Sammy Lawrence
    Oct. 31. 2001.

Of course you of all people would get in a situation like this. You could be at home doing anything else. For fuck's sake, the new Michael Jackson album just came out and you could be jamming out in your room right now. You could've been writing new songs packed inside your restless mind. Creative, yet overwhelming. Hell, you were desperate enough to be in your gloomy desk, working relentlessly at editing songs and other logistics while the artists you work for have all their fun recording and making money off of your dream.

Instead of relieving the itchy need to write and work, you were stuck in a creepy haunted factory that your idiotic friends dared you to go into.

And you're stuck there too.

The door was glued stuck and the distant cries of your friends as they banged on the door clearly proved to you that you truly couldn't get out.

Surprisingly, the eerie, quiet factory made you feel quite peaceful. The rush of the music industry wasn't on the top of your mind, slowly fading away as each step took you further away from the door. The real world. Perhaps if you could find a decent spot in here, maybe you could simply write here in peace and live a fantasy of being the star you always wanted to be.

Your fantastical mind didn't even process the creepiness of the factory you were currently wandering in, finding the ink stains and flooding to belong to the factory's unique aesthetic. You always were a sucker for the vintage aesthetic. You were guessing the creaking and distant screaming sounds also belonged to the aesthetic, right?

After a while of exploring the area, you eventually stumbled upon the remnants of what you thought to be a recording room. Before you came here, your friends had mentioned this haunted place to be a animation studio of sorts. Putting the pieces together, it did make sense a recording room would be in this factory. Factory? You didn't exactly know what to call it. What is this place?

Setting your sights on the piano across the room, you ran your fingers along the ivory keys, wondering what on earth you should play. Suddenly, an idea ran through your mind that could entertain your boredom.

Remember that new Michael Jackson album?

Rummaging through your backpack, you gingerly took out your iPod. The new device cost you all your savings that you meant to save for a car, but your love of music won your desire for the new iPod instead.

Plugging in your small earbuds into the device, you scrolled through your endless array of songs until you found what you were looking for. You were lucky enough to download the new album into your handy device just before you came here. One song that stood out to you was You Rock My World.

"Alright Michael. Let's see what amazing song you have in store for me," you whispered intimately to the device.

As the heavy beat rang through your ears, your body and mind forgot your surroundings entirely. Your subconscious fears and insecurities melted away for a while as you danced around the room, humming with your idol's soothing voice.

Music had this power in you that you liked to think no one else can feel except for the greats in music, like Michael. He understood you when your friends couldn't. He moved your soul, with you now feeling the need to brush the dust off the keys and unplug your earbuds so you could play by ear to the new song.

You started the song over, and this time, you imitated the piano part on one hand and the melody of the violins in the background. Alas, you could admit you weren't talented enough to sing well, but you could accompany any singer, even a digital idol you might never meet in your life.

Unaware of an unwanted audience watching you in the distance, you jammed out on the piano, feeling the music run through your veins as you let Michael's voice echo and liven up the dusty, old room. Here, you were happy. Here, you could stay foreve—

"My dear, little sheep. You must be tired from your music making. Don't you think you should . . sleep?"

That was not Michael's voice.

Startled, you whipped around, clutching your iPod in your hands completely terrified. Surely enough, your worst fears were confirmed. A lanky form emerged from the shadows, staring you down in an intimidating manner. Perhaps it was the creepy ass mask on his face that made it all worse, the smile alone almost causing you to scream and cry.

Somehow, you haven't run away yet, frozen in place because you didn't know exactly what to do. How to react. You quickly thought of a solution. Anything to distract yourself from the thumping of your racing heart as he stalked closer to you. If you ran away, the man was lanky so he could easily catch you and kill you anyways. If you stayed, he could kill you.

Well. The possibilities of escaping now were impossible. Might as well accept your fate, right?

Letting out a defeated sigh, you looked at your iPod and decided to play Michael's song one last time. You closed your eyes and finally embraced your death.

The last thing you could remember before blacking out.

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A/n: lol sorry for that lowkey crack, but I love Michael Jackson so much. That song is such a bop and I just wanted to add it in because I knew my dumbass would've done the same thing if I was trapped in Joey drew studios.