𝑾𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 ➸𝑨𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝑨𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒕 ꟾ𝟏ꟾ

Night in the Woods

[Majorly Edited]-4/13/21

The air was cold and frigid, blowing the deep blue curtains forward as it crept through the ajar window and crawled over the sleeping laptop that sat upon a cluttered wooden desk before venturing further into the room.

It explored its surroundings, beginning at the opposite end of the long room where a short bookshelf filled up the empty space. Many unnecessary nicknacks sat on the ledges: unread and worn books, pens and pencils, a small trophy that had collected dust, small and large framed pictures of the past, and various collectibles in-between. Above the untidy bookshelf, a calendar hung by a red thumbtack marked the month of January. Nine days had been crossed out sloppily with a red marker and the Tenth was circled.

After the howling wind had explored every crevice of the left side, it glided further right where a boy lay underneath grey cotton covers. It enveloped every inch of the room now, blowing under, over, and through the teen's bed, causing the ends of the blanket to lift upwards as it inched closer to him, traveling up his arm leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.

The boy stirred as the wind blew at the mop of hair atop his head, causing it to retreat as he sleepily lifted the covers over his naked torso. Silence had returned as the room settled, causing the boy to roll onto his side, closed eyes facing the exit door. Suddenly, a metallic clinking slipped into his left ear, reverberating through the halls of his head and ending his peaceful slumber.

I

I dig my face deeper into the pillow, trying to drown out the annoying sound of clanking metal. The wind's probably shaking the gutters, or rattling something on the roof, but I quickly lose interest, my eyes feeling heavy once more as I sink deeper and deeper into drowsiness again.

What feels like a millisecond before sleep overtakes me, the noise snaps me out of it, making my eyes flutter open as I rub them with a sigh. My brows furrow as the sound comes again, this time louder and at a strangely regular pace. My face turns ashen white as a million scenarios play out inside my head—about two-thirds involving me getting murdered in some gruesome and painful way.

Shaking away the thoughts, I slowly raise up from the warm bed, wincing as the springs whine from the loss of my weight, and place my bare feet on the cold wood before moving towards my closet. I lean close to the wall and—as quietly as possible—slide the door panel open, causing a creaking noise to fill my ears from the wood pushing against the metal track connected at the top.

Once again, I wince. At this point, I might as well invite whatever's waiting outside.

I push at the door a second time, slowly and carefully, I reach for the wooden bat propped against the inner wall and edge towards the window, eyeing the curtains as they try to escape from behind my desk, and scan for anything to give me a reason to swing.

Suddenly, a dark silhouette blocks the moonlight that once poured into the room, leaving me in complete darkness. The rhythmic beating of my heart sounds more like a ticking bomb in my ears as I grip the weapon tighter, my knuckles turn white. I hold my ground, mostly out of sheer fear, awaiting the intruder from the other side of the fragile glass.

My entire body jolts before I raise the bat higher as a pair of hands grip the underneath of the window sill, slowly lifting it up. I lurch forward, swinging the bat, but my shaky hands miss the target, allowing the stranger to duck. That's it, I'm dead.

"What the hell!" The stranger yelps, though his voice doesn't sound so strange, actually it sounds very familiar.

I squint, my eyes quickly adjusting to the lack of light as I discern the person's appearance. Lanky frame, shaved head, amber eyes, upturned nose, a shirt depicting the band "The Beatles." My face contorts from fear to annoyance instantaneously, making me shove Stiles as he places a hand on his chest.