Emerson Short

  I work the swing shift. I usually get off work at around 11 p.m.  I left with a few colleagues, chatting aimlessly and complaining lightly about our boss.  We were almost to the area where we parked our cars (a hundred or so yards away from the warehouse, down a service road), when I realized I had forgotten my lunch box.  I exchanged a few words with my coworkers, reassuring them I’d be right behind them, and not to wait, and jogged back towards the warehouse.  I went back inside and quickly located my lunch box in the break room where I’d left it. It was rather dark, as it seemed everyone had already left for the night. Nobody was ever scheduled for the night shift on Fridays, save for the security guard. I figured the security guard was somewhere on the premises, but I made sure to turn the light off and lock the door behind me when I left anyway. He was a younger man, not particularly responsible, who always got a ride from his mother to work. He was usually smoking on the other

It stands in the corner of my bedroom every night. I have grown rather used to its presence.  A dark shadow, darker than the night, the vague shape of a man.  But I know it’s not a man. It watches me silently. It does not move. If I turn the light on, it disappears. It always stands in the far corner, nearly pressed up against the wall. Until tonight. Tonight it stands closer to me. Its arm is slightly raised, as if beckoning me forth. I do not dare to look directly at it.  I huddle under my blankets, and try to ignore it.  But now, I can’t just see it. I can hear it.  It breathes deeply and slowly. Each breath makes the room colder.  When it takes a step, I can hear a faint creaking sound, as though its joints are old and have not moved in a very long time.  It is almost to the edge of my bed.  My heart is pounding in my chest. I pull the covers over my head, but swiftly they are drawn away from me. The shadow puts its hand on my forehead, its other hand gently under my chin to lift m

The steaks sizzled as Lauren flipped them out of the pan and onto dinner plates.  “Honey, dinner’s ready!” She sat down at the dining room table, sliding one of the steaks across the table to her husband’s place. She straightened the cutlery and set out a wine glass for herself, with her favorite red.  Her husband entered the room and sat down, rubbing his belly. “Mmm,” he said happily. Lauren smiled as he dug in, and took a sip of her wine.  Her husband was a few bites into his steak when she began to cut into her own.  Lauren was about to take a bite herself when she noticed something long and white in her meat. At first, she thought it was a string of fat. Then she saw it move.  Lauren suppressed a gag and set her fork down. She quickly grabbed her husband’s steak and inspected it. To her horror, she saw the remnants of a softly moving white worm.  “Spit it out!” she demanded, without explanation. Her husband looked confused. “What’s the matter?” Lauren suppressed another gag. “I… I