The kitchen wall at the end of the passageway was all wrong.
I stopped just outside the doorway, letting the silence step in first, takeout bag dangling from my fingers. Earlier, I'd counted twelve paces from the door to the kitchen, same as yesterday, but now the far wall seemed to stretch farther than it should, the baseboard didn’t quite meet the corner at the angle my eyes insisted it must. The geometry prickled at my brain. I set down the food and pressed my palm against the wallpaper. Smooth. Unbroken. Yet when I dragged my fingertips across the surface, they trembled, as if the texture warped beneath them.
For some time now, the silence had been taking on weight at night. I’d be scrolling through my phone at the kitchen table when the air would thicken, sound folding inward like a collapsed lung. Once, I exhaled sharply just to hear something, but the breath died before it reached my ears. I stood so fast his chair screeched—and just like that, the world rushed back in. The hum of the refrigerator. The tick of the clock. My own heartbeat, loud enough to drown out the voice whispering through my skull: Anndrais.
I also remembered how, only the night before, the corner of my bedroom had held its breath. Moonlight had pooled around my feet while I lay rigid, sheets clenched in my fists. The darkness in that one corner hadn’t behaved like darkness should. It had clung to the walls like oil, sharpening the edges until they looked almost serrated. I’d squeezed his eyes shut. It’s just shadows. Tired eyes. But when I’d looked again, the blackness had rippled, slow and viscous, before settling back into place.
As I put the takeout on the kitchen table, the steel of my chef’s knife, hanging from the magnetic rack above the worktop, flashed in the overhead light. And for one dizzying second, the reflection showed an empty kitchen. No silhouette behind me. No shadow at my back. Just vacant space where my body should have been. The blade clattered from the rack into the sink. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking long enough to pick it up.
I measured the hallway again three times.
Twelve feet, according to the tape. Thirteen steps when I walked it. I measured it again. Twelve feet. Thirteen steps. On the fourth try, I slipped and staggered and placed my palm against the wall to steady myself—and the plaster gave. Just a fraction. Like flesh. I recoiled. The surface was smooth, unyielding once more, but my fingers came away damp with sweat. I sat down at the kitchen table to collect myself.
When the voice came, it came without sound. Anndrais.
I bolted upright in my chair, sweat icing my spine. No one had spoken. The word had simply appeared inside my skull, resonant and hollow, like an echo in a sealed tomb. The room held perfectly still. The corners were all correct angles. The walls stood where they should. And yet...
I didn’t run. Didn’t scream. Just sat there, pulse hammering against my ribs, staring at the empty space beside the stove. Because I knew, with cold certainty, that something was staring back.
Great prompt!
love the idea. do i send this to you directly?
Here’s a link to the chat if you weren’t aware of it! That’s the spot where writers share their horror stories, poems, posts every Monday. https://open.substack.com/pub/macabremonday/chat?r=pnyz7&utm_medium=ios&utm_source=share
Great! Thanks Shaina!
Hey Paul! People usually post it on Notes, or write it on their own Substack and share the link in a comment here, or in the Macabre Monday chat.
Appreciate the Small & Scary shoutout! The Macabre Monday team does so much for the horror community on Substack. Thank you!!
Something to think about... Thanks.
The kitchen wall at the end of the passageway was all wrong.
I stopped just outside the doorway, letting the silence step in first, takeout bag dangling from my fingers. Earlier, I'd counted twelve paces from the door to the kitchen, same as yesterday, but now the far wall seemed to stretch farther than it should, the baseboard didn’t quite meet the corner at the angle my eyes insisted it must. The geometry prickled at my brain. I set down the food and pressed my palm against the wallpaper. Smooth. Unbroken. Yet when I dragged my fingertips across the surface, they trembled, as if the texture warped beneath them.
For some time now, the silence had been taking on weight at night. I’d be scrolling through my phone at the kitchen table when the air would thicken, sound folding inward like a collapsed lung. Once, I exhaled sharply just to hear something, but the breath died before it reached my ears. I stood so fast his chair screeched—and just like that, the world rushed back in. The hum of the refrigerator. The tick of the clock. My own heartbeat, loud enough to drown out the voice whispering through my skull: Anndrais.
I also remembered how, only the night before, the corner of my bedroom had held its breath. Moonlight had pooled around my feet while I lay rigid, sheets clenched in my fists. The darkness in that one corner hadn’t behaved like darkness should. It had clung to the walls like oil, sharpening the edges until they looked almost serrated. I’d squeezed his eyes shut. It’s just shadows. Tired eyes. But when I’d looked again, the blackness had rippled, slow and viscous, before settling back into place.
As I put the takeout on the kitchen table, the steel of my chef’s knife, hanging from the magnetic rack above the worktop, flashed in the overhead light. And for one dizzying second, the reflection showed an empty kitchen. No silhouette behind me. No shadow at my back. Just vacant space where my body should have been. The blade clattered from the rack into the sink. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking long enough to pick it up.
I measured the hallway again three times.
Twelve feet, according to the tape. Thirteen steps when I walked it. I measured it again. Twelve feet. Thirteen steps. On the fourth try, I slipped and staggered and placed my palm against the wall to steady myself—and the plaster gave. Just a fraction. Like flesh. I recoiled. The surface was smooth, unyielding once more, but my fingers came away damp with sweat. I sat down at the kitchen table to collect myself.
When the voice came, it came without sound. Anndrais.
I bolted upright in my chair, sweat icing my spine. No one had spoken. The word had simply appeared inside my skull, resonant and hollow, like an echo in a sealed tomb. The room held perfectly still. The corners were all correct angles. The walls stood where they should. And yet...
I didn’t run. Didn’t scream. Just sat there, pulse hammering against my ribs, staring at the empty space beside the stove. Because I knew, with cold certainty, that something was staring back.
My latest story of the end of all things thanks to Man's interference. https://jasonduck.substack.com/p/the-end