WHO: Dietre and Francis WHAT: D has another unwanted visit, so Francis is sought out to deal with the problem, again. WHERE: Francis' home. WHEN: Thursday night. RATING: R-ish for somewhat disturbing imagery? STATUS: Incomplete
Dietre woke abruptly, his heart racing from a nightmare he couldn't remember. Sadly, this was a regular occurrence. He reached out, hoping to find the reassuring warmth of Breve's body curled up in his usual spot next to him, but his hand found nothing. The kitten was no doubt going about some nighttime business that only felines knew about. He sat up, a feeling of dread mounting in him in a way that had now become familiar. It was a distinct sensation, once it had begun, Dietre knew there would be no stopping it until it manifested into an hallucination. What would it be this time? Would it be content to just stand there and stare? Or would it go after this blood?
The boy covered his eyes, squeezing them shut behind his palms and tried to take deep breaths. He heard that's what you should do to try to calm down when anxious, though it never seemed to work for him the way it was supposed to. Maybe it was because he didn't use a paper bag...
Eventually, paranoia won out over the hope that if he just kept his eyes closed long enough everything would be alright. It always did. He parted his fingers and timidly peeked out between them, expecting to see some horrible thing staring back at him, but there was nothing there. That was not as reassuring as one might think. Dietre's brow furrowed, and a moment later he thought he heard a scuffling sound beneath his bed. Impossible. His mental projections made no sounds. Knowing deep down that it had been his imagination, he leaned over the side of the bed anyway, holding his breath in fearful anticipation.
Suddenly a hand shot out from the darkness below, scrabbling at the carpet, and Dietre leapt off the bed to distance himself from whatever was dragging itself out from under it. Another bony hand emerged, followed by the head and shoulders. It was his father. He looked the way he did once the bear finished with him, torn and broken, only this monster version of him was disproportioned and seemed to have come from a world where the only colors were black, white, gray and red.
Dietre curled his lip in revulsion. He was scared, yes, but he had no guilt over his father's death, unlike what he felt over his mother's. He hated the man. The creature was slow, but Dietre knew if it was allowed to reach him, it'd do as much damage to him as it could.
Not knowing what else to do, he hurried out of his room and down the hall to Francis' bedroom. He hesitated, then knocked a calm, polite kind of knock.
"..Excuse me? May I...uhm..." He glanced nervously down the hall, just in time to see his 'father' reach the doorway. He spoke a little louder. "I'm sorry to wake you, but...Could you open the door, please? Mr. Dr-...F-Francis?" For some reason he felt compelled to use the man's first name.