Author's Note: Yo. Here we are, readers. Coming up closer and closer to that eerie holiday filled with paranormal happenings and things you can't quite explain. I love Halloween, because it's the time where the nights start getting longer and winds grow chillier with a distinct howl that crawls up your spine and just gives you the jitters. I love that feeling and I certainly love getting the pants scared off of me with all the scary movie marathons and trips to frightening amusements parks. I didn't get to attend any this year, sadly, but I still have plans for Halloween that I know will get me into the spirit and will be nothing but fun, fun, fun. :D

Alright, now before I get on with the story, I want to point out a few things. This is my first attempt at writing horror. I'm trying to push myself out of my element of writing just romance and comedy fics, so I thought I'd try writing something creepy since it'll set the tone for Halloween. ;) Please keep in mind that this is my first attempt at writing for this particular genre and hopefully I've managed to creep out even a few of you readers. :) This fic was also heavily inspired by Goblin Cat KC's fic "Clogged Drain", which had me shaking in my boots and I highly recommend checking that story out, readers if you haven't already! :D Hopefully "Severed" will give you a small, tiny little morsel of what "Clogged Drain" did to me and with that said, I hope you enjoy. :)

Now, turn off the lights, get comfortable, and enjoy the fic.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

"Severed"

Chapter 1

Michelangelo had to bite back the trembled whimper that hung dangerously at his lips. Head whipped back, he stared down into the pits of darkness that clawed and scraped at the cobblestoned walls, hearing the trickling echoes that resonated through the dampened sewer tunnels surrounding him in all different directions. The haunted drips and pitter-patters were almost like a ghost of whisper breathing down the nape of his neck, causing his breath to hitch inside his throat and threaten to elicit a dangerous scream.

"Mike, you still there?"

Shaking his head to snap himself back into reality, Michelangelo held up his Shell Cell and flicked the PTT switch. With shaken nerves, he turned back to face the electrical service panel in front of him, kneeling down and collecting his thoughts before he allowed himself to speak without his words coming out in a trembled mess. "Y-Yeah, I'm still here. Uhm … what exactly am I supposed to do again, Don?"

He could tell his brainiac brother's lips were pursed into a patient line by the way his words were pushed out in a forceful breath. Wincing apologetically, Michelangelo cradled the Shell Cell between the crook of his neck and shoulder and waited for Donatello to instruct him on the step-by-step process of resetting a circuit breaker; the one that had so conveniently decided to trip during the middle of their viewing of Grave Encounters.

Coincidence? Yeah, right.

"Mikey, you're making this way more complicated than it needs to be. All you have to do is find the tripped breaker and flick it back to 'on'. The power should come back after you've done that."

"If it's such a simple task, how come you're not the one down here doing it? You know how technologically challenged I can be." He trailed his finger over the array of switches that decorated the rather complicated piece of equipment, smiling triumphantly when he noticed the one breaker that was flicked to 'off'.

"We put it to a vote and you lucked out, Mike." He heard Raphael chuckle through the other end of the line. "Now hurry up and turn the power back on. It's more entertainin' watchin' ya piss yourself than it is watchin' the damn movie."

Michelangelo glared lazily at the electrical service panel due Raph's insulting remark, but found his lips tugging into a rather impish smile before flicking the switch back to 'on'. "I wouldn't talk, Raphie. I saw you jump when the ghost girl turned around and started screaming bloody murder at the film crew before the power went out, so who's the big fat chicken n—"

He glanced frantically over his shoulder at the sound of a loud thump, his trembling hand flicking the flashlight over every suspicious shadow that crept and lingered near the darkened corners of the sewers. Body tensing and producing shallow, icy breaths, Michelangelo stilled his quavering nerves as best he could and listened to the eerie sounds that reverberated through the hollow passageways. Like a serenade of some creepy lullaby drawn from the lips of something demonic and sinister.

"You alright, Mikey?" Leonardo asked, his words etched with a thin lining of concern for his baby brother. "We kind of lost you for a second there."

"I … I thought I heard something," Michelangelo spoke out slowly, his baby blue orbs flicking back and forth before a sharp chill grazed up his spine. Was it just him or was it starting to get colder?

"It's probably just your imagination, Mike. I think that movie's beginning to mess with your head."

"Yeah…. I-I'm gonna be on my way back now, okay? Be sure not to start up the movie without me."

"Okay, but be care—"

He strapped his Shell Cell back onto his belt before Leonardo could finish, gripping his flashlight tightly and gulped down his frightened nerves. He could see his breath beginning to form into translucent clouds of puffballs as the sound of jagged, claw-like nails dragging and tearing into the wet concrete thrummed tauntingly through Michelangelo's eardrums. He hated traveling through the tunnels by himself, even when he was a little kid and was accompanied by Master Splinter. His brothers always blamed the scary comic books he read, saying that it fed his imagination and made him overly paranoid. But he couldn't be the only one that thought about it from time to time. After all, the sewers were a vast space of darkness and hidden passageways. They couldn't be the only ones that were hiding within the unused tunnels.

