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53.6% Random Horror Stories - 500 / Chapter 155: Chapter 155

Capítulo 155: Chapter 155

The town of Drelton was never quiet. Even when the moon hung high, suspended over rooftops and the endless fields beyond, no one ever stopped working. Every building was occupied, from the tight, suffocating corners of the factory to the distant mines where the earth groaned under the weight of human labor. The streets, too, were filled with motion—hunched forms dragging themselves along the cracked pavement, their feet barely lifting off the ground as they passed the tired windows.

There were no children here. No joy. No laughter. Only the hollow sound of machinery grinding, the scrape of metal against metal, the drip of sweat into metal pans. The people worked and worked and worked until their bodies collapsed, sometimes before the work was done, sometimes after, when their muscles had long turned to jelly. Those who could still move were forced to push on, as if there was no choice.

Maya had lived in Drelton for as long as she could remember. But remembering didn't bring any comfort. When you were born in this town, you were born with a purpose. Work. That's all they knew. That's all they did.

It wasn't until that summer, when she turned twenty, that she began to wonder about the rest of the world. The ones outside, who didn't look as tired. She had always known something was wrong with Drelton. She could feel it deep in her bones, the way the town hummed at night, like a heartbeat you couldn't escape. The smell of burnt oil, rotten wood, and crushed stone filled the air. There was always that scraping noise. But she didn't know what else was out there. She only knew what she had to do.

Maya stood at her station, eyes glazed over, fingers bleeding from the rough metal she was supposed to smooth. The whir of the grinder was deafening, drowning out her thoughts. It had been like this for days. Weeks. Months, maybe. Who knew? She had long since lost track of time. The only thing that mattered was finishing the work.

One of the men from the assembly line—a man named Jonah—passed by her station, his body hunched in the same way all the others were. His face was as pale as wax, eyes wide and empty, like a bird trapped in a cage. His steps were heavy, dragging, like he had forgotten how to walk properly.

"Maya," he croaked, his voice raw and hoarse. "You still here?"

She nodded without lifting her head. "I'm finishing."

"You've been finishing for hours," he rasped. "They don't care if you finish. You have to... you have to keep going." His voice broke, and he shuffled off, his pace quickening as he moved past her.

Maya couldn't remember a time when Jonah hadn't been there, hunched over, his hands trembling from the endless labor. His words didn't make sense, but she didn't care. She didn't care anymore. She had to finish her work. She had to.

The demon kept them moving. Maya knew it, even if no one dared say it out loud. It was always there, lurking in the background, a constant presence. It wasn't in the shape of a thing you could see—no claws, no teeth, no monstrous face. It was the pull in their chest that wouldn't let them stop. The pressure in their skulls that wouldn't let them think. The hunger that kept them from ever resting.

Maya's hands shook as she picked up the next piece of metal. She worked until the skin on her fingers tore. She worked until her arms ached. She worked until she couldn't remember who she was anymore.

She had seen people fall. Seen their faces turn pale and their eyes cloud over with death. They would collapse, sometimes in the middle of the room, sometimes in the corners of the streets. But it didn't matter. The demon didn't care. They'd sweep the body away and the work would go on. The work would always go on.

As the days passed, the town's energy grew more frantic. People were moving faster, working harder. It was as if some invisible clock was ticking down, its hands ever closer to the end. The hum of the town grew louder, more deafening, as if it was urging them to finish, to keep going.

Jonah wasn't the only one who had started to lose his mind. Maya saw it in others too. People would wander into the streets at night, their faces blank, their bodies stumbling like zombies. They would talk to themselves, sometimes scream, sometimes laugh. But no one helped them. They didn't even look twice.

One evening, as she sat in the dark corner of the factory, the faintest whisper of sound reached her ears. It was a quiet hiss, like a whispering wind. The walls creaked as if they were bending under some unseen pressure. She looked around, her breath catching in her throat.

The noise was louder now, a steady, unrelenting hum. And then, she heard it—a voice, low and grating, coming from somewhere deep within the ground. It didn't sound like a human voice. It was something else. Something terrible.

"Work," it commanded.

Maya's chest tightened. She couldn't stop herself from reaching for her tools, the need to finish consuming her. But she knew—she knew that if she kept working, if she didn't stop, she'd never leave. The demon had them all. It owned them. It used them.

"Stop," she whispered, her voice a dry croak in the empty space. She tried to pull her hand away from the metal, but her fingers trembled, unwilling to obey. The sound grew louder, filling her head, drowning out her thoughts.

"Work," it said again, louder this time. It was coming from all around her, the walls, the ground, the very air. Maya's hands moved without her permission, dragging the grinding tool across the metal. She could feel her body shaking, her knees giving out under the pressure. But still, her hands moved, carving the metal down.

She wasn't sure how long she worked. Hours, maybe days. She couldn't tell anymore. Her body was numb. She felt like a puppet on strings, her hands moving with the motions of someone who wasn't her. It was the demon's will, twisting and controlling them all.

When she finally stopped, her fingers barely able to grip the tool, she looked around. The factory was empty. All the other workers were gone. Only the sound of grinding and scraping remained, echoing through the empty halls.

But there was one last sound—soft at first, like a sigh. Maya turned toward the back corner, her heart racing. In the shadows, something moved. It wasn't a person. It wasn't anything human.

It was tall, impossibly tall, and black like the night. The air around it seemed to shimmer, distorting like heat rising from the pavement on a hot day. The thing stepped forward, its form stretching and twisting as if it was made of smoke. The closer it came, the more she could see its eyes—two deep, hollow pits that seemed to stare right through her.

It whispered, but its words didn't make sense. They weren't words at all. They were commands. Orders.

"Work," it rasped.

Maya's body jerked forward, the command too strong to resist. She grabbed her tools once again, her hands moving almost faster than she could think.

And then, the room was silent. No grinding. No movement. No sound at all.

Maya's mind was blank. She didn't know if she had finished. She didn't know if the work had ever stopped.


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