Girl With the Red Balloon
By: RavenHeart101
Summary: "... he didn't notice when a voice that had no body attached to it started singing along." The Anderson's move into a new house that is, presumably, haunted and the ghost takes a rather peculiar interest in Blaine. The only neighbor they have in a five mile radius takes interest in him too, only a different sort of interest. Or something along those lines.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. The title's taken from "Girl With the Red Balloon" by The Civil Wars.
A: N – I got this idea while watching "The Woman in Black" and other ghost stuff.
Blaine was indifferent towards the new house. He was indifferent towards the new town and to everyone in it. It wasn't that he wasn't giving people a chance – because Blaine was all for giving out chances where chances are deserved – it's just that sometimes chances weren't deserved. And guessing by the looks they sent him the moment he climbed out of his car these people didn't really deserve much of a chance.
Small town Ohio wasn't Blaine's kind of place, but what more could he expect? His aunt was sick and it wasn't as though his parents would allow him to live in California with Cooper for any longer period than the summer, whether they truly cared about him or not. It would look to bad for his mother's career for that to happen.
Mostly, the large manor was going to be for his and his father's use only. His mother would be spending no more than probably a week there, her embassy job calling for her to embark on thousands of trips in and out of the United States. She apparently did good work, yet she was rather tight lipped on what that work actually was. Blaine had suspected that that other "work" was actually another family when he found a stuffed bunny in the back of her car a month prior to their moving but he didn't have the nerve to really bring that up.
He sighed as the box in his hands fell onto his new bed, taking a moment to take in the newly painted red walls, the empty black picture frames, the matching sheets and comforter... At least his mother knew his favorite color.
Blaine popped open the box, sliding out the picture frames on the top and smiling down at them, a prickling sadness and nostalgia tingling up his spine. He sat himself down on the bed, running his thumb over the figures in the frame, his smile a tad strained.
He missed his friends more than he would ever admit to his mother who believed friends were just something to throw your trash on.
With a sigh he reached up and placed the frame on his empty dresser top, the other two – one of him and Cooper after Cooper's graduation, and the other of his grandfather and him when he was five and the year before his grandfather died of Cancer - following suit soon after. Blaine wiped at his eyes and began shuffling through the box at his side. It wouldn't do him good to get emotional over the friends that he would probably never see again. It wouldn't do him good to remember all the good times he had with the Warblers. It wouldn't do good for him to remember the attack that had taken the life of his best friend... Kurt... He heaved in a deep breath, dragging a hand down his face.
He just had to keep pushing through.
Blaine jumped up into a standing position and stalked over to the box in the far corner, opening it with a flourish and staring down at the books piled upon books that stared back at him. A smile tugged at his lips and Blaine couldn't help feeling a bit excited that he would, once again, get to organize his new bookcase (that spanned almost a whole wall). Blaine had to say that, even if his parents were noticeably absent from his life, they did notice his book obsession and the fact that he had run out of book shelf space within the span of a year at their old house.
In fact, Blaine was so focused on putting his books away that he didn't notice when his mother came in to say goodbye. He didn't notice when his father told him they were ordering out for dinner. He didn't notice when his dog came and sat by his feet. He didn't notice when he started singing. And he didn't notice when a voice that had no body attached to it started singing along.
No one stayed in Lima Manor for very long.
That was probably one of the first things Puck had understood when he was young.
First there had been a large family of ten, the people from Georgia. One night they all went to bed. Then next they were all being carried out in body bags. Apparently it had been murder suicide. No one would tell him who had been the murder.
Second there had been an old married couple. They died in their sleep.
Third there had been a single mother and her three kids. She had taken a gun to all three kids and then herself three weeks in.
Fourth there had been a small family. The mother had died in mysterious circumstances and the husband and kid were never heard of again.
Fifth there was the Hudsons. They moved out like four days after moving in.
Sixth was the new family. The Andersons or something. A mother, father, and teenage son. The perfect, apple pie family. His mother insisted on bringing over a plate of fresh cooked brownies for them. She was just that kind of person.
Meaghan eagerly pushed down the doorbell, bouncing on her heels, her braid banging against her back as the she tugged on the hand that Puck wasn't using to balance the homemade brownies.
