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What the Actual Fuck

Chapter Text

You breath heavily, panting in the darkness in your fear.

It's happening again. Something's here. Something's in your walls and you don't know what and you're freaking out.

You reach blindly over onto your nightstand, hand flailing until you find your camera. Turning it on, you breath a small sigh of relief as a bit of light floods the room. The scratching continues, however, and you swallow a large gulp of air in an attempt to calm down. You point the camera at your undoubtedly pale face.

“Hey, this is Karkat,” you begin, voice shaky. “It is...” You take a moment to glance over to the clock by your bed. “3:47 in the god damn morning.” You pause for a moment as the scratching seems to come closer. You take a big, calming breath once more, and continue talking to your camera. “I told myself I'd start recording this heap of horseshit if it happens again, and take a fucking look, it is. I'm freaking the fuck out. I am in shambles. I am nothing more than a quivering mass of tortured psyche and possible hallucinations at the moment. I'm just...

“I'm scared.”

You run a hand through your wildly messy black hair, shuddering as the noises continue. You wait a few minutes for it to stop like it usually does, but it just won't quit.

Eyes wet and blurry, palms clammy, you get out of bed. Your foot gently touches the icy floor of your bedroom, sending goosebumps flying up your limbs.

And like a switch had been flipped, the scratching stops.

“Fuck.” You whisper in a voice an octave higher than normal. Your eyes remain fixed on the spot on the wall you think the noises were coming from.

Putting one small, terrified foot in front of the other, camera in hand, you make your way over to the wall of your bedroom. “I'm so fucking stupid. This is so fucking stupid. I should leave. I should leave. I should leave.”

Against your better judgment, you raise one hand and curl it into a fist. You very, very slowly reach that shaking hand to the wall, lean forward, press your ear against the cold paint, and knock.

You wait a moment, sure that your heart has stopped beating, positive that you have stopped breathing, and then close your eyes in relief. Nothing happened.

Just as you make to pull away from the wall, a short knock reaches your ear both in sound and vibration.

You gasp, reeling back, falling on your ass in the process. You somehow manage to keep hold on the camera. “Oh my fucking god. Fuck this. Fuck this so fucking hard, I'm done. I'm done, I'm done, I'm done. I'm leaving. I'm leaving. Oh, fuck. Jesus fucking dickshit please please please...”

Scrambling backward toward your door, hyperventilating, you manage to get back on your feet. You outright sprint down the stairs of your home and through the front door.

You spend the rest of the night in your car.