I should have realized from the beginning that something was seriously wrong with me. Some part of myself was always aware of the other side — the darker side. However, anytime I told my parents there was a creature in my room the night before, they would wave it off and tell me that it was “just a nightmare” and I would “grow out of it.”

_I never grew out of it . . . _

From where I stand now, I wish I was still young and all I dealt with were little shapes in the dark, small, frightful dreams here and about. But, as my parents emphasized, I would grow older. Believe me, I have. Now those mere silhouettes haunt me wherever I go. They lurk in every shadowy corner of every room in every building.

One would hope themselves to be good at something. My specialty is running. In fact, that is the thing, above all, in which I excel at. My teachers would be proud that I am great at at least _one_ thing.

I take a left into my History Classroom. Everyone is there. Right when I step in, a row of skeptical eyes follows me to my seat. The whole room quiets.

I am back. Of course I am. As I stated earlier, I know my way around this place. I grew up in this school building. The dark is only one more obstacle to tackle.

I set my backpack down next to me. Gazes are locked onto me, still, but I do not satisfy them by returning the action. Who cares how odd people think I am? I am telling the truth — a truth that they will never experience or believe. Perhaps that is for the best.

“What’s up, _freak,” _Hunter Cray says to me. The others spit out their own insults. This is what I am used to, so I remain quiet. Nothing can phase me more then the other world that pulls me in.

I lift my hand and tuck a piece of long, brown hair behind my ear.

Just then, my teacher walks in wearing his usual gettup. He wears a brown jacket with a lime collared shirt underneath. Of course, Mr. Toeman also wears his typical khakis with sandals and socks. The class chuckles as Toeman sets his things down under his desk. This teacher is usually late for his classes. He is also always sweating and fogging his own glasses with his excessive energy.

“That’s enough, class,” Toeman wheezes. The man must have ran a marathon to get to this room — by that, I mean possibly two hallways.

My classmates let out another wave of silent laughter. The sun shines in through the windows of the room and reflect oil off of people’s faces.

“Take out your notebooks. You have a quiz coming up, so be sure to write- uh- things down.” The teacher slaps his history book down onto the podium infront of his round belly, and begins reading.

I reach down into my backpack with a groan. My hand searches around for my book the the mess of random things I carry. Pens and pencils and mints and gum wrappers make noise.

_There it is._

I pull my black notebook out and set it on my desk. Suddenly, I feel a harsh pull on the back of my hair. My head jerks back.

And then when I go go sit right again, everything is black. Sounds of dripping water echo and everyone is no longer present. The voices of fellow students are replaced by the overwhelming obscurity. A sense a dread and helplessness follows soon after.

_I’m back_.

How could I return so soon? I have little time to consider this. All I can do now is run and hide as long as I have to until the lights turn back on. I swiftly feel my way through the tight isles of my classroom.

"вα¢к ѕσ ѕσσи, ℓιттℓє вυg . . ." The voice speaks.

This is new. I do not recognize this creature. These voices. These figures and tremors in the dark that creep and crawl. I call them Amates. It means “to terrify.”

_Back so soon,_ I think. _I’ve never met you before. _

My fingers meet the cool metal of a doorframe. Right when I touch it, I feel possibly the most dreadful thing I have ever experienced. It is an odd oozing liquid. That much is obvious. I do not believe an Amate has ever produced such a thing before. Usually, all they do is chase you and shake you to your core with nerve wracking words the sound of nails on chalkboard.

Something is different about this one. The way it speaks is breathy and cold. Everytime he speaks, I feel goosebumps enveloping my whole body.

I make light of my feet and follow the walls of the long hallway, careful to avoid the disgusting liquid. I grit my teeth. My eyes strain against impossible darkness. All sense are wack besides hearing and touch.

The voice carries through the air like a slithery snakes, as it takes a long, uncomfortable breath in. "тнєяє уσυ αяє, ℓιттℓє вυg," it says.

What the hell is he talking about? How could he know where I am? I want to take a moment of inquiry towards the Amate, but that would be unwise. One thing you especially want to be careful of, is noise. If they hear you, it gives them an advantage. That is not something I want to add on to my worry.

My heart races and I feel my forehead sweat. Anxiety rises and creates an ill-fitted ring.

"αн," he says. "уσυ αяє тяσυвℓє∂ . . ."

I shiver and my breath hitches. Footsteps thrum slowly, not too far off.

I have stopped moving. But I must keep going. The sound emanates from far behind. Perhaps if I make it to a storage room, I can grab a hold of myself. So I force my shake bf hands to continue feeling their way around the bitterly cold walls.

My hand touches something too warm to be the wall and I pull it back. The sludge was not warm before. What is this creature playing at?

"мммм . . !" the voice booms louder. It carries a rasp to it and my hair is whsiked into my face by a sudden wind. "ѕσ яєνσℓтιиg," he says in more of a whisper, "вυт ѕσ αℓℓυяιиg . . ."

