''TO BREAK A WINDOW.'' (creepypasta/marble hornets × gn!reader)

entry 00

<<this is my first fic. sorry if it's bad, english, despite being my first language, is one i am very bad at. also, first few chapters will be short.>>
The sound of rain against your tin roof is calming. The rhythmic clicking of your keyboard as you chip away at an essay is familiar. This is a night you have lived many time before. Well, it would be if not for the footsteps coming from down the hallway.
You choose to ignore them. It's probably one of your neighbors just pacing the apartment hall. Nobody broke in. Rationally, you know that. It's a normal Tuesday night, just like every other Tuesday night.
But the footsteps are getting closer, and you don't recognize them. They're heavy, as if whoever they belong to is wearing hiking boots. You know your neighbors. None of them hike.
There's somebody in your apartment.
The creak of your front door opening is barely heard over the storm, yet it's audible.
This is when you start panicking. Standing up, your blood rushes to your head, turning your vision fuzzy and making your ears ring. You grab onto your desk for support as you nearly fall over. This always happens when you stand up to fast.
As quietly as you can, you hurry to your closet, opening the door and his in it. They're going to look in the closet, idiot! They're obviously going to look in the closet! Everybody hides in the closet, it's a cliche!
You screw your eyes shut.
Your bedroom door opens.
You open your eyes.
The footsteps are loud. You can hear the intruder breathing- no, panting. You pause in the middle of a breath. You press up against the back of the closet, feeling your eyes widen. You see the shadow of the person through the cracks between the doors.
A man?
He has a knife.
He laughs. His voice sounds almost damaged. He calls to you, but you don't quite hear what he says.
The closet door opens.
The first thing you see is blobs of color. He is nothing but blobs of white and black and red. Just a little bit of red where his face should be.
You don't process his face, though. Just for a second, time freezes and nothing is real and you are floating far out of your body. You are in the stars.
But then you're brought back by a sharp pain in your shoulder.
You process his face now, as tears prick at your eyes.
He's got pale blue, wide eyes and paper white skin. A crazed, bloody smile adorns his face, framed by long, matted, greasy black hair.
You're about to die by the hand of the ugliest man to have ever walked this earth. You're so focused on how absolutely repulsive he is you don't notice your own scream. His hand flies up to your mouth. Your act on instinct, biting down as hard as you can and pulling your head back, taking a chunk of flesh in your jaws. You spit it out as he grunts. You realize now how raspy his voice is, like his vocal chords were charred somehow.
He pulls away, "Bitch!" He gasps, flashing yellowed teeth. God, he smells awful. While he's distracted with his wound, you shove him and make a run for it on wobbling legs.

But he catches up to you.
He tackles you.
You feel the pain again, this time in your lower back.

You are floating. ' How does it feel ', you wonder, ' death? '