he saw her again — standing on the far end of the parking lot.

Staring.

Caleb blinked.

She was suddenly five feet closer.

He blinked again.

She stood right beside the driver’s door.

Her voice came out like broken glass.

“Stop blinking.”

He squeezed his eyes shut in terror.

He shouldn’t have.

When he opened them, she was gone.

But when he got into his car, he saw the message smeared on the inside of his windshield, written with a finger:

 “I followed your blinks.”

[moonlightwraith13]

The Thing in the Vent

“Some vents blow more than air.”

When Eric moved into his new apartment, the bathroom vent rattled constantly. He thought it was loose metal or maybe a trapped bird.

Until one morning, a whisper drifted through:

“Cold… so cold…”

Eric froze.

The voice was weak, like wind through teeth.

He backed out of the bathroom.

The vent grate shifted on its own.

The screws began to slowly turn, unwinding one by one.

Something inside was unscrewing them from the other side.

Eric slammed the bathroom door.

The vent inside rattled violently.

Metal screeched.

A wet hand slid out from beneath the bathroom door — pale, fingers long and bony, nails blackened.

It reached.

Searching.

Eric fled the apartment and never returned.

Maintenance checked the bathroom later.

The vent was empty.

But the inside was clawed deep.

And in the dust, someone had drawn four words:

“I found a way.”

[moonlightwraith13]

The Knock Under the Bed

“If something knocks from underneath, don’t answer.”

Lena hated hotels. Too many people had slept in the beds before her. Too many stories lived in the walls. But on this work trip, she didn’t have a choice.

Her room was clean. Too clean. The bed looked freshly made, tucked too tight, the mattress stiff as a board.

That night, as she drifted toward sleep, she heard it.

Knock. Knock.

Under her bed.

Not the pipes.

Not the fridge.

Under her.

She held still.

Another knock came — but this one had rhythm. Like fingers.

Then a voice, breathy and trembling:

“Can you let me out?”

Lena bolted upright. She did not look under the bed. Absolutely not.

A soft sobbing drifted up from the floorboards.

“Please… he’s coming…”

A heavy thud struck the underside of the mattress so hard that the whole bed lifted.

Something else was down there.

Something bigger.

The sobbing cut off instantly.

Lena ran. She didn’t stop to grab her bag, her keys, anything.

The next morning, the staff investigated. They lifted the mattress.

There was nothing beneath it.

But etched into the floorboards, in ragged scratches, was a single line:

“You should have helped me.”

[moonlightwraith13]

The Woman in the Last Stall

                                                                                                       “Some stalls stay empty for a reason.”

There were five stalls in the women’s restroom at the old bus station, but the last one was always closed. People said it was out of order, but no one ever saw anyone fix it. No tools. No signs. Just the same old “TEMPORARILY CLOSED” note, yellowed and curling at the corners like it had been there forever.

Mara didn’t believe in creepy bathrooms. She’d survived gas station toilets on road trips. A bus station stall? Easy.

But that night, the station was nearly empty, the lights were dim, and the quiet carried a strange heaviness.

All the other stalls were full.

Annoyed, Mara pushed on the door of the last stall out of habit.

It opened.

There was no toilet inside.

Just darkness.

A darkness too thick, too deep, too wrong.

She should’ve walked away.

But something… breathed.

Slowly.

Wetly.

A woman’s voice drifted from inside the darkness—low, hoarse, like her throat was scraped raw.

“Can you shut the door? I’m not ready to leave yet.”

Mara froze.

The breathing grew louder.

The voice came again, closer now, inches from her face.

“Please… shut the door.”

Mara slammed it shut and staggered back.

The stall door clicked.

Locked itself.

Footsteps scraped on the inside.

Not walking.

Crawling.

Something pressed its face to the crack between the door and the frame.

A single, milky eye stared out.

“You shouldn’t have opened it.”

The lights flickered.

When they came back on—

All the stalls were empty.

Except the last one.

Its door was wide open again.

Waiting.

[moonlightwraith13]

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