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shhh-secret-time · 3 months

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We need more of that Soulmate stuff! Can we get one with Stan??? I've such a weakness for our goth boy!

Oh and thank you for writing gn! It's such a small thing but it makes me feel good to read! 🫶

Of course you can! I love Stan and soulmate shit so literally any excuse! I'm glad my writing makes you feel good darling!

Warning: Strong Language, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, over use of the word skin and flesh, and a single shit excuse for poetry

Pairings: Stan x GN!Reader

The most annoying habit Stan had was chewing his bottom lip, so many things of lip balm used to try and repair his lips. Little discarded tubes of flavors that were the foulest thing he'd ever tasted, it was Kyle's idea, if it tasted bad maybe he could trick his brain into stopping the habit.

The second annoying habit was drumming his fingers on his desk, he was especially bad about it when he was younger. That was before the little marking on his skin started popping up. Little words and doodles on his forearm dancing on his skin. At first it freaked him out, he was fourteen and these weird little tattoos were popping up on his skin and then disappearing.

The third annoying habit was never learning to not go to his father when he didn't understand something. One would think after it backfiring so many times Stan would learn to go to his mother when he had questions. To his credit Randy did give him an answer. It just led to a whole ordeal of him telling the entire fucking town that his son has a soulmate and that his son was just like him when he was fourteen. It was embarrassing and he hoped that whoever his soulmate was didn't hear it.

Apparently, the little doodles and grocery shopping lists on his forearm was his soulmate’s handwriting and boy did they love to draw on their arm. Stan would be out in the football field practicing his throws when he'd feel the light brush of the pen across his arm. Which always lead to him fumbling a pass. Maybe he had to thank his coach for all the times he yelled at him because it was after one practice that he finally started marking on his arm back.

At first it was just to try and get whoever his soulmate was back. Taking a sharpie to the underside of his forearm, the big blocky letters spelled S-T-O-P. He remembers tugging down his sleeve with a grumble, thinking he would be free from the torment. Little did he know this was a declaration of war.

You were sitting in the science lab when it happened, working on your assignment when the letters appeared. Up until then you never saw something like that happen, so when it did you nearly dropped the beaker. Soulmate or not, who did they think they were to send such a passive aggressive message?! You excused yourself and hurried to the bathroom, ignoring the look of your partner. You pulled up your sleeve and glared down at bright silver words.

Stan furrowed his brows as his eyes scanned over the new message.

"Who uses a silver sharpie?! Are you kidding me?!" You hissed.

Well, you couldn't take that sitting down, could you? Your hands dug into the pockets of your pants to pull out the pen you always kept on you. Dragging the tip of the cheap pen across your skin, you wrote your little soulmate a loving note.

"Eat shit."

The font lit a fire in him as his eyes narrowed. Stan took the lid off the sharpie and drew a crude middle finger on his palm. Once he was satisfied with it, he pulled his gloves back on, maybe his soulmate didn't have gloves and would have to deal with that.

From then on Stan carried that damn sharpie everywhere. He would be in the middle of talking with his friends about something when he'd feel your words sketch onto his skin again. He would stop even if he was in the middle of something just to read whatever rude thing you'd come up with. It was Kyle who finally approached him about it.

"Dude you're gonna get ink poisoning." Stan almost missed the way Kyle scolded him, to focused on writing.

"I don't care Kyle! They're insulting the Broncos!" Stan hissed back.

"How did you even get on that topic?" Kyle rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I-...I don't know but I'm not going to just let them shit on my favorite team!" He looked up towards his best friend, Kyle could see the fire behind those blue eyes and almost chuckled.

"This person is supposed to be your soulmate, ya know? Like your forever partner."

"I know that! But it's like they know exactly what to say to get under my skin!" Stan groans as he caps the sharpie and slumps back against the park bench. "I mean...was it like this for you? You found yours recently."

The red head raised a brow at his friend, the question catching him off guard. "Hm...no? We got along pretty much instantly. Guess it helped they found me before I found them?"

