Dear God,
Please help me. I am cold and alone and the darkness is alive.
I feel it reach out- I feel it touch me.
I feel myself fondled in the black.
And though I sit here in silence, mouth closed, with hands threatening to fill my lungs- I am in prayer.
To you, God, who if this creature is to gloom, must surely be to light.

Please, whoever’s listening;
“Help me.”

The darkness recedes, and I am alone, until I awake. How long I was asleep I cannot know, but as my mind returns I know that my dream has not yet ended. And it is a nightmare. Immediately I reach for a light- my headlamp, which has moved from its position atop my head to a distant corner; damaged, I notice, but still usable. I turn on the headlamp, searching for the darkness. Not finding it, I take note of my surroundings.
The cage from which the darkness escaped is not the only cell in critical condition. There are others, always others- that merely lurk under the cover of dark, using that cover to hide whatever evil lies within. There is a reason these things are here, and that reason’s a part of my reasoning for trying to keep the bastards in here. The other being the paycheck, the next of which I was very much looking forward to cashing.
Until I saw the decapitated, mutilated, soil-drenched head of a former female co-worker, at which point I could feel myself beginning to puke. Feeling this, I instinctively bend over, falling to my knees, and expelling my stomach contents into the again decapitated head my former coworker.
“OH G-GLU-GUEEAAUUUGGHH!!!,” my voice echos.
And then, with a spank to the rear, I fall forward, into the mess before me.
Hands surround me once more, lifting me to my feet as I cough, lurch, and continue to vomit as the hands join to form a single, inward moving crux, once again forcing my stomach to lurch.
I can’t think. I can’t see- nor scarcely hear- but merely feel. It reminds me of the darkness once again. Though I know it gone- feel it gone within me, I tremble, I squirm, and I find myself desperate. I lash out, flailing blindly until I feel, with feet and hands, the gore soaked floor- and I attempt to run.
But a hand comes at me from behind, striking once more between my thighs, but, this time- lingering.
This monster- which I know it to be- now grabs me by the throat, and lifts me, neck to tailbone, forward.
And then, as soon as it began, I am alone, and it is dark. My mind once more begins to fade, and I can’t shake the feeling that I have been made to do something horrible- something vile- and that this somehow gave me pleasure.

When I awake, I am numb. Stiff, yes- but without feeling. In the back of my mind is the stench from earlier, but from within my cage I am able to close off my mind to the outside world. The facility at which I work has been compromised, and I have been placed in one of the cages. This problem is at its heart simple, and so the only one I feel able to set my heart to- as my heart, I would add, is feeling the strangest of all.
The cell door is closed and locked, but the lock was weak. All I need to do is jam something into the… into- into the. Into th- key into- i-into the…

Key. I have a key.

I reach for the key.
I reach for it.
The key.
It.

I open the door.
I unlock the door.
I open the door.
The door.
Is open.

Open.
Door.
Open.
Open.
opeN.
OpeN
OPEN!!!

“Jess?”
“Richard?”
“JESS!”
“Oh my god, Jess!”

Jess?
I’m Richard.

Jess is… Jess was…

“Jess?”
“Richard?”

“Why are you calling me Jess?”
“Richard. Richard, it’s okay.”

“Okay.”

“We’re going to be okay.”

Thank God.

Thank you, God. Thank you.
Thank you so much.
I love you God.
I love you Jess.
I love you Richard.
I love.
I love…

My wife.
Jen.
Jesus, Jen!

Oh Jesus.

Jen is my wife. Jess is my co-worker. Jess is my… Jess is… I love Jess. Jesus.
Jess is alive somehow. I thought she was- Jesus, I thought she was dead. I though- oh Jesus, oh Jesus- Jen! You’re okay! And the baby! The baby! The baby is… Thank Jesus, the baby.
Jen and the baby and Jess oh Jesus, oh baby Jesus thank you!
Thank you, Jesus.
Thank you.
Thank you, Jesus.
Thank you, Lord.
Thank God.

Thank you for everything.
Thank you for my life.
Thank you for Richard’s life.
Thank you for Jen, and the baby.
I love you, God. I love you for everything.

