The Backrooms: A Love Story

The Backrooms: A Love Story Part 2

My heart pounded in my ears as the sound of splintering wood filled the room. The barricade we had constructed, once our shield, was now on the verge of yielding under the relentless assault of the mannequin. We held still, waiting for the mannequin to burst in.

"It's quick, it's strong, and it resembles a typical store mannequin under those hood, well, maybe a bit too tall," Fran mumbled, her brow furrowed in thought. "Could it be hollow inside too? But that wouldn't explain the force it's exerting on the door..."

As I listened to her ruminate, a wave of self-consciousness washed over me. Only moments ago, I had poured out my feelings to her. Yet here she is, resolutely focused on figuring out how to navigate our current predicament. My confession seemed to hang in the air, momentarily forgotten amidst the chaos. Ah, the joys of waiting for a response, just like waiting for the sequel to a book you've been eagerly anticipating.

"Never mind, let's just try to beat the crap out of it! It's two against one, after all!" Fran exclaimed, The room is barely illuminated, but I can feel her sheer determination from her voice alone.

"Right."

Albeit I say that with a hint of hesitation. It seemed even Fran had her limits when it came to excessive thinking.

BAM!

Amidst the chilling chaos, Fran's grip on my arm was like a lifeline, except not exactly the most effective move in a fight. It was more of a "panic and hold on tight" strategy. Our makeshift weapons, ripped from a shelving unit, were the only things standing between us and the looming nightmare beyond our barricade.

With a gut-wrenching crash, the door finally gave way. A flood of artificial light poured into the room, casting the twisted figure of the mannequin into sharp relief. Its disjointed, disproportionate limbs twisted in impossible ways, and its hollow eyes bore into us with an eerie stillness. I can hear Fran's sharp gasp as she sees the mannequin.

The mannequin stood incredibly still, as if just staring at us both. Its head and upper torso is still covered in rags.

...

The mannequin's hands slowly rose, palms facing us, its fingers straight and pointing towards the ceiling. Its wrists bent sideways, accompanied by a tilt of its head, as if to mimic an unsettling contortion.

"What is it--" just as Fran said this, a sense of impending danger coursed through me.

I leaped forward, positioning myself in between Fran and the advancing mannequin. With all my might, I swung the piece of wood I held right at its head while I channeled my inner baseball player.

The mannequin being hollow--flew backwards and had its rags tattered away. The unnerving sight of a mannequin with a human-like face evoked an eerie feeling, especially when it is trying to kill you.

But somehow, this didn't break the mannequin. In fact, the piece of wood I was holding had already broken into pieces.

"No way...!" I exclaimed, looking at the shattered remains of my weapon. Fran gripped her piece of wood tighter, her face pale but determined.

The mannequin, now devoid of its rags, slowly got back to its feet. Its limbs twisted and contorted as if they had a life of their own. Its lifeless, hollow eyes locked onto ours again, and a chill ran down my spine. If a mannequin could have an expression, I would have said it looked... angry.

Without warning, it lunged at us again. This time, its attack was more forceful, more precise. The mannequin aimed a blow at Fran, but she was quicker, and she managed to sidestep just in time. With a swift movement, she swung her piece of wood, striking the mannequin in the torso.

There was a resonating, hollow thud, and the mannequin staggered backward, seemingly off balance. Seizing the opportunity, I charged at it, despite the burning pain in my arm, and rammed into it with all the strength I had left. The mannequin fell backward, crashing onto the cold, hard floor of the storage room.

With the mannequin pinned beneath us, we momentarily caught our breath. Our eyes met, exchanging a brief, shared relief. But this was not the time for rest. The mannequin, though momentarily incapacitated, was far from defeated.

Pulling from my childhood memories of wrestling with my siblings, I quickly twisted my body to hook one of the mannequin's arms under my knee. I grabbed its other arm, yanking it away from its body and out of reach. Its body rattled violently, trying to escape my grasp. I was losing my grip. In the dimly lit room, I could barely see what was happening. I felt, rather than saw, the mannequin's ceaseless thrashing. My muscles screamed, and my right arm throbbed with an intensifying ache.

Just when I thought I might lose my grip, a sudden burst of light filled the room. This corner of the storage room was instantly bathed in bright light. Somehow, I felt as if I had gained a surge of strength, a renewed vigor that empowered me to maintain my hold on the writhing mannequin.

"Take a hike!" Fran's voice echoed in the room, her tone filled with intense urgency. Her warning was my only notice before she brought down the wooden plank onto the mannequin, the impact echoing in the room followed by silence.

The mannequin remained motionless, its shattered head scattered in pieces. In the aftermath, we both stood there, gasping for air, our chests heaving with the weight of exhaustion. We locked our eyes on the lifeless figure, silently exchanging a mutual understanding, taking a full minute to ensure it wasn't the type to miraculously rise and strike when one's guard was down. Just to be safe, Fran took out some rope and we both hastily bound the mannequin to a shelf. As we gradually regained our breath, I looked at Fran.

"Take a hike?" I finally managed to gasp out, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of my mouth despite the recent terror. "Really, Fran? Talk about cheesy." I started to chuckle as I mimicked the way she said it.

She looked at me, a confused blink giving way to a flush of embarrassment and annoyance, her shoulders sagging in mock defeat.

"I panicked, okay?" she retorted, trying to suppress a smile; she twiddles with the plank she was holding. "I didn't exactly prepare one-liners for mannequin combat!"

Her defense only made me laugh harder, our shared laughter echoing in the room, breaking the tense atmosphere from the fight. I laid down on the floor--No, actually I kind of slumped over on my own. Seems like the adrenaline has subsided, the dull throbbing in my arm gave way to a sharp, searing pain that shot through my body. It was only then I realized the toll the struggle had taken on me; my whole body has been aching the whole time.

Fran rushed to my side, her amusement fading into concern. "Are you okay?" she asked, her eyes scanning my bruised arm.

"Elias!" I heard Fran's voice break through my haze of pain, the concern in her voice clear.

It was odd hearing her say my name. She rarely used it, often preferring to keep our interactions more casual. I never minded, but hearing it now... as my vision fades, it sent an unexpected warmth spreading through my chest.