Walls
>> Walls
TITLE: Walls
AUTHOR:ultraviolet9a
SPOILER: Generic for everything aired so far.
GENRE: Gen.
CHARACTERS: Sam-centric with a twist.
RATING: PG-13.
FEEDBACK: Dude…duh.
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own them, I just write about them. Alas.
SUMMARY/NOTE: Written for the horror meme at sharp_teeth. Prompt by tiggeratl1: Sam wakes up in a strange house alone and with no idea how he got there. He can't find Dean or a way out. And what is that strange noise in the walls.
Sam wakes up with a start. Some sort of room. A living room? There is an armchair and a television set that is turned off. His eyes adjust to this strange dark, take in the details: the frayed carpet, the chipped walls, the dusty window panes. The absence of Dean. Dean should have been here… wherever here is. Last thing Sam remembers… His breath hitches. There is no last thing he remembers. He has no idea how he got here. He has no idea what led to here. Everything is a blur.
“Dean,” he murmurs, picking himself up. He carefully walks towards the opening that leads to a corridor. His eyes are comfortable now, which is strange, because no light seems to come from the windows or any appliance. It’s as if the house gives off a faint glow from the walls, just enough to see. He won’t dwell on this. He needs to find Dean and he’ll take it from there. Sam moves.
.:::.
There are more doors, and a flight of stairs. He fumbles in his pocket for his cell, takes it out, punches the speed dial. There is no signal. He curses, reaches for his gun, realizes he no longer carries it. He looks around, walks back, fumbles on the floor where he woke up in the first place, but no gun is there. He closes his eyes, then stealthily moves through every other room softly calling his brother’s name: the kitchen (the only thing he finds is a rusty pair of scissors that will have to do as a weapon for now), the sitting room, the bathroom, the two bedrooms upstairs. Nothing. Nothing at all. No trace of Dean. No trace of any other occupant. Nothing other than worn out furniture, frayed wallpapers and dust. Huge amounts of dust smelling oddly familiar. Ashes, his minds corrects. Not sulphur, not just the dust of the abandoned. This worn out place smells of fire. The realization ties his bowels in tight knots and the steps he takes as he goes down the stairs are quick, rushed. The front door is wooden and the door knob is metallic in his hand. He turns and the door knob turns with his movement and Sam pulls, because it is clearly unlocked… but it won’t open. He pushes with his shoulder hard over and over again and it won’t budge. He steps back and kicks it with all his strength, and ends up landing on his ass by the backlash.
Sam swallows hard, looks at the merciless door for a long moment, willing the fear to settle down.
He runs to every single room, tries to open and then break every window with growing frustration, but nothing can be opened or broken. He tries wiping at the glass with his arms, but all he sees is dark, as if the coat of dust is clinging outside, too.
He beats with naked fists, with pieces of furniture, but nothing, nothing promises a way out.
“DEAN!” he yells, leaning against the wall. He is covered in sweat. His nostrils seem to be blocked with ashes. “DEAN!” he yells again, thoughts like buried and trapped and hell and somebodyhelpme running through his brain. His breathing has quickened and he forces himself to take deep, even (albeit shaky) breaths.
He has no idea if it has been minutes or hours, has no idea where he is or how he got here. All he knows is that wherever he is, whatever this is, he is trapped. And he’s all alone.
Or not.
There is something here. Some sort of buzz he feels humming through the walls on his skin.
“Dean?” he says again, standing up slowly, but he knows that whatever is making this noise cannot be Dean. Dean doesn’t hum through walls. Dean doesn’t make Sam’s hair stand on end.
“LET ME OUT!” Sam yells and then hushes. He is standing on the landing now, scissors held tightly in his right hand. “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO DEAN?”
The droning stops. His left hand touches the banister and holds on tight when suddenly the house starts to vibrate, the rumbling going louder, dust stirring with the movement. But Sam won’t move. His eyes are glued to the wall opposite him.
On the wallpaper is a message for him. Drops are still gliding their way down the new formed letters.
LOOK DEEPER
Sam looks at it for a long time.
“Shit,” he whispers. One place he hasn’t been yet: the basement.
.:::.
He doesn’t know how he could have missed this door. It is right next to the one leading to the kitchen. He wonders if it was there in the first place to begin with, or if the house hiccupped it just for him, the way it did with the letters. He gulps, doesn’t dare touch the door handle. All his senses scream for him to stop, to not do it, to sit in this empty house forever.
Because, looking at this door, things seem to be tingling at the back of his mind. Memories of before. Nagging little things that fill his blood with anguish. And everything seems a bit clearer. Every sense heightened. It isn’t buzzing he is hearing. It is laughter. Soft, amused laughter. And he’s heard it before.
His hand touches the door. It swings open without a noise. The light is blinding. Sam shields his eyes and descends.
.:::.
“No,” Sam says, backing away, scissors dropping. “No. This is a trick. This isn’t… this is a trick. It’s all in my mind, this is a trick, no.”
“Oh, but it isn’t a trick,” Lucifer says. “It isn’t. And you remember well, Sam. You remember. It’s not all in your mind. Not just. It’s in your body, too.”
“No,” Sam says, falling on his knees as memory hits him with the force of a sledgehammer, truth scorching, laying waste to him. “NonononoNO!”
“Ah, but that’s the whole point,” Lucifer chuckles softly. “You didn’t say no, my Sam. You didn’t say no.”
-The End.
SIDENOTE: As already mentioned, this was written for a comment meme. I chose not to ‘rework’ it but submit the original version, so as to keep the eh… spontaneity? feeling? vibes? you name it? of that moment intact. So any mistakes are mine.
