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deadpuppetboi · 11 months

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Goretober Day 18: Herd

Darkness met his vision.

The door shuttered opened, exposing the outer elements to the inside of the office. The computer running the cameras had gone out, leaving dull static to die out with crackling footage. The fan stopped blowing, the lights died out, and all that could be heard was silence.

Mike Schmidt let out a shaky breath, feeling his body shudder with each breath as he carefully rolled himself back on his chair. He gripped the handles of the chair tightly, his knuckles turning white, and he turned over to his left. He heard heavy footsteps echo at the far left, his eyes trailing over before catching the familiar figure.

It was tall and broad, overlaying the darkness from before, its shadow overlining two large ears and a top hat. It did not breathe nor did it take another step, instead, it just stood there, staring right into the night guard.

Mike just looked at it, refusing to break eye contact, his hands shook as he released his grip on the handles and onto his belt.

His figure was shined with the overlay of white, and the clicking of a music box was heard before a playful song came along. The cheers and chimes of the music radiated through the entire room, perhaps the entire restaurant. The figure’s eyes and mouth were illuminated by a light from beneath its mask, lighting its joyful face as its eyes bore into Mike’s own.

Yet, the night guard kept his hands as still as he could, moving ever so slightly to grab what he needed from his belt. Grabbing the cold cylinder, the man brought the flashlight out into the open, breathing quietly to calm his beating heart as he brought it up to the figure’s line of sight.

Once again, the figure did not move, only prolonged its joyful song before it ran out of its use. Then basking the room in darkness, its joyful face disappearing completely, leaving the night guard to fend for himself. Mike held his breath, building what confidence he had left, and pressed the button on the flashlight.

Instead of the hulking figure of an animatronic brown bear staring down at the nightguard, stood a young man who looked calm and collected despite the circumstance. Immediately, Mike started moving his flashlight around, not only confused that this boy was in his way but that the animatronic had seemingly disappeared. He pointed the flashlight back at the teenager who, by Mike’s estimate, could be no older than sixteen.

“What are you doing here,” Mike snapped, “You’re not supposed to be here! Get out!”

The teenager stayed where he stood, his face blank as he eyed the older man before him. He had sun-kissed skin, light brown hair that curled at the very edge, and light brown eyes that had seemingly gone into a haze. His clothes were slightly inconsistent, not necessarily bad per se, but managed to make Mike take a double take. He hadn't seen any young teen he knew to be wearing such an inconsistent style, I mean, when has anyone ever worn a plaid work shirt?

Certainly not a sixteen-year-old in 1993.

Mike clicked his tongue, annoyed by the teenager’s reluctance to obey his orders, he moved his hand to his shoulder. Bad fashion choice or not, this kid was in big trouble, and he didn't want to be dying over this kid’s recklessness.

“Come on,” he groaned, “We get out of this restaurant in one piece, you don't complain about anything, and I won't call the cops on you.”

The teenager said nothing, he just stared at Mike, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. It was as if he wanted to smile yet chose not to as the man reached over and roughly grabbed at his shoulder. Then only to pull back, eyes wide as a sharp hiss phased through his teeth, shaking his hand to relieve the pain that coursed through it.

“Ow-”

Mike looked down at his hand, concerned that he may have hurt it somehow, he realized he was shocked by the teen’s clothes. Clicking his tongue once again, he snapped his head at the teenager, hearing his soft chuckles emit from him.

“You think this is funny?”

He reached over to grab at the teenager’s front shirt, pulling it over with a tight grip, he pointed the flashlight right into his face. Trying to be as intimidating as possible, Mike had enough of these delinquents and their frequent attempts to come into this place. He was here trying to fight for his life for minimum wage and here was this kid (who probably had to worry about the algebra test) laughing at him like this was some big joke.

Mike brought him in closer, baring his teeth, letting his emotions run wild.

“Listen, I don't know what your plan is, but it's over. You’re done. I'm calling your mom and making sure she knows you’re here so you get what you deserve.”

