Run.
I need to run.
Throwing his body in the opposite direction of the sound, he stumbled over himself for a few a seconds, his feet slipping around, his chest reaching the ground, slamming into it clumsily.
It was like he was being held in place by some unnatural force, before finally breaking free of its grasp.
Regaining his balance, he planted his feet in a metronome pattern, in a full sprint almost immediately, not looking back to where the ghost-like figure had been.
Despite this, a spine chill ran down him, pricking and poking, telling him that distance was far from being made, only making his fear grow more desperate.
As if to answer to his wish to get away, through the fog, the road slowly became littered with objects, each growing in size to offer a variety of cover.
He ran past them all. Hiding behind something was out of the question. He had already seen two monsters, and he had just gotten here. Who knows when another one might suddenly appear.
And then he saw it, a luxurious coffin laid next to one of those pastel coloured kid's playgrounds that could be assembled and disassembled easily, the kind you'd find in backyards too small to accompany a proper playground.
Opening the lid and climbing into the velvet lined coffin, his aching muscles were screaming "We're not dead yet!" at him. And his intuition was telling to find something better or keep running, but he ignored it.
Closing the lid and letting the world outside disappear.
For a moment, there was silence.
It was already quiet before, but now, not even the winds whispers could reach him.
And still, the space around him was illuminated by seemingly nothing. His vision had not been impaired despite closing himself into a tightly shut coffin with zero light sources.
He caught his breath after all of his running. His body wasn't built for this kind of strain. If only he had been Mitchel. Or at least, listened to him when the eccentric told him to work out more.
He didn't know if inside this coffin was safe, but it'd have to do for now. Running forever would leave him for dead. Hiding outside offered more dangers than the horrible spirit that was seeking him out. And hiding inside the coffin was no more of a death sentence than the others.
But nothing came. Only the silence that had already joined him.
Waiting. And waiting.
***
Saluim didn't know how long he had been in the coffin now.
Everything was quiet. Too quiet.
The world outside did not speak to him.
Worst of all. His intuition was silent.
Over time, his fear had begun to dribble back in, knowing he would eventually have to open the lid of his deathbed and see what was waiting for him.
Come on...
I don't wanna do this...
But at last, the now boiling urge of curiosity had gotten the best of him, and he was shifting to break the coffins seal that had been protecting him.
Please—Please don't be waiting for me.
Time slowed down even more than it had when he was hiding in the lavish coffin.
In the first few moments, through even the tiniest crack, fog began to spill in like a hand searching for something.
The next, he heard a hymn behind his eyes. It was quiet, but strong, poetic, and oddly relaxing. The gossiping wind was there too.
Opening the lid further, the hymn grew stronger. He felt, empowered? Like it was feeding him hope or even just giving him the false sense of it.
And as the fog—once eerily thin—now thick and heavy, took its time to settle, everything came into clear view.
And he really wished it didn't.
Right in front of him. An axe sat motionless. It's owner, dressed in a white gown, her skin a deathly blue. Nails torn from their fingers and lost, leaving only dried bloody patches. Bones visible beneath the fleshy barrier, not a single deposit of fat or muscle anywhere.
Her hair long and silky, tainted in abyssal, hiding the womans face. It was messy and restless, the lack of treatment and care showing through.
For a short second he felt compelled to stare longer. But his body took control and dragged him back into the coffin. The lid slamming shut loudly.
Shit
Holding his breath, his hand over his mouth to stifle any sound that may try to escape it.
Need... To breathe!
No—She'll hear it.
Fuck—what am I thinking? She definitely already heard the lid!WHY DIDN'T I JUST RUN?! I SHOULD HAVE RUN!
The hymn grew to solemn whispers, speaking behind his fearful eyes.
"Tis some visitor, tapping at my chamber door—Only this and nothing more."
knock. knock. knock.
His mix of thoughts were broken by three knocks against the polished wooden lid. Something was politely asking for permission to come in.
Is she? She's toying with me
knock. knock.
The next two felt more like a question. 'Are you there?' they asked.
"Other friends have flown before—On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Everything was becoming one big sensory overload, designed specifically for him. And it was sure as hell effective.
The hymn in his head which hadn't left despite the lid now being closed, it was spooning bits of hope into him. The fog, still in the coffin after breaking in to find him, lapping against his skin gently. The knocks that sent vibrations through his velvet laced box.
His body was frozen, not daring to answer the visitors requests to open up.
"GO THE FUCK AWAY!"
Saluim spoke, contrary to trying to hold his breath. No, he yelled at the knocking guest. Dread and regret began to coat him like a fine polish.
And the knocks stopped.
Like a devoted listener. It followed his demands.
"Quoth the Raven 'Nevermore.'"
Silence had returned. The knocking was gone, and so were the hymns poetic whispers.
The fog in the coffin was still massaging against Saluim's body, somehow growing thicker and thicker, robbing him of his already limited vision.
It seemed to want to wear him like a puppet. Trying to find the strings to hold him up.
As much as Saluim wanted to rest however, he was too curious. And so was something else.
The lid was opening.