andres_dm_eng Andrés DM

There is a shadow in the bedroom: it watches you from the dark corner, looking at you with eyes of anger because it knows your terrible secret... © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, 2019. This story was written during october, 2019. No right is claimed on the original image used for the cover.


Horror Ghost stories For over 18 only. © © All rights reserved, Andrés Díaz M., 2019.

#broken #family #husband #marriage #suffer #sadness #depression #monster #darkness #shadow #ghost
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Guilt



Dedicated to the talented Mexican writter Amparo Dávila


You enter the bedroom. Everything is dark: the sunset has just ended and the remaining light fades away, leaving behind only the shadows that begin to devour everything, while the colors are lost little by little.

You go to the bed and lay on the modest mattress that you've always found so big and cold, even in his company... Now its bigger and colder than usual... You decide to sit on its edge, looking towards the floor, there, where hundreds of your tears of fear and guilt ended many times during the last years, seeping through the dirty wood.

You hear your breath still agitated, and the wind that whistles its gloomy melody outside the house, like a howling...

Then you perceive something else: a faint echo... You hope it is not his voice again... You feel a slight chill that slowly runs through your arms, like his caresses, those icy caresses... the caresses you felt night after night before sleeping or during the early morning.

Your head hurts; you put your hands to your temple, rubbing in circles. You are dizzy. It has been an exhausting afternoon working and digging that hole in the garden, feeling the cold snow on your face...

You look at the window and see the dark and gray sky through the glass... So melancholic... You think of the bitter taste of life since the death of your son, some years ago in that car accident. You always felt that way: guilty.

And your husband... he never understood you, he only accused you for it. You were driving. You got distracted and then you hit another car.

A creak is heard inside the house.

You turn laconically towards the door, still open, and look at the dark and disturbing hallway that leads to the empty room of your deceased son, and then to the stairs.

You hear voices... those damn voices, those screams... the ghosts of the house: all those discussions frozen in time between the walls, repeating forever. You feel fear again. Your little hands start to shake. Some tears come out of your eyes and slide on your cheeks...

You hear another creak: it comes from inside the bedroom. You look slowly around... your breathing is difficult. You look among the dark shadows and silhouettes of the furniture, but when you look at the window, you distinguish something else: there is someone standing on one side the wall.

Your chest hurts and your heart is about to collapse.

There is him, his dark, sinister presence. You see him... he is watching you, watching you in silence: you can't distinguish his eyes, but you know that he is looking at you with hate, with resentment, reproaching your actions and your decisions...

Fear oppresses you, crushes you like a hand crushing a bug. You lie on the bed, heading towards the cold pillow and taking a fetal position, and then you begin to sob in terror.

You watch the dark silhouette move away from the wall and get closer to you, getting bigger and bigger, until it becomes a giant and aberrant monster, so tall that he touches the roof: but then you watch him duck right in front of your face and slip under the old bed, disappearing from your sight.

You remember his last moments of life: his cold company, his terrible eyes, his insults. Remember his face in agony when his throat began to close: there was some ground nut in his food that day. It took just a few minutes for him to stop moving. You already knew he was allergic. You just wanted a break.

But it didn't work…

Now, you feel that the mattress is sinking right behind you. His icy and rotten breath blows over your neck. You cry in panic and shake in horror like you never did before. His claws rest on your shoulders and begin to touch and caress you. It feels like knives cutting your skin.

You take several sleeping pills and wait for everything to end for you too.


Meanwhile, the wind still howls outside the house, taking the memories to the horizon, dragging them to oblivion. In the garden, the branches of the walnut continue to sway, and the snow falls from the dark sky, accumulating on the strange mound of dirt that you just dug that afternoon: there where his body lies under the ground.



(This story was writtten during octuber, 2019).

Jan. 28, 2020, 9:58 p.m. 0 Report Embed Follow story
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Meet the author

Andrés DM I'm 23 years old and clinical psychologist. I have written for a decade and I decided to share my creations. I'm a box of nightmares and bizare dreams: that's why my stories will cause you some chills... My greatest literary references are: Poe, Lovecraft, King, Verne, Sade, Conan Doyle, Pacheco, Rulfo, among others. Wattpad: @Andres22DM / Psycho_writter_ADM Sweek: @AndresDM Instagram: @andresdiaz623

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