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51.16% Random Horror Stories - 500 / Chapter 153: Chapter 153

บท 153: Chapter 153

The sun set behind the jagged mountains, casting the town of El Rincón in a murky darkness that seemed to seep into every corner. The few houses that stood on the outskirts of town were scattered, windows boarded, doors bolted, and families kept to themselves, too afraid to even speak above a whisper.

El Rincón had always been a quiet place, tucked away from the chaos of Mexico's larger cities. But in the last few weeks, an unsettling change had crept over the town. People disappeared. Without warning. Without a trace.

At first, it was just the poor farmers, the ones with no ties to anything important. But soon, it spread. The disappearances started reaching the cartel members. Men who were feared, men who had control, who thought they were untouchable. No one was safe.

The rumors spread fast, faster than a wildfire. Some said it was a ghost, others said it was something darker—something that had walked the earth for centuries. But what everyone knew for sure was that the thing, whatever it was, came at night. Always at night.

Juan stood on the porch of his small house, staring out into the empty dirt road that stretched for miles. The wind was quiet. Too quiet. He had heard the stories, heard the hushed voices of the older men at the cantina, the stories of bodies found in pieces. But no one had seen it. No one knew what it looked like. Some said it was human. Others said it was something more—something twisted, something born from nightmares.

But whatever it was, it wasn't something Juan wanted to meet.

He stepped back inside, locking the door behind him. His wife, Teresa, was sitting by the stove, her face pale and drawn. Her hands were trembling as she tried to light the fire, but the match wouldn't strike.

"It's just a storm," Juan said, trying to sound reassuring. But even as the words left his mouth, he knew they both felt the same dread. The air, thick with heat and silence, made it feel like the storm was already here.

The door creaked. The wind picked up outside, pushing against the walls. Then, a sound. Barely a whisper. Something scraping against the wood, slow and deliberate.

Juan froze. He held his breath, straining his ears. Teresa's eyes met his. They both knew the stories, the ones that came from the people who had been lucky enough to escape the Night Stalker's grasp. They had heard the stories of men who had been dragged from their beds, of children who had disappeared without a scream. It was never quick. Never painless.

Juan stood, reaching for his rifle leaning against the wall. He'd never needed it before. But tonight felt different. The scraping sound continued, closer now. It was on the porch.

His heart raced. He walked to the window and peered out into the darkness. Nothing.

He cursed under his breath. He had to know.

He opened the door a crack, the wooden boards creaking in protest. The night outside was suffocating—no moon, no stars, just an endless stretch of blackness. He stepped outside, his rifle in hand, every step measured, every movement calculated. But the feeling of being watched never left.

Suddenly, a sound echoed through the dark. A low, guttural growl, like an animal that had been starved for days. Juan turned, his rifle raised, but again, he saw nothing. His pulse hammered in his ears. The wind seemed to die, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Then it happened.

From the corner of his eye, he saw something move—no, someone. Someone crawling, dragging itself from the shadows. But it wasn't human. It was too fast. Too wrong. The way its limbs bent, the way it crawled on all fours, like it had no bones—no structure. It moved with a strange, unnatural fluidity.

Juan's finger tightened on the trigger.

But before he could pull it, the thing stopped. It turned, and Juan saw its face—or what was left of it. The skin was stretched too tight, almost as if it were trying to hold the thing together. The eyes were wide, empty pits, black and hollow. The mouth, too wide for a normal human, stretched into a grotesque grin, revealing teeth that were too sharp, too jagged.

A sickening stench filled the air, and the creature's grin twisted. It was smiling.

Then it spoke, its voice like gravel scraping against stone.

"You should not have come out."

Juan's hands shook, the rifle falling from his grip. His legs refused to move. Terror paralyzed him.

The thing lunged forward. Fast. Too fast. Juan barely had time to react. He turned to run but stumbled, his legs tangled in the dirt. He felt the thing's claws, sharp as knives, tear through his skin. He screamed, but the scream died in his throat as its hand clamped down on his neck.

He tried to fight, tried to push it away, but it was too strong. Too relentless. It dragged him into the shadows, away from the porch, deeper into the night. His vision blurred, the stars spinning above him, but the thing never let go.

The last thing he heard before everything went black was the sound of Teresa's scream, faint and distant.

Hours passed. Maybe more. Maybe less. Juan wasn't sure anymore.

When he woke, he was alone. The ground beneath him was cold and damp. He tried to move, but his body was heavy, almost unrecognizable. His arms felt stiff, his legs numb. His head pounded.

He lifted his hand to his throat, but there was nothing there. His throat was gone, torn open. He could feel the wetness of the blood, thick and sticky, still seeping from the wound. He tried to scream, but nothing came out.

The darkness surrounded him, thick as the grave. But in the distance, he saw it. The thing. The Night Stalker.

It was watching him from the edge of the forest, its hollow eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Its grin stretched wider, if that was possible.

It began to move again, but this time, it didn't crawl. It walked on two feet, slowly, deliberately. It was coming closer.

Juan tried to move, to get away, but his body wouldn't respond. His muscles had been shredded. His limbs wouldn't obey.

The thing stopped a few feet away. It didn't say anything this time. It didn't need to.

Juan could hear it now, the sound of its breathing—slow, wet, and heavy. The air around them was thick, like it had been before, but this time, Juan realized the truth. The truth of what the thing really was.

It wasn't a monster.

It wasn't a ghost.

It was something far worse.

It was hunger.

And Juan was the meal.

He could feel its claws brush against his skin, then pierce deep into his chest, digging in as though it were searching for something. His body trembled with the realization that he had become prey, a sacrifice to the thing that had been lurking in the dark all along.

The thing's grin grew wider as it pulled, and Juan's vision faded.

The last thing he saw was the thing's teeth, jagged and sharp, as it consumed him whole. The last thing he heard was the sound of Teresa's scream, and then… nothing.


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