Chris: Ah, my first fanfiction of xxxHolic. Well, it's nice to meet all of you. My name is Chris, as you can see, and this is my version of a disclaimer (although truly I am not "disclaiming" anything. I figure you all realize by now that if I'm making fanfictions of the plotline, I probably don't own it.). So yes, for a little about myself, my main fanfiction area has to be within Descendants of Darkness (Yami no Matsuei) where my biggest hits and largest series has been created. I have decided to enter into your world though, and hope to make myself known. So please, enjoy, and leave a review or two so I might be able to continue with this lovely journey.

Prologue

A childs mind is deep and unknown, a vast territory of which the adult brain can not comprehend, although they claim to know for they were once in that state. As years go by though, the human mind changes, evolves, so fast that such a black hole that they call the imagination fades before they can even realize. Yes, many admit that they do not have the ability to conjure up playful acts or visions in their heads like they were once able to as younger beings, but they still claim to be able to have some inkling of that talent within themselves.

It's scary, to think of the childs mind. While the human body is young, it can vividly see things that are not there. A childs "make believe friend" is it's true companion. They argue, they care, and they play while the parental figures are busy with their chores and work. And as one gets older they think back to that "make believe buddy" and something clicks within their heads. Didn't that individual have a body, a soul? It was not a creation that they had created, it was almost like a real person, and they could truly see them with their minds eye. No, no one else could, but they could. They were the only ones, and they could tell you every single detail of the person to heart.

So who is to say that the invisible friend was make believe, or if the imagination is a realm to a whole different world for children with much time on their hands, and lonely hearts.

And that was where Watanuki Kimihiro stood. And yet his "imaginary friends" where not so friendly, in fact, the young child, not yet even five, wished they would just go away and leave him be. They frightened him, followed his every move, and watched his every step. No matter where he tread, they were there, waiting, watching, and only he could bear witness to their cruel smiles, their rotted bodies and decaying flesh.

One especially.

A creature would always be there, in the background, and even so, would scare him the most. It was a nasty monster, created unknowingly. It would stand there, behind all the others, and watch, stare at him through eyes Watanuki could not see. A silhouette it was, a figure he could not see, nor did he ever want to. Its plain figure was enough to make him want to sob, to curl up into a frightened ball and scream.

Every night, since he could remember, this creature would be there. His mother and father would step in, holding his small frail body, and place him into be, taking the covers and gently placing them over his being. With all the care in the world they would bend over, kissing him lightly, ruffling his unruly hair, and tell him to keep the covers over himself, to sleep peacefully and ignore his imagination. Then they would stand up and turn off the light, exiting the room and leaving him there in the darkness.

Except he was never alone.

His bedrooms window, which stood over him across the room, was always the bars which kept the creature at bay. And that's where it would stand. A silhouette of evil, which during the rain, snow, or fog, would stand at his window, long body fingers curling, scratching the glass. And it would remain there while he shuddered, his eyes wide, hands grabbing at the comforter, tears streaming down his cheeks. Before long he would throw the blanket over his head and curl into a ball, because we all know that beneath the covers we are all safe as children.

And yet, it would remain, scratching, waiting.

Until then.

Watanuki Kimihiro lay, crying for his parents not to leave him there, begging them to once again allow him into their room. They would not accept though, telling him that he needed to learn to keep the monsters in his mind at bay, that if he believed them not to be real, they would disappear.

Bending over, his father handed him a small leather bound book. Inside were no words, merely a small journal. He spoke casually, calmly, explaining that it was a journal, and whenever he felt scared to use it to write in, to explain his fears and to leave them in writing to be forgotten.

Watanuki didn't want to write though, he just wanted to be able to lie in bed without fear and fall asleep without nightmares.

So the book remained on the shelf beside his window, along with the many other story books.

He waited, as his parents shut off the light. With the blanket pulled up to his chin, eyes already wide with the fear of what was to come, he waited for the creature to appear within his window.

But it didn't.

Slowly he sat up, the door shutting behind him, and stares at the window. He could see the shadows of the tree's, the branching hanging low, and the house which always remained behind his own. But no nasty monster, no demon which waited for his tears.

And a hand shot up, curling around the glass, causing him to cry and throw the covers over himself. From outside a storm began to brew, the rain falling into the window in small taps, catching the rhythm of the creature which clawed with more ferocity then he had ever known.

Slowly he lifted his head, watching in horror as the creature climbed up, hand pressed against the window.

And it opened.

He couldn't do anything but sniffle, too terrified to scream as the thing pushed open his window, the creaking being put to silence by the thunder in the background. Slowly it pulled itself up, the sounds of squishing and other such horrible noises following its soaked body. As he stared, it lifted what he believed to be a head, the thing cracking and twitching every so often, and letting out a weak solid choking moan.

And lightning lit up the room, and the thing disappeared. Slowly lifted his head again, noting the window was still open, and peaked around his room.

A shot, lightning struck, and he could only sit there, a silent scream ringing his head, mouth agape.

The monster, creature, thing was crawling on all fours, pulling with its long fingernails, on his floor. It left a trail of water behind it, its body still twitching. As it moved it let out the gasping sound, as if in silent torture, and continued its way.

Before long Watanuki could see it, the shape reaching his bed post, disappearing from his view. But he could not move, could not breath, and he watched before long the fingers, the hands in which he dreaded, curl to the top of his post. Slowly it pulled itself up, not standing, not quite sitting, but enough so only the top of its head could be view. There he could finally see it, its eyeless sockets, crimson skin, dyed with a substance he didn't know.

And it screamed.

Instantly the child dived from the bed, escaping the covers which he always knew to be his sanctuary and reached his door. Grabbing the handle he pulled with all his might, but it didn't budge. With a shocked and defeated cry he spun around, racing to the window, remembering how high he currently was only after he had nearly slipped out. Turning back, he nearly cried out in relief as he spotted no figure at the foot of his bed, trying to crawl up and get its nasty hands around him.

He blinked and the lightning flashed.

Before he could respond the creature had dived, hands out, the blood curling scream tearing into his eardrums.

And he grabbed the book, his own voice ringing out without his mind even registering it, and threw it, the book sailing from his fingers into going through the creature which was mere inches from his face, claws scraping his cheeks.

It disappeared, the book slamming into the wall with a dull thud, landing at the side of his bed. Watanuki Kimihiro slid to the floor behind his window, the rain pouring down on him from the open passage, mixing with the tears that were flowing from his terrified blank eyes. His arms remained at his sides, unusable, heavy, his brain not quite up to date with what had occurred. He didn't take any head to his cut cheeks, the small razor thin slices which had pierced his being.

And even as his parents raced into the room, picking up their lifeless child, rocking him and attempting to warm him from the chill of the water, the remained ignorant of the journal, which suddenly held much words, and for some unknown reason could not be opened.

Before long the book had been tossed out, the parental figures figuring it to be junk since it would not open, the pages and binding stuck together. It was found, not too long after, by a small couple, who enjoyed staring at the odd marking which had made their way upon the leather cover, and it disappeared from known existence.

Until twelve years later.

Chris: Ah, the prologue, which ended up being quite long. The main story will remain almost the same style of writing, except with a lot more dialogue. I tried to make it slightly creepy, but feel as if I failed to do so. (I'm more of a dark writer… or attempt) So please, tell me, did you enjoy! I would love to hear your comments, and maybe I can get to work on chapter two earlier then expected.

Until then, see you again!