𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐀 ✶ Steve Harrington

18 | 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐝, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN,
making the bed, part one.
⋆.ೃ࿔*

𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐒, 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐀
𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟔.

        WHAT WAS ONCE HER CHILDHOOD HOME has transformed into her personal hell. The living room, once a sanctuary of warmth and laughter, is now a cavern of shadows, where flickering lights cast elongated, ghostly shapes that seem to twist and writhe with a sinister intent. The air is thick with an oppressive silence that presses down on her chest, punctuated only by faint, whispering echoes that slither through the corners, tugging at her thoughts and dredging up long-buried fears.

      Each whisper feels like a finger tracing her spine, a reminder of her vulnerabilities. Dust motes float like trapped memories in the dim light, their presence haunting, as if they carry the weight of forgotten moments. The walls pulse with an eerie energy, vibrating with a tension that suggests they are alive, aware of the turmoil unfolding within. Shadows stretch unnaturally, flickering just out of the corner of her eye, and the chill in the air carries an undercurrent of menace, as if something—some dark presence—lurks just beyond her perception, waiting to strike when she least expects it. The familiar has become foreign, the sanctuary turned prison, and Emmy feels the walls closing in, each heartbeat amplifying the sense of dread that fills the room.

       She could recognize her old home anywhere, but this wasn't her home—not anymore. A chill settled in her bones as she wandered through the suffocating shadows, confusion clawing at her insides. She didn't know what this place was, or why she kept returning to it. All she knew was that she needed to escape. But that urgency was suffocated by the sight of him. He was always there, lurking in the edges of her nightmare, but this was not the man who had given her life. As he stepped into the flickering light, her breath hitched in her throat. The familiar outline twisted into something grotesque, an unsettling parody of her father. His smile stretched unnaturally wide, too eager, as if mocking her hope. The warmth she remembered had turned cold, replaced by an icy dread that snaked its way through her veins.

      His eyes glinted with a malevolence that sent a shiver coursing through her, making her skin prickle with fear. She could feel the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, a raw ache of longing for the father she once knew. The air around her thickened, heavy with the weight of memories tainted by sorrow. Every instinct screamed for her to flee, yet she felt rooted to the spot, trapped in a nightmare that felt all too real. The shadows deepened around him, twisting and writhing as if they were alive, drawing closer, eager to consume her. She took a shaky step back, heart racing, torn between the desperate need to escape and the haunting reminder of the man she remembered all too well.

      "Emmy, my dear. Why do you keep hiding from the truth?"

      Micah steps forward, his presence looming large, and the air thickens, charged with a palpable energy that makes her skin crawl. The walls tremble slightly, vibrating with her unacknowledged fears, as shadows pulse around her, whispering her name, taunting her with memories she longs to escape.