The Knight of Slaughtaverty

Chapter 13 - Story Hour

Pinching my eyes shut, I cringe away from the glaring light radiating from my phone's screen. I can hear unsettling humming sounds near me in the dark tunnel.

Terrified, my eyes fly open, desperately trying to focus despite the black, phone-shaped spots floating in my vision after the exposure to the sharp light. Someone is moving towards me, stealthily like a cat stalking a mouse, ready to pounce if their prey tries to run.

My inadequate light picks out snatches of details: strands of long hair, a torn piece of lace, pale, dirty skin. I do not like what I see. Why would a girl be hanging out in here in the dark?

"Do you need help?" I whisper in a barely audible voice, and the figure stops... listening. I can see the vague outline of her head tilting to the side and feel her studying me. Most of her remains wrapped in shadows, and when she moves again, I can see she is not alone. Blurry silhouettes are joining her in the jerkily shifting light. "Who are you?"

I have no idea what I'm dealing with here! All I know is that I'm locked in a dark tunnel with unknown people who are not introducing themselves, and they are blocking my way if I should decide to run to another branch. I don't want to run to another branch because I'll get lost. I know there's a door to my room behind me; I don't know where the other doors are. I don't want to become trapped in a dead-end.

Technically, I'm already stuck in one since I have no idea how to open the secret door behind me. My questing fingers couldn't even find a joint when I was frantically running them all over it.

I am sure, with a certainty based on primal instinct and nothing else, that these figures crowding me in, cautiously shuffling towards me, do not have good intentions. There is something decidedly predatory about the movements I can see, and the sounds are crawling like spiders over my skin.

Even if there were no hissing and snarling, even if it were all just my panicked imagination drawing me fictional pictures, misinterpreting what I see, I would still feel the malice vibrating discordantly in the air around me, causing terror to course like liquid fire through my veins.

Why aren't they attacking? Are they playing with me?

"Please," I croak, my vocal cords skidding over the sound, unable to find traction and produce proper speech. I push my back tighter against the wall behind me, my hands clutching my phone, holding it out in front of me as if the light, helplessly dancing with the darkness, could somehow fend off the danger.

Why are they hesitating? I am a trapped bunny, and though they are watching me, their desire to attack me palpable, they are holding back. Perhaps they're not dangerous. Maybe they merely want to ask me for directions. They might be as lost as I am.

I should not have thought that! I jinxed it!

I see a blur of movement, and then the girl, the only silhouette I can clearly define, is on me. The cold fingertips of her one hand brush over my forearm while the fingers of her other hand tangle in my hair. My voice finally kicks in, and a scream bursts from my lips, echoing shrilly down the tunnel.

I fall backwards, landing hard, sliding over a smooth floor as if carried by a strong wind, defensively wrapping my arms over my face to ward off the strands of musty hair dangling on my cheeks. In my terror, I am vaguely aware of the girl being plucked off me. Her hoarse, angry shriek rents the air, followed by a loud bang.

Then there is nothing.

No sound, no cold fingers touching me, no hair whispering against my skin. Too terrified to move, I lie still, gasping for breath. The fall winded me, and the quick, panicked breaths spasming my lungs, are causing me to hyperventilate.