MidnightScreams

Full Story:

You wake to the sound of static.

It’s not the kind of static you hear on a broken radio or a dead TV channel. This is deeper, heavier, like the air itself is vibrating. You sit up, your head pounding, and realize you’re not where you’re supposed to be.

The room is unfamiliar—small, dusty, and lit by a single flickering bulb. The walls are covered in peeling wallpaper, the pattern a chaotic swirl of colors that makes your eyes ache. The window is cracked, and through it, you see a sky that shouldn’t exist.

It’s fractured.

The sky is split into jagged pieces, like a broken mirror. Each shard reflects a different scene—a starry night, a blood-red sunset, a storm raging with lightning. The pieces shift and overlap, creating a kaleidoscope of impossible images. You stare at it, your mind struggling to make sense of what you’re seeing, and then you hear it again.

The static.

It’s louder now, more insistent. It’s not just in your ears—it’s in your head, in your bones. You press your hands to your temples, trying to block it out, but it’s no use. The sound is part of you now, a constant, pulsing hum that makes your teeth ache.

You stumble to your feet, your legs shaky, and make your way to the door. It creaks open, revealing a deserted street. The town is silent, the air thick with the scent of ozone and something else—something metallic, like blood.

The buildings are wrong.

They’re tilted at impossible angles, their walls bending and twisting as if they’re alive. The windows are dark, but you can feel eyes watching you from within. The ground beneath your feet is uneven, the cobblestones shifting and cracking as you walk.

You don’t know where you are, but you know one thing—this isn’t your time.

You’re a time traveler, or at least you were. The device on your wrist is broken, its screen cracked and dark. You’ve been jumping through time for years, always running, always searching for something you can’t quite name. But this… this is different.

The static grows louder as you walk, the sound pressing in on you from all sides. You pass a clock tower, its hands spinning wildly in opposite directions. A newspaper stand sits on the corner, the headlines a jumble of nonsensical words and symbols.

And then you see it.

A figure, standing at the end of the street. It’s humanoid, but its proportions are wrong—too tall, too thin, its limbs elongated and twisted. Its face is blank, featureless, but you can feel it looking at you.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. The figure doesn’t move, but you can feel its presence, a weight pressing down on you. The static grows louder, more intense, and then you hear it—a voice, deep and resonant, speaking in a language you don’t understand.

The words are wrong.

They twist and warp, their meaning slipping through your grasp like smoke. But you understand one thing—this thing, whatever it is, knows you. It’s been waiting for you.

You turn and run, your feet slamming against the uneven ground. The buildings blur around you, their shapes shifting and changing as you move. The sky fractures further, the shards of light and darkness swirling above you like a storm.

You don’t know how long you run, but eventually, you collapse in front of a church. Its doors are open, the interior dark and silent. You crawl inside, your breath coming in ragged gasps, and the static fades slightly, replaced by a heavy, oppressive silence.

The church is empty, its pews covered in a thick layer of dust. The altar is cracked, the cross above it twisted and broken. You sit in the front row, your head in your hands, and try to make sense of what’s happening.


But there’s no sense to be found.

The voice returns, louder this time, its words echoing through the church. You cover your ears, but it’s no use—the sound is inside your head, a constant, pulsing hum that makes your vision blur.

And then you see it.

The entity.

It’s not in the church, not exactly. It’s everywhere and nowhere, its presence filling the space around you. Its form is impossible to describe, a shifting mass of light and shadow that defies comprehension. Its eyes—if they can be called eyes—are vast and ancient, filled with a knowledge that would shatter your mind if you looked too long.

You try to look away, but you can’t. The entity holds you in its gaze, its voice growing louder, more insistent. The words are still incomprehensible, but you feel their meaning—a command, a summons.

It wants you to join it.

To become part of it.

You shake your head, tears streaming down your face. “No,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Please, no.”

But the entity doesn’t listen. It reaches for you, its form shifting and twisting as it draws closer. The static grows louder, more intense, until it’s all you can hear.

And then, silence.

When you wake, you’re back in the room where you started. The sky is still fractured, the static still humming in your head. But something is different.

You can feel it—the entity’s presence, a part of you now. It’s in your thoughts, your memories, your very soul. You don’t know how long you’ve been here, or if time even exists in this place.

But you know one thing—you’ll never escape.

The fractured sky watches you, its shards shifting and overlapping in an endless dance. And as you sit there, staring at the impossible horizon, you realize the truth.

You were never the traveler.

You were always the destination.