Langst: One Shots

31DoHF: Summary (The End)

TW: mentions of major character death, traumatic events, gore, graphic descriptions of death
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Halloween was something of tricks and treats, but giving it was his last Halloween, Lance felt a little cheated.

It was all a trick.

The sounds of his friends sobs and screams still echoed in his ears, staring at his house in front of him.

Illuminated with the red and blue flashing lights of the cop cars, fire trucks, and ambulances. The windows that were cracked where desperate fists had slammed in a desperate attempt to be freed of the doom that had lay inside.

The memory of those screams cutting off in horrendous ways were louder in Lances head than the sound of sirens that echoed around him.

Hunk had been the first to go.

When the wraith that had haunted the house was discovered, Lances story told and pieces fit together, hell broke loose worse than ever before.

When Hunk started to choke on the wrappers of all the candy he had consumed the night before, somehow inside him, everyone knew that something was horribly wrong.

And when the man fell, stone cold dead, the panic set in. Imagine your friend dropping dead next to you because of something you hadn't known how to control.

Couldn't control.

Hunk was only the first victim, killed off in the evil transparent silhouette's attempt to prove it was there and it was coming for blood after its years of lying dormant.

Little Lance, playing hide and seek and breaking the rules, broke the evil from its confinement in the basement.

Shiro was second.

When they had all hidden themselves where they believed the human-like evil couldn't get them, Shiro was closing the door when it slammed on him and smashed his robotic arm in ways the door shouldn't have been able to do.

The electricity that coursed through the mans nerves had sent his hairs on end and his body to the floor.

Screams.

The door slamming repeatedly into the fallen mans head, breaking his neck before it turned his skull into nothing but broken shards mixed with blood and brain matter.

Pidge got sick, Lance was horrified.
Keith fell into a madness that wouldn't last long. Because he would be next.

Keith was the one whose fists cracked windows in a desperate attempt to get out. He was the one locked into Lances mothers bedroom, leaving Pidge and Lance to sob and scream in terror at the sounds Keith made from inside.

Lance would never know what happened to his best friend, pretend rival.

He would have never gotten to apologize to him for anything he ever did. It was a horrible scene.

They had entered and Keith was on the bed, appearing to have been ripped limb from limb, his hand lying near the window.

The scent of blood was nauseating and everywhere. Pidge and Lance were covered in it, and the girl had gotten sick again.

Lance did too.

Those last few hours, it was only Pidge and Lance, huddled in the bathroom together and sobbing.

It was a nightmare. One they couldn't wake up from because it was real life and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

There was no escape.
But Lance looked for one anyway.

And that was his final mistake of that Halloween day.

When he'd returned from trying every door and every window, from having to go past the bodies of his friends, he came back to another body.

Pidge laying in the bathtub, in steaming water, and what appeared to be skin and muscle flesh floating in the water around her body.

Her eyes practically melted into her skull, her mouth agape to show bony teeth where lips no longer protected them.

She had been boiled alive in Lances bathtub. Lance never heard her scream.

It had taken everything in him not to run to the kitchen and put a knife to his throat. Everyone had died.

All of his friends.
He had no one except his mother and a father that was gone or missing.

He couldn't live with what he had just seen and dying by the evil thing that possessed his house was something he couldn't bare to think about.

But when he ran downstairs to do just that, he was met with a different figure. He'd screamed and thrashed, afraid it was the silhouette.

Though it was not.
It had been a cop.

The front door was open and there were sirens and there were emergency vehicles.

He'd cried. Not of relief, but of exhaustion and trauma and shock.

And now here he was, sitting outside of the house, wrapped in a shock blanket and staring up at the building he could never call a home again.

Lance watched as the remains of his friends were carried out in body bags.

They would call him a murderer.
They would call him a victim.
They would call him crazy.

They would send him away for years as Lance fell into insanity over the deaths that were glued into his head and stuck to the backs of his eyelids.

But for now, here he was.

Lance felt something buzz in his pocket, and with confusion he glanced down, temporarily drawn out of his stupor.

"Huh...?"

Lance felt the buzz again, and a trembling hand reached into his pocket with disbelief.

'On my way home. Had a great time!'

Lance stared down at the message, aware that his mother had no clue of what just happened in her home or the condition her son was in.

But Lance couldn't think about that right now. Because this wasn't possible.

How could this had been?
Had it been there the whole time?
Had he not known?

It was his phone...