The teenager stopped chuckling.

Mike fought not to smile, thinking he won this argument, he made the move to bring him out of the room. He pulled back, ready to think of a plan to get out of there until he noticed something wet slip in between his fingers. Confused, he looked down at the source, thinking it was his sweat, his eyes caught onto something familiar.

Red.

Dark red had come from the teenager’s chest, soaked his shirt, and seeped into the crevices of his fingers. Immediately, Mike took his hand off the teenager’s shirt and examined it closely, turning it over in the beam of the flashlight to get a better look. The dark red had coated the entire palm of his hand, making the man sick as it started to drip, staining his purple work shirt with its essence. He tried to shake off the substance before running it over his black pants, heart in his throat as he felt the liquid soak through and plant itself onto his skin.

Mike looked at the teenager, half of his mind wondering if he was alright while the other half was reasonably upset that he went this far to prank him. It wasn't until he saw the teen shake slightly, his throat bulging as the sound of gurgling came from the back of his throat. The same red substance poked through his closed mouth, each time the boy shook the more it came, coating his chin and eventually his chest with the darkening color.

Mike looked on with shock as his eyes seemed to notice other parts of the teenager started to change.

The front of his shirt darkened with his blood, bruises, and cuts appeared on his once-cleared skin, and red veins cracked within his eyes making him look like he was mad. Before the night guard could reach over to help him, the teenager reached his bloodied hands up to his face, one gripping his bottom jaw while the other over his upper jaw. And as Mike was his witness, he snapped his jaw, his bottom half hanging low as his upper stood crooked and uneven.

Mike flew back, nearly dropping his flashlight, his back hit the lockers behind him, shaking the contents from within.

He could hardly believe what was happening before him, his breathing quickened as he made the quick decision to run out of the office from the right before he was stopped by another figure. Seeing the outline of a familiar chicken, the man shined his flashlight upon it only to see another teenager block his path. He looked different from the teenager before him with his dark skin and his black hair tied back in a ponytail. Mike went to move right past him before he saw the teenager reach over and grab his bottom jaw and pull it off quite easily.

Mike yelped as he jumped back, watching as this teenager’s tongue moved around, uselessly hitting the broken jaw as his cheeks tore apart and bled from the assault. Hands then bent back to the point that the bones snapped and stabbed right through the skin, creating a horrible jagged appearance. A horrible and disgusting groan came at the back of the teenager’s throat, his uvula swinging back and forth from the call.

Mike hadn't dared to run through the left door as two other figures had appeared, one looking like a bunny while the other like a fox. Turning his flashlight over, Mile saw two other teenagers, they looked different yet had similar looks on their faces.

Blank yet anxious to show Mike so much more.

One had brown skin, his curly black skin waved slightly as he brought his hands up and dug his fingers into his face. And like paper, he broke through, crushing his bones and flesh and mangling it with his blood. Hissing slightly as his left arm seemingly rotted off, falling over in a heap, he ignored it and walked forward.

The teenager behind him, the teenager with tan skin and tangled black hair dug one finger into his right eye. Squishing his eye like a grape, he dug through his socket, scraping his eye out like a fish from the lake, and tore out the nerves. He gave a bloodied smile, watching Mike get cornered like prey to its predators, watching helplessly as he pushed himself back into the corner.

There was a herd of them.

Mike couldn't breathe correctly, heart bashing against his chest as he saw other figures appear from the doorways or even from thin air. People of various ages, both young and old, looked down at the night guard as they exposed their gruesome injuries. Some looked familiar while others didn't, two young boys stood at the very back, hand in hand. The brunette held a sinister smile while the blonde one looked depressed.

Yet, Mike did not attempt to close his eyes, his vision straining to keep on looking as the bettered corpses started to get closer.

Their mangled faces obscured his vision, their groans of pain deafened him, and the feeling of their split fingernails grazing his face shook him to his very core.

Mike screamed as his flashlight gave itself out.

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