BEASTLY || CHASE STEIN (EDITING)

chapter sixteen

In the cocoon of darkness, the teenage boy lay entangled in a restless slumber. His room, once a haven of comfort, now seemed to harbour shadows that danced malevolently on the edge of his dreams. The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting an eerie silhouette over the familiar surroundings.

As the night wore on, Garfield's face contorted in distress, betraying the tumultuous visions unfolding in the depths of his subconscious. Beads of sweat adorned his forehead, testament to the fevered intensity of the nightmare that gripped him. His normally serene features were marred by flickers of fear and anguish. A muted murmur escaped his lips, the incoherent whispers of a mind ensnared in the clutches of an unsettling dream. Tangled sheets clung to his restless form, an unwitting battleground where the dream waged its silent assault.

The room itself seemed to sign with an air of foreboding, shadows conspiring to amplify the boy's torment. In the moonlit haze, everyday objects took on grotesque shapes, distorting into sinister incarnations of themselves. Suddenly, a sharp inhale cut through the oppressive stillness. Eyes darting beneath closed lids, he seemed to grapple with unseen adversaries, his fingers twitching in desperate resistance against the invisible forces that bound him in this nocturnal realm. A phantom sense of menace lingered in the air, as if the nightmare had infiltrated the very fabric of reality, leaving the boy ensnared in a web of fear that transcended the boundaries of sleep. And then, as abruptly as it began, the nightmare released its grip.

The boy's eyes fluttered open, wide with the residue of terror. A gasp escaped his lips, echoing the nightmare that still clung to the edges of wakefulness. In the hushed aftermath, the room returned to its mundane stillness, concealing the horrors that had haunted him. Garfield did his best to steady his breathing as the images of his dreams came back to him in flashes - The sound of distant footsteps and hushed murmurs creates an undercurrent of activity, a constant hum that defines the rhythm of life within its walls. Fluorescent lights overhead cast a clinical glow, illuminating the sterile, neutral tones of the hallways. Then it switches to his body laying on a soft cushion, but it didn't help ease the ache. His body fully strapped down, feeling himself be rushed somewhere, and hearing the sounds of wheels against the tile floor.

Again the scene flickers to a dimly lit chamber, a tangible aura of malevolence hung heavy as a monstrous being thrashed within its cage. The cold, unforgiving bars formed a confining lattice around the creature, each iron line a testament to the desperation that permeated its captivity. The monster, its grotesque form illuminated by a single flickering light, radiating a palpable sense of otherworldly menace. Scales or fur, depending on its nature, clung to its frame, concealing the true depths of its monstrous anatomy. Jagged claws twitches involuntarily, scraping against the metal bars with an unsettling metallic rasp.

The creature's eyes, pools of darkness that betrayed an intelligence that transcended the primal darkness, glowing with an unnatural luminescence. Within those orbs danced the flickering flames of resentment, a silent testament to the captivity that fueled its profound rage. A low, guttural growl resonated from the creature's throat, the sound reverberating off the walls like an ominous warning. The very air seemed to quiver with the anticipation of unleashed power, restrained only by the unforgiving bars that confined the monster's wrath.

The dream warps to a suffocating atmosphere enveloping, pressing against the skin like an oppressive weight. The cold, unyielding bars form an impenetrable barrier, casting elongated shadows that dance with the dim light that filters through the cracks.

Every movement is restricted, each limb feeling the cruel confinement of the metallic lattice. The air within the cage hangs heavy, carrying the metallic tang of despair. Small Fingers instinctively reach out, only to be met by the unyielding resistance of the bars. The sensation is one of futility, as if the very act of touching the cage only amplifies the reality of captivity. Space, no matter how small, becomes a universe in itself-a universe of restraint and isolation.