I finished.
I avoided this game forever. Every corner I approached I would check if it was there. Every time I saw its porous face I stood there in absolute horror and distress. I would say nothing as it's long tendrils slowly ran along my face, exploring every nook and cranny. Then, it would leave, but I knew it would be back. It always came back. Every time, repeating these exact motions, and every time I stood there and did nothing. I would tell myself that it couldn't hurt me, every night I stood awake as it pounded on my door. Every night I would sit there in panic, waiting for it to end until I cried myself to sleep. Last night, I loaded my shotgun and approached the door. Every step I took the pounding got louder, and louder. The handle shook and the frame cracked. I let my hand down to spin the handle, I increased my grip on my weapon. As I slowly turned the knob, it stopped, it knew I was coming. It knew I was terrified, but it wanted to see me try, to see me fail. I took and deep breath, closed my eyes and opened the door. I head it lash out at me, screeching, that's when I fired. The absence of sound signaled me it was over, I opened my eyes hesitantly to find myself, dead, at the foot of my game.