Thump. Scrape. Shuffle.

Michelangelo whipped his head back forcefully enough to give himself whiplash and immediately shone his flashlight frantically through the darkened tunnels, his icy blue orbs scanning the passageways too quickly for the images to register through his brain. The eerie sounds were starting to grow faint, but he could feel their presence drawing closer – the pricks and needles of someone watching him jabbing annoyingly at the back of his neck. Stepping back until his shell pressed against the wall, Michelangelo forced himself to quell his nerves and focus onto one spot. Squinting through the darkness that draped over the sewer tunnels, he brought his flashlight up and shone the beam through the darkened corridors, letting the beam land onto one spot that held a protruding shadow that didn't blend with the tunnels. At first, Michelangelo figured it was just some old crates the sewer workers liked to leave around the tunnels, but when he flashed the beam right through the passageway, what revealed itself weren't crates, but a silhouette.

The silhouette of pale girl with black, wispy hair.

"Shit!" Michelangelo shrieked, the water streaming beneath his feet causing him to lose his footing and fall with a loud splash. The sound of glass shattering could be heard in the background, but Michelangelo paid no mind to it as he scrambled to his feet and took off in a mad dash.

The tunnels were bleak and washed in a sea of inky black, making it difficult for the young ninja to tell where he was going. Gasping frantically, the water beneath him sloshed and swayed in violent waves and currents as the sharp, elongated fangs of frostbite ripped through Michelangelo's skin, causing him to wince. But he didn't care. All he cared about was getting away. Getting as far away from whatever that thing was behind him. Following him. Hot on his trail.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God…" he hyperventilated in a panic, his eyes shut tight until he collided with something solid, knocking him backwards with nothing to cushion his fall but the frozen sewer water streaming beneath him.

Grime and muck dripped from Michelangelo's frigid body and the young ninja didn't even have time for the pain to register through his system until he pushed himself up to his hands and knees. His eye mask tails were soaked and draped over his head, curtaining his line of vision until he brushed them away in one swift motion. Blinking back the murky water that blurred his line of vision, he ran a hand through his face and opened his eyes, his crystal blue orbs staring into what he had bumped into only to regret it the second the image fell into focus.

Crimson blood shone from the gleam of the pale moonlight peaking through the storm drains high above. It oozed and trailed down the cobblestoned walls, bleeding through the cracks as if they were fresh wounds. Water erupted in a series of splashes as Michelangelo backpedaled in a terrified crabwalk, his heart ramming forcefully inside his chest as he tried creating as much distance from him and blood-splattered wall as possible.

This wasn't happening. He was just seeing things. It was all just in his-

And that's when he felt it. The stinging bite of cold, dead fingers gripping tightly around his shoulder; their lips hovering just above his eardrum as they sputtered an icy whisper.

"Michelangelo..."

Soulless pupils of midnight black bore straight into Michelangelo's brain when he shut his eyes and all he could think about was that the events that were unfolding were merely just the events of a horrifying nightmare. A bad dream that he would find himself waking up from if he just paid no attention to what was going on around him.

The long, jagged nails that tore through his shoulder.

The drenched, wispy black hair that pierced and pricked at the nape of his neck.

The young, almost childlike voice that teased and played with the letters of his name, breathing it out in a ghostly whisper tinted with the growl of a demonic undertone.

It wasn't real. None of it was real and the young ninja found himself chanting his convictions like the whisper of a prayer; lips pursed tight and eyes wound shut, feeling its cold, boney fingers gradually creep from the tops of his shoulder and slowly coil around the base of his neck.

It's not real, Michelangelo whimpered. It's not real, it's not real, it's not real, it's not real, it's not…

He sucked in a desperate breath of fresh air, feeling the oxygen rush back into his lungs like jet propulsion – the frozen-tipped fingers no longer digging into his neck and cutting off the circulation. Heart palpitating and blood pumping, Michelangelo snapped his eyes open, figuring the creature had allowed him the opportunity to live and scurried back into the depths of the tunnels. But the second he opened his eyes, thinking the wall was going to be the only thing staring back at him, what Michelangelo saw were empty sockets of inky black, eyes missing from a sunken face awash with harsh grays and ghostly whites as the creature tilted its head at a broken angel and crawled towards him, its jaw wide and ripping from the hinges of its broken, rotting mouth.

