Part 2: The House

Phil's PoV

AN: Again, I don’t own Dan or Phil (I do own Nicole, though...or what’s left of her…). A little Phan at the end too, to ease up the stress… This chapter was inspired by “Five Nights at Freddy’s”: it doesn’t follow it exactly, however. And please comment and tell me if you thought this was scary! Personally I did, but then that’s me. Happy reading!

When I wake up, Dan is still next to me--I can feel his body heat. Oh god, does it feel good. I smile and stretch gently, and next to me, he stirs sleepily. It’s stopped raining too.

“Phil?” he mumbles, half sleepily. “‘s too early…”

I grin. “C’mon, Dan--we have to get a headstart to get to The House today! We missed out yesterday!”

“Yeah, bu’--” he interrupts himself with a huge yawn. When he’s done, he smacks his lips. “Goo’ night.” he snuggles deeper into the warm bag. I sigh dramatically.

“Da-an.”

“No.”

“Whatta I have t’ do t’ get you t’ wake up?”

“Sleep.” he rolls over sleepily to face me, his eyes closed and his breathing slow and steady. I grin, getting an idea. And bending down, I press a swift kiss to his lips.

His eyes shoot open, and he sits up abruptly. “Phil!”

“Yay, you’re up!” I say happily, ignoring his blush, before slipping out of the sleeping bag, and I try and roll it up. When he gets out I succeed, and then I open the bag again. “Hmm...whatta you want for breakfast?”

“Honestly? For you to kiss me again.” he mutters quietly, but I hear him and I grin.

“Maybe later, if you’re a good boy.” I say slyly, and his eyes widen. “Now here--have an apple, and let’s go!”

x-X-x

When we finally get to The House--we weren’t even that far away, really--it’s early afternoon. And thank god we didn’t encounter any other tributes along the way...especially the rest of the careers.

The House is huge and old--at least three stories, maybe more. And everything looks ready to collapse too; the wind creaks through it, and the sky is a dull ominous grey in the background. I watch all this standing next to Dan, and I feel nervousness rise from deep down in my stomach. I swallow.

“Very promising.” Dan says flatly, and I jump slightly.

“Y’know...The House is kind of scary in itself,” I say, and smile weakly.

I feel a familiar hand squeeze my own. “Hey...don’t worry, chipmunk, I’ll protect you.” But he pulls away to open the door, and I wish he hadn’t.

The first thing that hits me is the smell.

“Oh god!” Dan manages, and I can’t help it--the door is closed, and it’s pitch black, and I reach for him. His hand grips me like a vice too, and it might’ve been comforting, but...I can feel his fear. If not that, then unease, at least.

“Phil, light a match so we can see.”

I hesitate, my palms sweaty. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! Do it!” he hisses. I swallow bile and slowly, slipping the matches out of my pocket, I flinch and light one.

I let out the breath I was holding. Nothing’s there. It’s just the hallway--long and dark, and horrid-smelling. I gag, and Dan takes the match from me.

“C’mon. We have to keep moving.” he murmurs finally.

“What?!” I yelp. “Dan, you can’t be--”

Suddenly, he clamps a hand over my mouth. “Shh, chipmunk.” he takes it away slowly, but he still looks wary. “It’s okay. It’s just...we don’t know who might be listening.”

“Or what.” I squeak. He smiles.

“Still scared of mutts?”

I blush. “Hey you would--”

Something makes me freeze. In the distance, in the opposite direction (behind us), I hear it. Footsteps. Slow, steady, and coming towards us. Terror clouds my brain--I feel my breathing quicken (though not in a good way, not like last night) and I latch onto Dan’s arm tightly, my head starting to feel dizzy.

“Let’s keep moving.” I say in a tiny strangled voice. “Please. Hurry.”

Dan pauses, and he looks at me in such tenderness and concern that I squeeze his arm even tighter. He frowns. “Phil, don’t worr--”

“You can comfort me later, when we’re safe!”

“Phil, you do know we can just leave, right?” he says with a twisted little smile. And then he turns back around to the footsteps and the danger and--I make a grab for him. I grab his arm, but he doesn’t stop.

“Dan!”

He grabs the door anyway, and gives it a good yank. I wince.

