The Assitant

THE ASSISTANT

A Psychological Horror Novel by Johny Griffith   Architect of Chaos. Builder of Truth.

Chapter One: The Smile That Lied

Gloria was sixty-two. She had a smile that could fool God. She wore it like armor—tight, practiced, and permanent.

She worked at a meat shop, scrubbing blood off steel counters and dragging garbage bags that dripped secrets. She worked nights at a school, mopping hallways that echoed with laughter she hated.

She was always the assistant. Never the boss. Never the bride. Never the one chosen.

Her coworkers called her “sweet.” They didn’t know she rejoiced when couples broke up. They didn’t know she whispered curses into mop water. They didn’t know she came from a bloodline of witches.

She did. And she was proud of it.

Chapter Two: Christine

Christine was her only daughter. A mirror cracked at birth.

She was awkward. Jealous. Possessive.

She couldn’t spell. She couldn’t charm. She couldn’t hold a conversation without turning it into a war.

She was obsessed with Shawn Frank. The son of Gloria’s boss. Smart. Handsome. Popular.

Christine stalked him. Watched him. Claimed him.

Even though they never dated.

Every girl who spoke to Shawn became Christine’s enemy. She spread rumors. Started fights. Made scenes.

Until one day, Shawn snapped.

Chapter Three: The Lime

It was in front of the class. Christine had cornered him again. Accused him of flirting. Of cheating. Of lying.

He stood up. Walked to her desk. Dropped a lime.

“Use this. Wash your armpits. You stink.”

The class exploded. Christine froze. Then ran.

She never forgot. Gloria never forgave.

That night, Gloria held her daughter as she cried. Then she lit a candle. Drew a sigil. And whispered:

“You will be unhappy, Shawn. Your wife will leave you. Your kids will hate you.”

Chapter Four: The Family That Wouldn’t Break

Shawn married young. Had three children. Built a business. Built a name.

Every time Gloria cursed him, he rose higher.

She sacrificed rats. Cats. Even a stray dog once.

She buried bones. Burned hair. Spoke names backwards.

But Shawn kept smiling.

His wife, Amara, was strong. Beautiful. Spiritual.

She lit incense every morning. Prayed over her children. Kept salt at every doorway.

Gloria hated her most of all.

Chapter Five: The Spiral

Gloria began to unravel.

She stopped sleeping. Started talking to mirrors. Started seeing shadows that didn’t belong.

She cursed Shawn every week. But his family only grew stronger.

She started to believe they weren’t human. That they were protected by something ancient. Something stronger than her.

She began planning something final.

Chapter Six: The Night of Blood

It was raining. The school was empty. Gloria wore black.

She carried a jar of blood. A knife. And a doll made of bones.

She broke into the Frank home. Midnight. Silence.

She entered the nursery first. Saw the baby. Paused.

Then she heard a voice.

“I knew you’d come.”

Shawn stood in the doorway. Holding a candle. Eyes calm.

“You stink, Gloria. Not your armpits. Your soul.”

She screamed. Charged.

He didn’t move. He whispered something in a language she didn’t know.

She froze. Her limbs locked. Her mouth sealed.

“My family is protected. You were never strong. Just loud.”

He stepped forward. Raised the candle.

“You broke homes. Now you’ll live in one.”

He placed the candle on the floor. Lit a circle of salt. Chanted.

Gloria screamed inside her body. But no sound came out.

Her spirit was pulled from her flesh. Trapped.

Chapter Seven: The Ending That Wasn’t

They found her body the next morning. Collapsed in the meat shop freezer. Smile frozen on her face.

No one cried. No one asked.

Christine disappeared. Some say she went mad. Some say she still watches the Frank family from the woods.

But every now and then, when someone walks past the Frank house at night, they hear a whisper.

“You stink.”

And the lights flicker.

Author’s Note

By Johny Griffith Architect of Chaos. Builder of Truth.

This story isn’t fiction. It’s a mirror.

Gloria exists. Not just in one town, one freezer, one curse. She’s in every hallway that smells too clean. Every smile that feels too rehearsed. Every whisper that spreads faster than truth.

You’ve met her. You just didn’t know it.

I don’t write to entertain. I write to expose. To peel back the skin of normalcy and show you what festers beneath.

They’re out there. Smiling. Waiting. And they never forget.