Send a ▣ for my muse to find your muse wrapped up like a present and waiting for them
He’d hidden in a locker. A carryover from his days at the asylum, but he should have learned his lesson by now. Lockers were the false promise of safety, the little lies you tell yourself so you can sleep at night. They didn’t protect him then, and they didn’t protect him now.
He was trapped within. The world had shifted and the locker had fallen forward, pressing door to ground and making escape impossible. Waylon was safe enough from the haunted, at least. HIs quiet breathing was only barely heard, even to a creature so reliant on that particular sense. The Keeper moves closer, fingers tapping lightly on the metal backing.
A stifled gasp and silence, but it hears his heart pounding, blood rushing through his veins. The scent of fear is savory, distress abruptly switching to near-hysteria. Viciously it slams its spike down, pulling a jagged line down the length of the locker. The metal bends easily to it will with a metallic screech, sparks flying. As simple as tearing through flesh.
It breeches the locker from the back, opening Waylon’s view to itself. The lights are dim, casting everything into malevolent red-tinged shadows. The hole the monster has torn is not enough for the man to slip out from, though that doesn’t stop him from trying. The Keeper sets aside its tool in its belt, and reaches towards Waylon.
One massive hand pries against the metal pulling it further so its other hand can touch and explore. Slippery little Waylon, who has managed to avoid it by slipping into vents, that always seemed to appear when he needed them. Now trapped and at its mercy. Its hand follows the contours of his face. His glove smells of blood and rust and bile as it brushes Waylon’s temple and cheek, caressing his throat and cupping the back and side of his head. The first hint of gentleness this world has shown. It trails its fingertips down the line of his neck, slowly coming to rest barely perceptible against his chest. It hears the little sounds he makes, chocked noises of confusion but not-quite fear and it is pleased.