Glowing Eyes

Where the fuck am I?

The phone was ringing.

Ring. 

Had she a house phone?

Ring, ring.

She didn't have a house phone.

Ring...ring, ring.

What the hell was ringing?

"Make it stop." 

     Her head snapped up to greet tortured, sunken eyes that sat high on a gaunt face. 

She wondered if the boy that knelt savagely in front of her knew that his eyeliner had smudged down to his left cheekbone.

Ring, ring.

     A thick hand slammed into her neck, thrusting her against one of the concrete walls that encased the both of them in a sterile prison. Her head reeled as it hit against the grey stone, blackness clouded her thoughts before she refocused on the odd figure in front of her.

His face, as well as being boney, had a silver, glittery film layering over it, giving his slim features a shiny coat. His eyes - pale, yellowy...cat like - widened as he studied her, the hand over her jugular vein twitching slightly.

     Talin hid her fear well, apparently.

Ring, ring.

     "Why won't it stop ringing?" The boy growled.

Talin wished she knew and was about to reply, but that when the ringing stopped. In its place, the creak of a rusting bolt sliding through an ancient lock graced their ears. The boy seemed to perk up, because his temper subsided slightly, and on all fours, he pounced towards a different looking patch of stone on the other side of the small room.

     Why didn't I notice that? Talin wondered pitifully, vaguely remembering through the murky haze of confusion that she was a trained professional detective. She had grown up to notice the tiny things that appeared to be out of place.

And yet a measly slab of rock had bested her.

The room though, it was something else entirely. It was so strange, so oddly sterile, boxed, symmetrical and balanced. Nothing to upset the eye, nothing to spark curiosity.

    It housed nothing but a pile of newspapers and wood shavings in the far left corner, yet despite that Talin's nose was attacked with something medicinal, like the pungency of rubbing alcohol.

It was a room designed for a purpose; the sole purpose of killing any living being inside of it with boredom.

    "They've opened the door again." He commented lightly.

"Again?"

The creature was pressed up against the slightly discoloured slab, ears - which she noted were thin, ungodly things that tipped into points - seemed to be trying to listen through the wall.

"They always open it once I have a new friend to play with. I think they want my friend to help me escape, but they always die. It's most peculiar."

What?

"Open the door, friend." Through filmy eyes the creature looked at her, drawing her closer until she came to rest beside him. Her hand pushed at the slab on its own accord. Apparently, she wanted out.

Now.

She pushed, and the stone grated away; slid into a crevice beside it, only to reveal another room. And in the middle of that room was a slip of paper, barely distinguishable in the dim lighting.

She couldn't breathe. 

Her feet flexed in their black and white Converse, forcing her to walk stockily towards the note. Her stomach lurched.

Taped to the note was a severed finger, slathered in spit, dotted with rough bite marks. Dried blood was caked over the skin, forming a crusty layer of dark red that injected itself into the crevice its nail.

Shuddering violently, the young detective picked up the note.

Welcome To The Game, Talin