Scary Stories.

The door of the dark house creaked open. Giovanni, a fat man, walked in dragging Isabella, a fragile woman dressed in short clothes, her lipstick smudged. Without any care, he threw her onto the bed.

“So?” said Giovanni, closing the door behind him. “Tell me a story.”

Isabella looked at him, still confused, and let out a laugh.

“Seriously? You brought me all the way here just to hear a story? You know what I am, right?”

“I do,” he replied coldly.

She crossed her arms, watching him.

“Give me a cigarette.”

Giovanni went to the drawer, pulled out a box of cigarettes, and lit one for her. The flame of the lighter flickered between them. Isabella took a long drag and blew the smoke into the air, shaping invisible figures.

“And what if I don’t tell you anything?” she asked with a defiant smile.

Giovanni walked over to the closet and opened the door.

Skulls rolled out, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Isabella’s blood froze.

“What the hell… Are you a killer?”

He calmly knelt down, picked up the skulls one by one, and placed them back inside the closet. Then he locked it with a key.

“I am. I don’t sleep well. Every night I bring in a prostitute. If she doesn’t make me laugh with a good story… I kill her.”

Isabella swallowed hard. The cigarette burned down to the filter between her fingers.

“Got it,” she said, trying to sound calm, even though her fingers trembled. “So, it has to be a really good story, right?”

Giovanni sat on the floor, smiling like he was waiting for a grand performance.

Isabella shrugged and began:

“I’m going to tell you the story of Wilby, the boy who couldn’t be called by his name.”

Giovanni raised his eyebrows.

“Oh yeah? Why not?”

“Wilby was born into a very rich family. He never needed to leave the house. Teachers came to the mansion, but there was one strange rule: no one could call him by his name. Not staff, not teachers. No one.”

“That’s weird… Why?” Giovanni asked, intrigued.

“One day, they hired a new piano teacher, Mrs. Williams. She was kind, fun, and soon grew fond of Wilby. But she couldn’t understand the name rule.”

“What did she do?”

“She asked him, of course. Every time she did, Wilby would lower his head, looking sad. Until one day, he took her to the basement to show her the truth.”

Giovanni leaned forward, curious.

“What was down there?”

“Bodies. Piled up. All dressed like staff.”

“No… That can’t be!”

“‘Those are the bodies of the employees who called me by my name,’ Wilby said. ‘My parents killed them all.’”

Giovanni was hypnotized.

“And the teacher?”

“She was horrified. She wanted to report Wilby’s parents. But to do that, she needed to know his name.”

“And then?”

“She asked: ‘What’s your name?’”

“And he?”

“‘Wilby,’” she replied.

Giovanni fell silent, processing the twist.

“And what happened next?”

“The teacher smiled and said, ‘That’s a beautiful name, Wilby. Now stay here. I’m going to call the police.’”

Giovanni was completely absorbed.

“And then?”

“When she picked up the phone, a red mark appeared on her hand. It itched. Something was moving under her skin. Ants. Crawling under her flesh.”

“No way… That’s insane!”

“She screamed. And Wilby, smiling, said: ‘Cool, right? Ants inside you!’ Then… the ants started coming out of her mouth.”

Giovanni laughed, part horrified, part amused.

“And his parents?”

“They came in, saw what he had done, and shouted: ‘Go to your room! You killed someone again, monster!’”

“And the boy?”

“He replied: ‘It wasn’t my fault… She wanted to say my name.’”

Giovanni laughed again.

“So that’s it? The kid kills anyone who says his name?”

“Exactly. Every time someone said his name, the power activated. And the punishment always reflected his darkest, most twisted desires.”

“That was a good one! Tell me another! I want more!”

Isabella stood up, smiling softly.

“I could tell you more… but now I have to go.”

“You’re not going anywhere!” Giovanni shouted, blocking the door.

With a swift motion, Isabella jumped through the window. The glass shattered. She fell… seven stories down.

Giovanni ran to the window, but there was no one out there. A chill ran down his spine. He made the sign of the cross and muttered:

“Who… was that woman?”

As the night took over the dirty, silent city, Giovanni stood there, staring into the darkness, with the feeling that he had narrowly escaped something terrifying — but the mystery was far from over.

The End.