Hello, writing world! Here is a short story I wrote back during the winter or early spring of 2016. The story idea came to me one night when I came home from work at one in the morning, having a late night snack before bed. It sort of creeped me out, so I decided to make a short story from it. Here it is, and hope you all enjoy!





1:02 A.M.

by Ryan Cecere



It was mid-summer, my room a scorching hot mess making it nearly impossible for me to sleep as I tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable. I heard a faint sound that night coming from the kitchen; a sound like a wooden chair being dragged along the floor. I must’ve been the only one in my house to hear the noise, no one else seemed to have woken up—just me.

Looking at the clock on my nightstand, the time read: 1:02 a.m. Slipping out of my bed I peeked out my door into the kitchen, just slightly enough for what little light that was present to pierce through into my room and split the darkness.

There, sitting down at the table with his back facing me—and, nearly scaring me half to death—was my brother.

Oh, I thought. He’s just getting back from his overnight shift. But I didn’t hear the front door open or close? Strange . . .

I didn’t say a word to him, and neither did he to me, as I went straight into the bathroom. When I came out, after rinsing my face and hair with cold water, walking passed him I noticed a blank stare in his pale blue eyes, and a sudden faint smell like decay fill the room—it came as quickly as it had faded. He had a spaced out look as he dipped his cookie into his glass of milk and chewed.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

It was certainly odd, to say the least. But it wasn’t until I closed my eyes—hoping to fall asleep fast—when they shot back open, and I realized (staring up at my ceiling, in pitch dark) that it hit me like a bolt of lightning

My brother!

My brother had died over two years ago . . . at the kitchen table, choking on the same cookie he was now devouring.

I heard a loud thud! come from the kitchen, followed by gagging and coughing and choking. My skin crawled and my face burned with utmost terror. Water filled my eyes as I built up the courage to spring out of bed. The door banged against the wall as I swung it inward, toward me, surely waking Mom and Dad.

The chairs were neatly pushed under the table, with no evidence of cookies and milk. The table was clear. Just how it was after dinner. My brother’s body was gone, too!

My parents came into the kitchen, asking me why I was up so late and causing so much noise; what I have been doing. I wasn’t able to bring myself to speak.

From that day on I wasn’t able to sleep in my house peacefully . . .

END