𝐇(𝐀)𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 | yandere! dazai osamu

3 / 15

You felt though you couldn't breathe. Eyes, glassy and cold, remained in the sockets of their porcelain faces. Shock consumed your lungs and all you could hear was your heart hammering in your chest, fire flaring to life in your rib bones, and smoking up your chest cavity. You sputtered at the sight.

Each of the humanoid creations had jaws slack open, abnormal-sized teeth gleaming with cheap acrylic paint in the night. Fingernails painted with colors of the rainbows contrasted to their drab wooden limbs. You remained stagnant, with your back pressed to the door, eyes flickering wildly. 

'Clothes!' You grit your teeth at the sight of the lifeless creations, all sporting clothes. You had noticed that some of them had yellowed, with their frills tearing apart like thin tissue paper and jewels dropping off the fabric and colliding with the ground. You flinched with every click

click

click

click

as if just one of them were stretching their limbs and shaking those heavy stones off. You bit your lip, before brushing your fingers over a pale blue blouse on your right. Your eyes widened when the thin cloth started to disintegrate under your touch, crumbling and shriveling into bits in front of your feet. In a way, it reminded you of small, newly hatched spiders.

As much as you were terrified, you knew that if you stayed in here any longer, the coldness in the puppet's eyes were to quickly turn into smoldering lava.

You then had noticed that some of the clothes were immensely grey and yellow, and so instead decided to opt for the ones that looked more...fresh. At least, the ones that didn't crumble away into nothingness.

Hands grab at a sweater, and your lips turned into a smile when it stayed intact under your damp hands. The wool was, what you thought was originally red, but it had turned into a shade of grisly maroon. Under it was a dress that reached down to your ankles. Although you knew that a dress was no good to wear, especially if you had to run, but at this moment you would rather wear a dress than jeans that soaked water into your underwear.

Besides, if time called, you could just rip the bottom and make it shorter.

Slipping the clothes over your head, you cringed at the smell. It smelled of wall paint, but with a tint of men's cologne.

Strange. Women's clothes but men's fragrant? You thought to yourself, shimmying your jeans down and pulling the skirt up. They were probably owned by the ladies I saw in the paintings earlier.

Smoothing out the clothes, you pounced for the door and twisted the brass knob hard. You swing it open with newfound terror at the thought of exposing your back to...them. With that, the door swings on the hinges and screeches. Chipped paint and-

SLAM

The door roars and nearly crushes you as it locks itself as if the wind had rammed their elbow deep into the wood, eliciting such a violent response. But the thing was, and you had just noticed: the windows in the room were sealed tight, quite literally. As if someone had glue gunned the window to shut. Solid glue remains, resembling melted wax, oozed from the crevices of the window.