◢ Random Scenarios from the darkest pits of hEck 〈 2023 〉 ◣

ᘛ Survival Instinct ᘚ

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The Crying Child
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This is a practice short, and not a full-fledge short story, b'cuz I just couldn't find anything better to do-
Aand, while I'm still suFfering in terms of editing that damn chapter for AO(a)D, this was honestly a fresh breath, aaand came with a sense of relief and accomplishment-

Legit finished this all in one go-
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He stood in silence, hyper-aware and vigilant, his gaze flitting restlessly to every nook and cranny in that space, the light of the flashlight reaching certain spots even before he did sometimes. The chilling mist surrounding the room—that for him was supposed to be a sanctuary, it haunted his thoughts at that moment, his mind reeling in anticipation and a strong rush of adrenaline at the verge of seeping through his petite frame.

Silence was never a good sign. Whenever they stopped, it served as an ill omen, a harbinger of something brewing just beneath the surface, something his small brain was unable to decipher from within the confinements of his skull. Shadows of dread loomed at the edges of his mind, puzzles taunting his very consciousness as he struggled to understand the situation. The stillness that should have brought solace during the tumultuous storm only felt suffocating in his current predicament.

The glow from his flashlight danced about frantically, falling on small toys and items that would all pique his interest, but only in the daylight. At the moment, he was a survivor of a yet ongoing nightmare, batting no eye to the objects that stood idle. In fact, they were more ghosts to add to the party, the stationary telephone and robot often catching him by surprise with their lifeless eyes.

Door to door, the flashlight shone, to maybe fulfil his wishes of finding out about what was setting up a stage for its own self beforehand. But, much to his displeasure, that wasn't to happen. Not even a gust of wind dared to stir, leaving the doors untouched and firmly closed.

His trepidation surged, his grasp on the torch tightening. He poised it above the closet, hoping to perhaps catch a glimpse of the elusive Foxy peeking out from its hidden recesses. The atmosphere hung heavy and frigid, revealing delicate motes of dust as the light passed through the surroundings. Yet, even the doors of the closet, like everything else in the room, remained unyielding, compounding his fear with a perplexing sense of constancy. Had they finally ceased the torment?

The answer to his query would soon reveal itself, as an insidiously foreboding sense crawled its way up his spine. It felt as though he could discern the chilling exhale of something lurking just behind him, its malevolence palpable. His eyes widened, tiny droplets of cold perspiration threatening to escape from his furrowed brow. Frozen for an infinitesimal moment, he suddenly erupted into a whirlwind of panic, his body spinning around, the flashlight poised as if it were an instrument of immense power. He stumbled, the soft contours of the blue carpet scratching against his bare soles, desperately seeking distance.

And then ... there it was ... a Freddle. In that fleeting instant between his awareness of its presence and the illuminating light, it crouched, seemingly ready to pounce and feast on his flesh, its dagger-like teeth hungering for the taste of human skin. The flashlight, however, thwarted its sinister intentions, its brilliant white beam scorching the abomination like a vampire bathed in searing sunlight. With an anguished shriek, it dissolved back into the depths of his bedsheets, leaving only the haunting echo of its cries lingering in the air for several agonizing minutes.

The young boy, once the horror had subsided, found himself frozen in place, his heart pounding within his chest like a tempestuous storm, each lub-dub resounding with alarming clarity. His breath came in ragged, erratic gasps as he clung to the flashlight with unwavering determination, holding onto it as if it were his very lifeline. This may not have been his first encounter with the monstrosity, but each time it felt as though it was, plunging him into the depths of terror anew …

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