Chlorine (Creepypasta x Male Reader)

Three

"You have never called this late in the day unless it was because you needed something Ange."

"Ugh- I've become too consistent for you cabrón,"

"Excuse you, I am not a dumb-ass thanks."

"You're welcome hijo," she said as if you hadn't interrupted her at all. "But anyways- Miss Maggie called to ask me to grab some girls files for her, and seeing as I'm visiting some friends out of town..."

"You want me to go get them and bring them to her for you?"

"And the cabrón proves me wrong!" she said, and her laugh nearly echoed back off of the trees at you. "Maybe you are meant to be in that advanced English course after all!"

"Ha ha, do you want me to go get the files for you or not?" you ask her, already standing up to go back inside and get properly dressed to do so.

She gets her laughter to slowly come to a stop, giving you the most innocent smile she can muster as she thanks you dramatically and calls you the best friend she's ever had. You roll your eyes at her antics and reenter your home, telling her that you'll meet up on Tuesday morning for coffee like you always do. After that you end the call with a goodbye and roam around the house for a moment looking for Ezra in order to feed him before you go. You find him in your spare room that is set up with recording equipment for your music. He sits in front of the window, staring out into the dark with the hair on his back and ears stood up at attention.

You raise a brow at this, watching his head slowly move to the left as if he's watching something move across the window. But when you go over to look outside there is nothing there. You give him a questioning look to which he opens his mouth in a panting smile up at you. You roll your eyes and lead him back into the kitchen so you can give him the last of the remaining pasta before you leave.

You lock your door behind you on your way out, jiggling the handle to make sure it's secure enough before stamping down your front porch steps. Your phone hangs by the slightly scratched pop socket Angie gifted you a while ago, blasting from the speaker as you walk in the dark. You sing along loudly with the words, eyes gazing up at the looming dark trees and stray bats and birds flying about to find shelter for the cool autumn night. From the dim light coming from your phone you can see two rabbits off to the side of the road sitting together before they hop further into the foliage. Your head and hands move on their own with the beat of the music, and you twist around occasionally, eyes closed in order to immerse yourself further into the world the sounds and lyrics create for you.

You've always loved the woods, you loved them even more so when it was dark outside when you traveled through them. The hint of danger the darkness brought with it tingled some part of you deep in your chest, and the noise created by nocturnal animals made everything sound all the more beautifully eerie. There was no explanation for your appreciation of forests in the dark. There was no event in your life to have triggered such a response or infatuation, in fact, every bit of common sense told you to be all the more cautious of the trees and shadows they cast at this time. Yet you found yourself to crave walks in the dark through them, hoping you'd find something strange and perhaps magical in there one night.

But you kept a safe distance away from them and only ever went into the woods at night with - at the very least - one of your guy friends. As said before you were quite small compared to other men your age, both height and muscle wise. You were closer to a woman's height, with slim shoulders and more of a swimmers  or runners build than anything else. If someone bigger and stronger than you came after you, the only thing you could use to your advantage would be your years of track and agility that came with having such a slim body. But that didn't mean you could out-stamina an attacker when running forever.

Suddenly you felt your phone buzz with a new message.

You stopped to look down at your phone to see a spew of texts from Angie.

Call me when you get there hijo
That way I can tell you where the girls filesa re at
*are
Jesus joder these nails don't want to type correctly
seen at 8:57 pm

You gave a small snort at her cursing.