Neikos496

The voice announced. Over and over. Repeating itself, wishing to be heard. Its tone is soft, friendly and warm. Familiar like his—no, it's an exact mimic.

You grasped your phone close to the side of your head. The cool exterior grazing the tip of your ear. It's still ringing. The repetitive vibration echoing. He's still not answering.

The air feels thinner. You try to grasp for more, only to choke from the pressure.

You're huddled under the dinner table. Having previously prepared dinner when the voice came. You tried calling out to it—to him. No answer. It's pretty late into the night, which on its own is odd. He usually informs you if he ever has to work overtime. You've been checking your phone every now and then, there's no message from him.

The last one he sent was a picture of the window from his office. Light droplets sticking on the glass. With a comment on how it'll be raining soon.

Then silence.

The table cloth spills over the edge, hovering over the floorboards, casting a layer of protection. The dimness it provides causes you to feel boxed in. Yet safe.

The phone continued ringing. Frustration and dread seeps into your soul, the possibility of Phainon not being available to save you. Leaving you alone. With it.

You've always been dependent on him. For the sense of safety he provides. Phainon always stands beside or in front of you in the face of something that could cause you harm, even if only in theory.

He never reprimands you for it. He'd smile and nod, each time you choose to hide yourself behind his figure. His hand would grasp yours, lacing your fingers together. Squeezing gently. Assuring your safety.

There are nights where you'd question him, whether you're being too much for refusing to face things on your own.

“You don't need to face things alone,” his hands found yours. It's like second nature at this point. “I'm here. Call out for me. I'll find you and we'll face it.” A soft peck to your nose. “together.”

Your brain racks itself on what to do—should you continue spamming him with calls? With desperate hope of him answering one of them?

Pulling the phone away from your ear, the screen reveals the countless missed calls for the past hour. The rainfall was light, its sound was barely there. Tapping the surface. But now, it has doubled in strength and numbers. Pounding on the walls.

Despite the deafening rhythm of droplets—a knock cuts through the noise.

“Angel, I'm home.” Again, it announced. Still behind the door. Persistent in reminding you of its presence.

Your head falls onto your knees. The world turns airless. Your lungs strain. Your hand clutch the device despite sweat running down your body and sticking to your fingers.

You hadn't unlocked the door, if it's calling out for you to greet it inside—it definitely doesn't have the keys. It can't get in. You're safe. You just have to wait for Phainon to come home—he should be on the way. Maybe stuck in traffic. It's raining after all.

A click.

So soft.

But unmistakable.

That all too familiar creak as the door knob twists.

You felt as if your body was dropped into a frozen lake. You're immobilized by the frost seeping into your skin. Watching the air bubbles ascend up. As darkness engulfs.

The rain covers your ears. But you could feel the creaking of floorboards. Holding up its weight with each step forward.

“Angel, I'm home.” It's closer.

You want to close your eyes. You want Phainon to burst through the entrance. You want him to come home.

The silhouette. A pair of legs. You recognize Phainon's work shoes just barely seen between the cracks. He always complained about them before leaving.

Your phone vibrates against your palm.

Your eyes don't leave the sight before you, not immediately.

The sound echoes in the room.

Slowly, you avert your gaze. Glancing at the screen.

Phainon finally answered.

Tears form over your eyes. You swipe over the screen and accept it. Forcing your arm up and pressing the device against your ear.

With a shaky gasp, you speak. “.. Phainon..?”

“Angel, I'm home.”

The voice answers.

We deeply apologize to all our customers for the lack of meals these past weeks. Our establishment is currently waiting for supplies which had been set back due to weather issues.

We hope this simple horror-fic of Flame Reaver will suffice for now until we finish up our rougher meal plans.