By his mother insisting on bringing the new "neighbors" a plate of fresh cooked brownies, he meant that she had insisted that they all bring over the plate of homemade brownies.
Puck always hated these outings. It wasn't like anyone hot ever moved in next door. And they always ended up dying or moving away or some shit like that before they could prove to be any fun anyway.
Footsteps could be heard approaching the door and Puck steeled himself for another awkward "meeting of the neighbors" that would undoubtedly end the same way any of the others did. With his mother trying to convince them to move out by pulling some "psychic" shit on them that would only prove to piss them off.
He heaved in a deep breath, holding Meaghan's hand tighter and looking away from the door awkwardly.
Puck almost felt bad for the family that moved into the Lima Manor.
Almost.
"Hello?" Then he heard that voice and his heart jumped into his throat and when he looked up, startled, he nearly dropped the plate of brownies.
It looked as though God had finally forgiven him for letting the air out of his history teacher's tires.
His mother seemed momentarily surprised too – or maybe she was getting one of her "psychic readings" again or something. Meaghan was the lifesaver this time around, her smile wide and her body just a bouncy as it was the whole twenty minute walk over. "Hi!" The boy in the doorway blinked down at her, a smile crossing over his face and whoa... Puck so wasn't prepared for that...
"Can I help you?" He tilted his head to the side, a misplaced curl falling into hazel eyes that were covered by thin gold rimmed glasses.
Puck could really only think of one appropriate thing to say... so he found himself saying that. Since their mother was deciding to keep quiet this time around. Maybe things would turn out better that way. "Hi. I'm Puck-Noah." He tore his hand out of Meaghan's to shake the guy's hand.
"Blaine." The guy really had a wonderful smile. Puck couldn't help smiling back at him, his dimples barely peaking out on his cheeks. Gosh he hated his dimples. "Are you our neighbors?"
"The closest you're going to get." Puck nodded in agreement, pointing out down the left, towards the large area of nothing but grass. "We live a few miles that way."
Blaine made a face, sticking his head out the door to see where exactly Puck was pointing, making a small noise of acknowledgment in the back of his throat before finally taking notice of the place in Puck's hands. "You must want to put those down." He motioned to the inside of the house, holding the door open for Puck to step forward.
And step forward he did, because this guy was hot – gorgeous really – and he was inviting Puck inside. Puck wasn't stupid enough to deny himself the chance to get inside a hot guy's house.
Only just before his foot did more than cross the threshold his mother grabbed tight onto his arm and pulled him back.
Puck jerked back with shock, Blaine reaching out a hand to steady him with confused eyes. Meaghan made a small noise of almost fear when Puck almost toppled off the porch, his eyes drifting over to his mother, wide and a bit pissed off. "Mommy?" Meaghan asked softly, cautiously, and Puck always hated it when she acted like this. He really did.
"You poor dear." She stepped forward, sticking her face in Blaine's, her hand running up and down his silver vest. "I am so sorry."
"I..." Blaine looked at him desperately, seemingly begging for help.
"Ma, please." Puck grabbed on her sleeve, handing Blaine the plate. "I'm sorry, man. She gets like this some times."
"It's perfectly okay." And it even looks okay, judging by the look in Blaine's eyes. "Does she need to sit down or something?"
Puck didn't even have time to accept before his mother was bursting into tears and clinging to him as though he were a wall meant to keep her upright. "I should probably get her home."
Blaine nodded with wide eyes, watching as Puck took to trying to shush his mother by passing her onto Meaghan's better trained hands. "It was nice to meet you." He offered and Puck couldn't help but wince a bit, waving goodbye and turning his family down the walkway. At least his mother hadn't started yelling about spirits or cautioning him against entering the attic or something.
"Stay out of the basement! He can't protect you if you go down there! You'll only kill him again!" Maybe he spoke too soon.
The first night in the new house was nerve-wracking. Dinner had been awkward, full of idle conversation and uncomfortable silences. Blaine wasn't sure what it was that had changed between him and his father but it hadn't been a subtle change.
