Author's Note: Haven't uploaded in a while, I know. Written, maybe, but not uploaded. My friends have recently gotten into Amnesia (I'm interested, too, but just lack the gall to actually play it) and I've taken a liking to watching it behind their back and still getting immensely scared. I wrote this for my friend Jane's birthday, in which I gave her this story written on aged pieces of diary papers, a bunch of candles, a creepy wooden box, a letter from some police chief in Prussia claiming her to be Daniel's next of kin, and the actual game.
Declaimer: I don't own Amnesia: the Dark Descent, which is a bittersweet feeling.


Cabinet

My heart raced as I pulled the cabinet door shut, hoping to God - if I was even religious, I hadn't yet found that out - that the monster hadn't seen me going in here between its incessant ripping apart of the flimsy wooden door. The darkness in the cabinet made me lightheaded, but I didn't notice; I was listening to the repetitive crashing of the monster as it did in with the door.

I put my lantern down next to me, trying not to make a sound, then stood up straight and breathed as softly as I could. The crashing stopped. I could hear the monster breathing. I shut my eyes to keep sweat from dripping into them, repeating made-up prayers in my head that the monster couldn't hear my heartbeat, which was hammering against my ribs like a huge, round bass drum beating out a signal: I'm over here! Come eat me!

My legs went weak when I heard the monster directly in front of the cabinet, my hands clenching. It was difficult to keep my breathing silent when I thought that at any moment the monster could punch through the cupboard as easily as he'd punched through the door. I held myself up against the back of the cabinet but otherwise didn't dare to move, my eyes staring at the frighteningly dark inside of the cabinet door as though I could see the horrifyingly disfigured form immediately outside.

I stood quite still for another fifteen minutes, only after which did I realize that the monster wasn't, in fact, about to clobber me from the other side of the wooden doors. Actually, I couldn't hear the monster's breathing at all. I let out a long, shaky breath and felt weak, hot and grimy with sweat, as though I'd been running for an hour. My hand was trembling so furiously that I could hardly pick up my lamp again.

I pushed the door open with my right hand, peering out through the tiniest crack I could possibly make, horrified that the monster might be standing right there, waiting for me. Fortunately, it wasn't. I stepped out into the light of the room, my sweat-soaked hand slipping against the door as I pushed it open, and felt immensely relieved when I did so; the cool air of the castle washed over me, undoing the effects of the oven I'd turned the cabinet into. I ran a hand through my long, soaked hair, then smoothed out my green vest. Being in the cool light helped me feel stable again, but my hand still shook violently. I tried to stop it by balling it into a fist, but that only proved to deplete my strength. I took a long, shaky breath, the lantern hanging by my side, then stepped over the splintered, crumbled remains of the door, cursing Alexander from the bottom of my heart, whoever the hell that was.