5AM and On

Rotting

When Sam lit their candle and saw the ghost children all standing before them, they were ready to turn and run faster than they ever had. However, they stopped in their tracks when they caught a glimpse of their hands. It wasn't that they forgot about the imminent threat standing in front of them, no, they were simply shocked to the core at the state of their hands. They looked like they belonged to someone else; boney, dry, and covered in cuts and scrapes. The dirt under their nails looked as if it had been there for ages, despite Sam knowing it wasn't there less than an hour ago. Though they could see the muscle of their palms and knuckles, there was no blood, just slightly greyed flesh. They also didn't hurt at all, despite their grisly appearance. It was like they were...decayed. The thought made them shudder.

Their attention was only drawn from their shaking hands when someone cleared their throat, making Sam snap their head up. The kids were still there, but they weren't attacking like before. The ones with the masks stood together, the broken one seemingly hiding behind the other, who tilted his head as one would when asking a question. The mole child looked almost like he was smiling, kneeling before the largest child, who held the smallest, the girl in the bunny sweater. She held her hand out to Sam, as if wanting to hold theirs. Or was it some sort of welcoming gesture? Whatever was happening, Sam didn't like it. They didn't like it at all.

They inhaled sharply, stepping back from the kids, trying to form any coherent thoughts or words. The best they got was a confused yelp, nearly stumbling as they continued retreating. "Stay-stay back! Don't hurt me!"

The masked ones flinched, the broken one huddling closer to the smiling one. The latter raised his hands, obviously trying to seem non-threatening. A voice came from behind the smiling countenance, surprisingly gentle. "We won't hurt you. There'd be no point now, anyway."

The girl spoke up next, voice echoing unnaturally. "I think you're like us. Usually people don't...stay, like we did."

Sam paused, heart dropping. "Stay? What do you mean stay?! What's going on?!"

"Isn't it obvious?" the boy continued. If Sam thought about it, he sounded a bit more annoyed than before. "You're dead."

He continued on, but Sam wasn't listening. Their mind seemed to stop entirely, just repeating what he'd said. They...they'd died? Gaze slowly shifting to their mutilated fingers, they tried to think of any other options, any other explanations, but none came.

Dead. They were dead.

Sam's vision blurred as their eyes filled with tears, breathing picking up. They couldn't die, they were only 16! They had a life to live! The idea of never seeing their friends again, never getting to grow up, never getting to do what they wanted with their life...it was overwhelming. They'd never complain about chores or school again, if just for the sake of being alive to deal with them. And their parents...God, their poor parents. Their mom would be devastated, and their dad would blame himself for not stopping them from leaving, they just knew it. How would they know what happened to Sam? Would their body be found? What if...?

They couldn't bear to think about it anymore. A wracking sob overtook them, and they fell to their knees, unable to tear their eyes from their horrible, rotted hands.