Well, that was a lie, Blaine did know what had changed between the two of them and it had a lot to do with the fact that Blaine had publicly came out as being gay. He hadn't gotten much of a reaction out of his mother besides a terse shrug of her shoulders, Cooper had actually looked ecstatic, and his father... his father had looked lost. From then on things had been different between the two of them.
"How do you like your room?" His father had asked while taking a bite out of his greasy mushroom pizza, barely raising his eyes from the game on the television.
"It's nice. Thank you." Blaine had replied, shoveling a forkful of salad into his mouth and looking around at the scarcely decorated room around him.
His father would probably never get around to decorating it and Blaine would probably end up doing so himself the next morning when he was bored. It was the summer after all and the school he was being sent to when the summer ended hadn't been decided as of yet. He was still holding out for the push of his grades and the administrators for Dalton. Maybe this time he would be able to get what he wanted. Even though the school would be harshly different without Kurt there it was still better than his option of a public school where he knew no one and was bound to be persecuted for being gay.
But, anyway, that was basically the extent of his conversation with his father that evening. And it really wasn't more stimulating any other day of the week or month or year. They had stopped trying to make conversation with one another when Blaine came out.
He laid back on top of his sheets, his shoes falling off his feet and onto the wooden floor with a clang and his eyes sliding shut.
He could picture the day Kurt and him were attacked so vividly. It was almost as though he were remembering it. Only he wasn't. Because he couldn't. Brain damage was a bitch, wasn't it?
It was a nice night out and they had been walking back from a theater to meet his dad at the school when they were attacked by these drunk idiots that saw Blaine with his arm around Kurt's shoulder's earlier because Kurt had been cold and Blaine had forgotten to bring an extra jacket. Blaine had been taken care of first. And then Kurt had been attacked and Blaine had tried to stop them but a gun had gone off and the rest was just history.
It wasn't a nice thing to picture and Blaine couldn't help being relieved that he didn't remember it but sometimes he wished he had. What kind of justice was he doing to Kurt's memory if when people like his father asked Blaine about his son's last moments and Blaine couldn't give him anything other than an "I'm sorry sir, but I don't remember what happened"?
Blaine shook his head, trying to force the thoughts of that night out of his mind and trying to, instead, focus on something else. Something better.
Like that guy that had dropped off the brownies earlier in the day.
He was something better. He was something much better.
But his mother was something that was sticking with Blaine more than he wanted her to be. Especially the last thing she had told him "you'll only kill him again"! That had set a dull pull of dread in his stomach.
A crash came from the living room, Blaine jumping up in bed, his eyes snapping open and staring wide at his shut door.
That wasn't shut anymore.
He pushed down the pounding of his heart and slipped off his bed, gripping his phone tight in his hand. He wasn't sure what exactly his phone was going to do – it wasn't a very suitable weapon for this kind of situation – but he was sure it would do something.
His father had gone to bed a few hours ago, leaving Blaine to his own devices at two in the morning and holy shit what if someone was breaking into their house? Well that would certainly explain why they had gotten it for so cheap but still...
A scream ripped through the air. A girl's scream. A little girl's scream.
Blaine jumped back, his phone falling from his hand and his back colliding with the wall. He stood there, stock still, for a long time before hearing another crash – this time from the basement – and turning back to sprint into his bedroom, throwing the door closed and locking it behind himself. He leaned against the wooden door, willing his heart to calm down. It didn't listen to him.
He fell to floor, pulling his knees up to his chest and not finding himself to have the courage to close his eyes.
Sometime during the night he made it onto his bed and asleep.
Sometime during the night his phone had been placed on his dresser and his door had been opened.
Puck worked at the grocery store on the outskirts of the town. Or on the outskirts of the middle of nowhere part of Lima and on the beginning of "bam everyone lives here" Lima.
He didn't really work with anyone of any importance, just Tina, Mike, Santana, and Artie. They were all cool and all, but they weren't really Puck's favorite people in the world. They weren't his least favorite either but that was beyond the point.
"I'm taking my break!" Puck yelled over his shoulder, walking away from the shelves he was stacking – Mike taking over diligently, just like Puck did for him whenever he was going on break – and walking out of the store, fishing his cigarettes out of his pocket. It was sunny outside, a light breeze pulling at the trees and the sun giving everything the feel of a nice summer day.
