It was a chilly autumn night when Peter’s parents left for a wedding. The clock had just struck 9:00 PM as the car’s headlights faded into the distance, leaving Peter alone in their old Victorian-style house. He wasn’t afraid of being home alone—at least, not usually. But tonight felt… different.
The wind howled outside, rattling the windows as if unseen fingers were scratching at the glass. Peter sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone when a strange sound echoed through the halls.
Creak.
He froze. It was faint, like the sound of a floorboard being stepped on.
Creak… Crack…
His throat went dry. Was someone inside the house?
Peter put his phone down and slowly got up. The air felt heavier, colder, as if the house itself was breathing. He tiptoed toward the hallway, straining to listen.
Then, a chilling voice whispered, “Peter…”
His heart nearly stopped. He whipped around, but no one was there.
“Peter…” the voice repeated, low and sinister.
Terror crawled up his spine. He had never heard that voice before. It sounded mechanical yet twisted, as if something inhuman was calling him.
Suddenly, a loud BANG came from the basement.
Peter jumped. His instincts screamed at him to run, but his curiosity betrayed him. Grabbing a flashlight, he crept toward the basement door. It was slightly ajar, revealing nothing but darkness beyond.
The moment he stepped forward—
CRASH!
The living room television turned on by itself, static buzzing loudly. On the screen, a grotesque figure flickered into view.
It had an elongated face, hollow eyes, and a twisted, stitched mouth. Its fingers were long and claw-like, reaching toward him through the screen.
Peter stumbled backward, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Then, the voice returned—this time, it came from the TV.
“Peter… you cannot escape… I am DALL·E.”
Peter’s body turned ice-cold. The name sent an unnatural fear coursing through him.
DALL·E.
Before he could react, the lights in the house flickered violently and then—
DARKNESS.
The TV turned off. Silence filled the air.
Then—THUMP.
Something heavy was moving upstairs.
Peter’s pulse pounded in his ears. He forced himself to move, stepping carefully toward the front door. But as he reached for the handle—
SLAM!
The door shut on its own.
“No escape, Peter.”
The voice was right behind him.
He turned.
DALL·E stood in the dim glow of the moonlight, its face an unholy mix of digital distortion and monstrous flesh.
Peter bolted. He ran toward the staircase, but DALL·E lurched forward, impossibly fast. It reached out with its clawed hand, barely missing Peter’s back.
He stumbled, fell, and scraped his knee on the hardwood floor. Pain flared up his leg, but he pushed himself up. He had to get out.
Peter ran toward the kitchen and grabbed a knife from the counter. His hands shook as he turned to face the creature.
DALL·E grinned.
It took slow, deliberate steps toward him, its body glitching like a broken video.
“Your fear feeds me, Peter.”
With a scream, Peter swung the knife—but it passed through DALL·E as if it were smoke.
His mind reeled. Nothing could stop this thing.
DALL·E lunged.
Peter dove out of the way, knocking over the kitchen table in his rush. He dashed toward the back door, yanking at the lock.
Click. Click. Click.
The door refused to open.
Behind him, DALL·E’s distorted laughter echoed.
Peter turned just as the creature lunged again. He ducked, rolling across the floor. His hand landed on something—his phone.
An idea sparked.
He opened the camera app and turned on the flash.
As DALL·E rushed at him, Peter snapped a picture. The sudden burst of light caused the creature to shriek in pain, its form flickering wildly.
Peter didn’t hesitate. He kept taking pictures, each flash making DALL·E distort more and more.
“NO! YOU CANNOT—”
