Chapter Text
Holding tight onto the Super Gearboy, Sal looked around the 504 bedroom he just broke in. The room is dark, no windows letting light in, it's a pit of darkness that reeks death, age and mold. The eerie atmosphere was giving Sal a bad feeling about what was about to come. As a chill ran down his spine, he looked down at the destroyed mattress that somehow is still standing after who knows how many years being held only be a fragile wall that a hammer could surely destroy.
His blood froze in his veins as he looked at the screen of his Gearboy light up, that green shade meaning supernatural activity is close by. Sal knew exactly what was going to happen, and he definitely isn't too happy about it. More chills run down his spine and his whole body shivers. It's cold in the fifth floor, but it's not the reason he shivers. He press that final button, and the horrid scream souls make when they appear to the living tear through Sal's poor ears as he looks at the gruesome sight in front of him.
"Stacy?" He calls out, looking at the ghost of that woman, her skin pierced by the broken plastic of the mattress she is prisoner of. He reprimanded a yelp and groan of disgust at the last seconds. He should be used to it at that point, but the gruesome sight of Stacy's ghost was worse than every ghost he had seen so far.
"Are you okay?" He asks, knowing the answer will either be negative, or there will be no answer at all. And he knew right, Stacy's ghost was silent, yet the pain in it's transparent body is visible. Highly, visible.
The horrible scream resonated around the abandoned room as the ghost disappeared the way it appeared, leaving Sal alone in this creepy, smelly room, again. The boy sighed and looked around the room, hoping that his eyes got used to the darkness of the place. Enough for him to avoid smashing his face into a wall, that wouldn't be very nice.
He gave a quick glance at the back of the room, after that broken furniture, seems to be something in the wall. Darker, pitch black, even. Is it a hole? Or is it a very moldy spot? Only one way to know. Sal, carefully, walked toward it, he grabbed a small piece of wood that had fallen from the shelf and throw it against the black, confirming the fact it is indeed a hole, and not some very dark mold.
"There's a huge hole in the wall..." He whispers to himself. "Looks like there's a room on the other side..." Fuck, why couldn't it be mold!
Sal crouched and looked inside the hole in more detail, and oh heavens it reeks death even more now. He groaned, wondering why in the name of God he is doing what he is doing, before putting a hand inside the hole and whining feeling the disgusting mold and dust on his bare hand. Why is he even doing that in the first place... Why couldn't he live a normal life for fuck's sake?!
One hand after the other, he crawled in the hole, the horrid smell burning his nose as his hands are covered in.. whatever that is. Sal sees pratically nothing as he gets up, on the other side of the creepy hole. He sees enough to guess the shape of a empty, long and rectangular room. He grabs the Super Gearboy that he had attached to his jeans' waist and, carefully and slowly, walked into the room. That room is oddly... long. Thin and long, and Sal doesn't like it at all. As his steps lead to the end of the room, his Gearboy starts glowing green again, the light allowing him to see the shape of what seems to be a rope. A rope attached in a way that means someone definitely committed, or at least tried, suicide there.
Sal's finger brushed against the final button, and the lights flicker a few seconds. "H-Hello?" He tries, his heart racing in his chest. A ghost appeared in front of him as his eyes flashed.
"Luke?" Calls Sal, confused on why on Earth the soul did not do that awful scream. "Can you hear me?" He asks, worried, looking at the ghost who's throat is held by that same rope Sal had noticed a few seconds earlier. "Luke?"
The ghost flashed, it's throat off the rope, now on all four and getting up, before it's jaws split open in a gruesome way, his cheeks' skin ripping off, blood dripping all around. The skin ripping sounds are awful to Sal's ears as he whines of surprise. The shadowy, misty, red eyed black figure he had seen, earlier in Larry's kitchen appearing out of Luke's ripped mouth.