Stan watches as Kyle presses a thumb into his palm. A warm smile plays across his lips as he rubs the golden letters. Rumors of Kyle and his soulmate spread quick, they were the talk around campus for a while much to Kyle’s dismay.

"But I get what you're feeling."

"You fight with your partner like this?"

"What? No! Not yet at least...I mean it's bound to happen eventually, but I mean the thing you said about their words getting under your skin." Kyle shook his head making the green straps on his head swing back and forth. Before Stan could respond Kyle held up his hand and continued. "They'll text me or say something to me and it just...feels like my heart is going to explode. The first time we kissed it felt like my skin was on fire, it felt intense. So... I think that might just be a side effect of having a soulmate. Everything is kinda turned up to eleven."

Stan just sat there and listened to him. He pushed his hands in his coat pocket and squeezed the sharpie, letting the words sink in. Leave it to Kyle to make him think about it more. Stan responds with a long sigh.

"... Maybe."

"Hey at least you can talk to yours. We had to go based off each other's thoughts...it's hard keeping my thoughts in control."

"Yeah, I don't know if I could live with that, probably end up cutting my hand off." Stan chuckles and looks down at his forearm.

Maybe he could swallow his pride a little and just take it easy. It certainly made sense now why your words were having such an effect on him. If everything was turned up to eleven like Kyle said, then maybe he needed to take a step back and try something else.

It wasn't until he was sitting in class bored again that he got the idea. He even went out of his way to use a different marker, one with a smaller point. Pressing the tip to his arm, he watched the bright blue ink bleed into his skin. Stan didn't really know what to write, it was hard to go from writing stupid insults and drawing crude things to something just mundane. He pressed his lips together and stared hard at the little blue dot until his hand started moving. Stan wrote best when it was in song lyrics or his poems.

Watercolor running down my skin.

It's supposed to feel cool but all it does is make my head spin.

You get under my skin like fire.

The tip of your pen bleeds me like sharp wire.

He pulls back and looks down at it with narrowed eyes. Stan can already feel the warm embarrassment spreading over his face and up to the tip of his ears. Quickly pulling down his sleeve again, he tried to push it out of his mind for the rest of the day. An hour went by before he felt that all too familiar feeling, it was something he was getting used to at this point. He looked down and his eyes widened in awe.

"Did you write that? It's good."

No smart-ass comment about his poetry. You didn't make fun of him for putting his words in a silly simple format. You just complimented it. Stan could feel his heart speeding up as he re-read the small sentence under his poetry over and over again.

"Yeah. I'm not good at communicating normally."

"Poetry is just easier for ya huh?"

"That or music."

"Really? You play?"

Stan grinned down as he started running out of room on his forearm, having to move to the surface of his arm now. His face getting closer to his skin as he hunches over his desk to keep writing.

"Yeah, guitar and a little bass. They're kinda similar."

"That's cool!"

"Do you play any?"

And soon his entire arm was covered in back and forths. Talking about music to whatever else the two of you could come up with. He learned about all your hobbies just as you learned his. You started keeping a little journal of all the poems he wrote you, all the little songs he'd write down across his. It was when you'd wake up to a poem, first thing in the early mornings. The sunlight caressing your entire body, wrapping you up like a hug.

The poems spoke of things like how he was excited to talk to you throughout the day. Asking you if blue was starting to become your favorite color. Did you think of him when you saw it? Things like how he was so happy to see you respond and that he thinks of you every time he strums on his guitar. You were just thankful he couldn't hear your heartbeat or see the way he made your face flush.

But there was that longing to finally see this person. You learned your partner was a he but the thought of asking him his name didn't seem to matter. It was like you'd known him your whole life, and because of him blue was starting to become your favorite color. So one night as you sat at your desk, you decided to just go for it.

"Hey. I just thought about how I don't know your name!" You had to move to writing with your non-dominate hand which made your handwriting a little shaky.

