Finn POV:
I groggily opened my eyes, my voice barely a mumble as I stared at the unsettling sight of the black phone, seemingly pulsating and breathing as if it had a life of its own. "Stop, stop it," I whispered, my unease growing. Suddenly, a voice interrupted my thoughts. Startled, I jumped and instinctively shuffled backward on the floor, only to find the grabber crouched beside the mattress where I had been sleeping, his gaze fixed upon me. Silence hung in the air, leaving me feeling unsettled. I glanced around the room, my heart pounding, and mustered the courage to ask, "Where's Y/n?" I disregarded the strangeness of him watching me sleep, my concern overpowering everything else. "Who's Y/n?" he responded, his voice devoid of recognition.
My stare bore into his eyes, disbelief mingled with worry etched across my face. "What did you do to her?" I pressed, the tremor in my voice betraying my fear. "Who?" he countered, his confusion seemingly genuine. Anxiousness surged through me as I questioned, "Is she okay?" His unexpected response of "Uh, who now?" caught me off guard. In desperation, I pointed towards the wall, the place where I had meticulously marked the passing years. "The girl you kept here for six years," I exclaimed, my voice trailing off as a sinking feeling enveloped me. We both turned our attention to the wall, and to my utter astonishment, the tally marks on it were nowhere to be found.
"Where did you put her?" My voice escalated, frustration bubbling within me. His gaze averted, and he responded, "I don't know who you're talking about," leaving me standing there, perplexed. A weighty silence settled in, and I could sense his eyes fixed on me, an unsettling anticipation of his next move hanging in the air.
Interrupting the quiet, I interjected, "I'm hungry," squinting my eyes, desperately trying to conjure an image of Y/n in my mind. "We need food," I mumbled, envisioning her presence beside me, craving sustenance. But he sidestepped my plea, diverting the conversation. "How are your eyes?" he asked, brushing off my inquiry. "They hurt," I replied, scanning the surroundings for any sign of Y/n. Nothing. Disregarding my discomfort, he nonchalantly stated, "Well, I can't get you food right now. You'll have to wait," as he rose from his seat. Seeking reassurance, I probed, "Is there someone upstairs who can see you bringing me food?"
The grabber froze in his tracks, a palpable sense of offense emanating from him at the mere suggestion. "The only people here are you and me, so shut up about your stupid little imaginary friend," his voice pierced through me, instilling a chilling fear. There was no trace of her, no sign that she had ever existed. I delved deep into my thoughts, grappling with the unsettling reality before me.
"Why bother coming down here if you weren't going to feed me?" I blurted out, my anger dripping from my words, refusing to accept that Y/n was just a figment of my imagination. He paused, slowly pivoting to face me, his eyes meeting mine.
"Just to look at you," he responded, his words sending a shiver down my spine, a mix of repulsion and unease intertwining within me. "I just wanted to look at you." I instinctively bit my trembling lip, an uncomfortable sensation settling in as I witnessed tears welling up in his eyes. "Oh, God," he muttered to himself, his self-disgust palpable as he turned away and walked off.
A strange, eerie feeling washed over my entire body, akin to waking up drenched in sweat after a nightmarish dream. The thought of what he might have done or could do to me and Y/n lingered, haunting my every thought. As the door slammed shut, plunging the room into darkness, I pressed myself against the wall, consumed by fear. Amidst all the horrors that had unfolded and those yet to come, my mind fixated on one overwhelming concern: where was Y/n?
I had never felt such profound loneliness, and tears streamed down my face like an endless downpour. I knew she was real—I had seen her. Was she a ghost, I wondered, or had she never existed at all? Even if she was an illusion, I yearned to conjure her image once more. Approaching the door, I ran my fingers along its surface, desperate for any sign or scratch. But there was nothing. Just as despair threatened to consume me, I glanced at my finger and saw it coated in wet paint. A surge of hope and fear coursed through me, a delicate balance hanging in the air, waiting to be shattered.
---
Y/n POV:
I blinked my eyes open, disoriented. "Finn?" I called out, but only silence greeted me in the dimly lit room. A voice emerged from the shadows, breaking the silence. "Did you sleep well?" it asked, sending a chill down my spine. Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the surroundings, taking in the scene before me.
