The Stare

 

-LittleFawn

(Tale-12)                                                                                                                                                                       

I’d finally finished the series I’d been dying to watch. Every episode had pulled me deeper into the story, and now that it was over, I felt that strange mix of satisfaction and regret. A quick glance at the clock sent a pang of anxiety through me—it was 12:02 a.m. I could already picture Mom's lecture about staying up too late, her voice stern and unrelenting. Tomorrow was a school day, and I’d need every minute of sleep I could get if I wanted to dodge her morning lecture.

I turned off the lights, letting the darkness settle around me, and crawled under the covers. My room was icy, but in the thick blanket and heated mattress pad, I felt like I was cocooned in warmth, shielded from the biting cold of winter outside. I stretched, feeling my body sink into the softness, and allowed my eyes to grow heavy. The thrill of the series still lingered, faintly buzzing in my veins, but I forced myself to relax. I needed to sleep.

But as I lay there, a strange uneasiness crept over me. It was a subtle feeling at first, something I tried to ignore—a creeping sensation that something was off. Maybe it was the post-series adrenaline, still working through my system, but the longer I lay in bed, the more intense it grew. I shook my head, attempting to dismiss it as paranoia. There was no one here but me.

But the feeling didn’t fade. It only grew, thickening the air with a silence that seemed heavier than before. Slowly, almost involuntarily, I found myself turning onto my back, peering into the darkness, searching for something I couldn’t name.

And that’s when I saw them.

Two gleaming eyes, yellow and unblinking, piercing through the shadows from the corner of my room. They were faint at first, barely visible, but as my eyes adjusted, they sharpened, standing out against the darkness like twin embers. The eyes were fixed on me, unwavering, filled with a cold, intense awareness. They were far too large, too round, like something not quite human. My blood ran cold.

The longer I stared, the more a horrified realization crept over me. The face surrounding those eyes—it was grotesque, stretched into a twisted, unnerving grin. Its skin was taut and sickly pale, with a ghoulish, almost doll-like quality that made it seem more like a nightmare than anything real. It reminded me of the Japanese urban legend of Momo, that terrifying figure with the bulging eyes, stretched face, and sinister grin. I’d seen pictures online, enough to give me chills back then, but this—this was alive, watching me with a sick curiosity.

I was paralyzed. I wanted to scream, but no sound would come. I wanted to bolt out of bed, but my body refused to move. All I could do was stare back at it, frozen in its awful gaze. My heart hammered in my chest, each beat a deafening drum that seemed to echo through the silent room. The creature’s stare felt like it was probing into me, peeling back layers of my mind, my soul, as if searching for something hidden.

Then, slowly, it began to move. Its face leaned closer, those unblinking eyes never wavering, filled with a malevolent curiosity that seemed almost childlike. It tilted its head, studying me like a new toy, and I could feel its cold, shallow breath against my skin. My body was paralyzed, every muscle locked, as it inched closer, and closer still.

Its face drew near, so close that I could see every grotesque detail—the stretched skin, the sunken cheeks, the hollow eyes that seemed to glow with a sickly light. It was so much like Momo, that twisted figure from the legends, but worse, so much worse. This was real, inches from my face, an embodiment of pure nightmare.

The creature reached out a long, bony finger, hovering it above my arm. It didn’t press down; instead, it poked me gently, almost playfully, like it was testing if I was real. Each poke sent a shock of cold through my body, as though the touch was draining the warmth from my skin. My heart pounded louder, and I felt tears welling in my eyes, though I couldn’t even blink to let them fall.

The thing’s gaze grew even more intense, its face now directly above mine. Its eyes bore into me, hollow and unfeeling, yet deeply focused, like it was staring into the darkest recesses of my mind. I was forced to meet its gaze, my own eyes refusing to close, as though they were held open by some unseen force.

Then, suddenly, there was a creak—the faint sound of a door opening down the hall. My mom, likely getting up to drink water. The sound made the creature pause, its head snapping toward my door. For a brief, horrible moment, its gaze softened, almost like… fear. And just like that, it began to fade, dissolving into the shadows, those awful yellow eyes the last to disappear.

My body jolted back to life. I gasped for air, feeling the sweat dampening my sheets, my hands trembling uncontrollably. I bolted upright, reaching for the light, flooding my room with brightness that seemed to chase away the shadows. I stumbled to the kitchen, downing a glass of water as I tried to shake off the terror still clinging to me.

I didn’t sleep that night. I couldn’t. And though that creature never appeared again, its stare haunted me. Every so often, late at night, when the world is silent and the darkness feels too thick, I feel it again—that creeping sensation, that faint prickle at the back of my neck. And even now, I wonder if, somewhere in the shadows, those yellow eyes are still watching, waiting for the chance to peer back into my soul.