You giggled at the little doodle that came up next to your statement. It was a horrible drawing of Kirby pointing at the writing, but his face was scrunched up in disgust.

"I dunno. Didn't think about it."

You waited after reading his sentence, thinking he was going to continue. Nope. Nothing.

"Well, what is it??" You asked as you doodled next to the Kirby, a little frog wearing a hat joining the fray.

"It's Stan."

"What?! No way!"

You circled Stan's name with your pen and drew a bunch of exclamation marks. You knew a Stan; he was the quarterback at your university! He had three little friends that always seemed to follow him! He was the kid who brought a guitar to-

He brought a guitar to class sometimes.

He wrote in his notebook when he thought no one was watching.

He made your heart beat and the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

He was your soulmate.

Did he even notice you like you did him? Did he know you sat across the room from him in history? Or that you were his soulmate? Of course he didn't! He doesn't even know your name.

You break out of your spiraling thoughts when you see the blue ink across your skin again. "Pretty sure way. That's the name my mom gave me."

"You know what I mean dick! I know you! You're Stan Marsh! You live on that farm that's like an hour away from here in South Park!"

There was nothing for a while. Maybe you shouldn't have said all that, but the faster your heart sped the faster you wrote. You didn't think to slow down until you looked back at how hastily everything was written.

"You go to my university, don't you?" He asked.

"South Park college. Go cows." You doodled a little cow next to the response hoping to relief a little tension.

"Go to Stark Pond in an hour."

"What?! Dude it's like 6:30! I can't just leave this late!"

"I wanna meet you and I don't wanna wait. I'm already in my truck."

You could tell from the way the letters were spaced out and slanted. It was almost gibberish, gibberish that had your blood pumping. In a manner of seconds, you learned the name of your soulmate and you were actually considering going out. It would be around seven thirty before he actually showed up. You bit your lip and looked over at your car keys but only for a moment. When the thoughts of how he wanted to meet you were so bad he was willing to drive out again to see you. To see who you were. The fear of disappointing him did cross your mind, what if he hyped you up too much.

You knew Stan Marsh. You knew how pretty he was and how he could make a group of people follow him. You knew he had those beautiful baby blue eyes that seemed to go forever.

God you loved the color blue.

With a huff you grabbed your keys and put on some decent clothes. You waited at Starks Pond for that hour, you could have stayed home to wait but your anxiety wouldn't let you. Not the way your heart was still pounding, every minute that passed felt like agony. Pulling your jacket closer to your body, you almost leapt out of your skin each time a car would pull up; only to be disappointed when anyone that wasn't Stan got out or drove off.

When finally, a beat up brown truck pulled up next to yours. Your breath hitched when you saw movement, breathing out when you saw a familiar pair of red shoes. A blue hat that looked well-loved over shaggy black hair.

He was standing by the water looking around, he looked as nervous as you felt. Just when he thinks you're not coming do you finally find the strength, the feeling, in your legs to step out of the car. The cold air nipping at your skin, it felt like ice right now from the way your skin set ablaze. The sounds of your footsteps crunching against the snow makes him look back and his jaw drop.

"It's you."

"It's me." You respond with a little smile, your voice barely above a whisper.

Stan takes the initiative and meets you halfway, the two of you meeting on the worn out walking trail. It isn't until he steps into the moonlight that you realize he's not wearing his jacket, but you notice the ink going up and down his arms.

"You actually came. I didn't think you would."

"I almost didn't...it's cold you know." You shoot him a little smirk, changing the tone in your voice to a lighthearted tease.

Stan let's out a breathy chuckle, you can see the little puff of air that escapes his lips. He takes a step closer towards you. You can feel the heat coming off him, radiating around your body. "Yeah guess it is. Forgot my jacket."

"Were you that excited?"

"Are you kidding? Yeah! It's not fair you knew what I looked like!"

