Night 2
The cold of the concrete seeped into their bones as they slept fitfully in the basement's oppressive gloom. Morning, if it could be called that, arrived without fanfare, just a subtle lightening of the air filtering from the unseen cracks above. Emily awoke with a groan, her body stiff and aching, the meager comfort of sleep offering little respite. Abigail lay curled on her side, her breaths shallow, while Harry still hadn't fully regained his color from the previous night. The corner remained a dark, silent void, the clinking of chains the only evidence of its occupant.
A creaking from the top of the stairs announced Oliver's descent. He carried a small wooden tray holding three stale crusts of bread and a clay pitcher of water. His cloudy blue eyes scanned them with a detached disinterest. He wordlessly placed the tray on the floor before turning his attention to Harry, who flinched under his gaze. Oliver reached out, his touch feather-light on Harry's forehead. A moment later, a barely perceptible shimmer passed between them, and Harry's breath hitched. Oliver straightened, a slight flush on his pale cheeks, and then ascended the stairs without a word.
"Another night, another bite taken," the voice from the corner rasped into the silence after Oliver had left. "Enjoy your fleeting moments."
They ate the dry bread in silence, washing it down with the lukewarm water, the meager rations doing little to quell the gnawing hunger in their bellies. Sleep came easily, a heavy, dreamless oblivion sought out of sheer exhaustion.
Night 3
The pattern repeated. Wakefulness brought only the awareness of their weakening bodies. Oliver's arrival was a silent ritual of meager sustenance and a brief, chilling touch, this time directed at Abigail, leaving her feeling inexplicably drained and cold. The corner man's commentary was a cynical observation about the futility of hope.
Night 4
Their skin had begun to take on a pallid hue, their clothes hanging loosely on their increasingly thinner frames. The initial spark of desperation had dulled, replaced by a heavy resignation. Oliver's visit was a brief, soul-draining encounter with Emily, followed by the same weary routine of eating and succumbing to exhaustion. The corner man offered no words this night, his silence perhaps the loudest commentary of all.
Night 5
The days and nights blurred into a monotonous cycle of waking, waiting, a fleeting encounter with Oliver – who targeted Harry again – the meager meal, and the heavy slide into sleep. The basement felt less like a temporary prison and more like a final resting place. The thought of escape seemed like a distant, impossible dream.
Night 6
Emily awoke to a faint creaking sound from upstairs, the distinct groan of the wooden door hinges being pulled open. She looked around the dimly lit basement. Abigail and Harry lay still, their breaths shallow. Even the chains in the corner were silent. Could it be? Was the man in the corner finally asleep, or had he simply succumbed to the despair that clung to them all? The thought sparked a flicker of something akin to curiosity, a faint stirring of a long-dormant impulse.
Slowly, cautiously, Emily pushed herself to her feet, her legs weak and unsteady. She moved towards the staircase, each creak of the aged wood under her bare feet amplified in the silence. Reaching the top, she peered out from the darkness of the basement into the dimly lit hallway above. The door to the outside was ajar, a sliver of pre-dawn light peeking through the crack. Her heart, which had been beating with a sluggish rhythm, began to thump a little faster.
She crept silently towards the door, her hand trembling as she reached for the cold metal handle. Taking a deep breath, she pulled it open and stepped outside.
The air hit her with a shocking coldness, thick with the heavy downpour of rain. She found herself standing in the middle of a street, the pavement slick beneath her feet. Confusion washed over her as she looked around. Where was the house? The familiar walls, the rickety stairs – they were gone. She stood on an ordinary street, the rain plastering her thin robes to her gaunt frame.
A sudden blare of a horn and the flash of bright headlights startled her. A large truck barreled down the street, nearly clipping her as she stumbled back onto the wet curb. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of the impossible. What was happening?
She turned to her left, searching for any sign of the house, when she saw it. Standing about twenty meters away, illuminated by the streetlights and the truck's receding headlights, was a towering figure. It was skeletal, impossibly tall – easily eight feet or more – its black, misshapen body crooked, with long, muscular arms and legs. The rain seemed to evaporate as it neared.
