Just Watching Horror Short Story by Ryan Melrose

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Just Watching Horror Short Story

By Ryan Melrose

The day had started the way it always did. A few errands in the morning, checking my balance, exchanging a few words with the attractive woman behind the bank counter who always seemed to brighten my day. Then the gym—pushing myself, breaking a sweat, keeping my body sharp for the fights that mattered. A cheap snack for the road, a jog through familiar streets.

At the service station, I decided I deserved a treat. I had been disciplined all month, sticking to my diet, holding back from indulgences. One iced coffee wouldn’t kill me. The new one—whipped caramel, chocolate flakes, the works. As I waited for my order, I wandered toward the newspaper stand, scanning the headlines.

"Rosborough Found Burnt to the Ground."

I stared at the words for a moment. Rosborough. Didn’t mean much to me. Just another small town, clinging to survival by a thread. Whatever happened there had nothing to do with me, nothing that would shake Boston’s economy or my stocks. I shrugged it off, picked up my drink, and left.

I took my usual route home, pausing at the suburban park near my apartment on Haymans Drive. It was the perfect spot to unwind—a slice of peace in a world that never stopped moving. The laughter of children echoed from the playground, their joy blending into the rustling leaves and the hum of distant traffic. Moments like these made everything worth it. My work, my training, the sacrifices.

I turned my head, scanning the area. That’s when I saw him.

A tall, thin man stood in front of the playground. He wasn’t watching the children, not really. He wasn’t moving either.

He was smiling.

Not an exaggerated grin. Not a twisted, unnatural expression. Just a normal smile. And yet—something was off. It felt wrong in a way I couldn’t define. Like he was smiling at me.

I glanced away, trying to shake the feeling, but when I looked back, he was still there. Still smiling. Still watching.

Something in me stirred—an instinct buried deep in my gut. I crushed the empty coffee cup in my hand, tossed it into the bin, and picked up my pace. I jogged home, but the unease followed.

Like the feeling of eyes lingering long after you’ve left a room.

I jogged far. Farther than usual. The long way home felt necessary. I needed time to scrub that image from my mind—the man standing by the playground, frozen in place, that smile, too still to be right.

At first, I forced myself to focus on the rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement, my breath steady, my pulse strong. The familiar route was comforting. I’d done this a thousand times. Routine. Control. But something felt off tonight.

The air was heavier. Thicker.

Still, I ran. Kept moving. I wasn’t going to let some random guy shake me up. I told myself that, over and over. And soon, the tension in my chest loosened. I let myself enjoy the scenery, the neon hum of streetlights, the distant murmur of the city.

Yeah. It was fine.

Routine. Consistency. Villain mindset. That’s what mattered.

By the time I reached my apartment on Haymans Drive, the night had settled in fully. The sky stretched black, smeared with city haze. But something felt… wrong.

The moment I stepped onto the pavement, the breeze stopped.

I knew, instinctively, before I even looked up.

He was there.

Walking up my street.

Slow, deliberate steps. My breath hitched as he stopped, perfectly still, just like at the park. Just watching the same smile, my stomach turned. I kept my movements deliberate, normal. I walked up the stairs toward my apartment, but the weight of his gaze followed me, pressing against my back like a phantom hand.

As I reached the door, I glanced back.

He hadn’t moved an inch.

The same expression. Unchanged.

I stepped inside and locked everything—doors, windows. My pulse was hammering, though I told myself I was being stupid. I moved to the kitchen, throwing myself into preparing dinner. Leftover vegetables. Pasta. I made a hummus curry sauce, sprinkled oregano, grated some cheese. Simple things. Normal things.

I needed normalcy. I sank into the familiar comfort of flipping through magazines as I ate, but his face wouldn’t leave my mind. That frozen smile, that posture, that absence of movement. Surely, this was just a coincidence. Had to be.

I clawed at rationality. Maybe he was just cheerful? Maybe he found me attractive? That wasn’t unheard of—I’d been told I was good-looking. Not just by the opposite sex either.

But no part of me believed it.

Something deep in my gut whispered, clawed at me—wrong wrong wrong—but I ignored it.

I booted up a video game, immersed myself in speed and distraction. Racing. Focused, fast-paced, and for a while—it worked.

Until I turned off the screen.

Until I saw him.

Standing behind me. Smiling.

Reflected in the dark TV screen.

I spun around—nothing. The room was empty, the air static. My stomach twisted. My gaze flickered to the window, and for a moment, I hesitated. Did I really want to look? But I had to. I flicked on the security light. Peered out, and there he was.

Still. Waiting. Watching.

The rain had started—I hadn’t even noticed. Water ran down his face, soaked his hair, his coat, but he didn’t move. His expression never changed.

Unblinking. Unshaken.

Just watching.

I threw open the window, my voice trembling with anger I didn’t fully feel.

