Category: 📁 Teraphobia 2025

A cough echoed through a dust-choked grocery store.

A second cough awakened a Harrow— A human-shaped shell of a living being, its soul long since stolen.

The monster groaned, lifted its head and moved forward. A thin, frayed rope bit into its neck where flesh had rotted away to muscle. It stopped and blinked, cancerous pale eyes settled on a row of glass doors.

Behind those doors, where cold food used to live. Erik Ashford lay wasted, motionless within the rotten remains of long perished eggs, meat and milk. He lay on the ground. His face buried in dirt, asleep.

“Father..”

A voice echoed through Erik’s inebriated dreams. It broke up Erik’s liquor drenched dreams and he trembled.

The voice called again. Erik opened his eyes. A rainbow of light bled from a jagged wound in the ceiling, through the doors and warmed the side of his face. Dust flew out and upward as he exhaled.

Chains jangled outside the door. Erik slid from under the ragged rack of dried milk and sat up. His head wobbled as the liquor sloshed around his veins.

Outside the grime-covered sheets of glass stood the shadow of a Harrow, Erik knew as Gary, but Gary wasn’t talking— he never said a word.

“Gary! Are you saying my name?” Erik shouted.

“I was sleeping Gary, you freak.”

Erik slid back. He caught an edge of the shelf with his hand. The metal shelf screeched. Solid jugs of milk fell and the whole shelf crashed onto the doors, shattering them.

Without the glass to obscure, Erik looked at Gary as the creature pulsed with rage. It pulled upon the rope. The rope struggled to hold it from moving forward.

“Gary?!”

“Dad!”

As if the liquor was thrown from his veins, he whipped around and stared into the darkness.

A shadow figure, of a child, stood in a partially lit corner.

Erik crept forward. The figure did not move.

A crash within the room, where Gary was, made him jump.

“I am not a joke-around kinda guy.” Anger crept in. Erik walked forward.

“You once were,” an intelligent reply knocked Erik back and into the same shelf.

Gary growled. The rope strained and the linoleum ticked under slow, unconscious steps of the monster’s boots.

“You were never an alcoholic when mom and I were alive. You’re in bad shape dad. I couldn’t imagine how far you slipped.”

Erik massaged his back.

“How far I slipped? I slipped! I lost my family. To my god-damn neighbors. My friends!” Erik stood, incensed like never before.

He stepped into the darkness.

“I don’t know what you’re planning or what this all is…”

Erik tossed a chair.

“I’m not some…”

He pushed over a stack of boxes. Metal pans crashed.

Gary pulled on the rope. The rope began to tear through rotten muscle.

“…Push around guy. I will end this now.”

Erik shoved a shopping cart toward the shadow. He watched as the cart struck where the shadow was.

The cart burst. Its contents boxes, spray paint, burst on impact. Spray covered the walls…but the shadow didn’t move—

It didn’t say anything either.

Erik approached but before he could do anything further a crash forced him to turn and look.

He knew immediately what the problem was— the human-like Harrow named Gary was missing.

——-/———//—/——-/

Explore more from the fractured world of Erik Ashford — including art, relics, and stories — at MatthewRStitt.com