Silence descended, broken only by the relentless drumming of the rain. Then, the figure began to walk towards her, its movements slow and deliberate, each step seeming to shake the ground.
Terror seized Emily. She turned and ran in the opposite direction, her bare feet slapping against the wet pavement, a strangled scream tearing from her throat.
Emily: Help! Please, someone help me! (She pounded on the doors of the houses she passed, desperate for refuge, but no one answered. The street remained eerily deserted.)
Her lungs burned, her legs felt like lead, but she continued to run, the menacing figure still lumbering behind her. Suddenly, her foot caught on a loose piece of pavement, and she stumbled, falling forward. Instead of hitting the hard ground, however, she plunged into nothingness.
Darkness enveloped her, a silent, empty void. She floated weightlessly, the sound of the rain and the skeletal figure's footsteps fading into an absolute quiet. After a few terrifying seconds, she took deep, shuddering breaths, trying to calm the panic rising in her chest.
Then, a bright flash of circular white light appeared meters above her, pulsating gently in the darkness. Hope flickered within her, a fragile ember in the overwhelming blackness. She tried to move towards the light, kicking her legs as if swimming, but she remained suspended, unmoving. Frustration boiled over, and she screamed into the silent void, her voice echoing strangely in the nothingness.
Emily: What the hell is happening?! Where am I?! (No answer came, only the vast, indifferent darkness surrounding her.)
Emily, still caught in the memory of the terrifying figure in the rain, found herself lying in the silent void, the image of the pulsating white light still burned behind her eyelids. "Help!" she called out again, her voice echoing strangely in the nothingness. "Is anyone there? Please!" She waited, straining to hear a response, but only silence answered her pleas. A wave of despair washed over her, and she curled into a fetal position, holding her knees tightly to her chest, finally giving up.
"Ugh, you gonna start crying? I'm gonna barf."
Emily's head snapped up in surprise. That voice… it was the man from the corner! But how could he be here? She looked around the darkness, her eyes adjusting slightly. She could make out a figure standing a few feet away, or rather, the vague shape of a torso and limbs. A dingy grey shirt and pants. Thin, pale arms and legs. A shock of disheveled hair… a strange mix of light blue and cyan. But his face was entirely in shadow, except for two dim points of purple light that seemed to emanate from where his eyes should be. He wasn't floating, but there was no ground beneath their feet in this void.
Emily: W-what's happening? (She stammered, her voice filled with confusion.)
Corner voice: You're dreaming, sweetheart, (the man replied, his voice surprisingly calm.)
Realization hit Emily like a physical blow. The street, the figure, the void… it had all been a dream. She hadn't escaped. A sob escaped her lips, followed by another, and then another, until she was crying silently in the darkness.
The man sighed.
Corner voice: Look, as entertaining as this pity party is, we haven't got all night. Or… day. Whatever the hell this is. There's one way we can all get outta that damn basement.
Emily's head shot up, her tears momentarily forgotten.
Emily: Escape? But… you said there was no escape. And… are you even real? Is this all just part of the dream?
Corner voice: Oh, I'm plenty real in this little nightmare of yours, (he huckled, a dry, rasping sound.) And yeah, I could show you how real, but we're wasting time. Listen, you wanna get out? You gotta do something for me. See those chains?
Emily frowned, trying to picture the basement.
Emily: Your chains? What about them?
Corner voice: You gotta get rid of 'em.
Emily: But… what difference will that make? (she asked, confused.)
Corner voice: JUST DO IT! (He yelled, his purple eyes flashing with irritation, the shadow around his face momentarily flickering to reveal a hint of sharp features.)
Emily gasped, her eyes snapping open. She was back in the cold, damp basement. Abigail was stirring beside her, and even Harry was slowly pushing himself up, his eyes wide and unfocused.
Harry: She's finally awake, (he mumbled, his voice still raspy as he watched Emily stir.)
Emily grunted as she slowly pushed herself up, her muscles protesting the movement. The cold concrete floor seemed to seep the remaining warmth from her body. She instinctively looked towards the corner where the voice had been coming from.
