The Broken Doll (Brahms x Reader)

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

A part of me felt frightened but angry at whoever thought it was funny to do this.

"Hey!" I yelled out loud, "Who's doing this?"

I stood there, waiting—wishing for a response. Nothing but silence in the air. I took the slip of paper and ripped it into shreds without having read what was on it. As soon as I did that I heard an aggressive, loud scream. It sounded like a man. The scream was muffled so I thought it must've came from someone outside. I locked the front doors and peaked through the doorhole. No one in sight. I slowly backed away, frightened that I was no longer alone. And, it turns out I wasn't. I slowly backed away from the door until I bumped into something. Or—someone.

I turn around and look up to see a man in a mask. I screamed and ran back to the door, running out as soon as I got it open. I decided to look back and see the man wasn't after me. He hadn't moved from that spot.

I began to mumble things to myself...Remembering what the man looked like.

Mask of a boy...The doll..Brahms!

That man is Brahms.

Instead of running to the cops, I go back to the porch of the house. Why? I need to. This documentary would become so popular if people knew what was really going on. Brahms is alive! Although...maybe I won't be to tell it.

"B-Brahms..You're Brahms right?" I asked.

He nodded slowly and pointed down to the pieces of paper I torn earlier.

"Did you write that?" I asked.

Brahms stepped  further away from me as if he was inviting me back in.

"I'm sorry," I said, while walking inside, completely forgetting that this man was a murderer, "It was a list of your rules-"

Before I could finish he suddenly charged at me. He knocked into me full force, so hard that I fell. Hitting my head on the floor, I blacked out.

My eyes opened, vision slightly blurred. Once they adjusted I see that I was tied up in a chair..I struggle to move as the rope was digging into my skin. I felt like my hands and legs were losing circulation. I heard footsteps from behind me and shot my head in the direction, seeing Brahms but, in a mask this time. A mask of him, but was free of scars and burn marks. He ran his hand across the kitchen counter top until it came in contact with the handle of a knife. This was all too familiar to me. Then, I remembered. It was almost like the dream I had. Was I about to die?