Shiori Novella One-shots

The Basement Where Shiori Lies

A/N: If you don't like horror, then consider yourself warned. I don't think it's very scary, but I like horror stuff, so...

Thump.

There is a sickening, wet thud along the walls as you open the door to your basement. It sounds as if someone is...chopping meat. You swallow your fears and call out.

"Hello? Anyone there?"

At first, there is only silence, which only makes your spine tingle with paranoia now that the thump is gone. With your head dizzy from staring into the darkness below, you nearly turn around when you hear heavy footsteps approach from below.

Your legs freeze as you gaze down the steps. First, a hand reaches around the corner of the wall and curls the fingers around the bend. Then, a woman with two-toned black and white hair steps out, brandishing a knife in her other hand. Its blade reflected what little light came from above as you see, and hear, the blood dripping off the tip. Then, she speaks.

"There is...nobody...downstairs..."

~~~~~

You stand frozen on the creaky wooden stairs, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum signaling doom. The woman's voice, though soft and almost melodic, sends shivers down your spine, each word laced with an unsettling calmness.

You stammer, "I-I heard something. Thumping. Like... meat being chopped."

Her eyes, a chilling shade of silver, lock onto yours, piercing through the darkness. "Thumping...?" she repeats, a sinister smile tugging at the corners of her blood-smeared lips. "No, dear. There is... no thumping... here."

Your mind races, searching for an explanation that could rationalize the ghastly sound, but the basement remains cloaked in shadows, revealing nothing but the woman and her malevolent grin. You consider bolting back up the stairs, but an invisible force pins your feet in place.

"I assure you," she continues, the knife's gleam growing more ominous, "you are... alone. But, thank you... for joining me. It gets... lonely... down here."

The air thickens with a palpable malevolence, and you become acutely aware of the metallic scent clinging to the damp atmosphere. As the woman descends the stairs, each step seems to echo in your head, amplifying the unsettling cadence of her approach.

"I should leave..." you manage to stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. But she ignores your plea, closing the distance between you with an unhurried grace.

"There's... nowhere... to run," she whispers, her voice a haunting melody that resonates in the cold basement air. You can't tear your gaze away from the glint of the knife's blade, reflecting both the dim light and the gruesome reality it represents.

Your instincts scream for escape, but your feet remain rooted to the spot. The woman stops just inches away, her dual-toned hair framing her face like an otherworldly halo. Her eyes bore into yours, and you catch a glimpse of something unnatural flickering within them.

"You see," she murmurs, "I've been... waiting... for someone like you."

Dread seeps into your every pore as her words hang in the air. The basement seems to close in, the darkness intensifying, the shadows moving in and swallowing any trace of sanity that remains. You attempt to muster courage, your voice shaky but determined.

"W-waiting... for w-what...?"

Her laughter reverberates, a haunting choir that echoes off the cold, damp walls. "For someone... to share in... the beauty of... what lies beneath."

She raises the knife, its sharp edge catching the meager light. Panic grips you, a desperate need to escape overwhelming your senses. But as you turn to flee, a new sound joins the symphony of horror—the unmistakable scrape of metal against stone.

You halt mid-step, glancing around with trepidation. Another figure emerges from the shadows, a grotesque silhouette adorned in tattered garments. Metal chains clank against armor with each movement, and a face concealed by darkness unveils an unsettling air of malevolence.

"This is... our haven," the woman declares, her voice intertwining with the scraping of metal. "A place where... the living meet the... forgotten, and the... forgotten embrace... the macabre."

The figure extends an arm, revealing a ghastly collection of disfigured hands entwined within the links. The sound of metal against stone grows louder, and the walls seem to pulsate with a sinister energy.

You attempt to scream, but the air in your lungs constricts. The woman lowers the knife, her eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that transcends the physical. As the figure with chains inches closer, you catch glimpses of mutilated faces etched into the walls—the faces of those who had met a fate as gruesome as the one that awaits you.

"You are... the missing piece," the woman declares, her voice rising above the dissonance. "The final chord... in our symphony of suffering."

The basement transforms into a nightmarish scene, a vortex of despair and horror, saturated with metallic sounds and smells, and under it all, you can still hear the dripping from the woman's knife. The metallic scent thickens, suffocating your senses. The disfigured hands grasp at the air, yearning for something long lost.

In a last surge of adrenaline, you break free from the invisible shackles that bound you. Desperation fuels your sprint up the stairs, the grotesque sounds of the symphony fading into the distance. The oppressive darkness releases its grip as you burst into the dimly lit hallway.

You stumble forward, your breath ragged, the echoes of the basement's malevolence haunting your every step. The door slams shut behind you, sealing off the horrors that lurk in the depths below.

But as you catch your reflection in the hallway mirror, the golden-eyed woman's haunting visage lingers in the shadows.