And when you giggled Stan felt himself walking on air. The way you made his heart soar from that alone. He'd never write something funny on his arm again, if he had something funny to say you'd hear it just so he could hear that laugh.

"Then I hope you're not disappointed."

"Wh... what? Of course I'm not disappoint- You have no idea how much I'm trying not to throw up right now."

"What?!"

"No! Hold on! That came out worse than I meant! I mean I'm nervous because- because you're so beautiful and-....and I'm fucking this up, aren't I?" You watch the panic in Stan's eyes as he scrambled to try and find the right words.

You broke his mind when you laughed again. If your hands didn't come out to take his he would have bolted, ran off to find hole to crawl into. Instead, your hands anchor him to that spot, your smile brings him back down just for him to get lost in your eyes.

"You do suck at communicating." You whisper and press a kiss into his cheek.

"Uh...yeah well...you're the one kissing me. So ...I must be doing something right." Stan mentally kicks himself for that comment, but he can't help that little competitiveness in him.

Stan doesn't let you get whatever you're about to say out, his lips meet yours eagerly. He knows whatever you're about to say is only going to make his face turn a deeper shade of red. When he pulls away and sees your eyes are shut and your lips still slightly parted from the kiss, he knows he's already in deep. Especially when you cupped his face and brought him in for another.

Everything felt like being turned up to eleven. Everything felt right. You felt right being in his arms like this. He never wanted to come down from this feeling and he was sure you felt the same.

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entomolog-t · 7 months

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INSTAЯ (1)

Kicking off promptober a day late with some new OCs for the prompt Stranger! This is going to be an ongoing series for promptober along with some content of my other OCs 💕

Just a fair warning, this chapter in particular is more horror oriented, while the series itself will be more sci-fi focused in nature. The content warnings are not extreme, but be wary of you're sensitive to any of the topics.

- - - -

Next Chapter: Chapter 2

Word count: 2856

CW: Gore (Blood/viscera, mild body horror) Mentions of firearms, Adult language,

There was someone outside.

The sight of a figure standing in the distance at the edge of my yard made the blood drain from my face. There was a creeping sense of unease that washed over me as I eyed them from the window. What was someone doing out here? The next house was over a kilometer away… just who the Hell was that??

I squinted, unable to discern anything other than a vaguely human silhouette near the treeline.

Was someone lost? Maybe a drunk kid stumbled away from a barn party or something?

A voice at the back of my mind whispered far worse alternatives.

What if they’re here on purpose?

The figure wobbled forwards, just beyond the reach of the porch lights. I felt as the growing sense of unease only worsened. Their gate was lurching and awkward- as if stumbling and catching their fall.

Had they been in an accident? Oh God, what if they’re hurt?? That paranoid voice in the back of my head interjected, cold and logical, What if they want to hurt you? It’s the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere- Lock. The. Doors.

As if on cue, the motion lights lit up, casting an artificial glow over the expanse of their yard- the light just barely reaching the … the… what the fuck was that?

Unease turned to horror, and my feet turned to lead.

Very little of the light had reached the figure, its body still obscured by shadow- but the light had reached its eyes; it reflected off them.

All six of them.

To my horror, those six eyes turned to look straight at me.

Not human. Oh God, it's not human.

I stared, unable to pull my eyes from the sight, instinct locking me in place. For a beat we stayed frozen, eyes locked on one another, neither of us moving. I wasn’t sure I was even breathing.

Then it ran.

My heart stopped. It barrelled forwards with jagged motions at wrong angles- its movements far too stiff. I fall back from the window with a choked cry. A singular voice cutting through the panic in my mind.

The door. Lock the door. Get the gun.

Frantic, I scramble to my feet, legs feeling numb as I sprint toward the door. As I near the door, i hear a muffled sound that chills me to the bone;

Barking.

Honey!

For a brief moment my thoughts feel incomprehensible. Panic scrambling any sort of linear path or cohesion before adrenaline urges me to focus- this is fight or flight, and if Honey is outside I could only ever choose fight.

