The Aliens That Feed on Human Screams

Описание: It started on a quiet night, the kind where the wind carries whispers of forgotten things. The small town of Glenridge was asleep, unaware that its fate was about to change forever. Across the sky, far beyond the reach of any human radar, strange shapes glided silently. They were not meteors. They were alive.

The first sign was a sound. A low, humming vibration that seemed to crawl through walls and floors. Dogs barked, car alarms triggered, and some people woke with an icy chill running down their spines. But no one saw them yet. No one could. The aliens preferred darkness, hiding in shadows that humans could not see.

By morning, reports of missing pets began to circulate. Chickens, cats, even a neighbor’s dog vanished without a trace. There were no footprints, no claw marks, no signs of struggle. Only a faint echo of whispers, almost like laughter, carried in the wind.

Sarah, a young nurse working the night shift at Glenridge General, was the first human to glimpse them. She had been walking home when the streetlights flickered and died, plunging her into darkness. That’s when she heard it—a sound that made her blood run cold. A high-pitched, quivering scream that seemed to bypass her ears and pierce directly into her mind.

She froze. And then she saw them.

They were thin, almost skeletal, with translucent skin stretched tight over elongated bones. Their eyes were black voids, endless and hungry. Each movement was fluid and unnatural, like water flowing over stones. But what struck Sarah most was their mouths—wide, toothless gapes that opened impossibly wide. And from those mouths, they absorbed the scream.

Before Sarah could react, a cold wind pushed her to the ground. Her scream—a human scream, full of fear—was sucked out of her. She felt it ripped from her chest, leaving an emptiness that was worse than death. Then they vanished into the shadows.

Sarah ran, screaming again, but the sound was weaker, hollow. She reached her apartment and locked the door, trembling. She thought she was safe, but a shadow moved outside her window. She could feel the hunger. The aliens didn’t just hunt—they fed. And their food was human fear.

Meanwhile, in the town hall, Sheriff Thompson was reviewing reports of strange occurrences. He didn’t believe in aliens. He didn’t believe in monsters. But even he could not explain the numbers. Twenty people had called in missing pets. Three reported hearing voices that “weren’t human.” And one woman claimed she had seen “creatures with black mouths swallowing screams.”

Thompson rubbed his eyes. “This is insane,” he muttered. But something in his gut told him it was real. He had been a sheriff long enough to know fear when he felt it—and Glenridge was drowning in it.

At the edge of town, a group of teenagers gathered around a campfire. They were daring each other to spend the night in the old quarry, unaware it had been the site of dozens of disappearances over the past month. Laughter filled the night, but it was nervous, strained. Deep down, they all felt it—the same cold, creeping dread that haunted Sarah.

Then the screams began.

It started softly, like whispers of the wind, then built into a crescendo that shattered the night. One by one, the teenagers felt the scream pulled from their throats. They tried to run, but the shadows followed. The aliens moved through darkness, phasing in and out of sight, feeding on terror as effortlessly as a river consumes rainwater.

By dawn, only one teenager was left. Her eyes wide with shock, she stumbled into the town, screaming incoherently. But her voice, her fear, had already been devoured. She collapsed in the sheriff’s office, shaking.

“They… they take the screams,” she whispered. “They eat them. You don’t understand…”

No one understood. Not yet.

At night, the aliens grew bolder. They were learning, adapting to human defenses. Lights did not stop them. Guns did not stop them. They fed invisibly, silently, leaving behind only empty husks of terror in their wake.

And the town began to change. People no longer slept. They barricaded themselves indoors, whispered in fear, and avoided dark alleys. Even laughter became scarce; a joyful sound could attract attention, and attention meant death.

The aliens were not attacking to kill. Not yet. They were gathering something—energy, sustenance, power. Each scream they consumed made them stronger, more confident. And as they fed, the creatures began to communicate among themselves, in a language of shrieks and vibrations humans could not hear.

Somewhere, deep in the woods outside Glenridge, the first portal appeared. A thin, glowing slit in the night air, pulsing like a heartbeat. It was their doorway. And it was growing.

By the time the sun rose over Glenridge, the town had become a silent prey. Those who had screamed the most were hollowed out, the terror in their eyes reflecting a new reality: humans were no longer at the top of the food chain.

And the aliens were only beginnin