Chapter Fifteen: Ricky

8 3 0
                                    

Ricky took a deep breath as he stepped through the large double doors leading into the old folks home. It was old and he heard news about it closing down soon, he could see why since the walls were already crumbling. He walked up to the front desk, his legs shaking.

He cleared his throat. "I'm here to see Ricky Krauss." The secretary looked surprised.

"Really? No one ever comes to visit him." She leaned in close. "Everyone thinks he's crazy." Ricky raised his eyebrows.

Really? He nodded and asked again if he could see him.

"Oh! Yes, sorry. Room 218." She smiled and pointed to the old rickety elevator.

"T-thanks." He slowly walked over to the one person elevator, the doors open and Ricky stepped in. It rose up quickly and the old metal doors creaked open. The white wall paper was peeling and the floor creaked as he walked to room 218. His stomach was twisted in a knot and his feet were as heavy as cement blocks, dragging him down to almost a stop. He finally arrived in front of the door. Ricky stood. Still. Staring. What was behind this door terrified him. Almost everything did these days though. He couldn't help but fear what was around every corner, behind every door. Too many times he was left with just his thoughts. Taking a deep breath, Ricky turned to handle. The door opened with a slow creak and Ricky stepped into a dimly lit room, the curtains shut tight in front of a small window, and a small single bed in the one corner of the room. There was a man in the bed.

No.

Ricky was in the bed.

He walked over to the off white bed and sat on the end of it, sneaking quick glances at the face that was in a deep sleep. It looked so much like him, except the deep wrinkles and short grey hair.

"R-Ricky?" He stuttered. The mans eyes shot open.

"You came!" The old man shot up, eyes darting around the room. "You dont know how long I've waited." His voice was the same as Ricky's, but far more aged. "Don't tell the spirits you came. They are angry these days." Suddenly the curtains slowly opened, the metal rings clanking against the bar, the man, the other Ricky, screamed. "THEYRE HERE. THEY KNOW! THEY KNOW!" He cried, clutching his head.

"Ricky! W-what's happening?!"

The man stared at Ricky with bloodshot eyes. "They're coming." Thick, dark blood oozed from the window. Dripping down over the greyish wilted flowers and making small pools of red on the floor. White noise filled the room and wind picked up, even though the windows were closed. Screeches filled Ricky's ears and he collapsed to the ground, his hands held tightly over his bleeding ears. He struggled for breath.

"S-stop!" He managed to stutter. "What the hell do you want from me?!" Then everything when silent.

Deadly silent.

"They never stop." The man, Ricky, began. "Every day. None stop. The sounds the blood!" He held his head. "Oh god all the blood."

What happened to me? Ricky thought as he stared at himself. The man sitting before him was not Ricky. It couldn't be. This man was broken, insane!

"H-hey! Calm down ok." Ricky said, standing back up, barely being supported by his shaking legs. His phone buzzed. A text...

"from Shawn?" He mumbled to himself. He heard the old man gasp and scramble towards the phone.

Hey man the kid is safe at the cabin where r u

"Ricky?" Ricky started. "What happened to Shawn?" A shadow seemed to cover the mans face.

"Shawn?" He said darkly. "I-I don't talk about him much."

Wait what?

"W-why? Why don't you talk about Shawn anymore?"

The man stared up at him with wide eyes. "Because Shawn is dead."

Below The WavesWhere stories live. Discover now