Dark Shadows

Georgia had perfected her double life over the years. To the world, she was just a calm, meticulous funeral

director with a penchant for heavy metal and vintage aprons. Beneath the surface, she harbored a hunger that ordinary life couldn’t satisfy. Her work provided her a unique outlet for her darker urges, as well as access to equipment most people would never think of owning in their homes: the massive oven, her custom tools for embalming, the heavy-duty cleaners that erased all traces of blood and gore.

With her AirPods securely in place, Georgia made her way back downstairs, humming along to the angry riffs pouring into her ears. She ignored the faint, lingering warmth that still radiated from the oven. The man inside—her latest “guest”—had been surprisingly easy to kill, though he’d fought a bit at first. She relished a challenge, but he had folded after one fierce slice to his carotid. His terror had dissolved into silence, his eyes wide and still as she whispered a final lullaby over him.

The basement was quiet now, and the rhythmic swish of the mop across the tiles became a calming metronome. She had cleaned up so many times that the routine was second nature: the bleach diluted just right, the motions precise enough to erase any speck of evidence. She lost herself in the trance of it, scrubbing away the red that stained the floor, her hands working mechanically as her mind drifted.

Georgia thought about her family, currently out for the afternoon. They would return soon, their voices filling the house with laughter and warmth. She loved them fiercely. They were her reason for keeping the darkness contained to the basement. It was as if she led two lives—the devoted wife and mother and the creature she became down here, in the silence and shadows.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden bang—a fist slamming on the basement window. Her head snapped toward the sound, but there was no one there. Just the wind? She felt a thrill course through her veins, igniting the darkness within her, but she forced herself to breathe, grounding herself in the practiced routine of her work.

With the blood finally gone, she rolled up the tarp and stuffed it into a black trash bag, tossing it in the corner. She would dispose of it later, under the cover of night.

A few hours later, Georgia was back in her kitchen, scrubbing a cutting board with all the vigor of a model homemaker preparing a hearty dinner for her family. The kitchen looked pristine again—no sign of the violence that had taken place here. She adjusted her apron and washed her hands with lavender-scented soap. Just as she dried them, she heard the familiar sound of the front door creaking open.

“Mom! We’re home!” her son, Max, called, his voice echoing through the house. Georgia’s heart leapt at the sound, and she felt herself shift instantly back into her role as loving mother.

“Hey, sweetie!” she called out, forcing a smile. Her husband, Daniel, followed behind, carrying their youngest, Ella, on his hip. The warmth of their presence washed over her, grounding her as it always did.

Dinner was uneventful. Georgia served up roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and steamed vegetables, her hands steady as she dished out each plate. She glanced at her children, the picture of innocence, and at her husband, whose eyes met hers with that comforting, familiar warmth. It was as if the darkness had never existed, as if it was some distant, hidden part of her that only awoke when the house was empty and the basement beckoned.

But tonight, something felt… different. Georgia couldn’t shake the feeling that the man in her basement had brought something with him—a sense of dread that had settled in her bones. She thought she’d heard footsteps while she was cooking. Shadows seemed to shift and stretch in the corners of her vision, almost as if the walls themselves were watching.

After dinner, Daniel took the kids upstairs to get ready for bed, and Georgia stayed behind to finish the dishes. The clinking of plates and the hum of the dishwasher filled the air, but she couldn’t shake that creeping feeling of unease. She glanced out the window at the darkened yard, feeling as if something—someone—was watching her.

Then, from the hallway, she heard the faint sound of footsteps, slow and deliberate. Her pulse quickened. The kids were upstairs, and Daniel was tucking them in—so who…?

She crept toward the basement door, barely breathing, her heart hammering in her chest. She grabbed a knife from the counter and held it at her side as she stepped down the stairs, her grip tight. Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out the silence, and she scanned the basement for any sign of intruders.

The room was dark and empty, save for the oven, its red “on” light casting an eerie glow over the space. She took a step forward, but just as she did, she heard the basement door creak open behind her.

“Mom?” Max’s voice drifted down the stairs.

“Max, no! Go back upstairs!” she said, her voice sharper than she intended. But it was too late. Max had already taken a step down, his innocent eyes peering into the shadows.

And then she heard it—a soft whisper, almost like a voice, but impossible to place. It seemed to echo from the walls, filling the basement with a chilling presence. Her skin prickled as the whispers grew louder, a twisted melody that seemed to mock her, her secrets, her lies.

“Mom?” Max’s voice was a terrified whisper now, his eyes wide as he looked up at her, sensing something was terribly wrong.

In a panic, she raced up the stairs, grabbing Max and pulling him back into the kitchen. Daniel appeared in the doorway, holding Ella. “What’s going on, Georgia?” he asked, his eyes searching hers with a mix of confusion and concern.

Before she could answer, a loud bang came from the basement, as if something heavy had fallen. Georgia froze, clutching Max to her side. The whispers stopped, and silence settled over the house, thick and suffocating.

“Did… did you hear that?” Daniel asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Georgia nodded, gripping the knife in her hand tighter. She felt her two worlds colliding, her family drawn into the darkness she’d kept hidden for so long. “Take the kids upstairs,” she whispered to Daniel, her voice steady but tense.

Daniel hesitated, his gaze flicking between Georgia and the basement door. He knew better than to question her in moments like this; they shared an unspoken trust, a bond forged over years of marriage. With a nod, he took Max and Ella and led them upstairs, casting one last, worried glance over his shoulder.

Once they were gone, Georgia turned back toward the basement, descending the steps slowly, the knife gleaming in her hand. The air grew colder with each step, and the eerie silence returned, pressing down on her like a weight.

At the bottom, she found the basement empty, just as she’d left it. But when she turned toward the oven, her heart skipped a beat. The door was open, and the inside was empty.

Panic flared in her chest as she realized the body was gone. She scanned the room, her eyes darting to every corner, every shadow. A dark, twisted laugh echoed through the basement, and she spun around, clutching the knife like a lifeline.

There, in the shadows, stood the man she had killed—the man who was supposed to be nothing more than ashes by now. His face was gaunt, his skin pale and stretched, and his eyes glowed with a malevolent light.

“Georgia,” he whispered, his voice like nails on a chalkboard. “Did you really think it would be that easy?”

She backed away, her heart pounding, but he advanced, his steps slow and deliberate, as if savoring her fear. She raised the knife, but he only laughed, a sound that sent chills down her spine.

“You can’t kill me, Georgia,” he said, his voice echoing around the room. “Not when you’re the one who brought me back.”

In a sudden, desperate burst of courage, Georgia lunged forward, the knife slicing through the air. But he vanished into the shadows, his laughter ringing out, mocking her.

She staggered back, feeling the darkness closing in around her. Her mind raced, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She had to protect her family—no matter the cost.

As she ran back up the stairs, slamming the basement door shut behind her, she knew that her secrets were no longer safe. The darkness had followed her, and this time, it wouldn’t be so easy to hide.