Lost | Creepypasta Gender-Neutral Reader Insert

Worn Ribbons

[Author's note before we start!  I apologize for the long gap in writing.  Updates might be slow for a while, but it is not abandoned!  There may be a slight continuity error as it's been a while, but I'm trying my best to keep things going!  As a heads up, there may be a bit of discomfort in this chapter.  Evidence of a child dealing poorly with divorce.  I'm not sure how to describe it.  I'm just letting you guys know.]

Once Toby agrees to go up the stairs with you, you grin.  Perfect.  Your mind wants to explore and wants to learn.  It wants to follow the forgotten path that your body still knows.  You don't say anything else before you turn and start to go up the stairs, your steps making them creak.  It takes a moment, but you hear an exasperated sigh before Toby begins following you.  

The top of the stairs is different.  The air feels cold like someone left a window open, but there is no draft.  It looks relatively untouched compared to the rest of the place.  Sleeping may be a good way to describe it. 

"Why are the lights off?" you inquire, more to yourself than anything.  Toby doesn't answer, but you know he's still there, still behind you, following reluctantly.  There are old paintings or pictures hanging on the walls though they're covered by sheets.  As though someone is mourning something.  It doesn't seem as though anyone has been up here in a while.  

There's a rug beneath your shoes, dampening the sound of your footfalls.  Eyes wandering, you take it in.  Lights on the walls, but none are lit; cobwebs hanging on them like lace, intricate and forgotten.  Curiosity is the main thing on your mind, wondering why you have such an urge to be up here.   Your legs continue to carry you until you stand at a door.  One of many in this hall.  

Why this one?  This one in particular?  Why is there such an urge to reach out, to enter?  You've always had a strong sense of fuck around and find out, but this isn't like that.  Not exactly.  Staring, your mind wanders.  There's a pull, urging you to reach out, to grab another sunworn memory. 

"Inverse, what the hell?" Toby asks tonelessly.  He's unamused with you and your curiosity.  No one is supposed to be on this floor.  If they need to go to the top level of the mansion, they use a different stairwell.  But why?  Why is no one allowed up here, why is it untouched?  You want to figure out.  

"What's behind this?" you question in return, not pulling your gaze from the door.  Something about it.  There are dents in it, covered by tape and poorly painted over.  Around the edges of the door it looks almost like little fingerprints, smeared and faded.  But they're all lower than your chest.  The height of a child.  Why?  Is that part of why no one is allowed up here? 

"A room." 

Ah yes, no shit.  A room.  How useful your input is, Toby.  Thank you.  You tilt your head as you stare at the door before reaching out and turning the knob.  Click.  

...it's unlocked. 

When the lock clicks and the door gives slightly, vines of unease sprout inside you, wrapping your stomach and chest with an uncomfortable feeling.  

"Are you trying to get killed on your first day?" Toby hisses, and you glance back just enough to see that he's looking around warily.  What's got a Proxy so uneasy?  Sure, the level does certainly feel weird.  And something about the room has your senses going off.  But why?  He's been doing this longer, so why the hell is he so scared? 

You shrug in response to his hiss and carefully push the door open, your hand still gripping the handle.  It's dark and the air that drifts from the room smells dead and stale.  Not like death.  No, that is a very different distinct scent.  No, this smells stale.  As though the air had been lying in wait, still; or holding its breath and awaiting the day some soul would enter once more.  You peer in slowly, taking a cautious peek.