Author: Malachai Dreadmoor

Clara had never believed a house could remember you. The first night she moved into her father-in-law’s old Victorian, she learned how wrong she had been. The wind rattled the shutters, groaning like old bones, and the pipes hissed in long, wheezing sighs. Somewhere above her bedroom, in the attic, a whisper slipped through the floorboards. At first, she thought it was the wind—or perhaps a dream. Then it called her name: Clara. Slow. Deliberate. Almost tender, but with something beneath it that made her skin crawl. She sat up in bed, heart hammering, listening to the silence that answered…

Emma’s pulse pounded in her ears as she stepped inside. The air was colder than the forest had been, thick and almost wet, carrying the faint metallic scent of decay. Every step she took made the floorboards sigh under her weight—or was it something else? She dared a glance at the walls, and they seemed… wrong. Not merely old or warped, but aware. Shadows pooled unnaturally in corners, stretching toward her in slow, deliberate movements, curling as if to whisper secrets she wasn’t meant to hear. She tried the windows. The glass was opaque with grime, and when she tapped…

The storm came without warning! Eliot had been the lighthouse keeper for more than two decades, and he thought he had seen everything the sea could throw at him. But tonight was different. The storm was a living thing, thrashing against the rocks, battering the lighthouse with a fury that seemed personal. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the jagged coastline in brief, white bursts, and in each flash, Eliot caught glimpses of movement—figures where there should have been none, shadows that didn’t belong to any stone or wave. Then he saw it. A pale shape standing on the cliff below,…

I’m a night-shift security guard at an abandoned hospital. Last night I found out the experiments never stopped. I take the job because Rich swears it’s easy money. Sit in a windowless control room, watch old cameras, don’t open the doors for anyone. He’s out sick with the kind of flu that keeps you on the bathroom floor, so I cover his shift. One night. I tell my girlfriend I’ll text when I get bored and she sends a thumbs-up and a skull. Mercy General sits where the city runs out and weeds take over. The parking lot is cracked…

I’m halfway across the country, headed nowhere in particular, when the storm rolls in.It’s the kind of weather that turns the sky into a bruise — purple, swollen clouds churning low over the highway. The rain starts so hard and sudden that my wipers can’t keep up. My headlights catch the warped shape of a roadside sign: “Vacancy”, the letters flashing unevenly in a faded neon pink. It’s nailed to a crooked wooden post. The only building in sight is a long, low strip of yellow paint and dark windows. A motel from some other decade. I pull in. The…

I pull into Cedar Way on a Tuesday afternoon, the kind of late-summer heat that makes asphalt look like it’s breathing. The houses here are clones — neat lawns, white trim, potted geraniums all sprouting the same cheerful red. I kill the engine and sit for a second, just to enjoy the quiet. Then I notice the people. They’re already on their lawns. All of them. Not mowing, not chatting. Just standing like they’ve been waiting for me, arms relaxed at their sides, gazes pinned to my car. When I step out, they wave — at the exact same speed,…

The Breakdown The engine sputtered, coughed, and died with a finality that sent an icy prickle down Margaret’s spine. She slammed her palm against the steering wheel, her frustration echoing in the silent car. Outside, the dark highway stretched endlessly in both directions, with not a soul in sight. No lights. No sound. Just the overwhelming quiet of the desolate stretch of road. She glanced at the dashboard—empty. The gas tank was half full. The lights were working. It didn’t make sense. The car was fine moments ago. It was supposed to be a smooth drive to the new job…

The Unsettling Stranger The train lurched forward, its wheels clattering against the tracks, dragging the lone commuter further into the desolate, fog-choked countryside. The city had long since faded behind him, swallowed by the thick haze that now consumed everything outside the window. Evan glanced at the clock—well past midnight. The station he’d boarded at had been eerily silent, the faint buzz of a flickering light the only sign of life. Now, alone on the train, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and an unsettling thought crept into his mind: Had he been the only one who…

The Water Was Breathing The water steamed in the morning light like the lake was breathing. Mist curled off the still surface in slow, deliberate exhalations, and the dock groaned under the weight of something unspoken. At the end of it stood a little girl in soaked pajamas, barefoot, her strawberry-blonde hair clinging to her face. Her name was Gracie Lambert. She was eight years old and had been missing since the night before. Now she stared blankly across the water, lips parted, as if something was still speaking to her from beneath the mirror-like lake. Sheriff Miller’s cruiser screeched…

The Road That Wasn’t on Any Map By the time Henry Calloway’s GPS froze, the last rays of sunlight were bleeding out behind the Vermont pines, and the road beneath his tires had turned from cracked pavement to patchy gravel. The trees on either side grew closer together, limbs hunched over the road like old men whispering secrets. His cell signal had vanished two miles back, somewhere around a rusted sign that read in flaking paint:HOLLOWMAN RD – NO OUTLET He laughed when he saw it. Thought it was some hick-town joke. But the road kept going. And now, with…