Johnny can feel the doctor hovering close behind him, the electromagnetic field crackling palpably between them, the proximity and suggestion making his shoulder itch and ache with the anticipation of touch. The sudden closeness of Niall's voice startles him, and he shivers involuntarily before forcing himself to step away.
"Well, the next one will be fine, right?" he says doggedly. "Isn't that what you said?"
Still, though. The doors frighten him. He doesn't want to approach a single one of them. What waits for him on the other side? He stands in paralyzed hesitation again, and this time when he feels a presence creeping toward him, he first assumes it is the doctor, come again to whisper and needle at him.
But it's not. There are artifacts here, a cold, coiling sensation rooted down deep in his memory. The sharp tang of metal on the air, wrapping thick around his tongue. He squeezes his eyes shut. Don't look. Don't look, but really this time, don't do it, don't do it, don't-
The creak of a floorboard beneath his own foot as he shifts his weight jolts him enough to disobey his own directive, but he only makes it halfway around before something tangles itself around his neck and heaves him roughly off balance.
His terrified yell is cut short when he crashes to the floor, the air forced from his lungs. Oh no, oh no, it's here, it followed him, nesting here in this house just like all the others. He can't see it against the dark of the unlit hallway, but he can hear it, can feel it against his skin, pressing down on his throat, his mouth so full of the iron taste that for a minute he thinks he's going to hurl. Claws creeping down over his shoulder, threatening, suggesting. Cut him up, take him apart. Remake him into something wrong.
The petrified silence breaks. He screams and screams, frantic and devoid of reason, lost and, for the moment, alone.
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"Well, the next one will be fine, right?" he says doggedly. "Isn't that what you said?"
Still, though. The doors frighten him. He doesn't want to approach a single one of them. What waits for him on the other side? He stands in paralyzed hesitation again, and this time when he feels a presence creeping toward him, he first assumes it is the doctor, come again to whisper and needle at him.
But it's not. There are artifacts here, a cold, coiling sensation rooted down deep in his memory. The sharp tang of metal on the air, wrapping thick around his tongue. He squeezes his eyes shut. Don't look. Don't look, but really this time, don't do it, don't do it, don't-
The creak of a floorboard beneath his own foot as he shifts his weight jolts him enough to disobey his own directive, but he only makes it halfway around before something tangles itself around his neck and heaves him roughly off balance.
His terrified yell is cut short when he crashes to the floor, the air forced from his lungs. Oh no, oh no, it's here, it followed him, nesting here in this house just like all the others. He can't see it against the dark of the unlit hallway, but he can hear it, can feel it against his skin, pressing down on his throat, his mouth so full of the iron taste that for a minute he thinks he's going to hurl. Claws creeping down over his shoulder, threatening, suggesting. Cut him up, take him apart. Remake him into something wrong.
The petrified silence breaks. He screams and screams, frantic and devoid of reason, lost and, for the moment, alone.