The boy without a heart

Trevor was trying to get some sleep but he couldn't. Studying and working at the same time had finally gotten onto him, so he decided to get up and go for a glass of milk, nothing's better than a hot, warm glass of milk. He slowly walked down the stairs, being as quiet as possible to not wake up his parents. The old wood planks were making faint noises as the boy went downstairs, as he reached the lower floor, he realized that he had not brought a flashlight or any kind of light source, he had always feared the dark, yet he decided to go for it anyways. "Foolish." thought to himself.
“Why are you trying to play the brave boy suddenly? Are you even that thirsty? Why do this?
He kept questioning himself as he slowly walked towards the kitchen, with his arms extended because he couldn’t see and didn’t want to bump into anything. He kept walking almost blindly until he reached the doorframe, where he quietly opened the door and stepped inside, once within reach of the refrigerator, he slowly pulled the door open and crouched, looking for the reward of his bravery. After finding the milk he closed the door, opened the kitchen drawer and took out a mug ready to pour milk on it, but something felt off, as if someone was watching him. He turned around with slow movements, trying to stay hidden, even though he was not. When he finally turned around, he didn't see anything, just an empty room. He sighed and headed for the stairs, but as he was leaving the kitchen, something whispered
“S.T. A. Y.”
Trevor froze in fear, He quickly looked behind him, but nothing was there. Trevor kept looking around, he rushed for the kitchen drawer and pulled out a knife, he aimed it towards the oven, where he thought the sound came from.
“Who's there?” He asked in a shy tone, no response was heard, "I said, who's there?!", he kept asking, as if trying to lure out the intruder, if there even was one. He eventually gave up and put the knife back where it belonged.
“You fool! We’ll die because of you! We are unarmed.” Trevor thought to himself again, the voices in his head kept criticizing his decisions as he went upstairs and back to his room. But suddenly, something grabbed his shoulder and pulled him down, making him fall onto his back. He froze again, he quickly got up and scanned the area, looking for who made him fall, yet no one was there, again. “Am I going crazy?”
“Y. E S.” Answered a faint voice, Trevor finally saw it, there was a big black figure standing in front of him, its eyes two black holes, too deep to tell where the void ended, its mouth closed shut, yet he could tell he had sharp teeth behind those lips. He tried asking, fighting, running, yet he couldn’t move, he could only make small, scary noises, as a dying mouse lets out its final gasps for air, for life.
hear it as if the words were penetrating his brain.
The figure slowly reached for Trevor’s chest, its hand long, black as its empty eyes, its nails long and sharp as claws. The creature slowly pointed at his heart and touched it, being oddly gentle. ‘M. I. N. E.’ He didn’t understand what it meant, yet deep down the sensation felt familiar.
‘Please, please don't—’ He couldn’t finish, as the black figure that was right in front of him disappeared in the blink of an eye. He didn’t realize it was gone until after a few minutes. It took a while for him to fully calm down. He then went back to the kitchen, grabbed the knife, and rushed to his parents’ room, ready to ask for their help. Yet he couldn’t finish his task; the boy fell as he was about to reach the doorknob. He dropped the knife, and his eyes shut closed.
He woke up in his room; nothing had changed. Was it a dream? No. It felt too real; it had to be true. He checked the stairs, the doorknobs, and the kitchen, but found no signs of yesterday's events. As he was leaving the kitchen, he saw the mug. Before he could scream, he fainted. He died.
His parents, friends, the neighborhood, the news—everyone heard about the end of this odd story, and his autopsy tells us why.
His heart was missing.