Bob (Creepypasta Preview)

In the Dark (Preview)

The area you are occupying currently is cramped and dark. Puddles of rainwater surround your huddled form and reflect the dim glare of warm light penetrating through from underneath the closet door. You are hiding, but from whom you aren't sure... you can't tell if it is a person.

With arms quivering from cold and hands already half frozen, you scoot yourself as far from the door and away from the yellow glow's reach, terrified of what might happen if you are seen. A steady trickle of water is dripping noisily on the space beside one of your legs, producing a sound that rings like gunshots in the quiet of your hiding place. You feel your composure beginning to ebb. How much longer you're able to remain here, alone with only your escalating fear coursing violently through your chest, you have no clue. All you are certain of is that you are teetering on the edge of insanity, balancing precariously to keep from hurling over into the chasm of utter chaos, struggling against the web of madness that is binding you so tightly- Your breath suddenly catches in your lungs when a shadow slides across the floor and halts right outside the closet door.

It remains motionless for what feels like an eternity, during which you don't dare to even breath lest it alerts whatever is now mere feet away...

Your chest burning as if ablaze, you almost give in and scream, and for a brief second, you think you do, because your ears are filled with a drawn-out shrieking. But it isn't you, for you could never make a noise like that. It is shrill and must be ripping the throat of whatever is making it; it makes you want to die, maybe because the owner of this inhuman wailing is dying, but you don't know. You don't want to know.

Panic's slimy tentacles constrict your naval as you continue to stare at the shadow, which has now begun to move away. You hear heavy dull thumps as it leaves, and they grow progressively further as it departs to some other section of your leaky cabin. After a moment of intent listening, you creep towards the door and press your ear to its icy surface.

Silence.

Should you leave now? You don't know what to do.

Closing your eyes, you draw in a deep breath, trying to slow the pounding beast that is your heart. Still, the only sound breaking the silence is your own heavy breathing, punctuated by the fierce rhythmic beating against your ribs. As much as you loathe the idea, you decide to stay where you are until you are absolutely sure that it is safe to escape.

Your very soul aching from dread, your back meets the wall of the closet. You pull your knees to your chest and hug them. You wait.

An hour goes by with the speed of a snail. You've counted all the way down to the second, and now marks sixty minutes since you last listened to the door.

You put your hands down on either side of you and come in contact with a puddle. Shivering, you slowly scoot towards the closet door, your sodden pajama pants clinging uncomfortably to your legs and backside.

You don't hear anything when you press your ear to the door again; everything is still. Do you dare to look...?

You do.

Reaching upward, your hand finds the closet doorknob; you turn it gingerly, and your heart nearly explodes when it gives a groan of resistance, undoubtedly loud enough to permeate the entire upper floor. After pausing briefly to allow silence to settle once more, you carefully nudge the door open a crack, just wide enough so you can distinguish the corner of your foot board.

With no evidence of another presence, you widen the gap between the door and the frame. The yellow light hits your eyes and at first you are blinded by it, but a second later you adjust.

The hallway light is on and illuminating the vicinity beyond, while spilling in through the doorway and cutting out a huge chunk of shadow on the floor, which, as you squint to make out, is haphazardly smeared with noticeably-sticky red.

Averting your gaze to the hallway again, you slowly venture out of safety and into the open. The cabin so noiseless it could be dead, you might as well be tip-toeing through a tomb. For every one of your footsteps an echoing creak closely follows, which bounces around the room.

(To be Continued).