Nightmare

Three

Clay's vision flickered as he woke up, looking around the space he found himself in. It was an oddly shaped room - and it distorted as his eyes focused. 

The ceiling was high and faded into murky darkness as it went up, the walls towering upwards in the same fashion. They were an off-white shade in which Clay could only describe as the color of coffee stains left on surfaces for years - and the smell matched that description. 

An unsettling metallic taste forced him to swallow excessively, or maybe it was the fear, who knows. 

The carpet was moist and rough as if it were sweating nervously with his arrival. It followed the same color scheme as the walls, although Clay had reason to believe it was originally white before its age began to take its toll.

Frantically, he began to look around for George, for that comfort he felt earlier with his presence. But he was nowhere to be found. 'Georgenotfound ...' Clay chuckled to himself. 

He had thought of that name years before, with the help of an error 404 message: web page not found. Ironic, it was as if the machine had made an error, that George was connected to some other server accidentally; leaving Clay all alone in the dismal room. 

'Guess It's just me for now. Ya know, I sorta had a feeling this would happen. It wasn't a great idea to order this thing right after it comes out, of course, it's gonna be buggy.' Clay began to talk to himself to pass the time.

 'Although I am wondering where George is right now. Maybe he just can't sleep? Not everyone falls asleep as soon as their head hits the pillow, haha.' 

A slither of worry began to infiltrate his mind, despite him knowing it was silly. Slumping against one of the yellowed walls, he fiddled with his hoodie strings while he continued overthinking. 

'Oh George, the things I do for you. A thousand dollars gone, and I can't even get an I love you. Just three words that could make my body fill with butterflies, my legs turn to jelly, my face red as a tomato. Three little words.' 

His vision unfocused from his off-putting surroundings. 

'Three little words to push me off the edge and let me fall deeper and deeper for you.'

Giving up on his bout to wait for George, Clay took it upon himself to figure out what the room was supposed to represent, and what he was even supposed to do there. 

He brought himself to his feet and walked about the room. 

It was akin to 'the backrooms', a popular internet theory/creepypasta. He was never into that stuff, but this was starting to give him the creeps. 

He shuddered as he turned his head to study a small door on one of the walls. It was quite a few inches shorter than he was, maybe 5, or 6? That would put the height of the door at around... 5'8, 5'9? 

The door was surprisingly cheerful-looking compared to the rest of the room. It was less of a yellowy-brown color, with a more blue-ish gray tint, and the door handle was a blinding white. 

Why he hadn't noticed this earlier, Clay wasn't sure, but he knew it had to have some significance. 

It was in that moment that he heard a noise that startled him - a sudden change to the incessant buzzing that he just realized had been bouncing around his eardrum thus far. 

It was similar to a snarl, or a hiss, or was it a growl? It sounded as though it came from the maw of a prehistoric creature, echoing through a space-time wormhole. He swiftly turned his head to follow the sound, catching a glimpse of an opaque shadow as he did so.

'Oh, George!' He yelled, 'C'mere, Georgie!' He knew what he had to do. He'd practiced this many a time in his Manhunt videos, and playing it in real life was something he'd always wanted to do, even if it were just in a hyper-realistic dream. 

He stretched out confidently before sprinting across the ever-changing room. It seemed to grow and grow longer in length as he ran, a black cloud of void slowly moving backwards revealing more of the repetitive surroundings. 

The walls stretched to follow his quick figure, the carpet becoming exceedingly ragged and worn as it continued on. 

A familiar beat began to play, seeming to be distant and distorted, but Clay recognized it instantly. 'Trance music for racing game, haha! I knew this would happen, this is a dream after all. ' He fought back a wheeze, afraid it would hinder his running speed. 

He carried on, and tried to carry on as he became tired. His legs ached as they began to go numb. He tried to keep moving, swinging his arms violently to propel himself forward, but it was no use: he had worked his legs to their very limits. 

He tried to keep going, but his sudden loss of energy paralyzed him. Stacking it, his knees gave way underneath him and he fell to the ground with a soft 'ouch', curling up into a fetal position in a half-hearted attempt to catch his breath.

His mind swarmed with confusion as he laid there - was that even George? Running like that wasn't really something he would do, it would be more like him chasing Clay. But this was a dream, an extremely realistic dream, not Minecraft; maybe he had a change of heart? 

Before he could think any deeper, a sudden boisterous creaking of metal blasted his eardrums until a faint constant bleeeeeeep could be heard in the back of his mind when the noise halted. 

But as the noise went, something much more dangerous and terrifying came - as his eyes scanned for the creator of the sound, he noticed the walls around him began to move, slowly but surely. 

At first, he wasn't sure his eyes were seeing it correctly until the stains on the carpet began to disappear under the walls as they closed in. He limped around in despair as the ceiling too began to lower, going straight through the surrounding walls as if they were mere holograms. 

The floor began to lift, bringing him closer and closer to his demise. He fell to his knees, then to a sitting position, before laying down face flat to the crusty carpet beneath him, pressing his every limb down to the ground. 

He felt the coarse popcorn ceiling begin to brush against his soft hoodie, applying pressure until he felt he could no longer breathe in, there being no room for inflated lungs. 

He was sure he was going to die.

He squeezed his hands tightly, waiting for the deafening snap of a crucial bone that would lead to his depressing fate. 

He wasn't Christian, but he did what he thought was right in the moment - 'God, you hear me, buddy? Don't let me die like this. I know you hate me for what I love, but please don't let me go like this. Let me go on to fulfill my dreams, my life, don't let it be cut so short.' 

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he thought back to George. The one that brought him to this situation. The one he thought he was chasing just moments earlier. The one he wanted. 

He didn't want to blame him, of course. he simply wanted his final thoughts to be the one person that made his life thus far bearable. 

After moments of deafening silence and sweet memories of George, he took what he knew would be his final breath. 

Something went snap .