I would do anything for your child.
Anything.

Thank God.

It’s going to be okay, Richard.
You can sleep now.
The baby’s going to be okay.
Everything is going to be okay.
I love you.
Jesus loves you.

Richard was asleep.
I was happy for Richard. Him and his wife.
Jess, I think it was.
He’d been through a lot. We were going to get him out of here.



My name is Richard. And I’m getting the fuck out of here.
I know what’s happening. I wasn’t sure at first, but the trick with the door…
Jess- Jen-
My co-worker. She’s dead.
Something killed her. One of the things we put in cages. It’s supposed to be from a couple floors down. Not our problem. Kind of like the darkness. Then the lights went out. The levels- they went off one-by-one like they’re supposed to, but something must’ve…
That’s not what matters. I know what killed her. I know what fucking killed her.
It’s a creature- monster- born from the… born from the…
…union…
…of the dead and the living.

But it’s okay. I’m okay- Me, Richard- I’m going to be okay! The door’s open! I can get out of here!

And I can stay down here. Away from Richard.
Me, Jen- where it’s safe.
For the baby.

Thank God.

There’s a parasite. It’s… it’s almost comical, really. I mean, a beard? But the thing is disgusting, it’s vile and putrid. Sure, it sounds odd, a big furry white thing that sticks to your mouth and turns you into a zombies, like that one kind of ant fungus, but seeing it in person is a horrible thing. God, I hate those bastards.

It started when me and the team were sent down to the British village of Hedgeford, a place full of rocky houses and farmers, markets and fields. Nature for miles to see, it’s humbling to see humanity at its roots, tending to cattle and being ankle-deep in dirt. Only a few hundred people lived in Hedgeford. Luckily it had wifi and cellphone connection, so it was up with the times in that regard.

I ought to start with our guide, a farmer by the name of Peter. He found a dead bug, but it was weird and large, said it came from a hole in his field. Too deep for him to enter, so he figured he’d call for help with it, and to see if anyone knew what the giant bug was. Turns out it was an undiscovered species, so we got called down to check it out.

When we got there- oh, right. I should say who the team was. I’m Samantha, and my teammates are Jonathan and Paul. Anyway, when we got there we went to Peter’s house first.

Humble place. He had a loving wife- forgot her name- and an aged sheepdog that lazed about. He brought us there first for a cup of tea and to, well, show us the dead bug.

The thing was pretty big. About 20 cm long, 10 wide at its head and tapering to a point at its tail. The back of it was covered in white fur, making it look like a clump of hair at first. Though, flip it to its underside and you’d see that it had eight legs and an exoskeletal underbelly. Its mouth was large- like a lamprey’s- and was pointed straight downwards. Its teeth were like hooks, and Peter managed to get some pliers to pull some weird tentacles out of its mouth, rubbery tentacles with barbed ends. The thing seemed alien, as alien as the things that lay at the deepest parts of Earth’s oceans. Of course, the surface had weird things too, but we just got used to them. Until something like this came along and made us remind how batshit weird life on this planet can get.

After that, and some discussion, we decided that we’d send the creature’s body back to base to be fully examined, and we asked Peter to bring us to where he found it. It was getting dark so we stayed for the night first. Those people were really hospitable and lovely.

Come morning, Peter woke us up and took us to the field where the pitfall was.

The pit was pretty deep. We shone a torch down there, seemed to lead into a cavern. We got our tools, set up a rappel and sent down John with a walkie talkie, though his feet didn’t even touch the floor. Told us to stop lowering him before he hit the ground. The floor was alive with the buggers. Peter couldn’t stomach it and headed home, I couldn’t blame him.

Imagine this. A muddy, dark old cavern with a furry white floor that shifted and moved like a pile of giant white maggots. I could just make it out from his light, looking down the pit, and it was surreal. The sound it made was soft, like fabric rubbing against fabric. I felt like if John fell into that pit, he'd just vanish under all that fur without a sound.

We told him to bag a live one. He lowered his arm towards them and one seemed to leap up onto him, scurrying up his arm to his face, but he managed to grab it before it could. He shoved it in a sack and told us to reel him in.