Hall closet. Get the bat.

I rip open the closet door, tossing aside coats and clutter to grab the metal “Unwanted Visitors” bat. My heart threatens to beat out of my chest as I hear the barking outside take on an edge- a growl.

Fuck.

I needed to move. Not Honey. Oh God, please not Honey.

My breathing comes too quickly and too shallow, chest shaking with every breath. My hands tremble as I grip the bat, my knuckles white. Despite it all, my mind remains clear- Frantic, but clear.

Open the door. Get the dog.

I rip the door open, nearly falling back as the… the thing whips its head around to face me. My stomach drops, weighed down by an overwhelming dread; There was no denial. This was no person in a mask, no deformed and mangy coyote- Hell this was no animal born of this earth. There was no conceivable way to placate my mind by rationalizing that this thing was anything but monstrous.

It’s too many eyes stayed locked on my own, as it loomed motionless on two legs, almost like a man- only a twisted perversion of what a man should be. Even at a distance it was clear this thing was massive, standing taller than my pickup. An armor like shell covered its form- a deep inky black and with an uncanny sheen, akin to spilled gasoline. Flesh and muscle peaked through the gaps in the armor on limbs that were far too long- and horrifically, two too many. It … this thing had six limbs.

It stood on two legs, malformed as they were - they looked almost prehistoric. Digitigrade, like that of a dog, but clawed. Not clawed like cats or dogs, but taloned like birds- like… dinosaurs. Four arms jutted from its body, with two remaining curled against its chest, while the other pair rose up in front oof them between itself and Honey.

Its face- God that face! Bile rose in my throat as the wrongness of its visage settled in my mind. Much of its face was smooth, devoid of any visible ears or nose. There were too many eyes. Each pure black, with no indication of where its gaze landed. Antennae, this thing had fucking antennae, jutted forth from its temples behind what looked like horns in an almost demonic appearance.

Was… was it a Demon?

An Alien??

As my eyes locked onto its mouth, an icy chill coursed through my spine. The sight of its mouth was beyond horrific- Like a twisted version of an insect or a Hellish spider. Grotesque appendages jutting out from the corners of its mouth, keeping the full view of its maw obscured.

That is… until it screamed.

It was as if its face was being pulled apart, the mouth appendages spreading far wider than humanly possible to reveal a fanged maw. The sound that spilled from the creature could only be described as unholy. A sound that was both a hissing shriek and a deep bellow echoed through the night, broken and cracking as the howl died in the creature's throat- almost as if it was not meant to be making sound. The silence that followed was deafening. Something stirred in the back of my mind, as if awoken by the creature’s wail- a primal fear, the sensation a mix of desperation and foreboding. It was as if my mind fought against the sight before me, so desperately wishing to unsee something that went against my own established reality. The uncanny wrongness of the creature filled me with a nearly indescribable sense of unease- the primordial fear of the unknown.

Honey growled. A low warning growl spilled past barred teeth. I heard my voice before I’d even realized I’d spoken.

“Honey. Off.”

Honey doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch at my voice as she refuses to tear her eyes away from that monstrosity for even a second. I take a step forward.

“Honey. Come!” My voice cracks, the fear bleeding into the plea.

Nothing.

A sickening sinking feeling overtakes me as dread settles in my stomach. Thoughts of that .. that thing wormed into my mind- Those grim claws tearing into Honey, that hideous mouth sinking in to her-

“HEY!” I take the first of the steps down the porch and raise the bat, desperately ignoring the shaking in my legs, “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!”

The creature’s head snaps toward me in an instant. It takes a step back, raising both sets of arms it had extended between itself and Honey. That horrible mouth opens again, a gruesome croaking sound bleeding forth, like a wet clicking. It sounded forced… it sounded almost… pained.

I blanch.

Could it- Did it understand me?

