Chapter Text
Thud… Thud... Thud…
It started softly, at first. Like footsteps outside your bedroom as you float in that delicate space between sleep and consciousness.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Then it got stronger. Each thud began to resonate in your temples, crescendoing in its power and rippling through your brain with a harsh force. You groan, a sound too weak to match the pain you felt sounding through your head with each thud, sparking little embers of agony that sharply burned your brain as they bloomed and then fizzled out until the next burst.
The pressure kept building with each torturous thud, your head feeling like it may explode at any moment if not treated. Desperate for relief, and finally conscious enough to be more aware of your body and not just the pounding ache in your head, you open your eyes, hoping that maybe the ripples may seep out of the orifices of your eye sockets as your eyelids lift. Alas, such a thing doesn’t happen, and instead of finding your nightstand beside your precious bed that would hold the cure for your suffering–aspirin–you find concrete.
Cold, hard, surprisingly clean concrete. You reach your hand out, wondering if it could possibly–hopefully–be some severe headache-induced hallucination. It isn’t. Your fingers meet its smooth, cool surface, slightly grainy with dust. Despite being on the floor, you find that the mattress you’re resting on is pretty average–rather nice, actually, especially for being in a basement. The sheets are smooth cotton, something similar to the ones you own at home and can buy pretty much anywhere. The pillowcase against your cheek matches it in material; a dusty green fabric that you might find decorating a bed at a cabin, or perhaps on a flannel. The color reminds you of a certain someone.
The gentle, cool color helps to soothe your nerves, the sight alone helping to dull the ache in your head, just minutely. The comforter blanketing your body is similar, a darker green and softer than the sheets. It’s fluffy but light, covering your body and keeping you warm in the almost biting cold of the basement. The cotton is tender against your skin, a warm caress that cradles you comfortingly in the frightening position you currently find yourself in. Through the fog that clouds your mind thanks to your pounding headache that sadistically refuses to dull, you look around the room in hopes of finding any information as to where exactly you are, why you’re here, and hopefully an exit to let you leave.
A particularly cruel thump of pain echoes through your skull as you drag yourself to your feet, swaying slightly as you attempt to gather yourself. The basement is dark, which you’re secretly thankful for as it poses no threat of worsening the stubborn pain in your cranium.
You begin your exploration, your footsteps quiet as you venture around the eerie space. The cold from the concrete seeps into your toes and up your legs, the chill lifting the hair from your skin on your limbs, causing you to wrap your arms around yourself to protect your body heat from being stolen away. The pitiful pajama shirt you wear does nothing to shield you, almost threadbare with how worn and loved it is. The cotton shorts you had worn to sleep do nothing to help you either, the cute little kittens in the pattern almost taunting you with how soft they would feel and how warm they would be if they were there to cuddle with you. You find that the space is bare, almost alarmingly empty when you consider that it’s a basement. Most people would store something in their basement, perhaps unpacked boxes or tools at the very least, so why does the owner of wherever you are keep it empty? Well, aside from your mattress, of course. Was your presence planned? Had they emptied it out before your unwilling arrival?
With nothing to examine, you make your way to a doorway you assume will lead you to an exit. Your toes graze the bottom step of a set of stairs, so you reach out and touch the wall for support as you cautiously ascend the steps. They creak quietly, each faint sound sending a chill up your spine. You silently hope that whoever this basement belongs to doesn’t open the door and come down at this exact moment. You reach the top and let out a shaky breath, your hands skimming the door in search of a knob. You find it, your trembling fingers wrapping around the smooth metal and twisting. It doesn’t move. Of course it’s locked, you had figured it would be, but you had naively hoped it wouldn’t be.
You sigh and turn away, forcing the bubbling storm of swirling panic and fear down, trying to stomp it out for now. You can’t panic. Not now. You need to stay calm and figure this out. But what is there to figure out? You’re trapped. The door is locked. There’s nothing to use and nowhere to go. You push the thoughts out of your head as you descend the stairs, refusing to let the thoughts overtake you. You head back to the mattress, craving the warmth you know will soothe your fraying nerve; maybe you can go back to sleep. Maybe when you wake up you’ll be home and this will have been a strangely vivid and creepy dream. It won’t happen, you know that, but it’s a nice thought.
As you lay back down on the cushiony mattress, you are delighted to find that the once ever-present and agonizing headache has lessened, almost completely gone. Maybe you really will be able to sink back into the safety and warmth of sleep. Trembling hands pull the comfort tight around your shivering body, which curls up tight. Your eyes fall close, the silence settling around you. ‘It’ll be okay,’ you tell yourself, despite the fear that sits like heavy sediment in your gut.
Outside, the moon shines bright, cast over the unsuspecting, quaint white house far out from any cities in Wolf Trap, Virginia.