I put that thing straight into an observation tank. Like a fish tank, but sturdier and no water. God, that thing was disgusting. It scuttled around head-first into walls, hairs on its back rising and falling in a pulse down its length. Now and then it planted its mouth against the glass and smeared its tentacles all over it, with some sort of yellow ooze coming from their tips. We caught some footage of it, sent it out.

We learned pretty soon that the ooze was corrosive. We didn’t notice the glass distort as it got thinner, until it managed to headbutt and leave a few cracks in it. We scurried to try and get something else to put it in, but it managed to break out and it made a dart for Paul. It scurried up his leg and went for his face, and he wasn’t lucky enough to catch it like John.

The thing fired its… tentacles into Paul’s mouth and hooked on, yanking itself up to his face where it just bit down and chewed on. The noises paul made, you could hear the tentacles dig down his throat and rip up his voice box. You could see his adam’s apple heave and spasm, and the thing was just stuck so tight that he couldn’t yank it off, not even John or I could. The creature seemed to seal his face completely, some part of it even latching onto his nose. There was no blood, but it was clear that Paul was in agony, though he calmed down soon enough. Even the bug stopped spasming around and fell limp.

Me and John scrambled for words, though we knew Paul couldn’t respond to any of them. Eventually, Paul just stopped moving and stayed upright, his eyes turning pale.

John said I needed to document this. I thought that was a horrible thing to say, and the look of his face said that he didn’t like saying it either, but I knew I had to. So I got the video camera, and recorded it.

Paul just seemed to sway gently in place, left to right, left to right. It looked like he had a white beard. I tried to get a closer look at the beard but when I got close, he turned violent and I had to retreat.

We called the base to see what we should do, and they told us to just observe as they sent some guys over to help. So we did.

Using some rope and a fence nearby, we managed to restrain Paul. He may be violent but he didn’t hold much chance against me and John, even though we walked away with bruises, and i think a few of my ribs were broken.

Over a few hours, we saw changes in him. Paul’s hair turned to white, to match his… parasite. His skin seemed to wrinkle, like he aged to match the hair colour, though it could have just been the parasite draining him. His throat still pulsed though, tentacles going up and down, slower than before. I don’t know how he got oxygen at all, he must breathe through the damn thing somehow. I didn’t know Paul much, and I’m thankful of that. Helped me keep objective about the whole thing.

I think, eventually, the thing must have learned that it couldn’t get anywhere and detached from Paul’s face, as we discovered after a tea break. It must have made a break for it when we weren’t around, I figured it had went back to the pit. But Paul’s mouth, jesus.

It was obvious that Paul was dead. The lower half of his face was… mutilated, horribly. He had no teeth, no gums. The parasite must line his mouth with some sort of chemical to slow down the corrosion, but it’s obvious that it’s not there now. His jaw hung from one side, there wasn’t even a tongue. His throat was agape, raw and bloody, all red and black save for the white of his spine. There was a hole in his throat where some of the bloody ooze leaked, leaving streaks of burnt clothing and flesh down his chest. Both John and I threw up. I couldn’t, though. I was so awestruck that I didn’t feel the thing dart up my leg and onto my mouth.

I thank the blessing of falling out of consciousness that fast. Faster than Paul, anyhow. I think I was ready to faint anyway. And the pain, the pain. Down to my stomach, I felt my insides clawed up and burned as I fell under.


I’m awake now, though. I can’t remember what happened, but I’m at Peter’s house now. I feel far too weak, like I’m waking from a deep sleep. I can’t move my head much, I think my neck muscles are destroyed. I can’t move my jaw. My tongue… I can’t feel it. I think the tongue was the first to go. I think I’m going under again, but I feel it’s the big sleep this time. I hope I die faster than it takes for the shock to wear off.

There’s chaos around me. I think that’s… Peter’s wife? She already had greying hair, and now she has the beard to match. Heh. A bearded lady. I’m dying too much to worry about humour. Peter’s there too, in the doorway. And John. Both bearded and… I think they’re fighting the back-up guys?

