03 Apr The Demon in the Dark

📅 Published on April 3, 2026

“The Demon in the Dark”

Written by Craig Groshek
Edited by Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

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🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available

⏰ ESTIMATED READING TIME — 3 minutes

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Vicky and Kevin Chandler woke to a crash from down the hall, followed by the sharp clang of toy cymbals and a heavy thump that shook the wall. A second later, their son started screaming.

By the time they reached Owen’s room, he had backed himself into the corner of his bed, knees pulled to his chest, shaking so hard the mattress trembled under him. His toy drum set in the far corner had been knocked apart. One cymbal lay flat on the floor. A drum had rolled halfway under the dresser.

“There’s a demon in the dark,” Owen said, almost choking on the words. He pointed at the corner beside the ruined drum set. “It came out of the wall.”

Kevin flicked a glance toward the door. “It was probably the cat.”

Owen shook his head so hard his hair stuck to his forehead. “No. It came from there. It’s still there. It’s getting closer.”

Vicky squinted into the corner. The room was dark except for the spill of hallway light behind them. She could not make out anything beyond the drum set, the baseboard, and the strip of shadow where the walls met. Kevin took a step forward. Vicky reached toward the light switch beside the door.

“Don’t,” Owen said. “Please don’t. I don’t want to see it.”

Then they heard it.

A low growl came from the corner. It was deep enough to vibrate through the floorboards. Something scraped across the hardwood, slow and dry, like claws dragging in a measured line.

Kevin stopped moving.

The wall behind the drum set split open with a sound like cloth tearing. A black crack ran from the baseboard almost to the ceiling, then widened into a jagged opening. Fire burned on the other side, but not the kind that gave light or warmth. It was pale and shifting and wrong.

Something reached through.

The hand was blackened, with skin split like burned paper and fingers too long to belong to anything human. It seized Kevin by the ankle and yanked so hard he hit the floor before he could even cry out.

Vicky lunged for him, but the thing dragged him across the room faster than she could grab hold. His nails tore against the wood. Owen was screaming. Kevin caught the bedframe for half a second, lost it, and was pulled into the opening feet first.

By the time Vicky caught his wrist, he was already halfway inside.

She threw her other hand at the switch.

The light snapped on.

Something on the other side shrieked.

The sound was so sharp Owen clapped his hands over his ears. The crack in the wall began to close at once, drawing tight around Kevin’s waist. Vicky held on until she couldn’t. The opening sealed with a wet, final sound and cut him clean through.

For a second, nobody moved.

Then Vicky dropped to the floor beside what was left of him.

Kevin’s eyes were still open. Blood spread across the hardwood and into the legs of the little drum stool. He looked at Owen, tried to breathe, and said, “I love you, buddy.”

A moment later, he went still.

The police came. So did the paramedics. There were questions, then more questions, and no answer that sounded possible when spoken out loud. But the blood was real. So was the damage.

Before noon, Vicky abandoned their home, leaving for a hotel, and ultimately, to live with her parents until she and Owen could figure out what to do next.

They left everything behind.

To this day, police have never determined what happened to Kevin Chandler, or to the lower half of his body.