Let Me In || Ticci Toby x Reader

5 || Laundry

It has been a week. I have kept myself locked in here for a while now. People come by everyday, inviting me to join them doing various things. Working out, for a walk, for a meal, and sometimes just for a simple conversation. Everyone in the house seems so inviting. Never thought killers could be like that. Despite many documentaries saying some famous serial killers were charismatic, it's hard to picture it. Even so, I have to admit to slowly warming up to everything.

One guy is always checking up on me. He's always telling me news about what's going on outside and giving me little tidbits about everyone in this house. We even made up our own way of conversation like I had hoped. He asks a yes or no question. And I respond with one or two knocks. One means "no" and two means "yes". From our conversations, I learned a bit about everything. He is a proxy and the one who spoke to me when I got back. And he told me that the faceless being is called Slenderman. I feel comfortable around him. Even if he has not told me his name yet. In fact, no one has yet.

The proxy does have a few phrases I keep hearing him repeat. I assume they are tics, though I cannot be certain. He usually continues on with his speech or pauses for a second before talking again. I just try to ignore them, though they do sometimes catch me off guard.

I have been going out of my room. But only at night when no one is wandering around. That night when Slenderman spoke to me was the first time. Only because I had to do laundry. That went well enough. I didn't have to do underwear, thank god. The washing machine and dryer are in the basement, so it was a little hard to find. But once I did I found detergent and dryer sheets already on top ready to go.

I also go out to eat at night. I bring snacks back with me to last the day. After I get back from my roaming, I fall asleep. Then take naps throughout the day. Not much else to do. Sometimes I am almost tempted to take someone on their offer for something to do. Otherwise, all I do is nap and wait for time to pass.

Tonight I have to do laundry again. Once every week. Not quite sure what day though. In fact, I lost track of days and time altogether. But patience is key. I have to play the long game if I want to get out of here without being killed.

I open the door cautiously. The cool air from the rest of the house sends a shiver down my spine. Before I go out, I look down the hall both ways. Clothes are either piled carelessly or folded in front of closed doors. I grab the plaid blanket from my bed and wrap it around myself like a cloak. First, I have to grab the basket from the basement.

As I walk down the hall, I listen to the sounds coming from the rooms. Some people are snoring, others are turning in their sleep, and few make no sounds whatsoever. It makes me wonder who is listening to me wandering around.

I grab the laundry basket and rest it on my waist as I start to grab people's clothes. Mentally, I thank the few who actually sort and fold their clothes for me. I always clean theirs first as a subtle "thanks".

I put the first load into the washing machine and turn it on. There are forty-five minutes until I have to switch. Gives me enough time to find some food. Speaking of, I'm famished.

The kitchen is always stocked. Like there's a grocery store nearby, which I know for a fact that there isn't. They probably have a huge stock or pantry somewhere in this huge house. I should probably look for it someday - or some night, to be completely realistic.

I find some granola bars in a box and take two. There are also some snacking foods, so I take a few. That'll do for my other two meals. People wake up too early and go to bed too late for me to have any more than one meal. I should probably make a sandwich or two to have some real food in me.

As I finish eating, the washing machine goes off, playing a little tune so I know it's done and time to switch loads. While waiting I just sit on the cement floor of the basement and think while wrapped in my blanket. Mostly about my life. Not what it was, but what it is now and how it will be. My future is uncertain. I don't know what will become of me. Can I really escape? Or will I buckle under pressure and give in to some of the darkest thoughts one may have? The people in here could also have a change of heart and kill me any time they please.

But before my thoughts get any worse, or start to become intrusive, I always have to change loads again. Thank god this is so fast.

Now for a time I fear. I switch a load into the dryer and have to wash my clothes. Looking left, right, and behind me, as well as listening for noises, I try to capture evidence of anyone lurking nearby. No one. So I slowly strip myself of all my clothes and cover myself with the blanket I took with me.

In this state, I feel the most vulnerable. Here I am, open and completely exposed. Any other way and I might fight back. But the fear of embarrassment keeps me from releasing my grip on my blanket. No matter the circumstance. It's sobering. During the day I live under a false illusion that I am safe. Yet the truth is that I am vulnerable. I have no idea how strong my spirit is when my only way to have a chance of surviving is to have it burning strong inside of me. I am only a girl, held hostage and helpless while my family is probably worried sick unaware of what is going on.

The washer plays its little tune again, like an answer to my prayers. One last cycle. Just a little bit longer and I can shield myself from my inner fears again.

When everything is finished, all sorted and folded, I am able to place everything at everyone's door again. Hopefully, I remember everything right and don't place the wrong clothes at the wrong doors. At least they don't complain to me. How odd that killers have shown slight acts of kindness to me.

As I place the last pile of clothes at the last door, I overhear a conversation of whispering on the other side of the closed door. Out of interest, I listen in.

"Think she's out there?" One male voice asks, sounding more like a boy than a man. I have heard it before, he asked me to come out once.

"Absolutely," another male voice answers the other's question. This one also sounds like a child. He came to my door as well once too. Neither of those men are the proxy that speaks to me though.

"Where do you think she is now?"

"Back in her room? I dunno. She's pretty silent. Could be anywhere."

"True, dude. It's pretty freaky. I wanna get a look at her. She that pretty face of hers."

"Might be a psycho. Have to be to try and break out just to kill. A silent and bloodthirsty beast. The Big Man must be pretty pissed she didn't wanna be his proxy."

"I'm going to do it."

I step back, startled. This is what people think of me. Are they all scared? Of me? I feel a pang in my heart as it breaks. I don't want to be a killer. But the fact of the matter is that I am. Even so, I can not contemplate the matter. The one boy said they want to see me.

I run, right to my room. Forget the basket. Someone else can deal with it. I slam the door behind me and curl up in the closet.