"Hey, Y/n," the voice whispered, and my heart skipped a beat. I knew exactly whose voice it belonged to. As I glanced around the small room with empty shelves, my vision blurred, unable to focus clearly. The grabber's voice growled in the darkness, "I saw you with that new boy." Fear coursed through me, and I trembled, my half-opened eyes fixing a sharp gaze on him. Suddenly, the lights flickered on, momentarily disorienting me. "What... what did you give me?" I groaned, frustration and the effects of the drugs clouding my senses, causing the colors to swirl and my nerves to tense.
In that fleeting moment, the scene snapped into focus, and I realized I was chained once again, except this time, the grabber stood ominously closer, right in front of me. My gaze sharpened as the colors sharpened, and dread consumed me when I noticed him loading his gun, the weight of his sinister intentions bearing down upon me.
Finney Pov:
(A/n, I skipped a bit of our thrilling kidnapping scenario, but I trust y'all have watched the movie.)
I woke up, the distant sound of leaking pipes providing a constant backdrop. As I groggily glanced at the phone, memories of desperate meals eaten off the cold, grimy floor and failed attempts to escape through the small window flooded my mind. Eyeing the closed door, I reached for my trusty rocket pen flashlight and directed its beam towards the phone mounted on the wall, cautiously exploring the room's surroundings.
Fear gripped me as my eyes settled on the lifeless body of another unfortunate victim hanging upside down. His battered form bore the unmistakable marks of violence, and his limp hand pointed eerily towards the phone. Illusions and haunting visions were not foreign to me in this place, from the phantom presence of y/n to the tormented voices of the deceased children calling out to me through the broken receiver. I tried to shake off the chilling sight behind me and approached the phone.
"Hello?" I hesitantly uttered, suppressing the unease caused by the lingering image of the lifeless body. Yet, as I turned my head, there was nothing there. "Hello?" I repeated, the line filled with static. A soft voice broke through, its tone filled with urgency. "You don't have much time," it whispered through the phone. "The grabber hasn't been sleeping." The words sent a shiver down my spine, amplifying the sense of impending danger that constantly loomed in this nightmarish existence.
"He thinks this might be it—that you're gonna figure it out," the voice sent shivers crawling up my spine. Filled with worry, I questioned, "Who's gonna figure it out?" His response came with a twisted, sarcastic laughter that sent chills down my spine.
"Are you Griffin?" I asked, hoping for some clarity. The boy seemed perplexed, replying, "Who?" Gathering my thoughts, I mentioned, "Griffin Staggs. Probably. It's all a little hazy, but I imagine you know all of our names." I could hear the bitterness in my own voice. "Every kid does," I added, guilt seeping through my words. "I didn't know you." The silence hung heavy as I stopped my restless pacing.
"You don't have much time," he stated, his words sounding almost like a question. Confused, I blurted out, "Why hasn't he killed me?" The boy's answer sent a chill down my spine. "You won't play the game," he replied. "You have to play the game, if you don't play, he can't win." My anger welled up inside me, my eyes squinting with a fiery red glare. I stared at the ominous phone box and demanded, "What game?"
"Naughty boy," he responded, the mere mention of the name sending waves of disgust coursing through me. "If you don't play the part of the naughty boy, the grabber won't unleash his wrath upon you. And if he can't beat you, then you won't progress to the next stage," he explained, pausing for emphasis. "And the next stage of being the naughty boy... well, that was his favorite part." My unease grew as I fidgeted with the phone, hesitant to ask another question.
"What's the next stage?" I finally mustered the courage to inquire, but instead of a direct answer, Griffin's giggles filled the air, their eerie sound punctuated by intermittent breaths. "The grabber," he replied, his voice crackling with a sinister undertone. "He passed out, waiting for you to play." Confusion mingled with frustration as I interjected, "Well, what good does that do me?" Annoyance laced my words as I lifted my torch to illuminate the door. "The door is still unlocked," I remarked hopefully.
"The door is still unlocked," Griffin confirmed. A glimmer of hope swelled within me as I contemplated the possibility of escape. "So, I just... go?" I questioned, my voice trembling with a mixture of anticipation and fear. Tears threatened to well up, my lips dry and my tongue feeling parched. "There's a combination lock," Griffin revealed, his words hanging in the air. "It's on the inside of the storm door. It used to be my bike lock," he concluded, offering a potential solution that could hold the key to my freedom.
