Disclaimer: Oh yes, of course they're mine. Just as the sun is made of ice
and money grows on trees. Miss Rowling? If you wish to sue please find
someone else, I can't even afford a lawyer let alone a settlement.
Warnings: Not too graphic, but yeah, bad stuff.
.
.
.
Blood & Nails.
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Prologue. The Midnight Monster.
.
Dark. Cold. Silent.
Mostly.
The small, young boy quietly crept down the stairs. His parents disapproved of his after hours snacking but he had long ago figured out for himself that there was no such thing as the Midnight Monster.
The dark, ugly, brutal creature that waited in the darkness to grab those children who disobeyed their parents about going into the kitchen at night.
He carefully avoided the second bottom step that had a tendency to creak at inappropriate times and walked across the soft carpet, pushing his glasses back up so they sat properly on his nose. Guiding himself by the small light on the stove, he made it to the fridge and opened it as soundlessly as possible.
As he stared at the array of food he wondered which was what he felt like that night. A soft breeze made he look up and he frowned softly at the open window. The curtain shifted gently as cool air from the outside drifted in, making his breath come out as a puff of cloud.
His parents always closed the house up before they went to bed. They were always worried about robbers.
He walked over and looked out the window. His street may as well have been dead as there was no sound other than some leaves in next door's yard and some very distant traffic. It looked perfectly normal. It felt completely wrong. He shivered and put it down to the cold air.
He slowly pulled the window down, careful to not let it drop, and closed the curtains. He padded his way back to the open fridge where light was spilling out and again looked at the contents. He eventually decided on some strawberries and pulled the small plastic container out from under the bread rolls.
He felt around the counter and finally located his target. Grabbing the sugar bowl, he sat down at the table, dipping each strawberry into the sugar and then eating them up to the stems.
He froze, his arm halfway to his mouth, and looked to the ceiling as a soft noise came from his parents bedroom. It wasn't repeated so he returned to his treat, slowly sucking off the sugar before eating the pulp.
He looked to the door of the dining room, he couldn't see into the room, it was too dark. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. It almost felt as if he was being watched.
He whipped his head around as the wind outside suddenly blew fiercely, causing leaves and twigs to rush across his view, scratching the glass. He readjusted his glasses and closed up the container holding the strawberries and returned it and the sugar bowl back to their rightful places.
He hesitated at the doorway to the dining room. This room was starting to scare him, he could hear his breathing get more erratic. His mind filled with ideas of gruesome creatures waiting in the dark, waiting to reach out and grab him, waiting to drag him off. He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. Telling himself that he was being silly and childish. That he was starting school in a week, and that he'd better grow up.
That there was no such thing as monsters.
Not ones that crept around your house in the middle of the night, anyway.
He took a big breath and forced his right foot to take the first step. Slowly, he moved across the dining room and reached the stairs. In his rush to get back to his room, he stepped on the second stair. He halted, his heart pounding. Luckily the stair had decided to not make a sound and he quickly skipped up the rest of the way.
He let out an shaky sigh as he closed his door, feeling safe again when he was finally back in his own room. He walked unsteadily over to his bed and sat down, waiting for the end of the dizzy feeling his fear had caused. His hands were still trembling and he mentally scolded himself for being so foolish.
He took his glasses off and placed them on his bed side table and bent over to remove his shoes. A soft whisper reached his ears and a bright blue light caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.
But by the time he had turned his head he couldn't see anything. Not even the dim light that had been coming through his window, from the moon. His heart started to slam in his chest as he realised he couldn't hear either and that a odd stiff sensation had seized his throat.
A soundless scream escaped him as he felt someone grab his arm.
Someone or something.
His mind was gibbering at him to do something, but wasn't allowing him the luxury of actually thinking what. With three of his senses down, he only felt the fact that he was pushed roughly into the wall and the hopeful thought that his parents had heard it flashed passed his mind as it raced on and on.
In hysterical desperation, he whipped his head from one way to the other and struck out with his hands and legs only to have his head feel like it had exploded when something was brutally slammed into the side of it.