And it was a nice summer day. Puck wasn't normally an optimistic person but he wasn't exactly pessimistic. He knew when to be in a good mood and when to be in a bad mood.
Why was he in such a good mood this day? Well that was hard for him to locate.
His mother hadn't had a fit in a while. Meaghan was approving spectacularly in her reading skills. His boss wasn't being an asshole yet. It was a great day out.
And today just seemed to be his day.
The whole reason for that was the person walking out of the store, a concentrated frown on his face as he walked towards his car, bags weighed down heavily in his arms. Puck quickly stuffed his cigarettes back into his back pocket and ran – walked – over to his new "neighbor", grabbing hold of one of the bags before it fell to the ground and split to pieces. "Let me help you."
Blaine jumped at Puck's voice – and Puck noted, with some worry, just how tired the other boy looked – letting out a breath when he realized just who it was lending him a helping hand. "Thank you." He breathed out in gratitude, shifting to get his keys out of his pocket and pressing the button to open the trunk. "They wouldn't let me bring the carriage out."
Puck chuckled a bit, swinging the bag he was carrying into the open space in the back of Blaine's – honestly, very nice and expensive looking – car. "It's cool." Puck shrugged easily, leaning against the black shining metal and scratching at behind his ear. "People have this habit of stealing them."
"Who the hell would want to steal a carriage from... Price Cut?" Blaine practically spit out the name and – judging by his clothes and expensive car and house – it probably wasn't anything like the places Blaine was used to shopping in for food. "You know they only have like one kind of salad? And they don't sell sweet potatoes. Or any ingredients so that I can actually made edible food." He let out a long suffering sigh, falling against the metal next to Puck with closed eyes. "I'm going to have to take up gardening."
Puck let out a small snort, nudging his shoulder into Blaine's. "I'm sure you'd do great at gardening." He shrugged. "Good luck finding stuff for it, though."
Blaine looked at him, a small smile on his lips, before his eyes widened. "Oh shit." He pushed away from the car, staring at his apron with wide, embarrassed eyes. Not hidden by glasses eyes. Puck found himself missing them. "You work here." His hands flung up to his mouth, blocking it from view and looking truly apologetic. "I am so sorry-"
"Don't bother." Puck laughed at the mortified look on his face. "This place sucks. You're only telling the truth."
"Oh my God, I am still so sorry." His hands slowly fell from his face, a small smile pulling at his lips and Puck's heart skipped a beat. It literally skipped a beat. How corny could he get? "I feel like I should make it up to you or something."
"Let me take you out for dinner." Puck rushed to say. Ask. Something.
"Seriously...?" Blaine looked stunned. And tired. But mostly stunned.
"Seriously." Puck nodded, smiling a bit, his nerves churning in his stomach. Puck didn't usually get nervous. "There's only one okay place in this shit town and I'd like to be the person to introduce you to it." Puck stared at him for a moment, waiting for some kind of reaction. But Blaine was simply standing there, staring, an almost dumb look on his face. "So... what do you say?"
"Wow... uhm... okay." Blaine nodded, a smile pulling at his lips. "Okay... I mean why not?"
And that was entirely the point.
Why the hell not?
They had been together for three days the night it happened.
Blaine had just texted Puck goodnight, placing his phone on his dresser and climbing into bed to think over the details of their next date when a crash came from somewhere downstairs.
His father was out of the house and at a friend's place for at least another hour.
This had been happening almost regularly, rendering Blaine with little to no sleep. He had fallen asleep in the movie theater during his first date with Puck – well their only date really, but that was besides the point – and he couldn't help but find himself lucky when Puck hadn't noticed – or had just decided not to bring it up because Blaine had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Blaine never left the room to investigate after that first night. He never stepped foot out of his room at night after that first night.
Only this night he didn't have to.
He pulled his pillow over his head, counting down the seconds for the little girl's scream to sound in the distance of the house.
5.
4.
3.
2.
1.
The scream sounded.
Right next to his ear.
