Winter.
It's probably my favourite season, to be honest.
Wearing gloves in winter is common; so it disguises my true nature.
If you saw a man wear gloves during summer, you'd be shocked and suspect something underneath them.
In my case; there is something underneath them.
Cuts, bruises and scratches.
I should probably stop washing them so much.
×
Despite my illness, I've managed to make friends.
Though; I only made them through work.
'Why am I here?' I solemnly think to myself.
Earlier, this night, Gabriel, a colleague; invited us all to a haunted mansion. Claiming, the first one to exit, wins.
I don't particularly care for these sorts of things. Yet, I was dragged along anyways.
It'd probably be news if I didn't come, anyway. "Asriel Reid, too scared to enter a haunted house!"
It'd bother me if people started to avoid me.
I'm human, after all.
It's in my nature.
×
I enter the house.
So far, it's pretty cliché.
It's a rickety, old, wooden house. Screams of the wind fly through windows and it creaks when I take a step.
Though; there are cobwebs.
It's dusty.
Audio-clips of bugs crawling can be heard.
It sends a shiver down my spine.
I want to wash my hands.
I want to wash my hands.
I can't stand the filth.
I'll get eroded.
I awkwardly shuffle forwards; eager to escape this torture house.
I hear a wolf's howl.
I'm not sure if it's fake or not.
It's gotten darker outside.
It's gotten dark inside.
My heartbeat quickens in pace and I steady my breathing.
My shaking hands fumble through my suit's pocket.
I grasp onto a surgical mask I have on me.
I don't want to breathe.
Breathe in the dirt.
×
I take another step.
I can see the cobwebs clearer, now.
They start from the corner of the room, and branch off – sticking to the ceiling.
Logically, they shouldn't be able to touch me; unless I were to jump up, purposely.
I shut my eyes for a few seconds, trying to calm my racy heartbeat.
I push open the next door and enter a new room.
My hand feels itchy and I want to collapse.
I walk over to a nearby window and remove my mask with another hand; not the one I opened the door with.
