Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-29192496-20170430222347

On his lap was his lunch, under him was a bench and before him, or around him rather, was the park. Not much to be said. Plenty of trees tons of people he liked it here. Calming, somewhat empty, words he associated with this place.

Head held low he started to make his way through the plastic bag getting to the sandwiches inside. It proved to be difficult given his nervousness. The cause? Simple, the lady that sat next to him. He was unaware of her till a few moments ago. Manage to get a peek of her through the corner of his eye.

“Hi oh is this seat taken, my name’s Montri.”

He shook his head.

“Hi my bad I tend to be clumsy.”

He hated this approach as well. He took a deep breath and turned to her, figuring there was no point in worrying at all, but he found something strange…

Head held low, fingers still entwined with the plastic bag on her lap. Her hair loose and covering the sides of her face.

In a quick glance, merely moving his eyes upwards, he started to investigate a couple of the others.

All of them were still.

He felt, slightly odd. The best way he could put it. Think of it as slightly skewed. He knew something was wrong but couldn’t truly come to grips with it because nothing had happened.

He gave a nervous smile, “odd don’t you think, did I just miss something?”

Nothing. Cautiously he nudged her shoulder.

She fell over, lying limply on the ground, her face mostly gone.

This scared him to say the least. He recoiled back pressing himself against the bench finding himself glancing at the others wondering if they were the same.

As if crawling out of some nonexistent corner of the world. As if reaching, or pouring from some gap that shouldn’t exist he heard footsteps. Loud footsteps. Thick boots hitting what sounded like concrete when it should surly be grass.

Terrified, not even at what happen despite it taking it’s toll, but by some sense of pressure. Like he could hear the trumpets of rapture. The end closing on him.

He slowly turned around.

To his right the corpse, to his left a vast expanse of grass dotted with trees. Inbetween these was a figure. If he had to guess seven feet at least. Slowly dragging it’s feet as it would appear. Barely putting pressure into it’s steps it would seem but yet still the footsteps. Loud, crushing, damning in many forms. He himself fell off of the bench. His entire being shaking. He found himself shaking his head, silently screaming no into the oncoming expanse of darkness. His legs kicking at the ground propelling him backwards.

One step…

Two steps…

Three steps…

He stopped when he hit something, not because he looked back but because he failed to move the object. He didn’t quit. With all of the strength he could put into his legs he pushed himself back. Nothing. He glanced down at his right side.

Nails that etched themselves into dirt.

This puzzled him but didn’t stop him. He continued to push.

“Why are you in such a rush,” someone whispered into his ear, “just relax. I’ll give you the conversation you so wanted.”

He felt a hand gently wrap itself around his waist. Embracing him.

The footsteps seemed to stop and the silence drew his attention. He sat there blank, scared, still trembling. Breathing heavy, fingers clenching the dirt beneath him. After a few moments he seemed to beak out of his spell and looked down at his stomach.

The hand wasn’t there.

He spun around.

She was still lying down. Not moving, haven’t moved.

His breathing picked up again. He quickly took another glance around but saw no one or rather, the corpses had left.

He stood up.

It was hard to think. Nearly impossible. His heart raced along with his mind. The ill blood coursing from one and fueling the other. Blood contaminated with fear and the base instinct to run.

“Fight or Flight,” his body asked.

“The latter,” he replied.

“Where to,” his doubt asked.

“Great point,” he sumized.

He had nowhere, in some sense yes but what was that thing? Can it follow him? It appeared and disappeared. In his head he had a vision.

He was lying in his bed, a scared child in this for some reason, sheets up to his nose, parents away yet still the door slowly creeps open. No one enters just the shadow of man eclipsing a light in the hall outside. The shadow reaches up on the bed. Covering the sheets, getting higher an higher. Despite what it is he can feel weight, like someone pressing on him. Higher and higher till it reaches his throat.

He couldn’t bear to entertain the thought anymore.

“So run,” his body asked again.