Dazed and terrified, he squirmed weakly as the unseen, unheard monster in his room, lifted him into a standing position. He started to recite the God's Prayer in his mind but only got to 'Thy Kingdom Come.' before he threw his head back into the wall and let out a soundless howl as pain shot up his arm from his left hand.
But to the monster, his scream only sounded as if his was breathing heavily, wheezing almost. The hand pinning his arm to the wall left and he tried pulling it back to the side of his body, only to have the pain escalate.
Tears of agony and fear ran down his face continuously as the pain was repeated in his other hand.
He couldn't move his arms without the pain worsening so he tried to remain very still, not wanting to aggravate them any further. He shivered as he felt warm breath on his cheek, the monster obviously saying something he couldn't hear.
He noiselessly whined as a burning pain started at the top of his forehead and moved down slowly in an odd pattern. He felt his glasses being pushed back onto his face and he madly laughed in his head, wondering why they were being put on even though he couldn't see.
A warm sticky feeling heightened the pain in his forehead. The monster was licking his cut. The saliva made the cut burn so much that his eyes watered even harder. The smell of blood and sweat were the only things the second of his two remaining senses could latch on to. He could feel the blood running down and dripping on to his cheekbone and the breath returned on his cheek.
By this time he was silently pleading to be released, to be let go, to be let alone. The breath came out in little puffs on his face and the boy shut his eyes tighter as he realised the monster was laughing.
Laughing at his pain and his terror.
The breath was back to normal, soundless words he had no way of interpreting. He prayed for release and for the pain to stop. He prayed for it all to be a dream and that his parents would come in and shake him awake.
Tell him it had all been a bad dream. Hold him close and whisper their loving words.
A small sliver of pain started on his neck.
He prayed for life.
The pain spread across his throat in a burning slender line.
He prayed for death.
The pain intensified to an unbearable level.
He played for the terror to stop.
.
.
He got his last two wishes.
.
.
The dark figure stared unfeelingly at the small boy's body. Well, that wasn't entirely true. It did feel something. Brought on by the lack of feeling that had been it's life before that moment. It felt relief. It felt contentment.
It felt at peace for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.
Forever is a long time to suffer. Respite was always welcome.
But it knew the feeling wouldn't last. And that, soon, maybe a week, maybe a month, it would have to slip into another home. Capture another and feel the dizzying high of peace again.
Child, adult, male, female. Next time it wouldn't matter. This time, this very first time, it had to be this child, this boy, but next time it wouldn't matter.
From now on, all that would matter was the peace. The tranquillity of their pain. The serenity of their terror. It wouldn't matter if they did or didn't look like Harry. It wouldn't matter if they didn't have his glasses, didn't have his hair.
Didn't have his scar.
The boy's Midnight Monster stretched out a hand and traced the gash it had made on the previously smooth forehead. It slowly brought it's hand to it's mouth and idly ran it's tongue up the gloved finger, scooping up the small dab of blood.
It had never done this before, the thrill of killing something was a new sensation that had to be analysed. So it could understand what kind of person it was. What it felt. Why doing this made all the chaos in it's head calm down.
Maybe it was a monster.
It didn't care. The confusion, the humiliation, the anger, the pain, the frustration. They were all down to manageable levels. It didn't have to cringe at the idea of a new day. It didn't have to plaster a false smile on and wander around, pretending everything was fine.
Pretending that there was no urge to slowly bleed a certain someone to death.
It took out a small phial from a concealed pocket. It started off patiently waiting for the blood to drip and fill the flask, but grew tired of natural composure and magically enchanted the blood to run faster. It put the cork in quickly and strode to the window.
One last look at the boy sent a surge of accomplishment and comfort through it's system. The dark figure slipped out of the window leaving it's work behind.
----------
The screaming mother never even saw the words, scrawled in her own son's blood, on the wall. Didn't see the meticulous work that had been put into every curve, every line. Didn't see the emotion behind them, in them.