Time felt as though it froze- my eyes locked on the creature's face looking for some sign of recognition, some emotion- anything. Its face split again, mouth opening to make a strained croak before it dropped to its knees, as if a weight had suddenly been dropped on it. It shuddered, catching its weight on two of its four arms as it collapsed forward.

Was it hurt?

Slowly I move forward down the steps. A sickening smell fills the air. Hot and meaty, like a gutted animal- the smell of ruptured innards. I gag- the smell of roadkill. In the cool of the night, I watch in terrible fascination as steam rolls off the creature in billowing waves.

To my relief, Honey takes a step back, ears pulling back flat against her head as she whines in concern. Something was happening, and I did not care to find out what that was.

The creature shrieks. The sound makes my blood run cold. Raw, and wet, it sounded like two voices screaming in tandem; A cougar's yowl cutting through a bison’s bellow. A sickening crunch cuts the scream short.

“Honey.” My own voice feels hollow, I barely feel her name form in my mouth as I speak it. “Inside.” She hesitates, head briefly leaving the creature before turning to me. Honey finally relents, tearing off behind me and into the house. Yet the relief that washes over me seems to wash away my nerve as well. My legs feel weak under the weight of my body- plated far too firmly in the ground as if literally and metaphorically petrified- cemented in place by fear.

Panic swells in my mind, as my heart thunders against my chest. Fuck, fuck fuck. I needed to get to the door? How fast was this thing? Would it try to get inside? Did I have any bullets left? What if-

No.

Focus.

Get inside.

With no small effort, I will my feet to move. I refuse to take my eyes off that fucking abomination as I take a step back. Its head shoots up, gaze locking onto me. Instinct throws logic to the wind, my brain screaming a single command-

RUN.

I turn to obey, but not before I see it lunge forward, rushing at me as I try to get away. In a split second decision I pivot, swinging the bat with enough adrenaline powered force I was certain I could drop a bear.

A sickening crunch follows as I make contact.

To my horror, the noise hadn’t came from me downing the creature, but instead the metal bat crumpling in its grasp.

I step back, releasing the bat. For a moment, both of us seem frozen in time- each staring at the bat, malformed in its grasp. Some unknowable emotion crosses its face. Its antennae stand straight, and the gruesome oral appendages twitch rapidly.

I take another step back.

The thing looks from the bat to me, its horrific mouth opening and closing with a stuttered chittering noise. I take a step back. It hesitates, looking from the bat to me and back again to the bat. Another step, and another, and another. My eyes stay locked on its form, refusing to turn my back to that thing again.

It crumpled my bat… my metal bat... It caught it mid swing… with ease. My brain seemed to struggle for a moment, as if resisting against what I’d just witnessed. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat. This thing was fast, and horrifically strong.

Get inside.

I want to laugh at the thought. Tears sting at my eyes, and dread wells in my gut. What good would being inside do to stop something that crumpled a bat with ease?? The barrier of the door would be just as effective as a blanket over a child's feet at night- only good for placating the mind.

I take another step back and feel the bottom step of the porch steps press into my calf.

Almost there. Get inside. Lock the door. Get the gun.

I back up the steps, my steps slow as if any sudden movement would prompt it to rush at me. The wood groans under my weight and the creature's head snaps up as if broken out of a trance, bat clattering to the ground. It follows, though it doesn’t rush at me. Instead its movements are slow- like a predator stalking its prey.

My steps quicken, but my eyes stay locked on the multitude of its own. It matches my pace, clearing the porch steps in a single stride as I back through the door frame. It closes more distance. My mind is screaming- begging me to shut the door, but something much louder and much more ancient bucks against my reason- commanding me to keep distancing myself from it.

I step back.

It follows.

The creature ducks under the doorframe- a hideous and gruesome sight as its massive frame steps into the light. Brutal looking spikes jut out from its shelled exterior, the oily sheen on its segmented armored shell prismatic in the light. Something too fleshy writhes between the gaps, twisting and straining with each motion. It raises a single arm toward me, three brutally clawed fingers, long and unnaturally jointed grasping for me.