Corner voice: You were only out for a little while,(he rasped, confirming her suspicion.) Just enough for a nice little trip.
Emily's eyes widened. He had been in her dream. A wave of unease washed over her. Slowly, she began to walk towards the corner, her steps hesitant. Why hadn't Oliver ever drained his soul? And why the chains? She stopped a few feet away from the darkness, a nagging suspicion forming in her mind.
Emily: Why are you the only one locked up? (She asked, her voice barely a whisper.)
Abigail and Harry watched them, their faces a mixture of confusion and apprehension, unsure of what was happening.
Corner voice: Because I know how to get out of here, (he replied, his voice laced with a hint of pride.)
Emily: If that's true, (She countered,) why would Oliver keep you alive?
A faint stirring came from the corner. The man seemed to shift, and then, though his face was still hidden in shadow, his form suggested he was settling into a lotus position. He leaned forward slightly, the clinking of chains soft in the silence.
Corner voice: For the same reason you're still alive, little lamb, (he said, his voice now carrying a strange sort of calm.) To feed Oliver. (He paused, a chilling note entering his tone.) I've watched many others wither and die in this miserable hole. You three… judging by the way you look, Abigail will likely be the first to go. Eighth night, I reckon.
Abigail gasped, her eyes widening in fear as she clutched at her pajamas.
Abigail: Eighth night?
Harry: How do we stop it? (He asked, his voice filled with a desperate urgency.) How do we stop him from… from feeding on us?
Corner voice: You have to free me.
Harry nodded, a newfound determination hardening his gaze. He began to search the perimeter of the basement, his hands running along the cold, damp walls, looking for anything that might serve as a tool.
Harry: There has to be something we can use to break those chains.
Emily: Harry, wait, (she said, her voice filled with a growing sense of wrongness.) Don't you think something's not right about this? Why would we trust him?
But Harry ignored her, his focus solely on his search.
Harry: We don't have a choice, Emily, (he said, his voice grim.) If what he says is true…
Emily and Harry stood facing each other, their voices rising with frustration and fear.
Emily: But don't you see? (She pleaded, her hands gesturing wildly.) He's locked up for a reason! Oliver drains everyone but him. Why would we trust someone Oliver keeps alive?
Harry: Because he said he knows how to get out! (He countered, taking a step towards the wall to resume his search. Emily quickly moved to block his path.)
Emily: And what if it's a trap? What if Oliver wants us to free him? (She argued, her voice trembling slightly.) Think about it, Harry! It doesn't make sense!
Harry: We're going to die if we don't try something! (He yelled back, trying to move past her, but Emily held her ground.)
Emily: And we might die faster if we trust a stranger locked in chains! (She retorted, her voice equally loud, mirroring Harry's desperation.)
Harry: Just let me look! (He insisted, trying to push past her again.)
Emily: No! We need to think this through! (She screamed, planting her feet firmly.)
Harry: Just get out of my way! (He yelled, his face inches from hers.)
Emily: NO! (She shrieked back, her voice cracking with fear and frustration.)
A sudden, loud pulling sound echoed from the corner. Emily and Harry froze, their argument abruptly cut short. They turned their heads towards the darkness to see Abigail, her small frame straining, pulling on the heavy chains that held the unseen man. Her face was contorted with a mixture of determination and fear, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Emily: Abigail, no! (She yelled, trying to reach her, but Harry grabbed Emily by the shoulders, his grip surprisingly strong, and pinned her against the cold concrete wall.)
Harry: I'm sorry, Emily, (he mumbled, his hands tightening on her shoulders, his face close to hers.) I have to get back home. I have a life waiting for me.
Emily struggled against his grip, her eyes wide with fear and disbelief.
Emily: Harry, what are you doing? No!
Just as Harry's grip tightened further, Emily reacted instinctively. She snapped her head forward, her forehead connecting sharply with Harry's nose. He cried out, his grip loosening, and stumbled back, clutching his face, blood immediately welling up and dripping between his fingers.
