He hides between the lockers in the hallway, watching faceless bodies pass, chatting, laughing, shouting, talking – all of them, every single one of them just plain, ignoring him. He sees a stronger boy in himself, one who steps out of his safe little space and confronts one of those many strangers, and then–

‘I can’t.’

Here comes his little voice once more, a quiet little tinkle at the back of his mind (most of the time) yet sometimes (oh, far too often) it surfaces and then he becomes so, so confused. It tells him evil things so beautiful his desires soar, and wraps him up in a cocoon, ties him to a heavy, heavy rock and drowns him in a dark, dark well rocking with angry waves.

This little boy (they call him Jonghyun) frantically puts his arms around that voice and struggles, pushing it back into its deep recesses and locking it up with a rusty dusty padlock. Perspiration matts his hair and his eyes stare ahead, wild, pants escaping his dry cracked lips.

He’s safe, for now.

The people notice him now, that pathetic excuse of a human crouching in his tiny dungeon. They point, whisper, snicker loudly, hoping their words slip through the gaps in his trembling fingers. His sobs become noticeable as his shoulders shake harder, little gasps (badly concealed) coming out between bloody lips.

Someone kneels down and taps his shoulder lightly. He looks up into concerned eyes which he deems foreign, strange and very, very dangerous. He falls back, scrambling against the dirty wall as his knees buckle continuously. He sees the hand reaching out sprout claws and grow a scaly layer, coated by lime-green slime dripping onto the floor. They’re coming for him, searching for him, hunting for him, won’t let him escape, won’t let him run, don’t let him go, don’t touch me, don’t hurt me, don’t–

‘Kill him.’

His hands shoot out and wrap around the stranger’s neck, tightening, tightening, tightening. He sees those eyes fill with shock and fright, tastes the fear so tangible it’s comforting. He sees those scaly hands reach for his neck and lets out a shriek, forcing all his meager energy into his clammy hands. It’s a clean break. He drops the entrails, flinging away the tell-tale liquid and smearing the lockers with it. A strangled cry tears through his throat as he stumbles down the empty hallway, painting his shadows red.

(“Patient is having nightmares again. Seventeen minutes since.”

“Sedate him.”)

Jonghyun turns the corner and sees a couple sitting on the floor, holding a smiling girl in their arms. He staggers back, tripping over a scythe and falling painfully to the floor. The couple tenderly place their little girl down and stand up, walking towards him with open arms and warm (icy) smiles. He covers his eyes, letting his screams increase in volume to drown out their tempting coercing.

“Oppa.”

He drops his hands immediately and takes in the sight. The couple lie face-down with blades protruding from their backs. He hears a soft giggle behind him and turns to see the little girl smiling ever so sweetly. Her dark red lips contrast with unblemished fair skin, brown locks held back by grey tattered ribbons.

‘Run.’

Too late. Her lips peel back, revealing jagged teeth tainted with dried blood. He swerves, her fangs barely missing his skin. His elbows rams into her skull, hard, sending a crack resounding through still air. He grabs her shoulder, the other hand on her head, wringing it off as she screams bloody murder. He flees, her dead limbs slithering on the floor grasping where his legs were.

(“Patient’s condition is unstable. Body spasms, heart beat two hundred and ten. Twenty-eight minutes since.”)

He runs, runs blindly and in a moment finds himself in a tiny room. He hears the ‘click’ as the door locks. He turns wildly, hammering on the wooden door in panic. Trapped. He is trapped. Must escape. Find a way out. Run away–

“You found me.”

He sees a cloaked figure emerge from the lurking shadows – way too cliché, yet so very frightening. He knows this being. The one who is made up of white bones (sometimes rotting) and carries the oh-so-threatening tool all the time. Time? The word echoes in his mind and he feels, rather than sees the walls start to close in, the room grow smaller – their gradual attempts to choke and tear the life from him. The converging floor brings the Reaper closer, and skeletal fingers peek out from sagging sleeves.

The Reaper is within reach. Jonghyun s out his arms, gripping a neck (so thin the bones seem to shatter) somewhere in the darkness of the hood. It breaks almost effortlessly. The hood falls back, and the skull hangs at a distorted angle. It sends him a grin and his scream rips through his throat at the same time he feels his head being wrenched clean off. He dangles by the ends of his hair from the Reaper’s fingers and feels his scalp hurting at the roots. His body (now headless) stands for a few seconds before slumping to the floor in a heap.

(“Patient pronounced dead. Thirteenth february, six forty-seven a.m.”)

In his coffin eight feet under, his eyes spring open burning red.

Challenge #5 | 13/05/2013 | 14/05/2013 – 16/05/2013