“Hey, creepy shit—move on, or I’m calling the police!”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just stood there, staring, that same unchanging smile carved into his face.

I grabbed my phone, desperate to follow through on my threat. Dead.

“No, no, no, no,” I muttered, my voice cracking as I fumbled for the charger. I plugged it in, praying for the screen to light up.

Then—darkness.

The power cut out, plunging the house into a suffocating black void.

“No, no, no, no, no!” My voice rose, panic clawing at my throat. My hands scrambled over countertops, drawers, anything, searching for a torch, a candle—anything to fight the oppressive dark.

The silence pressed in, thick and unnatural. My breath came in shallow gasps as I realized the horrifying truth.

Was he still there?

I forced myself to the window, my heart hammering in my chest. I peered out into the blackness, the faint glow of the streetlights gone.

He was gone.

The street was empty, but the air felt heavier, as if he were still there, just out of sight. Watching. Waiting.

Then—knock, knock.

The sound shattered the silence, heavy and deliberate.

I froze, my body locking up as the sound came again. Knock, knock.

“Who’s there?” My voice was barely a whisper, trembling with fear I couldn’t suppress.

I backed away from the door, my hands fumbling behind me until they found the edge of the kitchen bench. My fingers brushed against something cold and metallic—a torch. I grabbed it, flicking it on.

The weak beam of light cut through the darkness, but it did nothing to ease the suffocating fear.

Then I heard it. A sound that made my blood run cold.

Scratching.

Soft at first, like nails dragging lightly across the wood. Then deeper, more deliberate. Claws tearing into the door. I forced myself forward, every step a battle against the terror rooting me in place. My hand trembled as I reached for the peephole.

I looked.

He was there.

That same smile, that same expression, but now his fingers were dragging down the door, slow and deliberate. He wasn’t trying to get in. He was playing with me. Like a predator toying with its prey. My breath hitched as the torchlight flickered.

“No, no, no,” I whispered, my voice shaking as I scrambled back to the kitchen. My hands tore through the drawers, searching for batteries. I found them, shoved them into the torch, and flicked it back on.

The light returned, but it felt feeble, barely holding back the darkness pressing in around me.

I lit candles, their small flames flickering weakly in the still air. The shadows they cast seemed to move, shifting and twisting like they were alive. I prayed for the power to come back, for the phone to charge, for anything to break this nightmare.

But the silence remained.

Thick. Oppressive. And then—nothing. The scratching stopped. The knocking stopped.The silence was worse.

I screamed at the door, my voice cracking with desperation. “GO AWAY, YOU CREEP!” he never responded never acknowledged my words

I pressed my ear to the door, straining to hear anything—footsteps, breathing, movement. But there was nothing.I turned back to the window, my stomach twisting as I forced myself to look outside.

He was there.

Standing in the rain, his clothes soaked, his hair plastered to his face.But his smile never changed.He didn’t blink. Didn’t move.Just stood there.

Just watching.

A gust of wind tore through the room.

The rain howled against the walls. The candles—extinguished.The darkness devoured everything.I stumbled back, my breath shallow, my mind screaming. The sudden blackness swallowed me whole, the room vanishing in an instant.

Oh God, the window. I left the window open.

I felt exposed, as if the night itself had reached inside and smothered the fragile, flickering flames. The only light keeping him at bay was gone.

A sharp breath escaped my lips. My fingers scrambled blindly across the counter, desperate, grasping, searching for anything—the flashlight.

My hands fumbled over the cold metal—I grabbed it, flicked the switch—

A shatter.

Glass exploded across the floor.

The flashlight slipped from my grasp, the sound of cracking plastic and splintered glass tearing through the silence.

The light was gone.

I sucked in a breath. My hands trembled violently as I crouched, feeling through the shards of broken glass, my fingers brushing against cold, unforgiving edges.

Dark. Too dark.

My lungs tightened. My pulse hammered against my ribs.

And then—

A sound.

Breath.

Close.

Too close.

I froze, every nerve screaming, every muscle locked in terror. The darkness felt alive, shifting, breathing, closing in.

I forced my shaking hands to move, blindly searching for a lighter. The drawers rattled as I tore through them—finally. My fingers closed around the small metal case.

I struck the flint—flick, flick, flick—come on, come on—

A spark. A flame. Light.

The candle flickered weakly to life, the small glow trembling against the surrounding blackness.

I exhaled sharply, relief rushing through me—until I looked up.

Until I saw him.

Standing right in front of me.

The same expression. The same unchanging smile.

His eyes locked on mine, deep, hollow.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

The candle flickered, faltered. The flame weakened, the dim light fading, the shadows swallowing him whole. His face blurred into the black, his presence dissolving, vanishing into the abyss—but I knew.

I knew he was still there.

Waiting

Just Watching….