Stories to Keep You Awake

January 19, 1920 It all started on a calm day in a burger shop. The place was packed, as usual. The owner was famous for making the best burgers in the town of Bióloxi, Mississippi. The meat was so delicious that people kept asking what part of the cow he used… But what nobody knew was the horrifying truth behind the flavor. When asked about the secret, the chef would just smile and say the meat came straight from Japan. But once the shop closed and night fell, the charming cook headed to a nearby bar. He was handsome—so much that women surrounded him every night. And as expected, he always took a different woman home. The thing is… once they entered his house, they were never seen again. When someone tried to call him, he always had an excuse. He’d say the woman had to leave because a child or relative had an emergency. But the truth was far more twisted. Once he brought them home, he drugged them. Then, with calm precision, he hit them in the head with a hammer until they stopped moving. He dragged the body into the kitchen, pulled out his butcher’s knife, and began cutting… From head to toe. The meat went into jars of vinegar. The next day, it would be marinated, seasoned, and served to the town. As for the bones—some became soup. The others were hung in his private trophy room. Nineteen skeletons. And this new one would be the twentieth. Did he have a reason for doing this? He didnt even know why. But the satisfaction was… real. Maybe it was his past. Maybe it was something buried deep in his brain—something too painful to remember. So he forced himself to dig. His mind went back to 1890, the year he was born. From the moment he took his first breath, his parents never wanted him. They didn’t even try to hide it. His father came home drunk every night and beat his mother to the ground. The boy grew up watching her bleed on the kitchen floor like it was normal. Years passed, but nothing changed. Then, a week before his 18th birthday, something broke the routine. A sound came from the kitchen. He walked in… and found her. His mother. Dead. She had slit her wrists. The boy didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He didn’t even know what to feel—pity? anger? Deep down, he had started to see her as weak… pathetic. Suddenly, someone banged on the door. It was his father. He stepped inside, saw the body, saw his son… And said nothing. He walked straight to the fridge, pulled out two beers, and handed one to the boy. With a smirk, he muttered: — Finally. The damn woman’s gone. The boy said nothing.