Page 170 of Phobia
Then someone—something—much heavier, bigger, all-consuming presses closer. There’s a shift of fabric against my soaked jeans. They stick to my legs, making my skin itch and crawl even worse. Hot breath blows in my face, inches away from my hands and forearms.
My eyes are squeezed shut so tight, I see white lines zigging and zagging behind my closed lids. The pressure in my skull magnifies, my optic nerve the radial point.
A voice hitches. Then a cackle unlike anything I’ve ever heard before blares in my face, right on me. Into me.
A shriek of my own rips from my vocal cords as spittle flies across my cheeks, my lips. Inside my mouth. Coolness douses me in an instant. Liquid pools over my head and flows downward. I inhale and splutter, choking on water as I breathe it in.
It keeps coming.
It doesn’t stop.
My arms flail, reaching and grasping for purchase anywhere. Somewhere.
I can’t breathe. I can’t see. My heart jumps into my throat, hammering away, reminding me how real this is.
The suffocating presence looming disappears in an instant. So does the water dousing me. My eyes fly open—and I’ve never regretted an action more.
I should’ve stayed in the dark.
I should’ve never walked through the doors of Mayhem.
My eyes lock on the figure at the end of the hall. It’s… oh,Jesus,it’s tall. He takes a step forward with a sharp, grating noise. The strobe lights make my head pulse, and my eyes burn as I try to focus.
The figure is leering, head cocked to the side as it comes closer.
Another step.
I press back into the wall. It doesn’t make me feel any safer. My feet press and drag along the slick, chipped, tile floor as I scramble to push myself upright.
I force my eyes away from whatever is coming for me. To escape. With my life.
A life he wants for himself.
More screams and rips of terror echo out. More high-pitched, booming laughter. Taunting bellows.
It’s all too much. I’m dizzy and disoriented with the intensity of it all.
The water beneath my hands makes it impossible to gain any traction. I can feel the figure gaining distance with every wheezing breath. The scraping gets louder. More pronounced. Like the sharpest nails on a chalkboard. Each long, drawn-out decibel another stitch in the fate I sealed for myself.
One second, I was safe. In distance, but maybe not in sanity.
The next, the most haunting, horrific, entrancing clown I have ever seen is in my face, large mouth spread into a manic, crazed smile, two full rows of pointed, white teeth on display and flashing in the light.
My eyes dart over every inch of his white-painted face. Over the coal black smudges around his eyes and mouth. The way they flicker up in distorted lines, adding to the horror.
The collar around his neck is black and frilly, shredded and sleek with something…oh, God.My stomach revolts, and the urge to hunch over is nearly too strong to resist.
But if I move, I’ll touch…
“Scream for me.” A wickedly long tongue sneaks out and swipes across my stinging cheek. My eyes slam shut on a pathetic whimper just as fingers delve into the hair on the top of my head and yank, making me do just as he demanded.
His mouth stretches even wider.Shit, that’s not normal. Is he real?
I never believed in ghosts until now, but hell.
His tongue scrapes over my chin. My bottom lip wobbles.
I tremble and moan. Small whimpers that are barely audible.