"Your bike lock?" I asked, my tone filled with curiosity. "Yeah, he took it when he took me," Griffin replied solemnly. I pressed further, "What's the combination?" His response was tinged with sadness, "I don't remember." Worried that he might hang up, I raised my voice, urging him, "Griffin!" I feared he would hang up. "I remember being afraid to forget it, that's why I wrote it down." his weary voice sounded. "Where did you write it down?" I asked again.
"It's carved with a bottle cap in the wall," he revealed, sparking a glimmer of hope within me. Eagerly, I inquired, "Which wall?" The silence on the other end made me grow more impatient, and with a heightened tone, I repeated my question, "Which wall?!?" After a brief pause, he responded, "The one on the right. About shoulder height when you're sitting down." Without a moment's hesitation, I dropped the phone and crouched down, scanning the wall for any sign of carved numbers.
When I found them, I repeated aloud, "23317, 23317," trying to commit the sequence to memory. Finally, I picked up the phone again and excitedly relayed the numbers, "23317?" Griffin's uncertain response made me doubt myself, "If you say so." Doubts flooded my mind, and I rattled off variations of the sequence, "Or is it 23-31-7, or 23-3-17, or 2-33-17?" Frustration tinged my voice as I struggled to recall the correct combination. "I don't remember," Griffin confessed, his voice growing desperate. Interrupting him, I pleaded, "Griffin!" His voice shaking on the end of the line. "I can't remember!"
"You'll have to try tomorrow," Griffin expressed his disappointment, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation. "And you'll have to be very quiet about it," he added, his words barely audible. Responding in a calm demeanor, I acknowledged, "Yeah, thanks." However, before ending the conversation, a sudden thought struck me.
"Is... is Y/n there?" I inquired, bracing myself for the possibility of an unfavorable response. When Griffin replied with, "I don't know any Y/n," it felt like a sharp blow to my heart, whether due to the realization that she may not exist at all or the unsettling notion that she might be trapped somewhere even more sinister. "Oh... okay," I muttered, hanging up the phone, trying to convince myself that it might have been a figment of my imagination.
With a firm grip on the rocket ship pen in my hand, I prepared myself for what lay ahead. This was the moment, the pivotal juncture where everything would be put to the test.
---
Y/n Pov:
Your jaw stiffened in fear as you attempted to scream, but it was too late. The grip of the gun pressed against your temple, its cold presence chilling you to the core.
"Y/n, my daughter," the grabber whispered, his voice quivering with an unexpected tenderness. His hands trembled, betraying his inner turmoil. The gun clicked ominously, poised to end your life. However, in a surprising turn of events, the grip on the trigger wavered. Instead of savoring the pain and relishing in the act of killing, it became evident that the one experiencing anguish in that moment was him. At the last moment, he redirected the gun, firing a shot into the wall, the deafening echo reverberating through the room.
A growl escaped his lips as he angrily hurled the gun at the wall, its cold metal no longer pressing against your forehead. Suddenly, his demeanor shifted once again, his voice trembling as he tearfully confessed, "All we wanted was a kid." He shouted in frustration, his voice laced with sorrow, "I gave her a kid, and yet she still left!" His tears streamed down his face as he wiped them away, his voice taking on a falsely sweet tone, "I'm sorry... I just get a little bit angry sometimes." his eyes were red with tears.
He cast a fleeting glance towards the floor before exiting the room, leaving you in a state of hyperventilation, your breaths labored and drawn-out as you wriggled and struggled against the constricting chains. The bandanna tightly tied around your mouth obstructed your airflow, the dusty fabric exacerbating your struggle for breath. Overwhelmed, you surrendered to despair, tears streaming down your face as you sobbed, your cries punctuated by bouts of coughing and wheezing, trapped in a vicious cycle of anguish and suffocation.
'Finn-'
---
(2388 Words)
well, I just wanted to than u all for commenting and reading, believe it or not but this has been my most successful story yet! Also I have a lil bit of homework so I might post next chapter next week sorry
ok we'll see ya in the next chapter.
-L