The YouTuber whose fans disappeared

Swing and Bash

The room started to fill with darkness, a black smog slowly descended. Mark jumped up and grabbed at the door.

'HELP! PLEASE. SOMEBODY, ANYBODY!!' He screamed at the top of his lungs. The smog grew closer, he didn't know what it was but he didn't want to find out. He continued to kick and bang the door. He cried out until he throat was red raw. He looked at the walls, in his panic he had forgotten the soundproofing. There was no way anyone could hear him. 'I have to break the door' he thought. He looked around the room for something, anything he could use. Then he remembered something, he darted under his bed and brought out a baseball bat. A present from a fan. It was cute. It had a Warfstache on it.

Mark planted his two feet on the floor, the smog edging closer. He glanced behind him. He guessed he had 2 minutes before the smog cascaded over him like a tidal wave. With all his mite he smashed the bat against the door. It worked. He continued to swing and bash. Swing and bash. 1 minute. Swing and bash. Swing and bash. Breathe. 55 seconds. Breathe. Swing and bash. Nearly there. Swing and ba-sh. Breathe. 30 seconds. S-wing and b-ash. Breathe. Breathe. 10 seconds. The smog tickled the back of his neck. Scream. Swing. Bash.

Mark jumped through the now dismantled door. He lay on his back, desperately trying to catch his breath. He felt a sharp pain in the palm of his hand. He looked down and saw a small piece of wood from the door sticking out. 'Ah. Fuck' he sighed and winched. He held his breathe. He knew this was going to hurt. He pulled himself up onto his knees. He leant forward, clasping the wood with his other hand. He counted down his head. Each second came quicker and quicker as the reality crept nearer. In one quick movement he pulled the wood out and pressed his wounded hand on his leg to stop the blood. He screamed through gritted teeth, water stung his eyes.

He suddenly remembered where he was and what was happening around him. He didn't want to look at where he had come from, he just wanted to get out. He pulled himself up and turned around, it was dark so he pulled out his phone and turned the torch on, getting a smear of blood on the screen as he did. 'Shit' he wiped it with the bottom of his shirt then looked up.

'What the - ' Mark stared in disbelief in front on him. He ran forward and round the light switch, he turned the light on and slowly turned. He was back in his room. He was back in the room he had just escaped from. Mark fell to the floor in sheer disbelief. He curled in a ball. He finally let the tears flow. He was distraught. He had no idea what was going on. He was stuck.

'Thats enough of that.'

Mark stopped. He had heard that voice before. He shook his head in disbelief. 'No. No, you're not here. You're not real. They made you up!'

Mark was pulled to his feet and thrown against the door he had just bashed down not 5 minutes before. He looked up at the shadowy figure. But it wasn't who he thought. 'you? But - '

Thousands of phones went of simultaneously with a notification. A notification they had all been waiting for. A vlog from Mark. They all watched expectantly, wishing for good news. But, as ever, those wishes never came true.

It wasn't Mark.

It was someone else.

He had Mark. The fans could do nothing. All they had was hope -

'And hope is the most dangerous thing of all' snarled Warfstache with a rye smile on his face. He walks over to Mark and squats next to him, he strokes his hair and let's out a laugh. 'The era of Warfstache has begun...'