Night of Terror - Bob Velseb x Reader

CHAPTER 4 - ODD SERENITY

Throughout the entire trip back through the woods; neither of you had spoken - it's like you were both afraid of saying something false; although you assumed you were the only one that was actually afraid - since you were still lightly shaking against the fabric of his sweater, good hand gripping it because you feared you'd fall and clatter head first into the trail of dirt below; but your paranoia was useless, primarily because the grip he had on you was far too strong for you to barely even slip - it hindered you from moving anything inches below and above your chest and torso; even going as far as to feel as though you were being crushed, when in reality, you were perfectly fine. His jagged breaths were silenced, like they were many times before - but his iron-like steps remained, startling any animal that deemed confident enough to cross his path - it made everything scatter; much like it had done to you whilst you'd hopelessly tried to flee and call out for that obviously never incoming miracle - so now you'd finally given up. After all your failed attempts, all your pleas and wails - useless. Your hopes dispersed in your chest and made you appear as an empty shell; a husk-like embodiment of sorrow and carried cruelty with one singular task; one desire, that you could not fulfill. And now you sit in your thoughts once more, he carries you away - your limp body dragging against his; displaying you as a worthless puppet that couldn't even make it out after their fourth attempt.

You're torn from your thoughts when you can hear a door creak open - the light around you has dimmed and you finally try to look upwards; a living room? This must be his 'house'. But what did you expect? You yourself had known he would simply retrieve you like some lost dog, so there was no need to act surprised - and yet you were, because you halfway had still expected him to slaughter you because of your acts; because of how you'd upset him when you fled, even if he'd given you that sickeningly sweet nickname that you now oddly felt drawn to. And whilst he hadn't done it yet, he still could - and maybe that name-calling of his was just to lure you into a false sense of security, make you think he would spare you when truly his only intentions were to gut and devour you like a rabid canine; with you being the helpless lamb that just so happened to have gotten themselves scattered too far into the woods.

He stops - he remains completely still in the middle of the room as though he's unsure of what to do; but you can see his head shifting towards you - one of his manic-looking pupils, displaying an unfamiliar calmness that you have yet had to see from him. 

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BOB POV
It's odd. Truly, it is; I can't seem to decipher any of their emotions; their eyes seem dull, void of life - and for some reason I can't help but feel guilty - even when I shouldn't care, I do. This was my doing - it all happened in such a flash that I could barely even recognize my own actions. Scouting over them; the only thing visible are injuries and scars; they look exhausted - so beaten and bruised that they could be considered a lifeless doll with no meaning - but they weren't.

I stop staring and try to focus; each breath they take causes their chest to rise up against me - it's like a rhythm, never-ending and so subtle that I almost wouldn't of noticed.
I finally continue forwards; back up towards the direction of the room I'd settled them in just before they'd tried to flee - tried to evade me. But instead of taking a right towards said room; I go left - the direction to my own, small settlement - there isn't much within it, but it's certainly more comfortable than whatever scrap I'd forced them to rest upon.

The door creaks open silently; and I tend to cast another glance their way - immediately taking note of how they seemed to have fallen asleep - somehow. Approaching the worn down mattress in the center of the room, I carefully take ahold of them and kneel down, placing them on it. At the moment, there were no covers - I'd probably handle that later.

With silenced steps; I approach the mirror within the room. Below it is a small desk scattered with many papers of myself - and a few other minor details that were deemed uninteresting and placed aside. Both of my hands find themselves pressing against it as I lean in; trying to get a clear view of the already chipped red paint upon my face. This won't do, will it? Head darting to the left - I lock onto an overused handkerchief and grasp it, trying to wipe the paint from my face before eventually slipping off the cosmetic horns and hanging them on a crooked nail embedded within the wall. That's far better.

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YOUR POV

Your eyes slowly flutter open; but you cannot move, for some reason, your body feels slightly weak - this was familiar; just like before - you hadn't forgotten a second of what went down, and you doubt you ever would. Your eyes trail over the dimly light room and you can't help but almost scream once you noticed a face in the darkness - staring you down like some hungry animal waiting to pounce; and you know exactly who it is. It's him.

You don't budge, however, because there isn't much you can do besides stare and wait - wait for him to finally do something himself; to speak up like the many times he had spoken before you could; or maybe he was waiting for the right time to strike. Like you told yourself earlier; he could be luring you into a fall sense of security - could be drawing you near just to clamp down on your throat and leave you to choke on your own crimson - the blood that would flow around you would make you sick; you knew it would.
"Oh, yer' awake." , his voice catches you off guard, and whilst you'd been daydreaming - daydreaming of how many ways he could possibly murder you; it seems he hadn't actually noticed you at all - instead, perhaps he was stuck in his own thoughts. He stands up from the chipped and tattered chair he'd been sitting on; advancing towards you. Yet again, fear strikes through you and you lightly squirm; being unable to move or speak lingering on you like a deadly curse that would never vanish. He kneels down beside you - and oddly enough, outstretches hand that carefully grasps your cheek and.. strokes it? Your face flushes red and your brows furrow. Alright, this was getting weird and you were desperate for an explanation. First, the nickname, and now this. His eyes are half-lidded and dull, just like yours had been previously - he seems at ease, his breathing is no longer erratic and loud - but even and almost inaudible. Wait a god damn minute.

His face. His face was no longer a deep crimson; and his horns had suddenly vanished. He had messy black hair and a beard - his manic eyes remained, but.. Were they not real? I mean, judging by everything that's happened thus far, you were sure he was  a demon, coming to damn you to hell for your wrongdoings - or simply just because he felt like it, because he was the curse of Halloween; its was what you'd crammed into your train of thought and left to cower away for god knows how long.
He shifts slightly; sitting next to you on the mattress with his hand still clasped against your cheek; thumb still lightly stroking it - what was he doing? Your face was still practically glowing - and you knew he could tell. He was grinning at you; you felt as though you were being mocked, but at the same time, you couldn't be sure - it was as though you were left in a daze from all of this; from his actions and words, from what had happened and all the panic you'd gone through only to be led to this. Of course, it was far preferred over being brutally split in two and eaten, but it bewildered you.
His breathing picks up again; it becomes more audible than it had been before and he shifts again - both of his legs now present on the bed with you, and you have to more your head and bend your neck slightly upwards to even see him correctly. He tilts his head at you, eyes narrowing to gaze over your tattered form. He begins to drool - it seeps down the corner of his mouth and drops down onto the floor, the bed - and even your shirt. His breathing is becoming slightly erratic - not chaotically enough to be considered scary; but its beginning to creep you out to the point you strain yourself and push backwards against the wall; but he only moves forth, the hand on your cheek disappears and instead grips your waist; pulling you forth and against him. Oh boy.

What's gotten into him?

(1572 words) 
THIS CHAPTER CAME OUT WAY LATER THAN I HAD PLANNED SORRY