My body suddenly froze, my eyes wide with shock as my blurry vision, clouded by alcohol, caught sight of something creeping out from beneath the mattress. It was a pair of arms, wrapped in a yellow long-sleeved shirt decorated with rainbow motifs—childlike, innocent. White-gloved fingers reached out, trying to grasp the soccer ball that had rolled to the floor.
A cheerful laugh followed the movement, and only then did I realize that someone—or something—had been hiding under the bed the whole time, waiting for the right moment to strike. In my drunken haze, I had become easy prey, paralyzed with fear.
The laughter grew louder, echoing in my ears, but my legs refused to move. I stood there, helpless, as if I'd already accepted my fate. My heartbeat raced, my breathing grew ragged, and then the figure began to crawl out from its hiding place, revealing its full form.
Terror gripped my chest as I saw the nightmarish figure standing before me. It was a clown, holding a soccer ball in one hand and a hammer in the other. Curly, colorful hair framed its face; its skin was painted with thick, off-white makeup, and a red sponge ball sat on its nose. The wide, sinister grin was smeared with dark red lipstick. In that moment, I felt like I was staring at death itself, a grim reaper in disguise, ready to claim my life.
"Rian... Come play ball with me ..."
Hearing his cheerful voice, my legs suddenly turned to jelly, as if they'd lost all their strength. I collapsed hard onto the floor; my eyes, now even blurrier, locked onto his terrifying figure. I was battling my own sanity, desperately trying to convince myself that what I was seeing was nothing more than an alcohol-induced hallucination.
"Sorry. I'm sorry..." The words tumbled out, shaky and weak, as fear gripped me with violent force.
His horrible grin only widened beneath the thick layer of makeup, a grotesque smile that twisted the familiar feature I had once known. "Why are you apologizing? I just wanted to play ball," he said, still in that same sickeningly cheerful tone.
Each word felt like a death sentence. Panic surged through me, and I instinctively tried to scramble to my feet, desperate to flee, to save myself. But luck wasn't on my side. The alcohol, mixed with the sheer terror coursing through my veins, left me powerless. I couldn't even lift myself off the floor. "No! No! Please..." I begged, my voice barely more than a whisper.
"I'll count to three... Then catch the ball ..."
"One..." he whispered softly, stepping closer.
I shook my head in disbelief, tears of terror streaming down my sweat-soaked cheeks. My hands fumbled desperately behind me, searching for the door handle that I knew should have been there, but it felt as if it had disappeared, leaving me trapped.
"Two..."
I screamed, my voice hoarse and frantic, pleading for mercy and my life. The distance between us grew shorter with every heartbeat. "No... No... I'm sorry! Please! Help! Somebody, help!" But the relentless downpour and the crashing thunder outside swallowed my cries. Even the police officers stationed in their cars outside couldn't hear me over the storm. My legs, traitorous and weak, refused to move, leaving me to my fate.
He tilted his head slightly, the smile on his face stretching wider. "Three..."
Bang!
The sickening crack of bone shattering filled my ears. It felt like time had stopped, my heart freezing in my chest as a wave of excruciating pain shot through me. The blunt force of the weapon slammed into my forehead, delivering a blow unlike anything I had ever felt. My body instinctively reached for his arm, gripping it weakly in a pitiful attempt to resist, but it was futile. Just one strike had rendered me defenseless.
The soccer ball slipped from the clown's hand, rolling across the cold, white floor, which was now splattered with crimson red. My blood dripped down, blending into the clean surface like raindrops merging with the puddles outside.
A guttural groan of pain escaped my lips, but it was drowned out by his cheerful laughter. He yanked me by the collar, pulling me closer, ready to unleash more brutal blows.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The dark black clouds outside seemed to swallow all the light in my room, casting it into an eerie, suffocating gloom. Yet in the dimness, his bright yellow clothes still stood out, now streaked with the sharp contrast of my blood, splattering with each brutal blow. His rage—unleashed after all this time—was painted in the red mist that filled the air, the anger intensifying with each strike. A fresh stream of blood gushed from a cut artery on my face, blending with the pounding rhythm of my failing heartbeat.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sickening stench of iron filled my nostrils as my body, powerless to resist, crumpled onto the cold floor, lying limply in the growing pool of my own blood. When he finally released his grip on my collar, I felt the last bit of strength slip away from me. Pain—beyond anything words could ever capture—started to pull me into the depths of unconsciousness. I couldn't tell how many bones in my face had shattered, but I knew, without a doubt, that my features no longer resembled anything human.
And yet, even as my face lay destroyed, he didn't stop. His blows kept raining down with the same relentless force, as though my suffering only fueled him further.
Every groan, every agonizing crack of bone, and every burst of maniacal laughter was drowned out by the relentless storm outside. The rain poured, as if trying to wash away the blood that now covered every inch of the room, seeking to mix with the crimson that stained the floor.
"Do you like your face now?" he mocked, his voice cutting through the haze of pain.
The rain of blows finally came to a stop, and I struggled to open my eyes, though even that simple act was tortured by the searing pain of my wounds. Through the haze of agony, I saw his satisfied grin and the madness in his eyes. Slowly, he began applying the bright red lipstick to my battered face, the stick dragging across my torn skin like a branding iron. Every stroke cut deeper into my flesh, ripping open the wounds that had barely begun to close. I let out shallow, ragged breaths, each one accompanied by involuntary groans, weak and broken.
Then, with a disturbingly gentle touch, he brushed my blood-soaked hair away from my forehead. His eyes, hollow and devoid of any humanity, met mine. His wide grin, now stretched unnaturally across his face, hid a storm of emotions—anger, sorrow, and a dark, twisted satisfaction.
"Have fun with your game, Rian," he whispered, his voice soft but chilling.
The sound of his footsteps echoed faintly as he turned and left, the creaking door hinges barely audible over the storm outside. The room grew eerily quiet, save for the sound of my shallow, labored breaths. I was alone now, lying helpless in a pool of my own blood.
My breaths grew weaker, each one more difficult than the last. My heartbeat faded into nothingness, barely a whisper. As my vision blurred, I caught one last glimpse of the raindrops splashing against the window, the water streaking down the glass. The last tears I would ever shed slipped silently down my cheeks, mingling with the blood on the cold floor.
(End of Rian's POV)