Villains ➵ bill skarsgård a.u.

thirteen

Sitting back down on the side of the bed, I cautiously removed the arm sling from myself and neatly placed them next to me. I pulled open a drawer and took out my nearly forgotten earphones, plugging them into my phone and playing a random song that I haven't heard in ages, the sound of the rain vanishing in the background. Music had always helped me ease the tension in my mind. Sometimes I wouldn't even be able to sleep without earphones chucked in to my ear. It took away the incapability of my head to stop thinking about ghosts and demons and just general problems. I guess that was why I've been sleeping restlessly these past couple of weeks.

I dragged both of my limbs onto the mattress, pulling the sheets over my body before laying down and letting myself sink in, my face pressing against the pillow as I face the window. I waited. I silently waited for something to jump into my vision and let me die in my own horrors, but of course nothing came out. Which was peculiar, for I was almost certain there was someone else in my room. Even as I stare blankly at the curtain that concealed my window underneath, I knew to myself there was something wrong. I couldn't put my finger on it.

But I just believed the lies my head told me to comfort myself. I was over reacting. Again. I'm seeing imaginary connections between the guy outside and the bump from my window. It wasn't going to help me anyway if I keep on shoving immaturity into the matter.

Slowly as my eyes gradually close, the sound of some ballad music playing from my ears, I could've sworn I saw the faintest outline of an extremely pale hand sticking from underneath my bed, reaching out for mine, it's nails gently clenching against my skin like some kind of assurance of its existence.

°°°°

My consciousness floats back into reality, my senses wakening as I try to process where I was.

There was this unfamiliar feeIing of horror living inside of me, and I've tried to push it away. But it just kept coming back. I couldn't see anything. It was completely dark. anywhere I lay my eyes on, I was greeted by the neverending abyss of nothingness. I could hear breathing next to my ear, heavy and hoarse. I waited for it to stop, but it didn't and it just kept on going until I could feel the back of my ear sweating from the hotness of its breath.

What is that? My head screams in horror as I felt its rigid skin touch mine, its hand taking fingers and caressing it, blood from the open wounds dripping onto my palm. I wanted to run away. Far far away underneath the safety of the light. However I couldn't move. I was stuck. Stuck in some kind of cold, wet, and flat surface.

I listened closely, holding my own breathe to distinguish the words it was trying to say.

"hjälp henne." It whispers, sending chills down my spine, my stomach clenching in overwhelming pain like some kind of animal was inside it.

I was dying.

I tried to scream, and squirm as its hands travel over my elbow, firmly grasping it before completely pulling me up until I could feel myself floating in mid air. Suddenly I felt my toes touch the cold cement floor, my eyes flying open simultaneously only to realize that; I was back. I was back in Hillside Cross Station Hospital. I was inside an unfamiliar part. It was clean, unlike the reality that greeted both Arthur and I when we first entered it. Or it was probably just because of the fact I was only trying to lie to myself.

Bile began rising to my throat, the memories coming back to me all at the same time. My parents, the girl, Pamela. I was completely alone from where I currently was, but I felt like they were all staring at me at the corner of my eyes, blaming me for their horrible deaths; like I had stuck the knife into their chests and covered their mouths so they wouldn't scream. Like I killed them with my own hands, and now they were going to make me pay.