As if he could hear it he nodded. Mere coincidence however as this was decision made by himself. To flee but still the question was where.

He scanned his surroundings.

To his left the expanse of grass with trees, in the distance was a public bathroom, to his front mostly the same. Less trees and more of an open field. Now that he looked at it he could see things lying in the grass. From what it seemed to be it was leashes and frisbeez. To his right a path. To his knowledge one of the only in the park to be paved. If memory suited him it led into the woods, winded back around and let to the other side of the park. That’s if he remember it correctly, also nagging at him was one other thing, a faint warning not to use the path, something about it being old and the markings not being the easiest things to find. He wasn’t sure if that was truth or him finding every reason not to venture into woods while something was chasing him.

No good.

He knew that whatever it was wouldn’t just leave him, unless, luckily, it was a warning. Something telling him to leave the park before he gets hurt.

He shook his head.

That couldn’t be it. Forward, right or left? He chose his left. To run. To get to the main road at the least. When he turned to run the whisper came back.

“Leaving so soon,” a slight giggle, “I really wanted to know more about you. You were saying something about your mother,” he started to slowly and hesitantly turn his head, “you know,” her voice tinged with a mix of joy and interest as if she had really been told this, “the story about the time you added salt instead of sugar to the cake,” she laughed again, “that was very funny.”

He didn’t turn his head entirely only enough to glance back.

He froze.

Behind him were a swarm of people. Those at the park if he had to guess based on their attire. All of them frozen, standing still like mannequins with twisted grins on their faces. Turned sideways and leaning forward with a hand by their ear as if listening in. As if waiting for his response.

He ran.

He tore his way through the trees. Dodging them, as if a expert he darted from side to side barely skimming past them. His form, however, was far from professional, hands flailing at his sides, his steps broad and overall lacking in balance. Many times he had to claw at the dirt to prevent himself from fully falling. His hair caught in the wind and in someways dancing behind him and his cheeks rippling the wind and the force of his steps.

He felt a tiny pair of hands wrap themselves around his throat, the half asleep voice of a child emanating from just behind his ear, “if you keep on running like this I’ll get sick.”

On instinct, much like when a bug crawls unto your neck, he reach behind him, grabbed the child by the back of her dress and slammed her into an oncoming tree. He glanced back.

The child was frozen. Merely lying on the ground. The groups seemed to have stopped. All of them frozen into positions of running. As if mimicking him. He tried his best to pay them no mind and in an act he realized after he committed it, he ran into, and locked himself into, the bathroom.

Slamming the door behind him he waited for his breath calm down. He stood facing the door. Adjusting in some sense. It occurred to him what he did. Feet still planted and lower mass in place, he turned around leaning himself back a bit. Getting a good look at the bathroom. Checking it. Seeing lied inside.

All four of the stalls were open, a quick scan revealed no one. He was slightly at ease, just slightly. His head still jerked from side to side and slights noise had him jump.

One step…

Two steps…

Three steps…

He was returning. Funny enough before he heard the footsteps he noticed the mirror vibrate.

Four steps…

Five steps…

Pause.

He instinctively turned towards the door. Like before the silence had begged for attention. It, in someways, was louder than the footsteps themselves.

Nothing.

He wasn’t going to stand around. He made his way for one of the stalls but before he could get to it he saw a hand reach through the door. Not interacting with it, but merely phasing through it. Then there was knee. Whatever it was it was wearing black.

He made his way into the stall and locked it. A thought occurred. His stall was the only to be closed. Quickly he opened the stall, he had to somewhat stop himself so the he could cautiously peer out. A leg and a hand but he could make out what looked like a shoulder. Not much time. He closed the stall he just exited and began to close the others.

His other hand came through the door. Fingers outstretched as if reaching for something.

Door 2 closed, he made his way to the third.

His forearm, elbow.

Door Three closed. By this point he was starting to see bits of his face or was it a mask. It was the shape of a nose and some stitches from what he could see. He made his way into stall four and locked it.