It’s hard to focus now, not even the loud booms of shotguns can snap me awake. Peter’s dog seems scared. She’s come over to lick my hand. Poor thing, at least she doesn’t have a beard.

C’mere, girl. I’ll pet you, it’ll be alright- oh, I can’t seem to raise my arm.


Don’t worry, girl.

You can feel it, can't you? Don't lie to me and say that you don't, now. I know you do. I can see it in every shift your eyes take, every huddled breath your mouth makes, and even feel it in the clammy blood running through your veins. It's more than that, though. It isn't just your body- it's your soul, isn't it? Doesn't it just feel fantastic?

The way the frozen needles prick with precision into the goosebumps lining your skin? The way they divide and snake throughout your bloodstream; freezing the crimson struggling for warmth within? It feels amazing doesn't it? It's tingly and tempting, is what it is. I can't even begin to imagine the intense pleasure rushing through you as the thin spines prick your bones. Euphoric, is it not? It's creeping, creeping, creeping; assassinating your nerves one by one... oh how I long to feel it once again...

They have just entered the lining of your stomach, haven't they? Oh, I can see it in the widening of your delicious pupils! Yes! Yes! I love this! You love this too! You're on the verge of climax as the acid inside of you is slowly chilled and crumbled to a base?! I think I may love you. I think I may love you, indeed. It's working now towards your liver, and next your pancreas, and on to your spleen, your urinary bladder... all the way up the stalk of your spine until- finally! It pricks your precious little heart. But before that it must make a brand new cage for your lungs, for your old ones will have shattered beneath the frost, would they not?

But not yet! No! It cannot finish you yet! You need to stay as turned on as possible! Allow it to quench your sexual desire! Allow it to sate your self-destructive hunger! This is what I want to see! Your shaking now!

...How delightful...

You can't feel your toes, can you? You can't feel the spines barreling down your urethra? You cannot feel the frozen thorns protrude from your genitalia? Let me assure you that they are, child. And deep deep down you are roaring with satisfaction, moaning and grunting heavily within as the very root of your reproductive organs are taken to a whole new level. I think, I just really think, I may be in love with you.

You'll be able to let it all out soon enough, my dear. The deafening numbness, the gripping cold... it will all be over soon. You're...not...relieved, are you? Not in the slightest? Promise? On your life? No?! Merely excited?! WONDERFUL! I could not be happier! You're body is welling with anticipation as it pokes through the skin lining your neck, the blood trying to flee freezing alongside the subzero spines as more and more holes in your throat allow my stagnant breath to breach your body. You are just about ready aren't you! I love you, indeed I do! I love you, I know it is true! You love me too, right? You want to be one with me!

First, my dear... I want you to have a slight taste of heaven. It will only be... a little bit longer.

It's in your head now isn't it? Rooting along the bones in your cranium, weaving throughout the skull as hair follicles fall stiff to the ground beneath us? You are almost there! I can see it in your dulling eyes... so lustrous I may need to acquire a pair of shades the next time we make love like this! It's in your brain, now. It's enriched the fluid. It's overtaken the hypothalamus. It's in complete and total control. Are you ready, my dear. It is just about time for your to experience the greatest release your body will ever know. You can stop thanking me. You can stop fearing my divine absence. I wish to make love to you like this once more!

“And nobody will stop us. Not Ralic, not Dexter, not Clark, not even Sencarn will be able to intervene."
----------------------------------------

Jare's eyes light up and his heart skips it's third beat since he first entered the frozen cellar, and even with the flames at his back the private eye is no match for the gripping frostbite clinging to his under-protected person. He checks the revolver locked in his grip and makes sure to count the remaining 3 bullets several times over as the various meats strung to the ceiling rustle in anticipation of his next move. The door behind him invites even more cold, and the snow cascading through the cracks beckon he return to it's safety, but the blind man can not simply back out of his mission just yet. One of his trademark crimson eyes stretches out across a thin, rotted hunk of lamb, and in that split moment Jare thanks his unknown God as a lifesaving perspective grants him vision of a man wielding some kind of twisted needle. He stands straight and stiff behind a rack of butchered cattle, his massive weight and bulk fitting in perfectly as his naked body blends to the exposed bovine flesh.

