I always loved visiting Grandma. Her house was like a second home, filled with the smell of fresh cookies and the soft hum of her favorite radio station. But this time, something felt different. The moment I stepped inside, a chill ran down my spine, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

“Hi, sweetie,” Grandma said, pulling me into a tight hug. Her arms were warm, just like always, but her grip felt a little too strong, like it almost…hurt.

“Hi, Grandma,” I replied, forcing a smile. I tried to push the uneasy feeling away. Maybe it was just me, but Grandma smelled a little bit like dirt. Maybe I was imagining things. But as I followed her into the kitchen, I noticed another clue that something wasn’t right.

The smell of dinner filled the air, but it wasn’t the comforting aroma I was used to. Instead, it was sharper, saltier, and almost bitter. I looked at the table, where a pot of stew bubbled away. Grandma’s cooking was usually perfect, but tonight, the stew looked overcooked, with the vegetables mushy and the meat tough.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Grandma said, stirring the pot. Her voice sounded the same, but there was a strange edge to it, like she was trying too hard to sound normal. Like she strained to make it sound lower.

“Thanks, Grandma,” I said, sitting down at the table. My stomach twisted with unease. Was it just my imagination, or was there something seriously wrong?

Dinner was awkward. I poked at the stew, trying to eat, but each bite was worse than the last. It was salty and bitter, and the meat tasted strange, almost metallic. I glanced up at Grandma, who was watching me with an odd smile, her eyes just a smidge too wide.

“Is something wrong, dear?” she asked, her voice sweet but with a strange tone.

“No, it’s just…different,” I replied, trying to be polite. “Did you use a new recipe?”

Grandma’s smile faltered for a moment, but then it was back, wider than before. “Just a little experiment, sweetie. You know how I like to try new things.”

I nodded, but the uneasy feeling in my stomach grew. Grandma never experimented with her recipes; she had them all memorized and perfect. Something was definitely off.

After dinner, I went to the living room, hoping to relax and forget the weirdness. But as I settled on the couch, I noticed something else. There were bugs—tiny spiders in the corners of the room, a beetle crawling across the floor. Grandma was always so clean. She hated bugs, yet here they were, as if they belonged.

I glanced over at Grandma, who was sitting in her armchair, knitting. Her hands moved swiftly, but there was something almost mechanical about the way she worked, like she was just going through the motions. I shivered, pulling my knees up to my chest.

“Grandma,” I said cautiously, “I think there’s a bug on the floor.”

She didn’t even look up from her knitting. “Oh, don’t worry about it, dear. They’re just harmless little things.”

Harmless. Grandma never said that. She would’ve jumped up and squashed it. My heart started to race. I needed to figure out what was going on. But how? I couldn’t just accuse her of being…different. What if it was just my imagination? What if—

No, I had to be sure. Something wasn’t right, and I needed to find out what.

That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The house was quiet, except for the occasional scuttling noise that I tried to ignore. I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Grandma’s too-wide smile and heard her strange voice.

I had to do something. I couldn’t just lie here and pretend everything was normal. Quietly, I slipped out of bed and crept down the stairs. The house was dark, the only light coming from the moon shining through the windows. I headed for the basement door, the place I’d always been too scared to explore. But tonight, fear was the least of my worries.

The basement was cold and damp, with a musty smell that made my nose wrinkle. I fumbled for the light switch, but it didn’t work. Great. I pulled out my phone and turned on the flashlight, the beam cutting through the darkness. The basement was just as creepy as I remembered, with old boxes and furniture covered in dust.

As I explored, my flashlight beam caught something strange—a cabinet that seemed out of place, pushed against the far wall. Curiosity gnawed at me. Why would Grandma keep a cabinet down here?

I pushed the cabinet aside, and my heart skipped a beat. There, hidden behind it, was a dark tunnel, just wide enough for a person to crawl through. The walls were rough and unfinished, and a cold draft blew from within, causing me to shiver.

I should’ve turned back. I should’ve run up those stairs and pretended I never found it. But something deep inside me, something stronger than my fear, pushed me forward. I had to know what was down there.

With my phone in one hand and my heart pounding in my chest, I crawled into the tunnel.

The tunnel seemed to go on forever, twisting and turning, until finally, it opened into a small, dimly lit chamber. My flashlight flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls. And then I saw her—Grandma. The real Grandma, bound in some kind of sticky webbing, her eyes wide with fear.

“Grandma!” I gasped, rushing over to her. I fumbled with the webbing, trying to tear it away, but it was tough and sticky, like nothing I’d ever felt before.

“Tory, you have to hurry,” Grandma whispered, her voice trembling. “She’ll be back any second.”

“Who? What’s going on?” I asked, my hands shaking as I finally ripped the last of the webbing away.

Before Grandma could answer, a noise echoed down the tunnel—a shuffling, clicking sound that made my blood run cold. I turned around, my flashlight beam trembling as I pointed it toward the tunnel entrance.

There, crawling into the chamber, was the imposter Grandma. But she wasn’t wearing Grandma’s skin anymore. She had burst out of it, revealing her true form—a monstrous humanoid beetle, with gleaming black eyes, sharp mandibles, and a hard, shiny exoskeleton that made my stomach churn.

I screamed, backing away as the creature advanced, its mandibles clicking menacingly.

“We have to go!” Grandma urged, grabbing my hand. Together, we stumbled out of the chamber, back into the tunnel, the beetle monster hot on our heels.

We ran out of the tunnel and into the basement, slamming the cabinet back in place. But the monster was strong, and I could hear it scratching and thumping behind the cabinet, trying to break through.

“Come on!” Grandma cried, pulling me toward the stairs.

We ran up the steps and into the kitchen, slamming the basement door behind us. But the monster wasn’t far behind. I could hear the door creak, crack and bang as it forced its way through.

“What do we do?” I gasped, my mind racing. We couldn’t just run. The monster was too fast, too strong.

Then I spotted it—the bottle of cooking oil on the counter, next to the stove. And the lighter Grandma always kept in the drawer for candles. An idea formed in my mind, crazy but our only shot.

“Grandma, get ready to run,” I said, grabbing the bottle of oil and the lighter. I doused the floor in oil, then flicked the lighter on.

The basement door burst open, and the beetle monster charged into the kitchen. Without thinking, I pressed the lighter to the oil-soaked floor.

There was a whoosh, and the monster screeched as flames engulfed it. The fire spread quickly, catching the curtains, the cabinets, everything. The heat was intense, but I didn’t stop to watch. I grabbed Grandma’s hand, and we ran out of the house, the flames licking at our heels.

Outside, we collapsed on the lawn, gasping for air. The house became a roaring inferno, the flames lighting up the night sky. I could hear the sirens in the distance, getting closer, but all I could think about was the tunnel, and the beetle monster.

When the firefighters arrived, they doused the flames, but the house was a total loss. I stood next to Grandma, watching as the fire chief approached us, his face grim.

“Did you find anything in the basement?” I asked, my voice shaking.

He shook his head. “No, but there’s a weird tunnel down there. We couldn’t go in—it’s too unstable.”

I nodded, relief washing over me. They hadn’t found the tunnel, or whatever might be lurking down there. But my relief was short-lived. What if there were more tunnels? More monsters?

As the firefighters packed up and drove away, our neighbors comforted us and made plans to host us, I stood there, staring at the smoldering ruins of Grandma’s house, and I realized something. The tunnels could be all over town, and if they were, I might have to stop them.

The end … or is it?

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