The Hungry Wall

A micro-fiction horror series

Photo by Jackson Simmer on Unsplash

“I live in a cottage in the deep woods. Come over for dinner, but not before 9 pm sharp,” an invitation too difficult to resist for a thirty-three-year-old bachelor.

Evan’s old car bumped down the gravel, screeching to a halt.

He looked at his watch.

Twenty minutes to nine.

Too early.

He couldn’t wait to see his attractive hitch-hiker who he met only a few hours ago. His burning desires melted down his patience.

The cottage stood there, tall, lonely, dark, and quiet. Its door, wide-open, beckoned him in.

Evan stepped inside.

The door swelled, roared, and disappeared.


That door — the only exit was gone.

Evan froze in shock and horror.

The pitch-black darkness around him, engulfed his courage. He reached for a lighter in his blazer.

As far as its bleak illumination reached, he saw a long, seemingly endless hallway, too narrow, and straight like a tunnel.

Evan lurched forward. With each footstep, his heart thudded louder and louder.

The pale-yellow wall was mottled with brown stains, and smeared with drawings and writings.

He ran his hand over that cold endless wall hoping to find a door concealed beneath its filth and madness.

Evan froze when his cold-sweating-palms felt warmth on the crazy wall.

Blood, fresh and red, smeared his palms. Panic stirred in his chest, nearly choking him, but not enough to defeat his hot desires.

He then did a weird thing. After all, he was surrounded by weirdness.

Evan gently rubbed the wall to feel its true-form.

Soft moans of pleasure filled his ears.

He leaned against the bleeding wall and asked in his quivering voice, “Is anybody here? Can you hear me?”

He was heard.

The chandelier hung from the thick wooden rafters started to swing. His lighter flickered.
A gloomy shadow on the wall, tall and slender, finely curved, as still as a painting, possessed his senses.
A familiar scent, strong and sweet, wafted in air, conquering his sixth sense.
Evan recognized his hitch-hiker.
He sniffed the sweet scent of the shadow, while stroking it gently.
The wall shuddered.
The chandelier swayed in madness.
His lighter blew off.
Low, soft moans, resonated in air.

A gentle tinkling of the piano played at the background, while a melodious voice sung —

Magical touch of your hands
sends shivers
between my thighs
come to me
touch me
kiss me
own me,
Oh, honey!

That gentle melody was suddenly overcome by an absolute silence.

Staggering in dark, Evan whispered to the wall —

Are you there?”

Yeah,” The voice, loud and grim, echoed.

How did you get there?”

Aura carried me here in her arms.”

What? Who the hell is she?”

My friend. Since I bought this abandoned cottage a month back, we live here as flesh and blood.”

Holy-crap! How did that woman enter this wall?

“A hundred-year-ago, Priestess Aura was buried alive in a crypt in the wall, found guilty of unchastity.”

“Holy-heavens! Why did you invite me?”

“Aura is hungry for hundred years…”

In ancient Rome, the vestal virgins were buried alive in the wall if they break the law and carried out any immodest act or lose their virginity.



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A creative neuro-scientist, fascinated by the world of fiction and ageing neuroscience. Email @