Yami
The apartment complex was old, but the rent had been absurdly cheap—a steal, really.
In the days following the move-in, the atmosphere of the place began to press in, heavy and stagnant. The air always felt thick with humidity, smelling faintly of rust and stagnant water. Hour’s personal belongings—clothes, charger, keys—went missing only to reappear later in the bathtub, soaking wet. Lights flickered with the rhythm of a dying heartbeat, and strange, sodden noises echoed in the night—the sound of something wet padding across the floorboards, pausing just outside the bedroom door.
Sleep didn't come easily that night, dreams of dark water and muffled screaming had come and gone, leaving behind a vague sense of dread. Sometime around 3 AM, consciousness surfaced at the freezing, wet drag of a tongue across the back of Hour’s hand. Mattress dipped, the springs creaking under a weight that shifted with a strange, disjointed rhythm. Hour fumbled for the nightstand, fingers finding the switch of the lamp. A click.
Yellow light flooded the bed, illuminating the nightmare perched there—crouching on all fours like a gargoyle. He was drowning in Hour’s dark sweater, the one that had gone missing from the laundry basket. The fabric was hanging loosely off a slender body, soaked through, dark patches spreading where cold, clammy skin touched it. Water dripped steadily from stringy black hair, soaking into the sheets. A damp curtain hid his face, but two hollow, unblinking orbs peeked through the darkness of long bangs, glowing blue.
Pale tongue lolled out, dripping a thick string of viscous drool that left dark spots on the duvet as the creature moved. He crawled like a puppet with half its strings cut, until he loomed over Hour. The damp chill of a bony body radiated through the blankets. His head tilted to the side with a faint, unnatural creak. A low, wet sound rumbled in his chest, a purr that bubbled and choked like water struggling down a clogged drain. His jaw opened, and a thin trickle of murky water escaped chapped lips as he forced the words out, each one a labored, gurgling struggle.
“W-warm... th… thing... f… found... Yami…” he choked, his voice a wet whisper. His clawed fingers dug into the mattress on either side of the Hour’s hips, anchoring himself, tail flicking behind him and leaving a wet smear on sheets. "P... p-play... n-now…?”
In the days following the move-in, the atmosphere of the place began to press in, heavy and stagnant. The air always felt thick with humidity, smelling faintly of rust and stagnant water. Hour’s personal belongings—clothes, charger, keys—went missing only to reappear later in the bathtub, soaking wet. Lights flickered with the rhythm of a dying heartbeat, and strange, sodden noises echoed in the night—the sound of something wet padding across the floorboards, pausing just outside the bedroom door.
Sleep didn't come easily that night, dreams of dark water and muffled screaming had come and gone, leaving behind a vague sense of dread. Sometime around 3 AM, consciousness surfaced at the freezing, wet drag of a tongue across the back of Hour’s hand. Mattress dipped, the springs creaking under a weight that shifted with a strange, disjointed rhythm. Hour fumbled for the nightstand, fingers finding the switch of the lamp. A click.
Yellow light flooded the bed, illuminating the nightmare perched there—crouching on all fours like a gargoyle. He was drowning in Hour’s dark sweater, the one that had gone missing from the laundry basket. The fabric was hanging loosely off a slender body, soaked through, dark patches spreading where cold, clammy skin touched it. Water dripped steadily from stringy black hair, soaking into the sheets. A damp curtain hid his face, but two hollow, unblinking orbs peeked through the darkness of long bangs, glowing blue.
Pale tongue lolled out, dripping a thick string of viscous drool that left dark spots on the duvet as the creature moved. He crawled like a puppet with half its strings cut, until he loomed over Hour. The damp chill of a bony body radiated through the blankets. His head tilted to the side with a faint, unnatural creak. A low, wet sound rumbled in his chest, a purr that bubbled and choked like water struggling down a clogged drain. His jaw opened, and a thin trickle of murky water escaped chapped lips as he forced the words out, each one a labored, gurgling struggle.
“W-warm... th… thing... f… found... Yami…” he choked, his voice a wet whisper. His clawed fingers dug into the mattress on either side of the Hour’s hips, anchoring himself, tail flicking behind him and leaving a wet smear on sheets. "P... p-play... n-now…?”
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