“WHERE IS SHE!" Jare calls to the man's location, and before Jare knows it his crimson eye has been shut down. Several more white ones spawn in compensation as the procedure follows, only to have their vision painfully obscured by the quickly clambering frostbite. A headache creeps along the back of Jare's cranium and his P.I. trench coat vigorously shakes off gathering ice as he shifts 85 degrees to release a deafening shot into the cold darkness.

2 bullets left, he reminds himself repeatedly, mustering a shaken breath from his throat as another crimson eye spawns, this time spread across the burning wings attached to Jare's back. Behind him stands the same man, nude and stiff as before, gazing down on Jare's relatively tiny size as his large needle is brought down on the detective as a guillotine on a prisoner. He isn't fast enough, Jare, and before he can dive forward to fully escape the oversized medical syringe he can feel it's pointed tip pierce the flesh of his right calf. Pinned and low on ammunition, Jare's eyes have a brief flash regarding his life as his crimson eye picks up on the door being shut quietly by the gargantuan serial killer.

“Before I die...tell me just what it is you did with the girl." Jare's heart grows sullen and his body accepts the numbing cold as his blazing wings flicker to nothing. Each and every one of his thousand white eyes peppering the cellar going black one by one as the massive hulk stands before him, a new, microscopic syringe delicately encased in his death-like grip.

“Girl? Ain't no girl here, mistuh, just me. Just me. Me. Me and mama-uh, boss! Boss. Yeah. Boss, mistuh. Sorry, mistuh."

It all began the moment he closed his eyes. Normally, it took him quite a while before he fell asleep, however on this night after a tiresome work day, his brain was quick to shut down the moment his head hit the soft, cold pillow. He had never expected to be met with such grotesque nightmares.

When he 'woke up' ,he was standing. Darkness surrounded him, wrapping around his person and stealing away his breath, along with his vision. A chill ran down the length of his spine as he tried to find some form of light--Only to be met with more pitch black.

Noises began to echo across whatever room he had been placed in. He could hear the screams of children and terrified animal cries, accompanied with an unknown dripping and the sloshing sound of flesh being ripped to pieces. He winced at the noise, however he was too paralyzed to move a muscle. He had known since he woke up that this was merely a nightmare--So why did it feel so real?

In the distance, there was a small flash of light, followed by a steady flame that originated from a match. It was nothing compared to the overpowering darkness, but the man was relieved to see a break from the blindness, no matter how small. The orange hue moved over a few feet before lifting further up the wall. Suddenly, a large torch lit up, blinding him as he shut his eyes and grunted as he let himself back into darkness for a few seconds. When he opened them, another torch had been lit, illuminating nearly everything but the center of the room.

When he glanced to the areas where the light had touched, it was like a punch to the chest. His legs shook and buckled under him as he fell to his knees and dry heaved, struggling to keep himself steady.

A child rested on the right wall, breathing heavily as blood trickled from his lips. He opened his mouth in an attempt to scream, but all that came out was a noise akin to a piece of metal in the shredder. He coughed up more of the substance, glancing across the wall. On the left side of the wall was a man. Stab wounds and claw marks ran down the length of his naked body, his face gushing with crimson as one of his ears rested in a pool of its own blood next to him. He laid down on his back, staring up at the ceiling and sobbing softly as his broken hands scratched aimlessly against the damp concrete riddled with blood, tears and urine.

Yet, the back end of the room was the most horrendous. Bodies lined the walls, some dead and some alive with raspy screams still left in them. From the ceiling, men and women alike hung aimlessly by meathooks, causing a dark red to drip from the ceiling along with the condensation of water. In the center of everything, within the shadows, was a thin figure, watching him. The smell of blood and death had finally hit the man's nostrils as he sat on his knees, trying to take it all in. He could no longer do so, falling to all fours and vomiting.

There was a laughter that echoed across the surrounding concrete, penetrating his ear drums as he sat up slowly, a small line of bile dribbling from his lip. The laughter was raspy and strained--The man watched the lithe figure as it moved closer, just outside of the circle of light. He would have stood up and bolted away, but there were two reasons why he simply couldn't--He was paralyzed with fear, and he saw no way out. The stench of death and earsplitting screeches couldn't have been a dream, he thought.

