Onwards. I don't own them. Honest.


Bedlam

He could not fall asleep. He tried, honestly, he did, curling against the wall and shutting his aching eyes. His headache had gotten worse, as if someone was driving a long, barbed nail into his skull with slow, deliberate strikes.

Then, the noises started to emerge from the silence.

The first was a soft dripping, perhaps water escaping a broken pipe. He shifted against the wall. The noise made him uneasy, for reasons he couldn't explain. Then, a skitter of claws against stone, to his left. He tried to jerk away, his breathing going just a little uneven as his eyes roved the pitch darkness. He could not find the source, try as he might, even when he heard the skitter again, closer and louder than the first time.

It was the scream that really sent him into a panic, though. It was high, and dreadful, and so very desperate. Wordless, and in unholy agony. He forced his back against the wall, looking around with terrified eyes.

'What's going on? What's happening?'

He realised, noted, and momentarily dismissed the fact that there was a hard, rounded growth on his back, like a shell. He knew somehow that it was right, and didn't matter. Ignoring this, he had no choice but to listen to the screaming, his whole body quaking with fear. He listened as it was forced higher and higher, until the voice cracked, and gurgled off, leaving silence.

He knew then that he would not be able to sleep. Not until he was far away from the silence, that was broken only by the dripping of what he could only hope was water.