MidnightScreams

Full Story:

I. The Letter Without a Name

The wind howled through the quiet town of Grey Hollow as Elias Vance, a magician and conman by trade, warmed his hands over a dying fire. The saloon behind him had emptied for the night, its whiskey-fueled patrons swallowed by the eternal fog that clung to the town’s edge. The fog never cleared, not in summer, not in winter. Some said it was cursed.

Elias didn’t believe in curses—until the letter arrived.

There was no return address. No sender. Only a wax seal bearing an unfamiliar crest and a single line of writing inside:

“The storm never ends. The dead remember. Come to the graveyard.”

Elias, against every ounce of self-preservation, tucked the letter into his coat and set off. The fog thickened as he approached the old graveyard at the town’s edge, where the tombstones stood crooked and worn. The iron gate creaked open at his touch.

A shadow moved between the graves.

A whisper brushed past his ear: You shouldn’t have come.

II. The Hermit’s Warning

Elias wasn’t alone. An old man, wrapped in layers of fur and filth, emerged from behind a crumbling mausoleum. His beard was long, his eyes wild.

“You got the letter,” the hermit rasped.

Elias hesitated. “And if I did?”

The old man chuckled, though it carried no joy. “Then you’ve been chosen. Same as the others.”

“Others?” Elias took a step back.


The hermit’s expression darkened. “You think the fog is natural? It hides the ones who linger. The ones who were wronged.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “The spirit that haunts this place—he doesn’t kill. He takes.”

A gust of wind sent Elias’s coat billowing. The hermit grabbed his wrist. “If you find the key, don’t use it. Whatever you do, don’t open the door.”

Elias pulled away, his pulse quickening.

Then the hermit was gone.

III. The Grave That Should Not Be

Elias wandered deeper into the graveyard, the mist swirling at his feet. A glint of metal caught his eye—half-buried in the dirt was a key, old and rusted, but warm to the touch. The moment he picked it up, the air shifted.

The fog whispered.

A grave stood before him that hadn’t been there before. The headstone bore no name, only a single phrase:

“Buried, but never gone.”

The earth beneath it was disturbed, as though something had clawed its way out.

IV. The Transformation Begins

Back at his room in the boarding house, Elias stared into the mirror, heart hammering. His reflection looked wrong. His eyes—were they darker? His skin—was it stretching?

He gripped the key tighter. His fingers tingled, the sensation spreading up his arm. He ripped back his sleeve and choked down a scream. His veins had turned black.



Something knocked at his door.

Slowly, it creaked open.

A figure stood in the hall. It was him.

But not him.

Its smile widened.

V. The Door That Should Not Exist

Elias ran. Back to the graveyard. Back to the place where it all began. The fog whispered secrets in his ear. Names he didn’t know but somehow recognized.

The key in his hand pulsed like a heartbeat. A door had appeared between two mausoleums—a door that did not belong. It was waiting for him.

Elias knew. He had done this before.

The ritual. The promise. The betrayal.

The grave was his own.

He was the monster.

VI. The Final Escape


He had one chance. The ritual could seal it away. The whispers screamed as he traced the sigils in the dirt, his breath misting in the freezing air.

The door rattled. It wanted out.

He finished the last symbol. The ground trembled. The fog recoiled. The door began to vanish.

Then, silence.

Elias stood, gasping, his body his own again. The key lay in the dirt, now cold and lifeless.

The fog was thinning.

But in the distance, deep within the mist, something still watched.

VII. The Last Message

By morning, Elias was gone. Only his journal remained, pages torn and ink smeared.

One sentence was scrawled on the last page in shaking letters:

“Whatever you do, don’t open the door.”