Like I thought, it doesn’t budge. He turns around. The footsteps are louder…

“I guess that didn’t work.” he says, grinning weakly, and he takes my hand again. “C’mon. We’ll keep moving.”

I’m so freaked out I wanna scream, no shit! Do you not f*cking hear that my friend?! I don’t. I’d just scare him--and frankly, Dan’s currently the saner of the two of us right now. Instead I simply whisper, “Dan, I don’t like this...I...I’m scared…”

He wraps an arm around me. “Don’t be. I’m here.”

I almost feel better when we start moving, with his arm around me and my hand on the knife in my belt. Almost.

The hallway doesn’t change, but I almost cry in relief when, after a while, we leave the footsteps behind. I still have a reason for unease, though: the smell is getting steadily stronger.

It smells like something’s died.

Abruptly, Dan stops. He’s in front me, but still holding my hand (with the one that’s not holding our shriveling match, of course), and I’m so grateful… Anyway, he turns around. My eyes widen in a panic.

“Dan? Are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer. And I’d be surprised if I wasn’t so freaking scared when he pulls me sort of roughly to him, to his chest. He wraps his arms around me, buries his face in my silky hair, and I can feel him shaking. Like, actually shaking.

I start to pull away to look at him, to make sure he’s truly all right, but his arms tighten around me.

“Don’t look, chipmunk.” he whispers, his voice choked up.

So for once I’m not the 100% freaked out one (well I am, but you know what I mean), and I let him hold me. Hey, I certainly don’t mind. My face buried into his chest, I go into a sort of a daze… I listen to his heartbeat, feel his arms around me…

Finally, he pulls away. I take his hand and squeeze it.

“Don’t worry about us, okay?” he says seriously, and then I see what disturbed him so much. What the smell is. I cover my mouth with a trembling hand and I sway on my feet awfully--Dan’s hands are on my waist (any other time I would be turned on, but now I just feel sick) and he’s whispering in my ear, but I barely hear him--because the smell, and oh god, the sight!

A girl--our age, dunno what district--is sprawled out on the ground. Dead. And from the way she’s smelling, I’d say she’s been there for at least a day. And no matter what Dan says, it’s nothing--I’m scared. Really scared: even more so than before. I want to look way, but…

Her eyes are gouged out. And her teeth are all missing--half dried blood is caked from her chin down...

I stumble back into Dan. This can’t be real. The Hunger Games are real, and sure, the arena is too: but this has gone too far. It has to be some sort of trick, or-or something…

“Her name was Nicole.” Dan says, his voice devoid of thought or feeling. “District 8. Fifteen.” Younger than both of us, then.

“I wanna go home…” I whisper in a very small voice, in a very un-career-like way. Dan pulls me into a hug again, his shaking hand stroking my hair, as tears roll down my cheeks. I can’t do it anymore; I’m surprised at how strong he is.

I want to stay like this--safe, with Dan--forever, but a terrifying thought creeps into my brain, and I pull out of Dan’s gentle hug: whatever killed District 8 could do the same to us. Dan looks at me, his dark eyes wide and scared, and I know he’s had the same thought.

Is it my imagination, or do I hear the faint sound of footsteps again…? My heart starts to pound…

“C’mon, Phil.” Dan says, and he grabs my hand.

I don’t know how long he drags me. I don’t know where we end up--we go up some stairs, I remember--or if we’re even safe. All I know is his hand never left mine...and that unlike the other time, the footsteps never go away.

We come to a room on the second floor. I’m exhausted and terrified, and when Dan finally lets go of me, I slump against the wall. Dan jiggles the door handle--nothing. It’s locked.

“No!” he snarls, and I jump. He kicks the door, once, twice--nothing again. “We can’t die--not like this!” he looks at me, still angry, and kind of commands, “I’m not letting you die.”

I blink weakly. “M’kay.”

He tries kicking it a couple more times, but nothing else happens. I notice something thin and shiny on the floor, something I oddly recognize from home. A household object. “Dan.” I grunt with my last ounce of strength, feeling extremely lightheaded.

He looks at me, then looks down and picks the thing up. His dark eyes light up, and his tight expression softens. “A paperclip…” he looks at me, and reaches to prop me up on his shoulder. “Hold on, okay?” he whispers in my ear, and I nod.

