Beware the thin man with red eyes by TDVH
The screen of my laptop is the only thing keeping the darkness at bay. It’s 4:00 AM, and I’m sitting on a stained mattress in the middle of my study. This room was supposed to be my sanctuary, my "refuge" from the stifling claustrophobia of the lockdown. Instead, it’s become my cell. I haven't opened the door in sixteen hours. I can’t. Because I know that if I open that door, I’ll have to look at the hallway. And if I look at the hallway, I’ll have to remember the look in her eyes before the light went out of them. I am a writer. That is my trade, my craft, and ultimately, my curse. When the world shuttered its doors and the streets of Seattle fell silent, I thought I had been handed a gift. I was commissioned to write a collection of horror stories—a "Lockdown Anthology." My job was to find the things that go bump in the night and put them into words. I spent my days poring over urban legends and deep-web forums, looking for that one spark of genuine terror. ...