She wouldn't have understood anyway. Not then, not ever.
.
.
{Forgive Love.}
To Be Continued.
Warnings: Not too graphic, but yeah, bad stuff.
.
.
.
Blood & Nails.
.
Prologue. The Midnight Monster.
.
Dark. Cold. Silent.
Mostly.
The small, young boy quietly crept down the stairs. His parents disapproved of his after hours snacking but he had long ago figured out for himself that there was no such thing as the Midnight Monster.
The dark, ugly, brutal creature that waited in the darkness to grab those children who disobeyed their parents about going into the kitchen at night.
He carefully avoided the second bottom step that had a tendency to creak at inappropriate times and walked across the soft carpet, pushing his glasses back up so they sat properly on his nose. Guiding himself by the small light on the stove, he made it to the fridge and opened it as soundlessly as possible.
As he stared at the array of food he wondered which was what he felt like that night. A soft breeze made he look up and he frowned softly at the open window. The curtain shifted gently as cool air from the outside drifted in, making his breath come out as a puff of cloud.
His parents always closed the house up before they went to bed. They were always worried about robbers.
He walked over and looked out the window. His street may as well have been dead as there was no sound other than some leaves in next door's yard and some very distant traffic. It looked perfectly normal. It felt completely wrong. He shivered and put it down to the cold air.
He slowly pulled the window down, careful to not let it drop, and closed the curtains. He padded his way back to the open fridge where light was spilling out and again looked at the contents. He eventually decided on some strawberries and pulled the small plastic container out from under the bread rolls.
He felt around the counter and finally located his target. Grabbing the sugar bowl, he sat down at the table, dipping each strawberry into the sugar and then eating them up to the stems.
He froze, his arm halfway to his mouth, and looked to the ceiling as a soft noise came from his parents bedroom. It wasn't repeated so he returned to his treat, slowly sucking off the sugar before eating the pulp.
He looked to the door of the dining room, he couldn't see into the room, it was too dark. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. It almost felt as if he was being watched.
He whipped his head around as the wind outside suddenly blew fiercely, causing leaves and twigs to rush across his view, scratching the glass. He readjusted his glasses and closed up the container holding the strawberries and returned it and the sugar bowl back to their rightful places.
He hesitated at the doorway to the dining room. This room was starting to scare him, he could hear his breathing get more erratic. His mind filled with ideas of gruesome creatures waiting in the dark, waiting to reach out and grab him, waiting to drag him off. He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. Telling himself that he was being silly and childish. That he was starting school in a week, and that he'd better grow up.
That there was no such thing as monsters.
Not ones that crept around your house in the middle of the night, anyway.
He took a big breath and forced his right foot to take the first step. Slowly, he moved across the dining room and reached the stairs. In his rush to get back to his room, he stepped on the second stair. He halted, his heart pounding. Luckily the stair had decided to not make a sound and he quickly skipped up the rest of the way.
He let out an shaky sigh as he closed his door, feeling safe again when he was finally back in his own room. He walked unsteadily over to his bed and sat down, waiting for the end of the dizzy feeling his fear had caused. His hands were still trembling and he mentally scolded himself for being so foolish.
He took his glasses off and placed them on his bed side table and bent over to remove his shoes. A soft whisper reached his ears and a bright blue light caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.
But by the time he had turned his head he couldn't see anything. Not even the dim light that had been coming through his window, from the moon. His heart started to slam in his chest as he realised he couldn't hear either and that a odd stiff sensation had seized his throat.
A soundless scream escaped him as he felt someone grab his arm.
Someone or something.
His mind was gibbering at him to do something, but wasn't allowing him the luxury of actually thinking what. With three of his senses down, he only felt the fact that he was pushed roughly into the wall and the hopeful thought that his parents had heard it flashed passed his mind as it raced on and on.
In hysterical desperation, he whipped his head from one way to the other and struck out with his hands and legs only to have his head feel like it had exploded when something was brutally slammed into the side of it.