Blaine screamed himself, flying out of his bed and onto the wooden floor, staring up at the image of nothing in fear. His heart pounded in his chest and the screen on his phone lit up from an incoming message. He was frozen in place, wondering for a moment if this was the fear he felt when him and Kurt were attacked after the show -
The doorknob to his bedroom started to turn and Blaine's breath halted in his lungs.
Maybe if he kept absolutely silent the person – or whatever it was – would go away and leave him alone.
It seemed as though he didn't have that sort of luck, though, as, instead, the door flung open, banging against the red walls and revealing a black shadow figure.
"Holy fuck..." Blaine whispered under his breath, scrambling backwards just as the being flew forward, it's black mass surrounding his arms. They felt like they were on fire. "Stop it!" But the figure wouldn't stop, pushing him back against the bed and keeping it's grip tight on him. The bed shook under Blaine's attempts to get whatever it was off him. But it wouldn't go away. It stayed stationary.
And then, suddenly, it was gone and, in its place, were three long, deep, scratches across each wrist.
Only they didn't look like scratches.
And they were deeper than Blaine had ever seen unintentional cuts.
He scrambled to his feet, but he was thrown off them not a moment after by some unforeseen force, falling back on top of the bed, a heavy mass pressing down on his chest and halting his breathing.
There was a hand over his windpipe – Blaine remembered that feeling all too well.
His hand reached out for his phone, but that didn't work and, soon, his consciousness slipped away and his eyes were fluttering closed, falling back onto his bed in a dead weight, the sound of a warbler cooing through the room, the black mass leaving to go back into the basement.
Perhaps the worst part out of that night was waking up in a hospital the next day and no one believing that he hadn't been the one to do it. The wounds looked "self-inflicted" said a doctor and his father had then, of course, decided to bring up the fact that Blaine had just lost someone very close to him before being uprooted to middle of nowhere Ohio. Blaine wanted to punch him in the face.
On the car ride home his father handed him his phone and told him that they were going to be having a very serious talk and that he was signing him up to see a psychiatrist. Blaine nodded along in all the right places, picking at the bandages on his wrists and shrugging his shoulders in a hope to ease the bruises on his neck with no such luck. His father didn't drop him off at him, instead dropping him off at the Puckerman household. Which Blaine was fine with. He was terrified to step food back in his house anyway.
He didn't bother saying goodbye to his father, slamming the door shut and walking to the modest town house's door to ring the doorbell, a bit shocked when Puck was standing in the doorway instead, his eyes narrowed in almost suspicion.
And then they widened in worry and he was grabbing Blaine's arm and tugging him inside, yelling out to his mother to tell her that Blaine was there and pulling him into his bedroom, shutting the door behind them quietly.
As stupid as it sounded Blaine had to say that the Puckerman household had a much nicer, more relaxed, feel to it than his own house did.
"What the fuck happened?" Puck demanded, pushing him onto the bed and kneeling in front of him, grabbing at his wrists and running his finger tips over the bandage.
"I don't know." Blaine said in almost misery because, honestly? He was scared as fuck. He didn't understand a thing that had just happened to him. And it was terrifying and, okay, all he wanted right now was to be told that everything was okay. "Just... can I hug you?"
It was a weird question, and one that Blaine never asked, but his family wasn't very touchy-feely, no matter how much their youngest son craved attention the only one that ever seemed even halfway willing to give it was Cooper. And Cooper wasn't there.
But Puck was.
And Blaine had given Puck a hug a few times before – like after their first date – and Puck gave great hugs. Puck hesitated for a moment before giving in – perhaps it was the tears that Blaine had beginning to build in his eyes that did it – his arms wrapping around Blaine's back and tugging him close as he pushed himself up onto the bed beside him.
"I didn't do it." Blaine mumbled into Puck's neck a few seconds into the hug, trying to blink away the feeling of needed to melt into Puck's grasp instead of face the world.
"I need to know what happened." Puck insisted, but he didn't loosen his grip, resting his cheek on top of Blaine's hair.
"I'm so tired." Blaine breathed against the skin of Puck's neck, nuzzling there for a moment before sighing and pulling out of the embrace – even though he didn't want to – falling back onto the bed, feeling a bit more secure when Puck followed suit, leaning over him almost protectively. His hand was resting near Blaine's hip, the other next to his neck, his head leaning down so that the only thing Blaine could see was him.
