Title: Silent Room
Challenge: 6th sense
Disclaimer: Samurai Champloo belongs to ... whoever created the characters and sexy Jin. :) And possibly Shinichiro Watanabe, since he directed this.

He suddenly woke up; his eyes forced themselves opened as though they were possessed and his feet moved themselves along the stiff carpet that lined his apartment. Where was he going? Wasn't he asleep just moments ago?

Mugen's eyes caught a glimpse of the night outside, with the busy city lights slowly dimming and the cars driving by at slower rate. The clock said that it was two in the morning, but something felt wrong. His fingers wrapped along the cold gleam of the doorknob, and he tried to open the door to his apartment, but the knob was frozen; it wouldn't let him turn. The strangeness of it all didn't worry him. After all, it could very well be a dream, a very bad one considering how much beer he drank at the party last night. It was a miracle that he even made it back home to his apartment in one piece.

Finally, it seemed as though he had control over his body again, as he was able command it again, dragging his feet back towards the direction the bed. But before he could nose-dive back into the warmth of his white comforter, a strange sensation swept across his body as an ocean of chills prickled his skin, driving the hairs on his neck to stand upright and his heart to beat faster. He felt something was watching him from behind.

Yet, the moment he turned around, all he saw was his pale, barren wall. Shrugging it off, Mugen concluded that it must have been the insane amount of alcohol that was driving his imagination in overdrive. Never had he suffered from a visually stunning nightmare, even when he was a child. But he did suffer from hallucinations, just once after taking a bad acid trip. He never took those damn mushrooms again.

For protection, Mugen grabbed his sword from underneath the bed, and brought it with him as he slipped back under the covers. The sword's harsh coldness told him that he was actually awake, and though it was rusted from all those years of being handed down from one family member to the other, it gave him a slight comfort knowing the blade was real, originating from the Edo period hundreds of years ago.

But even with the sword in hand, Mugen could not shake off that feeling that plagued him. It felt like fear, a fear that's been drenched in wine so that it became utterly seductive. A fear so strong, yet subtle. A fear that was coming to him because he was it's chosen victim.

Mugen sat upright, his fingers still clutched tightly around the hilt of the sword, and he looked around. Nothing, there was nothing but the sparse decoration of his apartment, and maybe a few empty cans of beer and a bottle of wine here or there.

Sighing, Mugen let his eyes roll up to the wall, and it was there that he noticed water that seemed to be dripping from his ceiling. There were no water marks, nor were there sounds of running water from the apartment above his. Squinting his eyes so that they could focus on the drop of water that threatened to drip, Mugen's eyes widened as he saw a hand morph out of his wall. Then came a head, then a neck, a torso, then followed by a body that looked so battered and decayed, it might have been a corpse.

It (whatever it was) sighed as it heaved it's way out of the wall, inching towards Mugen.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move. His body wouldn't obey him and his nerves were paralyzed as he watched the thing creep closer, the pieces of it's hanging flesh suddenly moving, regenerating, transforming until the corpse had a visible face. Black lengthy hair lined it's rotted skull and eyes suddenly emerged from it's blank sockets as it's face slowly came to be. The rest of it's body turned from mulch to flesh, and soon Mugen came face to face with the ghoulish figure.

It's cold naked body toppled over Mugen's as it's tea scented breath muttered into his ears.

"I've found you, Mugen. And my precious sword as well."