The creature forced out an earsplitting scream, one that overpowered the cries that escaped Michelangelo's throat as he pushed and kicked as far away from the creature as possible, water splashing and drenching the both of them soaked. His panicked fear prevented him from rising to his feet in time to escape and Michelangelo could feel the monster's boney white fingers grip around his ankle, pulling him backwards and dragging his body through the frozen, murky waters. He flailed and thrashed while waves of sewage and muck crept into his mouth and traveled down his throat, drowning him and filling his lungs to the brim as he blinked back the droplets of water that blurred his vision, obscuring the creature in a hazy mask of grays and whites.

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't see. And as the seconds ticked away at an agonizing pace, Michelangelo could feel his heart beginning to slow in rhythm, the thumps growing softer and his eyes drooping hazily.

Vision blurred. Darkness seeping through. And then…

Light. Rushing winds. His eyes snapped open and he could feel a solid force punching the back of his shell, coercing the water out of his lungs as he leaned forward and vomited the sewage that filled his body. He coughed and heaved, screwing his eyes tight while droplets of water splashed onto his face while he barfed and gagged, hearing the faint voices of his brothers encouraging him as well as asking him questions. What happened? Did he slip and fall? Why was he so far out into the sewers in the first place? Was he hurt? Was he going to be alright?

So many questions. And it seemed like all of the answers trailed back to the haunting creature. The rotting corpse with dripping, shadow black hair that just tried to drown him not even five seconds ago.

"Give him some space. I think he's coming to," Donatello ordered and Michelangelo could feel his brother's smooth, gentle fingers tracing over the area between his neck and where his carapace ended, rubbing the spot in slow, soothing circles.

He choked on a powerful sob before whipping the snot dribbling from his nose. Limbs shaking from the vomiting, the cold waters, and the trauma of nearly drowning to his death, Michelangelo attempted to rise to his feet, his body swaying woozily until Donatello reached over and allowed his body to act as a support beam. He could tell his body felt cold to the touch because when the moisture of his skin pressed up against Donatello's plastron, he noticed that his brother hissed at the frozen temperature, his muddy brown eyes awash with concern as they flickered searchingly into Michelangelo's panic-stricken face.

"Mikey, you're … you're body is ice cold."

"His skin looks blue, Don. You sure he's going to be alright?" Raphael asked, his tone underlined with eminent concern.

"We need to take him back to the lair. Now," Leo ordered, looking down at Michelangelo with that same parental look Master Splinter would always give him whenever he was badly injured, masking his frightened concerns for the sake of keeping Michelangelo calm. "Mikey, are you able to speak? Can you remember what happened before you disconnected from us? Did you slip and fall? Can you remember?"

Michelangelo's baby blue eyes trailed up to his oldest brother's and at first, he didn't say a word. He could see something creep up just over Leonardo's shoulder and when his vision came back into focus, his eyes widened and he took a step back.

Careful inch by careful inch, the creature that had attacked him early crept forward with its pale, ghost white arms, the back of its shoulder blades jutting out like spikes while it crawled and made slow progress, its lopsided mouth curved into a wide, crooked smile.

Trembling violently, Michelangelo raised a shaking finger at the horrifying creature, clinging on to Donatello's arm while his three brothers glanced across the tunnels with a mixture of both curiosity and confusion. Immediately, Michelangelo figured his brother's would've cringed horrifically and bolted off in a mad dash, running as far away from the creature as possible without even giving it a second glance. But they all stood still, Leonardo being the first to look back at Michelangelo with his eye ridges raised in blatant confusion.

"What are you looking at, Mikey?"

"Y-You don't see it?" the young ninja cried, his baby blue eyes fixated on the pale white creature inching forward. "I-It's … its right behind you."

"Mikey, we don't see anything," Donatello said slowly, his chocolate brown eyes staring down at his petrified brother.

Michelangelo whipped his head up at his brothers, his eyes flicking back and forth with apprehensive shock until they finally fell back on where the creature was crawling. Eyes wide and shoulders tense, Michelangelo realized with horrified distress that the direction in which he was pointing at was beginning to morph into just an empty tunnel, the ghostly white figure with the inky midnight hair and empty black sockets where its eyes no longer resided smiling its demonic, creepy smile, bringing its boney, grimy, pale finger up to its lips and shushing the young ninja into silence before it vanished into thin air.

For now, this is going to be a little side project while I'm trying to get inspiration again for my other fic "The Waiting Ones". I actually have a rather distinct plot in mind for this story, but seeing as I'm still a horror genre virgin, I figured I'd just sit back and see how well you readers take to this story. If it does well, I'll continue to add to it. If it doesn't, I'm sure this could probably hold its own as a one-shot. :) That all depends on you, readers.

So, with that in mind, are you thirsty for more...?