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 |  Gervic's GoT challenge responses |
Jeric balanced the toolbox on his hip, the rusty hinges of the basement door groaning in protest like a rusty swing set on a deserted playground. A draft of cold, stale air tickled his neck, carrying with it the musky scent of forgotten things – like a gym bag left to fester in a locker for a summer. He forced the door open wider, stepping down into the gloom. The single bare bulb hanging precariously from the ceiling cast feeble shadows that danced on the damp concrete walls like phantoms in a forgotten ballet. Jeric flicked the switch on the toolbox, the hiss of the fluorescent light bulb filling the silence. Yet, even with the artificial glow, the shadows seemed to linger, thicker in the corners, like malevolent stage curtains waiting to fall. The memory of last night's horror flick flickered unwillingly in his mind. A group of teenagers, one by one, picked off in this very same kind of dark, dank basement. He chided himself silently. It was just a movie. A really messed up movie, filled with jump scares and lurking shadows, but a movie nonetheless. Still, his grip tightened on the toolbox handle, the metal cold and strangely comforting in his sweating palm. "Just gotta swap the fuse, Jer," he muttered to himself, the sound echoing oddly in the confined space. It was the kind of pep talk you gave yourself when you were eight years old and scared of the dark, not a grown man tasked with a simple electrical fix. He shuffled deeper into the basement, the floorboards groaning under his weight like the moans of the tormented souls in that accursed movie. Every creak, every groan, seemed to amplify in the silence, fueling his unease. Suddenly, a scratching noise came from behind a stack of dusty boxes piled high in the corner. The sound was faint, easily dismissed as a settling house or a skittering mouse, but in the tense atmosphere Jeric had created, it felt like nails scraping down a chalkboard. He froze, heart hammering against his ribs like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. He slowly lowered the toolbox, its metallic clang adding to the unnerving quiet. "H-hello?" His voice was barely a whisper, choked by a sudden dryness in his throat. It sounded foreign to his own ears, a pathetic plea lost in the vast emptiness of the basement. The scratching stopped. Silence. A thick, suffocating silence that pressed down on him, heavier than all the dusty boxes combined. Then, a thump. Loud and distinct, like something solid hitting the floorboards. Jeric's breath caught in his throat. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but his feet seemed glued to the spot, rooted in terror. He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to force some semblance of calm. "Look, I know you're probably just a raccoon or something, but..." He trailed off, the sound of skittering coming from the other side of the room, sending shivers down his spine. Jeric's eyes darted around, searching for the source in the meager light, his gaze landing on a gap between the boxes – a dark, gaping maw that seemed to pulsate with unseen movement. A low growl echoed from the darkness. A guttural sound that sent a primal jolt of fear through Jeric. This was no raccoon. This was something else entirely, something out of that very nightmare he'd tried to dismiss. Panic seized him, and with a strangled cry, he bolted. He didn't stop until he burst out the basement door, slamming it shut behind him with a resounding bang that seemed to shake the foundations of the house. Jeric leaned against the door, chest heaving, his eyes wide with terror. He looked back at the shadowed doorway, a newfound respect for horror movies blossoming in his chest. Maybe they weren't so fictional after all. Maybe the basements on screen held a sliver of truth, a terrifying glimpse into the darkness that lurked beneath the floorboards, waiting for the unwary. He wasn't sure what he'd encountered down there, but one thing was certain – he wouldn't be venturing back into that basement anytime soon. Not alone, at least. Maybe he could convince his neighbor, a burly construction worker with a booming laugh, to lend a hand – and a flashlight. WORD COUNT: 715 Words PROMPT: WHAT'S HIS STORY? He walked into the basement with the horror movie from the night before playing in his head. |
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