(Written on Flash Fiction Day 2012, done in five minutes; this was my first flash fiction attempt ever.)
A flash of blinding light. The peer pressure took over your fear and turned it into arrogance; you have something to prove. You walk into the building, your sight instantly impaired, your senses heightening. You stand, blink a few times and wait for your eyes to adjust. You begin to shuffle on. The silence seems deafening. Then suddenly a scream of the floor boards pierce your heart.
You’re shaking; was that a whisper?
Humming an assuring children’s tune, you carry on. How long did the bet require you to stay? The wind whistles and echos throughout. Stop. Catch your breath. Another creek of the floor, but you’re still, how can this be? The putrid smell of urine assaults you, getting stronger. Pat yourself. You’re dry. You whip around, and not soon enough, you catch the moonlit glimmer of steel before your last memories of life are recalled in your mind.
A flash of blinding light.