Sal, in a useless and desperate attempt to protect himself, put his hands and the Gearboy on his face. Yet, deep down, he knows this is useless. He prays that, someone will come save him, somehow. The awful, and loud noise hurts, it makes Sal cry as he gets flung by a sudden burst of energy against the other side of the room. His spine hurts like crazy as he hits the wall. All he sees in this endless black is the red eyes, that pierce thought him, the way Larry described it. Red eyes, that pierce thought your body and soul, making you feel like nothing.
Panic took over the boy's body as he tries to crawl away, back into the hole, but the demon's visibly sharp claws tears thought the flesh of his side and throws him away from the hole. Sal screams in pain as he feels his blood dripping in his sweater and then on the floor.
As Sal looks up at these demonic eyes, he realises they're now blurry to his eye. Sal never had a good eyesight, it isn't a secret to anyone, the lack of a eyeball doesn't allow him the greatest view of the century, but he knows he doesn't usually sees blurry. "Oh no..."
"W-what do you want from me?!.." Whines Sal as his whole body shakes, his hand on his wound trying to stop the blood from dripping, it isn't doing much, as the eyes become more and more blurry. "Please..."
And then. Nothing. All black. Sal's body cannot hold it's own weight anymore, as the poor teen collapses to the ground. His end seems to be near.
A scream. Sudden, and terrified. It for some reasons, give Sal hope. Maybe someone found him? But it's surely too late, and even if someone found him, how would that person deal against the demon? They'd get killed in a second. A voice, first full of fear and sorrow, now it's pure.. rage. More commotion resonates around Sal, he cannot quite make up who's voice is that, or what the person says, yet the pure, uncontrolled rage is audible, and Sal wonders who that voice could belongs to.
A strange noise tear through the empty room's heavy atmosphere, it reminds Sal of the alien blasters guns in the games he has on his Gearboy. A muffled sound of what could be pain can be heard, before the eerie and terrific noise the demon makes, just... fades away.
"Sal? Can you hear me?"
That voice, no anger is in it, only worry. Sal, is grateful someone worries. Yet, he cannot move, none of the parts of his body reacts to the orders of his brain, guess only his ears still, somehow, are functional.
"Sal? Sal! Please give me a sign of life! I'm begging you! Sal?! Please!"
Sal thought loudly, hoping that maybe, just.. maybe, that voice could hear his mind and feel his pain.
A warm hand got on his aching neck, surely to take his pulse. Or that's what Sal thought when he felt the familiar warmth of that hand. The pleasant familiarity slid down to the floor, and back to it's owner. The sound of clothes being ripped resonated through Sal's ears. Questions filled his brain, before he felt a tissu getting attached on his bloody wound to try, and stop the blood from falling.
The hand came back, with a second one, one behind his back, one in the back of his knees, and someone picked him up.
Sal has so many questions, but his strengths slowly leave him as he feels like the one holding him is running, he can still hear, but cannot make anymore sense to most he hears. He hears doors getting flung open, hitting onto the walls, or is it something else? Sally Face cannot quite make out what he hears, yet the familiar noises his home makes allow him to guess. The ticking of the elevator resonates in the air, and make Sal's ears ache. He wish he could bring his hands to his ringing ears right now, everything is horrible. He can't even feel anything except the pain on his side, his ears and the constant itch of his scar.
A sound of metal rubbing against metal is heard before the speed of whoever is holding him tightly rise from non-existent to the quickest someone could make. Sal makes out screams, panicked screams, begging for help, and phone calls. Or maybe is it something else? There's no way he can know what sound is what with the awful ringing his ears make.
Sal can feel the worry and fear in the muscles of the one holding him, the warmth of that person is pleasant, he feels at ease. If his time has come, he is glad this person is afraid for his health, glad that they're trying their best to save him, glad that they hold him in his final moment. But that person doesn't seem to want to let him die, feeling how they just run towards the sound of something like a siren. Suddenly, more hands on Sal's body and then, nothing. Black, just... An empty, endless, black.