Original entry here.
TITLE: Walls
AUTHOR:ultraviolet9a
SPOILER: Generic for everything aired so far.
GENRE: Gen.
CHARACTERS: Sam-centric with a twist.
RATING: PG-13.
FEEDBACK: Dude…duh.
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own them, I just write about them. Alas.
SUMMARY/NOTE: Written for the horror meme at sharp_teeth. Prompt by tiggeratl1: Sam wakes up in a strange house alone and with no idea how he got there. He can't find Dean or a way out. And what is that strange noise in the walls.
Sam wakes up with a start. Some sort of room. A living room? There is an armchair and a television set that is turned off. His eyes adjust to this strange dark, take in the details: the frayed carpet, the chipped walls, the dusty window panes. The absence of Dean. Dean should have been here… wherever here is. Last thing Sam remembers… His breath hitches. There is no last thing he remembers. He has no idea how he got here. He has no idea what led to here. Everything is a blur.
“Dean,” he murmurs, picking himself up. He carefully walks towards the opening that leads to a corridor. His eyes are comfortable now, which is strange, because no light seems to come from the windows or any appliance. It’s as if the house gives off a faint glow from the walls, just enough to see. He won’t dwell on this. He needs to find Dean and he’ll take it from there. Sam moves.
.:::.
There are more doors, and a flight of stairs. He fumbles in his pocket for his cell, takes it out, punches the speed dial. There is no signal. He curses, reaches for his gun, realizes he no longer carries it. He looks around, walks back, fumbles on the floor where he woke up in the first place, but no gun is there. He closes his eyes, then stealthily moves through every other room softly calling his brother’s name: the kitchen (the only thing he finds is a rusty pair of scissors that will have to do as a weapon for now), the sitting room, the bathroom, the two bedrooms upstairs. Nothing. Nothing at all. No trace of Dean. No trace of any other occupant. Nothing other than worn out furniture, frayed wallpapers and dust. Huge amounts of dust smelling oddly familiar. Ashes, his minds corrects. Not sulphur, not just the dust of the abandoned. This worn out place smells of fire. The realization ties his bowels in tight knots and the steps he takes as he goes down the stairs are quick, rushed. The front door is wooden and the door knob is metallic in his hand. He turns and the door knob turns with his movement and Sam pulls, because it is clearly unlocked… but it won’t open. He pushes with his shoulder hard over and over again and it won’t budge. He steps back and kicks it with all his strength, and ends up landing on his ass by the backlash.
Sam swallows hard, looks at the merciless door for a long moment, willing the fear to settle down.
He runs to every single room, tries to open and then break every window with growing frustration, but nothing can be opened or broken. He tries wiping at the glass with his arms, but all he sees is dark, as if the coat of dust is clinging outside, too.
He beats with naked fists, with pieces of furniture, but nothing, nothing promises a way out.
“DEAN!” he yells, leaning against the wall. He is covered in sweat. His nostrils seem to be blocked with ashes. “DEAN!” he yells again, thoughts like buried and trapped and hell and somebodyhelpme running through his brain. His breathing has quickened and he forces himself to take deep, even (albeit shaky) breaths.
He has no idea if it has been minutes or hours, has no idea where he is or how he got here. All he knows is that wherever he is, whatever this is, he is trapped. And he’s all alone.
Or not.
There is something here. Some sort of buzz he feels humming through the walls on his skin.
“Dean?” he says again, standing up slowly, but he knows that whatever is making this noise cannot be Dean. Dean doesn’t hum through walls. Dean doesn’t make Sam’s hair stand on end.
“LET ME OUT!” Sam yells and then hushes. He is standing on the landing now, scissors held tightly in his right hand. “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO DEAN?”
The droning stops. His left hand touches the banister and holds on tight when suddenly the house starts to vibrate, the rumbling going louder, dust stirring with the movement. But Sam won’t move. His eyes are glued to the wall opposite him.
On the wallpaper is a message for him. Drops are still gliding their way down the new formed letters.
LOOK DEEPER
Sam looks at it for a long time.
“Shit,” he whispers. One place he hasn’t been yet: the basement.
.:::.
He doesn’t know how he could have missed this door. It is right next to the one leading to the kitchen. He wonders if it was there in the first place to begin with, or if the house hiccupped it just for him, the way it did with the letters. He gulps, doesn’t dare touch the door handle. All his senses scream for him to stop, to not do it, to sit in this empty house forever.
Because, looking at this door, things seem to be tingling at the back of his mind. Memories of before. Nagging little things that fill his blood with anguish. And everything seems a bit clearer. Every sense heightened. It isn’t buzzing he is hearing. It is laughter. Soft, amused laughter. And he’s heard it before.
His hand touches the door. It swings open without a noise. The light is blinding. Sam shields his eyes and descends.
.:::.
“No,” Sam says, backing away, scissors dropping. “No. This is a trick. This isn’t… this is a trick. It’s all in my mind, this is a trick, no.”
“Oh, but it isn’t a trick,” Lucifer says. “It isn’t. And you remember well, Sam. You remember. It’s not all in your mind. Not just. It’s in your body, too.”
“No,” Sam says, falling on his knees as memory hits him with the force of a sledgehammer, truth scorching, laying waste to him. “NonononoNO!”
“Ah, but that’s the whole point,” Lucifer chuckles softly. “You didn’t say no, my Sam. You didn’t say no.”
-The End.
SIDENOTE: As already mentioned, this was written for a comment meme. I chose not to ‘rework’ it but submit the original version, so as to keep the eh… spontaneity? feeling? vibes? you name it? of that moment intact. So any mistakes are mine.
Original entry here.