"Humanity is a funny thing," A whispery voice cut through his thoughts like butter, the man's eyes shifting to the shadowed presence. A blade dripping with crimson was tight in the being's grasp, his head tilted to the side as a widened grin crossed his face. Pitch black eyes darker than even the shadows stared into his very soul, "You cling to these fears of the dark...of the dead..."

The man said nothing, watching the being pace back and forth in front of him, slowly stepping into his vision, “It’s laughable,” His voice was sharp as the knife he was holding, venom practically seeping from his lips, “You see, that’s why humanity is so...easily manipulated.”

As the being stepped out from the shadows, he was able to take in all of his features; A pale, sunken in face, with thin lips stretched into a wide grin. His dark, glaring hues gave a hungry look at his prey. A long, jagged scar ran from just beside his eye...all the way down to his lower jaw line--His most prominent feature, “Because I am your greatest fear.”

Finally finding his voice, he helplessly scooted backward, only to support himself against the cold concrete wall, "Wuh--What are you talking about?!" He demanded with a low whimper, completely the opposite of the intimidating yell he was hoping to accomplish. The demon cornered him now, almost giggling to himself.

"You know what I'm talking about!" With a sudden flash of movement, the tip of the knife clanked against the wall just beside the man's head. He flinched, turning away from the psychopath who had only come closer to him, "I'm the villain your mom and dad told ghost stories about--I'm that nightmare you had that you made yourself forget! I'm the darkness that lingers beside you!"

A cold hand wrapped around the man's chin, lifting his head forward until he was staring into the lifeless orbs that were supposedly eyes. The psychopath's smirk seemed to somehow grow as maniacal laughter escaped his parted lips, "But the light won't find you here, boy," He pulled his hand away, standing upright suddenly with a perplexed expression on his face, "Say...What's your name?"

His mouth grew dry as he suspiciouslly stared the man down, trembling and sweating profusely while his hands gripped the wall. He wanted to scream out like the child on that wall until his vocal chords gave out too, but instead he kept surprisingly calm in his response, "D..Drew."

He smiled at Drew, "Well, Drew--I'm Sirius...Sirius Nightshade," The torches suddenly dimmed, bringing the duo into nearly complete darkness, "Remember that name--You'll be able to tell God about me."

It was in that same moment that the man heard distinct shuffling sounds from the other side of the room. The few dozen corpses he had seen lined around the back wall before suddenly stood up in unison. Fresh blood dribbled from opening wounds and their eyes were completely glazed over...They began to walk toward Drew like the shambling undead he had seen in movies. They pushed themselves forward with distorted bodies riddled with lacerations and bones poking through pale skin. One happily dragged its right leg, nearly torn to shreds.

However, they weren't quite like the undead; They happened to have clear and almost beautiful voices. Their jaws unhinged, mouths wide open and the subtle look of a grin on their faces as they began to sing slow and methodically, "He's got the whole world, in his hands," They slowly trudged through the puddles of vermillian, brushing past the terrified child and the naked man who now looked more dead than alive, "He's got the whole wide world...In his hands."

Drew lost all hope in life he had as his throat simultaneously closed up. His chest heaved in and out in a panicked attempt at breathing. He stood upright on trembling legs, staring at the surrounding horde. Sirius' maniacal laughter cut through his thoughts as his voice grew in volume, leading the orchestra of corpses that sung with beautiful voices, "He's got the whole world in his hands!"

And at that moment, Drew let out a shriek of horror and turned away from the coming horde, digging his nails into the concrete as he desperately attempted to climb the wall. Impulse told him it was a good idea, even if it only resulted in bloody, gnarled fingers. As he slid back to the ground, he looked at them in an overbearing mix of shock and fear. Some were missing eyes, ears and other limbs. Their hair had completely fallen out, their clothes were ripped to shreds and their bodies didn't look much better. They provided a gentle back drop to Sirius' voice, akin to a choir, "He's got you and me, brother, in his hands, He's got you and me brother, in his hands," Sirius walked over to him, his hands forcing Drew's palm open and dropping the bloodied knife into his hands.

