Dear Creepypasta [#Wattys2016]

I don't trust any friend

There was this guy I used to like, many years ago. I don't remember what he looked like all that well; I think he was around my height, maybe with wavy, dark hair. The only thing about his looks that I remember with any clarity is his eyes. They were a cold shade of blue, and I remember them well because he always looked me in the eyes whenever I'd talk to him. I remember that that was a big reason I liked him in the first place.

It's strange what things you remember and what things you don't, even if what you've forgotten was important to you. I don't remember his clothes, or the sound of his voice, or even his name. The only thing I remember is his eyes — his eyes, and the one thing he convinced me to do that changed the course of my life.

We must have hanged out a lot, because if we hadn't been good friends, I doubt I would have complied with his request so easily. Everything before the event is fuzzy, but I remember we were in my room when he asked me for the favor.

"The plan is simple," he assured me. He stretched out his hands as if laying a blueprint out in front of me. We were both sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing each other. I stared into his eager face with skepticism.

"Yeah, it's simple," I agreed. "It's also stupid. What the hell do you hope to accomplish by making me sit in a dark room, talking to damned spirits?"

"It's not stupid!" he countered, but he didn't sound angry. He was pleading with me. "All you need to do is sit in my basement between six o'clock and six-ten tomorrow night and tell me what you hear. Please? Pretty please?"

"Why me?" I asked, my voice exasperated. "Why not get someone else to do it? I don't want to sit in a dank basement, especially if you say it's haunted!"

"Please," he said earnestly. He reached out and took hold of my hands, making me jump. "I trust you. I haven't told anyone else about this. It has to be you."

I scowled at him, my face a little hot from the unexpected bodily contact, but I could feel the corners of my mouth twitching as I stared into those icy eyes. I knew he could see my resolve fading as well, as his face suddenly broke out into a huge grin.

"Come on," he said. "You'll do it, right? Riiiight?" He squeezed my hands.

I sighed. Before I even let a word of assent out of my mouth, he was already on his feet, whooping happily. I smirked at this childish display, feeling resigned to the fact that I was wrapped around his finger.

The next evening, just before six, I was at his house. The house was empty except for us, and as the sun began to set, we stood at the top of the stairs leading to the basement.

"I already have a chair set up for you," he told me. "All you have to do is sit down and listen. If you hear any voices — which I guarantee you will — shout to me, okay?"

"Okay."

"I'm also going to shut the door."

"Okay."

"And resist the urge to turn on the light, okay?"

"Okay."

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"Not scared?" He suddenly reached out his hand and moved my hair out of my face, startling me. We were standing so close to each other. Those blue eyes were inches away from mine, and I could see them coming closer.

"I'm not scared!" I said suddenly. I almost shouted out of my anxiety, and he jumped back immediately. He looked confused, but his smile covered it in an instant.