Imagine a sound somewhere between the squeal of a dying pig and nails on a chalkboard, or at least that’s the best description that he could give. It sounded sort of mournful too. The cry of the mystery.

When his foot phased through and hit the floor the tiles cracks and the stalls shook. He recoiled and hugged his feet. Moving them from off of the ground and unto toilet seat with him.

In somewhat quick move the mystery made his way into bathroom. As if it’s slow movement before were self aware. Like it knew that he was in there and felt like paying a game with him.

Through the bottom of the stall door he could see it’s shadow. Memories of that thing he imagined resurfaced.

It didn’t move. According to the shadow he could tell that it was looking around. Wait. This called out to him as odd. It’s shadow didn’t interact with the door, it passed right through it, sitting at the base of the toilet bowl.

His shaking started to worsen.

It inched forward, literally, still supporting the idea that this was some sort of game to him. Like a kid bragging about what he could do. As he shuffled forward his shadow moved as well, cementing the concept that it doesn’t act naturally. As if to say he is an absence of light that’s like no other. A shadow so dark it passes through objects.

It stood still.

Silence consumed the room but not for long. A clicking noise, muffled to some extent filled the bathroom.

It began to move.

As it walked the stalls shook. The sound of their rather flimsy components leaping up and down. Jiggling in their spots and hitting each other. The sounds of the screws shifting around in their places. The sound of the mirror cracking.

It walked slowly but didn’t seem to look around. It didn’t open any stalls or at least from what he could hear.

Silence fell once more.

Tension grew. His own heartbeat seemed almost like a yell. His breathing a proclamation of his presence.

“Don’t move, don’t say anything. Breath when you need to. Heart calm down,” his own internal prayer. His message to himself.

A few hours disguised as seconds passed.

Nothing.

The clicking noise return accompanied by the sound of nails scraping against something.

“Scratch, scratch scratch,” mockingly, playfully.

The scratching noise grew closer.

“Hi have you seen my child,” pause, “no no I think this it’s rather insane to answer yourself,” right by his ear. He could smell their breath, a soup of rotting flesh, he could feel the air escaping their mouths, warm and humid. A chuckle and the voice changed, still the same person just shifting the pitch of their voice, “but I think you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

He jumped a bit and turned his head. Nothing but the fine line between him and uncertainty.

The scratching picked up again, this time lower.

He glanced down.

Too scared to turn his head he lowered his eyes.

Hands, countless pairs reaching from the other stall into his.

They were frozen, still much like the people before.

He trembled. Almost falling he steadied himself by pressing his left hand against the wall for support. His right hand clasped over his mouth to stop himself from screaming and to mask his heavy breathing. Eyes still fixed on the floor. The hands. Scared to look but even more to turn away. In the corner of his frame, the edge of his sight, he saw it’s shadow. It’s breathing seemed to seep in. Slowly he turned his head. Just a bit. His frame, in one corner the hands, in the other a shadow standing outside of the door.

It rose it’s hand and knocked on the stall door.

He jumped, the nails on his right hand was digging into his cheeks, his blood flowing between his fingers. His head making slight jitters and his eyes shaking.

Knock…

Knock…

Knock…

Each time he jumped and each time the door threatened to give away. Even from inside he could see the way the door was deformed.

The area his hand made contact with was curved in.

It stopped. The lights had started to flicker, the mirror broke showering the floor in glass. As the light flickered on and off more shapes appeared. More shadows. At last it was done.

The room, swallowed by darkness and filled with silence. Now, more than ever it seemed more prolific than the noise. The door slowly swung open.

He stayed still and closed his eyes. His heart was pounding and he was trying his best to calm down. After what felt like years he finally got up and peered out.

The bathroom door slowly opened shining light into bathroom. The sinks had overflown covering the floor in a thin layer of water. Many bodies lied face down. He maneuvered his way around them and exited. 