Sirius leaned forward until his face was inches from Drew's, his cold breath sending a chill down the man's spine. Even with his voice now dropped to the whisper, it completely caught Drew's attention. He lost sight of the corpses that continued to sing softly. Sirius cackled lowly as Drew looked down at the knife, "I like to give my victims a fighting chance."

Before Drew could react, Sirius pulled away, grasping his prey by the shirt and yanking him from his position on the wall. With great force, he threw Drew into the horde, his body falling like a ragdoll as he struggled to process the insanity he had been faced with. The corpses stopped singing abruptly, darting their heads in his direction as he lied down on his back. They only gave him time to get to his knees before they closed in, grabbing at him. Drew struggled, slicing his knife at the opposition at any vital points he could find.

"Haha, He's got the wind and the rain, in his hands!" Sirius stood a few feet behind Drew, just outside of the horde as a corpse ripped a large chunk from his knife arm, causing him to scream and drop his weapon. He turned and tried to run, only to be tackled by the brute strength of the shamblers. He fell to the ground with a thud, screaming for help, "He's got the wind and the rain, in his hands!"

Fresh crimson splattered upward like a fountain from Drew's body as he helplessly saw the open wounds made by the claws and teeth of the inhuman beings. Some even stomped on his chest, cracking his rib cage as he coughed up a few droplets of blood. The pain was immense, so much so that it had become numb to him from adrenaline and fear. The lights had completely gone out at this point, leaving him in total darkness, just as Sirius had told him, "He's got the wind and the rain, in his hands--He's got the whole world in his..." His voice trailed off for a moment as he gave Drew's lifeless corpse an amused glance through the darkness of his own creation. He was now a man void of screams as his body became nothing more than meat on bones. His grin spread from ear to ear as he looked at Drew's face--still ripe with fear, "Hands."

****

Drew bolted into a sitting position, screeching like a wild animal as he swung his arms back and forth, instinctively trying to bat the terrors away from him. As sweat poured from his face, dripping onto the bedsheets mixed with a growing pool of tears, it took him about ten seconds to readjust to the moonlight that shined upon him through the wide open window.

He took in a deep inhale, feeling around himself for any sort of injury, but all he felt was goosebumps. He put a hand to his soaked forehead, his exhale now one of relief. With a trembling body, he placed his head in his hands in an attempt to calm his panting breaths. The pain and noises had been so real, so vivid. He had completely forgotten the possibility that it had been a dream all along.

The blankets fell off of his bare torso as he stared to the moon, taking pride in the warm embrace of the light that had finally been provided to him. It was certainly a nightmare he hoped he would forget, and prayed to never have again. He allowed a small grin to form on his face, "Just a dream..."

He looked to the blue haze of the digital clock on his bed, grimacing at the 3:34 A.M. that glared at him. He tried to reason with himself to go to sleep, however he knew there was no way he could go back to sleep after that experience. The cool winter breeze smacked against him, causing a shiver to roll down his body. He placed his feet onto the hardwood floor, preparing himself for the dizzying task of standing up after sleeping for a long period of time. However, as he stood, he stopped, raising an eyebrow, "I could have sworn I closed that.."

He shook the suspicion away--Probably just a heightened alertness. He stood upright, balancing himself for a moment before walking a few steps and yanking the window sill down where it should have been. He exhaled softly. However, before he could turn, he froze. His stomach twisted into a tightened knot as he felt that cold breath brush along his neck once more.

"Gotcha," A low whisper spoke into his ear.

A sharp pain grew in his chest. Looking down, he saw his sweaty shirt now pierced with a knife. He grunted as it was pulled out in a small splatter of red. He grabbed his chest, stumbling toward the window. He barely made it two steps before he felt another pain in his throat, and suddenly the glass was as red as his shirt. He fell to his knees, and then to the floor on his back, gurgling on his own fluids he watched the lithe shadow in the dark, staring down.

As he felt his consciousness fade, he caught a glimpse of his face. A long, jagged scar ran from just beside his eye...all the way down to his lower jaw line--His most prominent feature.