The footsteps are coming up the stairs. I bury my face in Dan’s neck--if we die, we die together--and I bite my lip, squeezing my eyes shut--just as he picks the lock. The door flings open, and he shoves me inside. Like the rest of The House, the room is dark. I land on something soft-ish. I listen as Dan re-locks the door.

I feel arms wrap around me, and he pulls me to his chest.

“We’re safe, chipmunk, shh… No one can get in…” he strokes my hair. I bury my face in his chest and, my heart pounding (in the midst of all this, now I feel vaguely like a schoolgirl with a silly crush), I feel him shift slightly...and kiss my hair. I lift my face, and in the dark after a moment, I find his lips.

It’s a good kiss. He cups my head and pulls me closer, and we only break away to breathe.

There’s a silence. I don’t mind. I lean back into him.

“Dan?” I say finally.

“Yes, love?” I smile weakly.

“Can you light a match?”

“Sure.” I hand him a match, and after a moment, a tiny light flickers. I bite my lip, and he grins.

“How-how long can we stay here, do y’ think?” I ask quietly.

He sighs. “Dunno. But wanna hear my plan?” I nod. “Well, tomorrow we leave.” I tense, and he rubs my back. “Don’t worry--I’ll keep the paperclip. But we leave, go up to the attic, and find that big window we saw from outside. Remember?” I nod again, still a little doubtful. “And then we break the glass and escape.”

“But what about the thing that killed District 8? What about the footsteps following us?”

He’s silent. I twist to look at him: he’s face is extra pale and rather ill-looking.

“Are you all right?” I prod him gently with my finger, expecting a smile, even a small one. Instead, he looks at me solemnly.

“What footsteps, Phil?”

I feel my ears and feet go cold. “What-what do y’ mean, what footsteps? Something was following us.”

“I know. Well I figured something bad was at least in the house, after we saw District 8.” He shrugs. “But I didn’t hear any footsteps.”

“You-you must’ve..” I say weakly, and I feel lightheaded all over again. “I… Am I losing it?”

His arm tightens around me protectively. “No.” he whispers in my ear, his breath warm. “You were scared. Hell, so was I. But we made it. We’re okay.”

I’m sure of what I heard. I wasn’t imagining it. But I don’t bother Dan with that now. If I hear it tomorrow, I’ll tell him.

Dan sits up a little and grabs the sleeping bag, but instead of going through the trouble of actually getting inside, he just wraps it around us. Then he wraps his arms around me too, so I’m cocooned.

“Are you good?” he whispers.

“As good as I can be, I guess.” I say truthfully, and I relax in his arms a little more. He rubs my back and kisses me again. If we were in a different place...but no. We’re two tributes in the Hunger Games. It can go no farther.

“Try and get some sleep, okay, chipmunk?” he says sleepily. “And don’t worry. We’ll face it in the morning tomorrow.”

“Mm-hm.” I murmur as an answer. He blows out the match. In a few minutes his breathing turns deeper and more even--but I don’t fall asleep for a long time. I’m still so scared...even in a locked room with Dan, and a few knives to protect us.

Before I finally drift off into a final restless sleep, I’m positive I hear noises. And it’s not my imagination.

x-X-x

I wake with a jerk, my heart pounding. It’s completely dark. The door is locked, of course, and nothing can get in. But I think I see the shadows move. It’s just my imagination, though. It has to be. I’m safe for now. It’ll be fine. Just wait until morning…

Suddenly I hear something. But it doesn’t sound like footsteps. It-it sounds like a voice! Is there another poor tribute outside our door…? I sit up a little bit against Dan’s chest, careful not to wake him, so I can hear it better.

“Please let us in!” a soft, inhuman voice whispers outside. “Don’t lock us away! We’re not what you’re thinking…”

My face white, I slowly lean back against Dan’s chest. He doesn’t stir. I bury my face into his shirt, and he shifts in his sleep, his arms still around me. I try and block out the voice: it doesn’t work.

And for the first time in a long time--since before my father died last year--I do something I promised myself I gave up on. I pray.

**TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 3. REVIEWS ARE LOVE! TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK. what Phil hears outside his door is from the Five Nights at Freddy’s song, so credit goes to that. anyway, thanks for reading!**