Delirium (Creepypasta x reader)

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Soon, too soon, you found yourself waking up in that forest again.

Your bruises had begun to fade at this point, swathes of light purple hidden under the thick clothing of winter; most of your scratches were gone as well, with only the deepest still marking you with fine lines. The memory of how you received them, though, wasn't as easy to forget.

There was less hesitation this time, less confusion - as soon as you realized where you were you jolted up, scrambling to your feet. The air was warm, and your breathing grew heavy as if you were sprinting as you scanned the dark woods.

Because this time you knew you weren't alone.

It took some time for the person to show themselves; and all the while you were tense, feet planted, scrutinizing your surroundings.

The sound of branches rustling had you swinging your head towards the noise, gritting your teeth and clenching your fists. A bright orange jacket assaulted your eyes, and to your horror a different, but equally familiar man emerged, hands casually tucked into his jean pockets.

"You..." your mouth was dry. You licked your lips, laving your tongue against the back of your teeth, "you fucking attacked me back on Halloween. What the hell is wrong with you? Where am I? Did you fucking kidnap me?"

He was silent despite your angry howling, waiting patiently as you trembled with adrenaline shouting questions and accusations at the top of your lungs. When you paused, assessing him, he tilted his hooded head calmly - the stitched frown offering no answers.

He was still in the way that one would be in the face of a feral animal: stance cautious but relaxed, without malice or tensed muscles, waiting for hackles to lay flat. There was no sense of foreboding emanating from him; no aggression whatsoever. You had first thought that he was here to finish the job or something. But now you were confused as he continued to simply stand there, meters away, peaceful as can be.

It was hard to stay angry and ready to run when nothing was happening. With reluctance you uncurled your fists and huffed out a shaky breath, dropping your shoulders. It was only then that he moved, pulling his hand from his jean pocket and extending it out to you, a slip of white paper clutched between two black, glove-clad fingers.

You eyed him warily, half a mind still on bolting in the opposite direction, but a wave of vertigo washed over you as you considered it. No, you wanted the paper, to at least see what was written on it. It was a message for you, after all.

You took careful steps towards the man like a deer approaching an offered apple, and all the time he made no moves in either direction, away or toward you. You finally grew close enough and snatched it from his hand, immediately retreating several steps away.

Looking down at the square in your hands, you unfolded it once, twice.

Written in black ink and a neat scrawl was this message:

There are eight pages hidden in this forest. Gather them as quickly and as quietly as you can. I will be watching.

You whipped your head up to glare atthe messenger, but there was no one there. The area was empty save for yourself.

You swallowed heavily and with shaking hands gripped the paper tightly. It crumpled in your grasp.

You still had no sweet clue about what was going on. Should you listen to the directions? Why do it at all?

But maybe he would let you go after this?

How could you be sure?

You shuddered as another wave of vertigo brought you to your knees. No, no, you had to do this. This was bigger than the petty things from before. If you listened, he might grant you mercy. Eight pages as fast and as quietly as possible.