username; .-hotaru.-
name; Yawn
preferred pronouns; they/them
prompt;
The leaves crunched underneath your feet. Your best friend cursed beside you as they fiddled with their camcorder. "What is it? Dead?" They shook their head, "Must be, though I could've sworn I'd changed the batteries not long ago." You shrug.
The trees above you ouch their branches together, making a dappled pattern with what sunlight managed to get through. You stopped alongside your friend as they looked around. "Not long now, I think." You groan, "We better not be lost!" They shook their head adamantly, "No, I'm out here all the time! I know where we are...come on, this way." It doesn't take long before you notice odds and ends littering the ground. "See? they said smugly, "I told you we were close." "Whatever," you scoffed.
You both begin to pick up items, hoping to find something of interest. A blue plastic briefcase catches you eye, and you dart towards it to open it first. You frown at the lack of contents, but bring it back to your friends anyways. Maybe you could store some better findings to carry them back. "Look!" your friend shouts, "I see it!" Finally, your intended destination is in sight.
An old, peeling school bus stands in front of you. It has no wheel, and where the school district may have been as been scratched off. Those things seem trivial compared to the bullet-like holes scattered on the side and windows.
You shout excitedly and made to go in, but your friend catches your arm and holds you back. "Remember what I said? No going in... My cousin passed out last time, you know, bad juju." You rolled your eyes, "You guys are all too superstitious."
Nevertheless, the sound of approaching footfalls makes you jump. "Ugh, it's just Ranger." A fat Jack Russel pants and looks up at you. You stuck your tongue out at him, you don't get along.
You notice an odd fact as you look down at the little dog. There are shoes on the ground. Upon further investigation, there are dozens of shoes on the ground. Most seem to be the size for small children. Disregarding your friend's warning, you stick your head into the door of the bus. Your blood runs cold. Rows of rusted over wire dog crates line the walls. You can feel the hairs on the back of your neck raise and feel like your sinking. Something feels wrong.
You turn to tell your friend what you've seen, but the high pitched yelps of Ranger send you both sprinting back to the house, the briefcase and camcorder long forgotten.
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Sooo that's actually a true story about the time me and my best friend visited a possibly haunted bus in the woods! It's actually really difficult to accurately describe the feeling surrounding that dumb thing. It was dark and heavy. We can't go back because it was on her neighbor's property and he put a barbed wire fence and stuff up after that day. Oh, and Ranger was fine. We don't know what he was screaming about, but he came back about 30 minutes after us completely fine.
"ᴡᴇʟʟ, ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ɢᴏᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ
ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀʀᴅᴇꜱᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪꜱ ᴋɴᴏᴡɪɴɢ ɪ'ʟʟ ꜱᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴇ
ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅ
ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴄᴋꜱ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴍᴏᴠᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏɴ 95
ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴄᴇᴀɴ
ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀꜱʜ ᴍᴇ ᴄʟᴇᴀɴ, ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀꜱʜ ᴍᴇ ᴄʟᴇᴀɴ
ʙᴀʙʏ, ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴍᴇᴀɴ?
ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʀᴏᴄᴋ ᴍʏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏꜱᴏᴍ ᴏꜰ ᴀʙʀᴀʜᴀᴍ
ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴍʏ ʟɪꜰᴇ ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ꜱᴀᴠɪɴɢ ɢʀᴀᴄᴇ
ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴡᴀʟᴋ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʙᴏᴜʟᴅᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ʙɪʀᴍɪɴɢʜᴀᴍ
ɪꜰ ɪ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜱᴇᴇ, ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ"
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ᴍᴀʀᴢ - ʜᴇ/ɪᴛ