I lift my hand to my nose and sniff. I gag. The sound was louder than intended. Footsteps stop. I pause. Then I here the Amate inhale. He does not exhale. The footsteps return and I keep moving, slowly, careful not to make a sound.

The smell stings my nose and burns my lungs. It stinks of death and mold, all of the horrible things we are not meant to see. I hold my hand out and shake a good amount of it off.

My heart picks up again and I continue on in my persuit. I should be closer to a storage room now.

How long have I been here? Usually the lights are back on by now. What is going on?

"ѕσ ∂єтєямιиє∂ . . ." the things tone snakes up my spine.

I bend over and gasp. What is he doing to me? My stomach lurches. An undeniable sense of helplessness consumes my whole body.

"αωω . . . fєαя ιѕ ωєαкиєѕѕ, ℓιттℓє вυg." I try to pick myself up from the ground. My heart is hammering.

_Wait, _I think. That must be it . . . This Amate uses his rotten-smelling ooze to his advantage. It sticks to my fingers, and sends him little triggers when my heartrate increases. But how could he possibly find me with simply _that. _There must be another explanation.

I pause. The footsteps are closer now. Suddenly there is a large echo filling the building, and a slight breeze that passes through my soul. I shiver, momentarily. If I do not control myself now, then he might catch me.

I place grab a clump of the bottom of my shirt and close my eyes. At least, I think I close my eyes. It is too dark in here to be certain.

_C’mon, Libby, _I say to myself. This is so nerve wracking. At any moment, this thing could find me. Where are the lights?

No. No, I cannot lose control. I hold my breath and concentrate. Then, letting it out, I breathe in and hold it.

"∂σи'т яυи, ℓιттℓє вυg . . ."

_Click, drag. _

_Click, drag._

My heart begins to race again. Damnit! I listen the grip on my shirt and repeat my process. He cannot hurt me. The lights will come on at any point, and I will be safe. I can return to school and pretend nothing ever happened.

The distant sounds faulter and dim out.

"ωнαт α ѕнαмє -- ωαѕтιиg ѕυ¢н ѕυρρℓє вℓσσ∂ . . ." An out of place dripping echo fills the halls.

What is he talking about? I focus on my breathing at the same time as I think. One wrong move, and I am done for. I rise and return to feeling my way around the school.

Whatever that sound is, cannot be something good.

The walls are so much colder now. The further I go, the more it starts to feel like ice. But I cannot stop here. Sitting still means leaving myself vulnerable — more vulnerable than I already am.

First nips at my fingers. Every inch of me is pleading to let go, to just walk. But if I let go, then there is a chance I might run into something.

I have memorized every square inch of this place. However, I did not take the time to note where all the trash cans and lonely chairs are.

Suddenly I feel something cold and smooth. It has a spherical shape to it. No doubt, this is a door handle. I recognize it. I must have finally found the closest storage room.

My chest flutters with excitement.

_Finally! _

__

__

__

I turn the handle—

Before I can push open the door, I begin sinking into the ground.

"αωω . . ." A far stronger wind smacks me in the face. I let out a scream and struggle.

The Amate’s ooze surrounds me. It sinks into my clothing and traps me in its sticky, unrelenting cocoon. The smell is back. My hands reach for something — anything. I choke at the awful smell.

The liquid is up to my chin as I sink further down, slowly. It begins to inch my tongue the end of the hall. Unfortunately, this part of the building does have a dead end. I thought I would be safe once I was inside that little room. I was wrong.

"иσ σиє ¢αи ѕανє уσυ . . ."

_Click, drag. _

__

_Click, drag. _

__

_Click, drag. _

__

__

The darkness falters and glitches to a dimmer light. I make out a shape not too far away from me.

A tear slips from the corner of my eye. I am suddenly frozen, petrified.

It is a thing of nightmares. Long, dark limbs and a crooked grin. Sunkin, hollow eyes. He reaks of his own sludge. The skin of his body peels and crinkles. One leg extends behind him, longer than the other.

"мм . . . нσω ι ℓσνє тнє ѕмєℓℓ σf ғє**ѧ**я!"

But then everrythinf goes white. I am transferred back to the same desk I sat in before. My heart hammers in my chest, and my head raises. I gasp for air.

“I- it wasn’t my fault! She just passed out — I swear!” Hunter begs.

The teacher tells him to go to the principals office. Everyone stares, wide eyed at me.

“I’m okay,” I try. Mr. Toeman does not look convinced enough to be satisfied.

He commands me to the nurses’ room, even though I repeat, in multiple, my recovery.

I open the door and walk out of class. As I walk down the same, doomed-full hall, his voice sends shivers down my spine. My heart quickens at his words.

"υитιℓ тнє иєχт . . ."

This is no longer a game . . .