Hey guys!
Here is another little fanfic in result of my depressing Writer's Block. It's been giving me quite a few morbid ideas as of late, and this one was just an idea I simply could not let go.
This is based off one of my greatest childhood terrors when I was little. We all have a monster beneath our beds...or in our cupboards. This just so happens to be mine, and what better way is there to recover from it than through writing a story? By the way, I barely slept at all last night as a result of writing this, so it wasn't as healing as I originally planned, but oh well!
I hope you enjoy!
HeartElyse
XXX
What Goes Bump in the Night
"Fear of the unknown is the greatest fear of all." - Yvon Chouinard
29th of January, 1884
The eight-year-old boy shifted against his mattress, clamping his tear-brimming eyes painfully shut, a shaking huff of exasperation transcending from his pale, quavering lips. The early hours of the evening had arisen and fallen long ago, and by now, with midnight dawning, he most certainly should be asleep, as any usual boy would. By now, any regular boy would have been sunk very much into the flaccid depths of sleep, enjoying the thrills of dreamland with fond curiosity and wonder. After all, this was no time for any little boy to be awake. This was the time for adults, where men roamed and played their wicked games, games that no child should ever know about, let alone be involved in.
So why was it that Ciel Phantomhive was the only boy to ever be awake at a time like this? He honestly didn't know...
He never used to have trouble sleeping. In fact, it used to be incredibly simple. All he would need to do was bury his face into the feathery plush of his pillow and instantly, he would drift and fade away.
And yet tonight, Ciel was unbearably cold - despite the night being infected with the unflappable heat of summer - and no amount of blankets could return warmth to his frigid bones.
But it was not only that...
Although it was the cold that was causing tremors to judder through his slender body, it was not the only reason that he trembled so violently.
No; what was also causing him to tremble was an unusual fret he could not dispel. It was a fret he could not explain, and yet at the same time, he knew that if he were to be asked, he would surely be able to explain it perfectly.
In a moment of weakness, he once again squinted open his glistening azure eyes and ogled warily at the cupboard standing adjacent to his bed, its silhouette looming like a quadratic beast within his line of sight.
Although he told himself that he had merely imagined it, he swore he'd seen it rattle. He swore he'd heard an eerie scratching sound reverberating from within it.
Ciel was aware that he could easily sprint down to his parents' bedroom and plead for them to investigate the cupboard for him so he could return to slumber with no further quarries. And yet he didn't wish to wake up his parents for absolutely nothing at all except his stupid, pitiful fears. His mother would most likely tell him that he was being silly. And she would be correct.
He was being silly.
There was nothing for him to be concerned about.
A coat hanger must have just dislodged itself from where it had been fastened and slid down to the bottom of the cabinet, thus resulting in the scratching sound.
See?
Absolutely nothing to be scared of.
Absolutely nothing at -
The door of the cupboard creaked, slitting apart by just the slightest of margins.
Ciel felt the very blood drain from his cheeks, his features blanching so garishly that his skin turned practically transparent.
Ice doused his veins and before he could react further, the door screeched again, the gap widening.
The little boy's fingers grappled the bedsheets, gripping them so tightly that he lost all feeling within his hands.
His heart was too afraid to beat.
His lungs were too afraid to breathe.
His flesh had turned to stone, his body frozen and as the door creeped open again and a single, blood-cloyed finger sidled through it, Ciel could no longer bear to blink.
Ciel's mouth gaped, and he willed sound to escape it, to call for his parents, to call for someone before something horrible happened...
And yet nothing came out...
His throat had sealed shut, and no amount of willing could conjure a word from it.
He was hopeless, hopeless to what was about to happen, and absolutely nothing could stop it.
And that thought was so terrible that had he not of been so afraid, he might have wailed.
So instead, as the door rocked on its hinges and a whole mauled hand waved in greeting, frigid tears began to streak down his cheeks in glistening rivulets, sobs of utter mortification flittering throughout his entire fraught frame.
The door cracked open again.
A head peeked through the gap...
And poor, little Ciel choked...
Upon its mop of grimy obsidian hair was a top hat splotched with flecks of crimson.
Upon its features were eyes as empty as swirling voids with oozes of black and red dribbling from their depths, and a nose as angular as a dagger poking from its whittled skull.
And upon its slash of a mouth was a deranged smile, with teeth as serrated as razors, with blood staining them forever rouge.
Just as Ciel dared to scream, the fiend lunged, its skeletal fingers reaching for him and its jaw unhinging, threatening to swallow him whole...
XXX
30th of January, 1884
"Ciel?" Rachel Phantomhive inquired as she arrived at her son's chamber door the next morning, rather concerned that he had not emerged from it yet. She knocked twice, yet when she received not answer, she peeled open the door...
And a wounded, utterly horrified scream was shredded from her...
XXX
And the rest is all up to your imagination!