MidnightScreams

Full Story:

I. The Letter

The letter arrived without a stamp, return address, or any sign of delivery. It simply sat atop Samuel Grayson’s desk one evening, nestled between the scattered pages of his unfinished manuscript.

His fingers trembled as he unfolded it. The ink was too dark, as if soaked in something other than ink.

Samuel,
There is a field where the scarecrows move when no one watches.
They do not guard the crops. They wait.

No one has ever returned to tell their story.

But I remember.

Come to Black Hollow Forest. Follow the candle.

Do not look away.

There was no signature. No indication of who had written it.

Outside his window, the night was… wrong. The sky held no stars, no moon—just endless, empty black.

Something in his gut told him he shouldn’t go.

But something deeper inside whispered:

You’ve been here before.

II. The Forest That Should Not Be

Black Hollow Forest was not on any map. The deeper Samuel drove, the fewer signs of civilization remained. No streetlights. No radio signal. No way back.

By the time he arrived, the air was thick with silence. No wind. No birds. Even his footsteps felt muted against the dirt path.

Then he saw them.

The scarecrows.

Dozens lined the trail, motionless but wrong. Some had rotting burlap sacks for heads, stitched into twisted grins. Others wore cracked porcelain masks, their eyes hollow.

Some were missing limbs. Some clutched human bones.

Samuel kept walking, forcing himself to breathe evenly.

A flickering glow appeared ahead. A candle.

It never wavered, never dimmed.

It was waiting.

And next to it, standing barefoot in the cold earth—a child.

III. The Child and the Candle

The boy couldn’t have been older than ten. His clothes were tattered, his skin pale as if he hadn’t seen sunlight in years.

But his eyes—milky white, staring through Samuel rather than at him.


“You shouldn’t have come,” the child whispered.

Samuel swallowed hard. “Who are you?”

The boy didn’t answer. He pointed to the scarecrows.

“They weren’t always like this.” His voice was distant, detached. “They were people. Like you.”

Samuel felt a chill wrap around his spine. “What happened to them?”

“They forgot how to leave.”

Thunder rolled in the distance, though the sky was still a perfect void.

The boy stepped closer, whispering:

“It knows you’re here now.”

IV. The First Sign of Horror

Something moved.

Samuel turned sharply. The scarecrows hadn’t shifted. But the ground—the footprints in the dirt—had doubled.

Someone was walking right beside him.

But no one was there.

The child grabbed his wrist. “It’s watching.”

“What is?”

The boy lifted a trembling finger and pointed behind Samuel.

Samuel turned.

And saw himself.

V. The Thing That Wore His Face

It stood among the scarecrows, wearing his clothes, his face. But its eyes were hollow sockets, its lips curled into an almost-smile.

Samuel stumbled back, his breath catching in his throat.

“What the hell—”

The child yanked him toward the candle. “You can’t let it catch you.”

The thing took a step forward.

The scarecrows turned.

Not fast. Not abruptly.

Just slow enough that Samuel couldn’t tell when they had begun to move.

“RUN,” the child screamed.


Samuel didn’t need to be told twice.

VI. The Object That Carries a Curse

They fled through the endless rows of scarecrows, but the forest never ended. No matter which way they turned, the dirt path led them back to the candle.

“It won’t let us leave,” Samuel gasped.

The boy’s face twisted. “It never does.”

Samuel’s mind raced. “There has to be a way out—”


“The candle.”

Samuel’s eyes snapped to the flickering flame.

A candle that never burned out.

“What is it?” he asked.

The child hesitated.

“…A door.”

Samuel didn’t question it. He grabbed the candle, feeling the wax melt in his grip—but the flame didn’t die.

The air shifted.

The scarecrows froze.

And then—

Samuel’s double screamed.

Not a human sound. Not something of this world.

A piercing, void-like wail.

Samuel squeezed his eyes shut. He thought of home. His desk. The letter.

Anywhere but here.

And when he opened his eyes—

He was back.

VII. The Impossible Escape

Samuel gasped, clutching his desk. The letter was still there.

Had it been a dream?

He exhaled shakily, running a hand down his face. Maybe—maybe he’d just imagined it.

Maybe—


Something scratched at his window.

He turned.

The sky was still starless.

A shadow loomed outside.

His own face stared back at him.

Samuel choked on a breath, stumbling away.

Then—his reflection in the window whispered:

“You never left.”

He turned back to his desk.

The letter was gone.

In its place—

A candle, burning softly.

VIII. The Twist Ending: Waking Up is Impossible

Samuel tried to leave his house. The door led back to his desk.

He smashed a window. Stepped through it—

And found himself standing in the field again.

The child watched him, his face expressionless.

“You can’t wake up,” the boy whispered.

Samuel screamed.

The scarecrows turned.

And his double stepped forward.

“You belong here now,” it whispered. “Just like the rest.”

Samuel’s breath hitched as his fingers began to unravel—turning to dust, fading into nothing.

Erased.

The last thing he heard was his own voice, echoing from the thing that had replaced him.

“This is not the end.”

And then—

Silence.