Dazed and terrified, he squirmed weakly as the unseen, unheard monster in his room, lifted him into a standing position. He started to recite the God's Prayer in his mind but only got to 'Thy Kingdom Come.' before he threw his head back into the wall and let out a soundless howl as pain shot up his arm from his left hand.
But to the monster, his scream only sounded as if his was breathing heavily, wheezing almost. The hand pinning his arm to the wall left and he tried pulling it back to the side of his body, only to have the pain escalate.
Tears of agony and fear ran down his face continuously as the pain was repeated in his other hand.
He couldn't move his arms without the pain worsening so he tried to remain very still, not wanting to aggravate them any further. He shivered as he felt warm breath on his cheek, the monster obviously saying something he couldn't hear.
He noiselessly whined as a burning pain started at the top of his forehead and moved down slowly in an odd pattern. He felt his glasses being pushed back onto his face and he madly laughed in his head, wondering why they were being put on even though he couldn't see.
A warm sticky feeling heightened the pain in his forehead. The monster was licking his cut. The saliva made the cut burn so much that his eyes watered even harder. The smell of blood and sweat were the only things the second of his two remaining senses could latch on to. He could feel the blood running down and dripping on to his cheekbone and the breath returned on his cheek.
By this time he was silently pleading to be released, to be let go, to be let alone. The breath came out in little puffs on his face and the boy shut his eyes tighter as he realised the monster was laughing.
Laughing at his pain and his terror.
The breath was back to normal, soundless words he had no way of interpreting. He prayed for release and for the pain to stop. He prayed for it all to be a dream and that his parents would come in and shake him awake.
Tell him it had all been a bad dream. Hold him close and whisper their loving words.
A small sliver of pain started on his neck.
He prayed for life.
The pain spread across his throat in a burning slender line.
He prayed for death.
The pain intensified to an unbearable level.
He played for the terror to stop.
.
.
He got his last two wishes.
.
.
The dark figure stared unfeelingly at the small boy's body. Well, that wasn't entirely true. It did feel something. Brought on by the lack of feeling that had been it's life before that moment. It felt relief. It felt contentment.
It felt at peace for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.
Forever is a long time to suffer. Respite was always welcome.
But it knew the feeling wouldn't last. And that, soon, maybe a week, maybe a month, it would have to slip into another home. Capture another and feel the dizzying high of peace again.
Child, adult, male, female. Next time it wouldn't matter. This time, this very first time, it had to be this child, this boy, but next time it wouldn't matter.
From now on, all that would matter was the peace. The tranquillity of their pain. The serenity of their terror. It wouldn't matter if they did or didn't look like Harry. It wouldn't matter if they didn't have his glasses, didn't have his hair.
Didn't have his scar.
The boy's Midnight Monster stretched out a hand and traced the gash it had made on the previously smooth forehead. It slowly brought it's hand to it's mouth and idly ran it's tongue up the gloved finger, scooping up the small dab of blood.
It had never done this before, the thrill of killing something was a new sensation that had to be analysed. So it could understand what kind of person it was. What it felt. Why doing this made all the chaos in it's head calm down.
Maybe it was a monster.
It didn't care. The confusion, the humiliation, the anger, the pain, the frustration. They were all down to manageable levels. It didn't have to cringe at the idea of a new day. It didn't have to plaster a false smile on and wander around, pretending everything was fine.
Pretending that there was no urge to slowly bleed a certain someone to death.
It took out a small phial from a concealed pocket. It started off patiently waiting for the blood to drip and fill the flask, but grew tired of natural composure and magically enchanted the blood to run faster. It put the cork in quickly and strode to the window.
One last look at the boy sent a surge of accomplishment and comfort through it's system. The dark figure slipped out of the window leaving it's work behind.
----------
The screaming mother never even saw the words, scrawled in her own son's blood, on the wall. Didn't see the meticulous work that had been put into every curve, every line. Didn't see the emotion behind them, in them.
She wouldn't have understood anyway. Not then, not ever.
.
.
{Forgive Love.}
To Be Continued.