Emily broke free and scrambled to her feet, her eyes fixed on Abigail, who was still desperately pulling at the chains, sobbing quietly.
Emily: Abigail, get away from there now! (She pleaded, taking a step towards her.)
Corner voice: Listen to her, go.
Abigail hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering between Emily and the darkness in the corner, before slowly backing away from the chains, her small body trembling.
Harry, still on the ground, his nose bleeding profusely, looked up in a daze. Standing behind him, an impassive expression on his face, was Oliver.
Oliver: What a bloody nose you got there, Harry, (Oliver commented softly, looking down at him with a slight tilt of his head.) Who gave it to you?
Harry stuttered, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and pain.
Harry: N-no one… I… I slipped.
Oliver: Ah, (he replied, his gaze then shifting to Emily and Abigail, observing their frightened expressions. He inhaled deeply, then said, his voice calm but firm,) I believe Harry is lying.
Harry began to plead, his words tumbling out in a rush.
Harry: No, please, I'm telling the truth! I just slipped, I swear!
Oliver simply nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Emily and Abigail. "Uh-huh… sure, sure." He then reached down, his pale hand covering Harry's entire face. A bright, intense light emanated from his palm, and Harry screamed, a muffled, agonizing sound.
Abigail, her eyes wide with terror, looked at the staircase and made a desperate run for it.
Emily: Abigail, no! (She yelled, reaching out a hand.)
Oliver's head snapped towards the sound of Abigail's frantic footsteps, and he abruptly released Harry's face. Just as Abigail reached the stairs, her hand grasping the doorframe at the top, a sudden, invisible pull stopped her. She gasped, her body being yanked backwards with surprising force, back down to the basement floor, landing heavily beside Oliver. He stood over her, a slight tilt to his head, his cloudy blue eyes filled with a strange curiosity.
Abigail whimpered, tears streaming down her face.
Abigail: I'm sorry, (she choked out, her small body trembling.)
Oliver shook his head slowly, then crouched down, gently shushing her with a repeated, soft.
Oliver: Shhh… shhh… (Once level with her, he looked into her tear-filled eyes for a moment before saying, his voice low and almost soothing,) Look at Harry, Abigail.
Abigail and Emily both turned their gaze towards Harry. His body lay still on the cold concrete floor, his skin now a disturbing shade of dark grey, looking completely dried out, his face gaunt and corpse-like. Where his eyes had been were now only dark, burnt-out holes from which thin trails of smoke curled upwards.
Oliver: Sad… scary… (he commented softly, observing their reactions.) Makes your stomach turn, doesn't it? It makes you wanna get outta here more and more… But you can't...
He gently brushed a stray strand of hair back from Abigail's face, his touch feather-light.
Oliver: I see souls. I can touch them. Find them. Draw them back to me. And most of all… (he paused, a strange intensity in his cloudy blue eyes,) I can make them a part of me. His soul… is a part of me now, and that's a good thing. He would have done so much worse to either one of you if I had never stepped down to check on you all.
Abigail looked at Oliver, tears still welling in her eyes, trying to stifle her sobs. Oliver gently wiped away a tear from her cheek with his thumb.
Oliver: If you try to escape again, (he said softly, his voice carrying a hidden warning,) you'll regret it.
He then rose to his feet, ready to ascend the stairs. He paused, his gaze briefly meeting Emily's. He silently nodded, a flicker of something unreadable in his cloudy blue eyes, before simply saying, "Good shot," and then left the basement.
Alone in the oppressive silence, the man in the corner rasped, his voice filled with a bitter accusation: You fucking idiot. If you hadn't been playing detective like some damn Holmes, the boy would still be alive.
Emily looked at Harry's grotesquely shriveled body for a long moment, a wave of pity and a chilling sense of what could befall them washing over her. She sighed, the sound heavy in the silence. Her gaze then shifted to the darkness in the corner, where the man remained unseen but his presence a palpable weight.
Emily: Alright, (she said, her voice low and resigned.) What do I have to do?
The faint clinking of chains was the only response for a moment. Then, the man's voice, devoid of its earlier cynicism, filled the basement: Free me.