In my mind.

Play with us.

Horror, I think. And very experimental.

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[A damaged phone was found on a rubble filled street after the end of everything happened. The screen was shattered beyond recognition and there was no battery. And yet, when they picked it up, the screen lit up and a message began to play. A voice (presumably male due to the tone of it but this has yet to be confirmed.) began to narrate:]

In the street stood a child, isolated from all sound and life. The child was without a name, for there was no reason for a child to have a name.

[A second voice cut through this, tone high pitched and childish with a ring of panic to it.]

("Not in these times. Not anymore.")

Their features hidden by the shadows in which they inhabited, the quiet, agitated sound of their breathing was the only indication to a presence being there

("Don't trust it. No, don't trust it it's not real n o-")

[The voice breaks, cutting off to a ringing sound for several moments before continuing.]

("- 's n ot re a l not real-")

as it couldn't be seen, not by the naked eye, not in that impenetrable darkness not when it's not

[Static obscures the end of the sentence.]

A single footstep rang through the silence, loud and definite as it echoed, a signal that something was here and it was heading this way

("Not human never human help h-")

Heading for them, heading for them, heading for everything it's heading this way it's coming it's coming it's coming It's coming-

[A click sounds and strange music begins to play as the childish voice returns.]

(It's here for you~ ♥)

The footsteps grew louder and louder, seeming to speed up despite never leaving their set rythym, causing a sense of foreboding among those listening.

[One of the present investigators swallowed audibly.]

And as you listened carefully, actually listened and didn't allow yourself to get caught up in the foreboding tension that dripped from the air, from the speakers and into the ears of those present

[A glass shattered in one of their hands.]

("We can see you~!")

you could hear the quiet

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

of liquid sliding from something and hitting the ground.

[The ignored wound leaked on the observers hand as they gaped at the phone in horror, all trying to ignore the memory of the blood that had been everywhere.]

The childs breathing sped up, becoming fast raspy and panicked as the footsteps were louder and closer and all they could hear was the consistent-

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Their eyes scrunched up in horror as they attempted to press themselves further into the darkness

("You can't hide. They'll find you.")

desperate to avoid detection because-

[The phone fell to the floor as the holders hand went limp, the resulting crash drowning out the rest of the sentence.]