Later that evening, I sat on my bed with a notebook and pencil, trying to remember exactly what had happened in the tunnels. After about four hours, I gave it up as a lost cause. Maybe it’d be clearer in the morning. So I changed into pajama pants and a tank top, then, as I was about to turn out my light, heard the little “blip blip” that meant I had a new text message. Sure enough, it was from Dan. Brewery, Wednesday, 5AM. Be ready. I groaned. I didn’t expect the next one to come so soon. I sent a quick reply confirming that I’d be there, and flipped off my light. My thoughts just before sleep were something of a jumble—the eerie appearance of the ghost itself, the rage I’d felt in the last chamber, how it had felt to be in Dan’s arms—I quickly crushed that last one. This ghost was way more important than a summer fling. Finally, I fell asleep, only to wake at the most innocuous sounds. When I actually fell sound asleep near three o’clock, my usually pleasant dreams were interrupted by something very familiar. I stood at the top of the stairs to the cellars, watching Dan at the bottom. He turned left and into the small chamber we’d visited earlier that day. I somehow floated down to him, watching as he photographed every nook and cranny and corner of that space. Before long his flashlight failed him, and went out entirely. The room was plunged into darkness, the echoing drip in the distance as unnerving as ever. Dan swore quietly, and I called out to him. “Run!” I shouted, but he didn’t seem to hear me. However, the blue haze that I had seen that day HAD heard me, and once more began to drift my way. No—not my way. The ghost was drifting towards Dan, who was still swearing under his breath, and as far as I could tell, fiddling with his flashlight. I took in a deep breath as the ghost reached out a hand towards Dan, obviously intending to choke him. Hurling myself forward, I passed right through Dan (who shivered) and stood before the specter threatening my friend. “What are you doing here?” it demanded of me. “You are not welcome, nor is your friend. Leave this place. Do not come back, or next time I shall kill.” “You will not kill us,” I retorted. “We’re here to photograph, not to destroy. We want to preserve this place as much as you. You will leave us alone.” The ghost raised its hand again, this time reaching out to choke me. I gasped in a last breath before its fingers closed around my throat. Nothing could save me from this. I awoke, gasping. I sprang from my bed and dashed to my mirror. There were red finger marks all over my neck and throat. If a dream could do that, what would going into the brewery again do?
it's fantastic.....nearly flawless...i love your writing skills, it reminds me of a lot of Applegate or Christopher Pike....mind blowing job! it's a miracle to have me hooked to reading stuff....lol...
I'm working on the next part...I may just post it in this thread. Thanks for the feedback though, encouragement is always nice.