Tim and Eric’s Bedtime Stories Father Krang

Father Krang

In the quiet, fog-draped town of Bleakwood, there stood an old, crumbling mansion known as the Krang Estate. It had been abandoned for decades, its broken windows like empty eyes staring out over the dead hills. The townsfolk whispered about its last inhabitant, a man known only as Father Krang.

Tim and Eric, twin brothers in their mid-thirties, had grown up hearing the stories. Father Krang was a priest, they said, who had turned to dark arts when grief overtook him after the death of his wife and child. No one knew exactly what had happened inside the mansion, but the locals swore they could still hear the faint cries of children on moonless nights.

One autumn evening, fueled by equal parts curiosity and boredom, Tim and Eric decided to finally uncover the truth. Armed with flashlights, a digital recorder, and a skeptical sense of humor, they entered the mansion.

The air inside was heavy, thick with the smell of rot and something metallic. The walls were adorned with faded murals depicting celestial beings, their faces chipped and weathered. But it wasn’t the murals that caught Tim’s attention—it was a peculiar symbol carved repeatedly into the woodwork: a spiral with an eye at its center.

“Creepy,” Eric muttered, running his fingers over the carving.

They ventured deeper into the mansion, their footsteps echoing off the cracked marble floors. In the study, they found a dusty journal bound in leather. The name Father Krang was etched on the cover.

As they flipped through its pages, the brothers discovered a chilling narrative. Father Krang had been experimenting with ways to bring his daughter back to life. He believed that by tapping into the “Veil,” a boundary between the living and the dead, he could summon her spirit and anchor it to the physical world.

“The Veil demands sacrifice,” one entry read. “A soul for a soul.”

The journal grew increasingly erratic. By the final pages, Father Krang claimed he had succeeded—but at a terrible cost. He described a “shadow child” that returned in place of his daughter, a creature that was neither alive nor dead.

Suddenly, the air grew colder. The brothers’ flashlights flickered.

“Let’s get out of here,” Tim said, his voice trembling.

But as they turned to leave, a faint sobbing echoed through the halls. It was a child’s cry, soft but heart-wrenching. Against every instinct, they followed the sound to the basement.

There, in the flickering light, they found a small figure sitting in the corner. It was a little girl, her back to them, dressed in tattered, old-fashioned clothing.

“Hello?” Eric called out cautiously.

The girl turned her head, and both brothers froze. Her face was pale and hollow, her eyes like deep, endless voids. She smiled, revealing rows of jagged teeth.

Before they could react, the room plunged into darkness. The last thing they heard was her voice, soft and melodic.

“Father promised you would come.”

When the townsfolk found the brothers’ car abandoned outside the mansion the next day, the doors were locked, and the keys were still inside. Tim and Eric were never seen again.

In the weeks that followed, new carvings appeared on the mansion’s walls: spirals with eyes at their center. And on quiet, moonless nights, the townsfolk swore they could hear not one, but two children crying from within.