Enter Night 《Cliff Burton》

12

                  Michael woke up, the back of his neck hurting as usual. He opened his eyes, expecting sunlight to be peeking through his bedroom window, but it was completely dark outside, and snowing. He lazily turned his head to check the time. 2:10 am. He rolled his eyes and closed them, hugging his pillow once more.

He jerked wide awake again at a knock on his bedroom door. Which was what had initially woken him up, he realized.

                 Who could be there in the middle of the fucking night? He wondered, groggily getting up. He hated having his sleep disrupted, and so was automatically in a bad mood.

He opened the door, expecting to see his mother outside. But there was no one. He shrugged and almost shut the door, before noticing something on the floor just outside. He opened the door again and bent over to look at it, curious.

                   He recognized his Canon camera. He raised an eyebrow. How did that get here? He was pretty sure the camera didn't walk by on its own from Ronnie's bedroom and knock on his door to come back to him like a long lost pet.

He picked it up, his curiosity swelling. He wondered what he had caught on tape.

                    He played the video, and skipped to the middle. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but seeing a very familiar looking tall man with reddish brown hair in a double denim outfit pointing at a poster of himself in his friend's room was definitely not it. His heart leapt to his throat and he did a double take.

Cliff. Cliff Burton. That was him. The "intruder/murderer" was Ronnie's - and Michael's - favourite bass player. Who was supposed to be dead since over 30 years ago.

                 No wonder Ronnie didn't want to tell him anything. If Cliff was a ghost, then he had the power to do whatever he wanted with Michael.

That's when it hit him that his life actually might be in danger. Pure fear surged through his veins, his sleep now a forgotten memory. What if it was Cliff himself that brought the camera to him?

                 He threw the camera to the floor and slammed his door shut before locking it.

"Are you trying to lock me out? Because I'm already inside," Michael nearly jumped out of his skin as he heard a man's voice drift towards him from God knows where. He whipped his head around, looking for the source.

                  Michael gasped as he felt two strong hands grab his shoulder. His head snapped backwards, coming face to face with Cliff Burton. His idol.

A very pissed off Cliff Burton.

              "I hope you're happy with what you've done." Cliff pushed Michael to his front, sending him flying, which caught Michael completely off guard. His head hit the door of his bedroom with a loud bang.

Michael sat up, his head pounding. "Wha-wha- Cliff?" He struggled to form a proper word.

             "I'm not going to tell you right now, I'm not that insensitive. Or thoughtless." Cliff leaned over a cowering Michael, his tall frame casting a shadow on him. "Unlike you."

             Michael pressed back against the door, as if trying to squeeze to the other side. "Wha- what did I do?" He asked, his voice more high-pitched than he liked it to be.

"Didn't you fucking hear what I said?" Cliff yelled at him, causing Michael to whimper. He pulled in a sharp breath as Cliff grabbed him by his hair and lifted him up.

              "Didn't your mother teach you not to be a peeping Tom?" Cliff growled, his voice low and chillingly silent, his face inches away from Michael's.