Horror - Short

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious and any similarities to actual persons, locations, or events is coincidental. This work cannot be used to train artificial intelligence programs.  No AI tools were used in the writing of this story.

All rights reserved. Become Copyright © Eddie Generous 2026

BECOME

Michelle pulled the blind up a hair to see out the window without exposing herself. “Are they coming closer?”

“Mommy,” Little Davey whined. “Mommy.” He was five.

Michelle dropped the curtain and fell to her butt, back leaned against the damp wall of the cabin. She’d taken Little Davey and Little Peggy away after she saw what she saw, had to. They were going to do things, sinister things, unthinkable things.

Michelle rose again and peeked around the curtain once more. It smelled like woodsmoke and mold. In the gloom of late evening, she spotted movement, a deep shadow playing across the plethora of lighter ones.

“I’m hungry,” Little Peggy said. She was four and was taking this much better than Little Davey.

On the floor next to her was the backpack she’d snatched as she rushed out of the school. She’d stepped on the strap while hurrying the kids away, kicking it like a skipping ball for five steps. Rather than tossing it aside and potentially garnering more attention, she picked it up and swung one strap over her shoulder.

Some kid’s lunch was inside: Ritz Crackers with marble cheese hunks in a baggy, a Nature Valley granola bar, a red apple, and two boxes of Allen’s Peach Cocktail.

“Split these,” Michelle said and took the apple for herself.

Little Davey and Little Peggy quit whining and stood like two baby birds, looking up, their mouths agape. They dug into the small offering. Michelle looked at the apple. Funny, people spent their whole lives with apples in their diets and she hadn’t known the sweet crunch until a few years ago, believing until then that the seeds were poisonous and not wanting to risk digesting one. She shook her head. God, she wished she had her kit, another hit would level her out.

She tossed the apple gently, caught it. A heavy breath puffed out of her. She wasn’t hungry now, but she’d need energy, so she took a bite. The sound was deafening, like autumn leaves crackling over stadium speakers. Michelle swallowed and pulled aside the curtain. A flash of movement, darker on dark. She gasped and let the curtain fall.

“Mommy,” Little Davey whined around a mouthful of cheese and crackers.

No time to deal with him. She again peeled aside the curtain. A shriek left her, and she jumped to her feet. Four sets of obsidian eyes banking yellow moonlight.

“We have to go!” she said.

“I want my mommy,” Little Davey said.

“I want my mommy, too,” Little Peggy said.

Michelle bent. “Well, they’re gone! You can’t have them. So, you either come with me or you become not you and those things take over your body.” She couldn’t actually be certain about this point, but that’s how it seemed.

Both children wailed but accepted Michelle’s hands. They broke through the small living room with its warbled floor and moldering furniture, out to the small kitchen. The appliances pre-dated Michelle by decades, everything steel and ceramic. A piece of wood on a nail acted as a spinning lock on the back door. Michelle twisted it, the swollen wood on wood screeched loudly into the dark. She pulled the door, scraping it over lumpy linoleum.

There, beneath the moonlight, more sets of eyes. Clear, she now fully saw the form they’d taken.

“Mooses,” Little Peggy said, swiping a hand beneath her nose.

Michelle swung the door closed and cradled the children tight against her abdomen. “It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay,” she cooed.

A thump landed against the front of the cabin, shaking the mismatched dishes and cups in the cupboards. A second thump landed, this from directly in front of them. They couldn’t stay there.

Michelle looked around the shadowy cabin and saw their one chance. The bathroom. Bathrooms had windows, perhaps they could—

THUMP!

THUMP!

She pulled the sobbing kids into the bathroom and slammed the door behind them. There was a window, but it was much too small for her, and the kids would never make it out alive. She was about to exit the bathroom when she heard the front door crash open and heavy hooves clop on the floor. She put her back to the door, feeling around the wall for a light switch. She found it and flicked it. Nothing.

“I want my mommy,” Little Davey said.

“Me too,” Little Peggy said.

Michelle ignored them, kept on her nearly blind search. She found a medicine cabinet. Inside she discovered matches. The box was deformed by moisture, but the matches were wooden, so there was hope. She worked one free, her back still heavy against the door. She struck it five times in quick succession. Not even a spark. She tried another and another and another and finally, one lit. All around the sink and along the edge of the tub were squirrels. They stared with tiny nightmare gazes. A fat raccoon popped up on the windowsill, almost glowing in the gloom.

Michelle squeezed the children. Behind her, the door thumped and splintered, spikes of wood raining over her and the kids. Was it better to become or better to die?

“Die,” she whispered.

Michelle reached into the medicine cabinet, old as everything was, she was certain she’d find what she sought. And there, built right in, as if anticipating her visit, was a razorblade dispenser. Just as she grabbed one, the door broke inward and she and the kids sprawled on the floor, her head striking the rim of the toilet bowl.

The children began screaming in a new way. Michelle blinked into the darkness. The moose was dragging Little Davey; the squirrels were all over Little Peggy. She squeezed the razor in a pinched grip. She’d tried, and they might get the kids, but they’d never get her. The blade felt cold, cold, cold against her throat, the blood that came a heartbeat later was hot, hot, hot.

—

Michelle awoke in a bright room. She was on a white bed, wearing a white hospital gown. She’d come down hard, head throbbing. She attempted to lift her arms and discovered they’d been strapped to the bed. A plump man in scrubs hurried over to her from across the room. He bent forward.

“Don’t struggle. Are you thirsty? Do you want the doctor?” he said.

“Thirsty,” Michelle said, rasping it out.

“I’ll fetch a doctor.”

The nurse hurried away. Michelle watched him go. She was so alone in this big white room. It felt wrong.

A whistle echoed up the hallway and a janitor pushing a dry mop came to the door. Michelle made eye-contact with the man. He blinked and his eyes changed, became pure black bulbs that were wet and silky, yet didn’t reflect the fluorescent light from overhead.

“Hello, sister,” he said, grinning.

Michelle nodded gently.

XX