A Night Alone

I wanted to write a horror story amd halfway through got the idea to make several references to Bohemian Rhapsody. I thoroughly enjoyed writing this

Fred's sheets rustled as he turned onto his back, having just woken from a dream. The ceiling fan spun silently, doing little to cool his sweaty face. As he stared at his ceiling, shrub branches knocked against his window, stirred by the wind. A faint blue glow emanated from his TV. He turned to the window where a dull yellow light cast a bleak shadow on his blinds. Amorphous blobs shook just outside.
"A letter which his mother has released to the public, two weeks after he was first suspected of the murder of-" the reporter said, standing outside an abandoned gas station. Fred couldn't hear the tv over the whistling wind so he raised the volume.
"The gun he used lying on the floor of this abandoned-" he continued.
Ever since he was a child, Fred had been afraid of the dark. It was a phobia that was exacerbated by his parent's love of horror films and their habitation if an old, perpetually "settling," house. The various creaks and groans were enough to give him sleeping problems. His sleeping schedule already doomed, he decided against spending his nights in abject terror and kept his tv on all throughout the night. His clock, which read seventeen after 2, reminded him that he kept it on all morning too.
Another tactic he used to keep his sanity was hanging a mirror on the wall opposite his window. His eyes would normally dart to the mirror, hoping not to see a looming shadow pressed against the glass right behind him. The fact that he had never seen something of the like only served to surprise him more when the silhouette of a man stood behind the shrubs outside his window. He bolted upright and turned to the window. He saw the same plants that had occupied the perimeter of his house for the past ten years. Hands sweaty, heart racing, Fred breathed hard. His phone vibrated and he nearly screamed. It was a text from his mom that read
"Turn it down, we're trying to bone."
His mother's sense of humour helped him settle down a little. But only a little.
Fred put his phone down and checked the mirror. Nothing. He checked the window. Nothing. He lied down again and looked past his feet at the tv. As irrational as it was, he knew the soft glow was enough to keep him safe. He picked up the remote and pressed the volume button. Then he stopped.
"Police say the boy, 17, was alone in his house when the murderer broke in."
His phone rang. It was another message. But Fred was too busy staring at the screen to reply to his mother. Yellow tape surrounded a small one story house. Red and blue lights flashed against the ugly beige paint his parents decided to use on the outside. The front door to the house was ajar with the same wreath he'd been to lazy to take down hung a little off center.
"The suspect is still at large," the reporter continued.
"And frankly, Fred, it's gonna stay that way."
His eyes widened and darted to the wall next to his window. A shadow stood completely still. Then it started growing. The floor creaked.
"There's no point in crying out, Fred," the reporter said.
"No one will hear you."
The shadow continued to grow.
"Please," Fred whispered.
"Please. I don't want to die."
"All hail Beelzebub, the terrible."
The reporter started to laugh.
Suddenly the power went out. Silence permeated the small room and only the sound of a single footstep disturbed it. Thunder crashed, casting a sharp blue light into the empty room. Rain pattered on the window. His phone rang.
The new message that said, "we're almost home," went unread. Wind whistled under the empty house. The roof creaked under the pressure of the downpour.

Author's Note

I just want honest opinions. If it's good, what makes it good, if it's bad how can I improve it. Stuff like that. Also, I'd like to know what audience this would suit best. Out of personal curiosity