This is an idea that I got from a friend's retelling of a nightmare. It was just begging to be put out there and I hope that I've done it justice in my retelling. Of course, I own nothing. Enjoy.
Click
Clack
Click
Clack
The sound of shoes echoes through the long deserted corridors of Azkaban prison. In a body that is not my own, my entire purpose here is a puzzle I walk. For a second, the sound of my shoes is dissolved by the roar of the waves crashing against the old stone fortress, before my footsteps return, the sharp echoing sounds reaching my ears once more. I pause to watch the waves through a barred window, and I find myself imagining what it would have been like to be imprisoned here. The building itself has a depressing quality, and that is without its guards. Taking a step back I notice the sunlight giving way to dusk, and opt to hasten my journey from this place. I continue my walk at a faster pace, and after a moment something catches my eye. There is a small figure; it must be a child, sat on a bench in one of the open cells, wearing a dark hooded tattered cloak. Its hands are concealed but I imagine them to be wringing together.
"Hello" comes the oddly high pitched, raspy voice.
"Hey there" I call back, oddly frightened of the child.
"I'm hungry" comes that voice again. I shiver.
"Here, have this" I offer, pulling a biscuit from my pocket. I have no idea how it came to be there. I hold it out to the figure. The figure reaches out revealing it's scabbed, grey tinged, near skeletal hands as they snake towards me. The hand reaches the biscuit, touches it, but the biscuit does not shift in my hand. I look sharply at the hand which I notice now is floating through the biscuit as though it is nothing more than water. My shudder is more pronounced this time.
"Feed it to me" rasps the sinister little voice. I do not know why I comply, for this child obviously isn't human, but yet I do. I extend my hand, holding the biscuit to the head of the cloak. The figure lowers its hood, to reveal a blank mask, as though its features have been weathered away. "Thank you" it rasps, although it has no mouth to thank me with, nor eyes, ears or nose to sense my compliance. I want to run, but something intangible is keeping me tethered to the cell. The figure leans towards my outstretched hand, preparing for a bite with its non-existent mouth, with non-existent teeth. The problem is, it doesn't just bite the biscuit. It has my hand.
I scream.