Then, without warning, it crumbles.

Both figuratively and literally, the creature falls apart. A chunk of its shelled armor falls from its extended arm- a foul viscous ooze dripping from the bare spot. It shudders, a soft gurgling cry slipping out from behind its insectoid mouth.

It takes a step, wobbling under its own weight before dropping to a knee. One hand reaches to cover its mouth, while the other strings against its thigh, trying to heave itself back to standing.

It stumbles. More chunks of its exterior fall from its frame. Its raises its head towards me. Despite all reason, the emotion on its face seems all too clear.

Fear.

Despair.

Pleading.

I choke back tears. What the fuck was happening?

It chitters- sounding almost frantic. In the light of the entryway I can see its mouth more clearly. The way its face splits open, the horrific width of its maw, the way its teeth look more like talons than actual teeth.

I watch in horror as it begins to heave- dropping to its hands and knees its back arches- more pieces of itself cracking off under the sudden movement. A foul hot liquid spills from its mouth, the creature gagging and jerking as it throws up something thick and…red.

Blood.

Was it this thing's blood? My thoughts are drawn back to the strange ooze under its shelled exterior…No…Was this someone else’s blood? Had it-

It heaves again, chunks of tissue and viscera seemingly answering my unspoken question.

I can’t feel my breaths as they pass my lips, but I can feel the way my chest heaves- how hard it contracts, each breath shallow and forced.

Get away NOW.

I stumble back. Head swiveling around while it's distracted. Fragmented thoughts coming and going in a frenzy as I feel fear and logic scramble for some sort of plan.

Run. Hide. Kitchen. Garage. Knife. Gun. Phone. Honey.

Honey.

My eyes fall on Honey, standing stiff in the hallway. Her ears pulled back, expression wary as her head looks from me to the thing in the entryway. Without a second thought I rush towards her, grabbing her by the collar and stumbling to the bedroom. The slam of the door behind us seems to break whatever mental dam I had built in my panic. Hot tears spill down my face as realization dawns on me.

Trapped…I’d trapped us both.

The gun was in the garage. I felt a sob escape my lips. The truck keys- in the kitchen beside my phone.

I shook my head, trying to free myself from the despair pulling on my mind. I had to do something. I refused to sit and wait for that… that … thing to burst through the door. My eyes fell to the dresser, calling forth memories of yelling at Clyde for scratching the hardwood floor as we struggled to move it from the guest room to my own. It was heavy.

Ramming my shoulder into the side of it, I shoved it in front of the door, the dresser groaning in progress as its legs scraped the once pristine hardwood. My own legs shook. My hands shook. Everything shook. Trembling turned to near convulsions as my back slid against the dresser, knees giving out beneath me. I eyed my bed, considering shoving it against the door as well, but the thought of getting up for a second and leaving the door undefended was too much.

Crouched against the barricade, I could hardly breathe. The stench of rot choked the air, mixing with the vile sounds of retching that echoed down the hall. I pulled Honey close, clinging to her like a child clutching a treasured stuffed animal. Her tail flopped lazily, like the fearless idiot she was. This couldn’t be real. I was having a break. This was… a prank. A nightmare. This was anything but reality. It couldn’t be- I knew better. This was real.

I felt my sanity teetering on the edge. Outside the barricaded door, the shuffling and scratching grew, though I couldn’t tell if the creature was moving closer or if my ears were just adjusting to the unnatural silence around me.

More retching.

More chittering

Sounds of something heavy falling to the ground.

Wailing.

Horrific screeches.

The sound of a heavy impact rattling the walls.

My hands flew to my ears, eyes squeezing shut as I begged reality itself to make it stop-

And … it did.

#OooOOoo #spooky szn baby #Don't worry #the g/t is on its way #HoneyOC #BramOC #DawnOC #INSTAЯ #MonsterOC #g/t #G/t writing #giant/tiny #entowrites

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