"Tell me what happened so that I can help you." Puck whispered, his thumb rubbing against Blaine's shoulder, their lips meeting briefly when his eyes fluttered shut at the feeling, his body visibly relaxing into the mattress under him, Puck doing the same after a moment, relaxing as much as he would allow himself on top of Blaine. Their kisses were lazy and simple, no rush to them and maybe it was a bit because of Blaine's lack of energy that nothing more happened. "Please let me help you." Puck said as he pulled away, their foreheads resting together gently.
"I don't know what it was." Blaine whispered honestly, running his hand up and down Puck's back. "It was just... It was terrifying and it wasn't human and it tried to kill me."
Puck pulled away from him and Blaine knew he didn't believe him. He just knew it. Why would anyone believe him? He was just that fucked up kid from god knows where that showed up ad moved into a house in Lima and ended up almost killing himself. Why would they believe him when he said he was attacked by something he couldn't describe, let alone point out?
He turned his head into the pillow ignoring Puck's quiet order to get some sleep as he slipped out of the room.
Blaine couldn't help the frustrated tears when they came.
Puck pressed his back against the wood of his bedroom door, his heart breaking at the small half sob he heard from the inside.
But how could he be expected to believe something like that?
Something had tried to kill Blaine? In the middle of Lima?
It didn't make sense.
He shook his head, closing his eyes and letting it bang against the wood a few times gently before going to find his mother. She'd be better with this whole thing than he was.
She was standing in the kitchen, Meaghan with a sheet of paper sitting at the kitchen table, drawing a picture of some sort, and her eyes on him as he walked in. It was creepy to say the least.
Puck paused in the doorway, staring at her in questioning manner. "Ma?" Go figure she was in one of her fits again.
"The poor boy, Noah." Her voice shook and Puck tilted his head at her in confusion. "The things that have happened to him..." She surged forward, gripping Puck's hand in hers. "I told him not to go into the basement."
"Ma..." This was not what Puck needed. Not now.
"But the boy says that he didn't. He says that he never went into the basement. He stayed where he was supposed to. That's what angers it."
"Ma please." Meaghan looked up at their mother, her eyes wide with fear.
"The father did." Her voice let out a bit of amazement. "Oh that stupid man. He didn't heed my warning. Why do none of them heed my warning, Noah?" She shook her son's arm, trying to jolt his attention.
"Ma, come on. You're scaring Meg."
"You need to get him out of there, Noah." Her hands gripped his arms tighter than they ever had before, her eyes wide and focused and outright panicking. "They will kill him, Noah."
He stared at her for a long moment. "Ma..."
"They want him. They want Blaine. They will kill him!"
Blaine really didn't want to go home again but Puck had insisted, telling him that he needed to in order to at least pick up some clothes or something.
So Blaine went home to do just that. And it was night. And, really, it didn't matter how much boxing practice he had when his assailant wasn't visible.
Honestly, it didn't help that no one believed him except Puck's possibly senile mother.
He climbed up the stairs to his bedroom as fast as he possibly could, turning on every light in the process, Puck dismissing himself to go the bathroom. Blaine had nodded at him in a clipped sort of way, telling him that he would meet him outside and grabbing a duffel bag out from under his bed. Or at least trying to. It was caught on something.
Blaine let an aggravated noise pass through his lips, dropping onto his stomach to try and find what the bag was stuck to.
Down the hall the lights were shutting off one by one. Down at the opposite end, Puck was humming to himself and cleaning off his hands.
Back in the bedroom Blaine was tugging on the bag with as much force as he could when he finally pulled it free and a little girl was staring back at him with dead eyes from the other side, her hand outstretched and hair matted. She had a wide smile on her face and if Blaine wasn't as freaked out as he was he probably would have noticed how kind she looked. Just like a simple little girl.
Until she caught sight of something behind him and then she was pointing and opening her mouth and – Blaine covered his ears as she screamed. High pitched and loud and there was no way Puck hadn't heard that.
A hand clamped down on his ankle – icy cold and burning hot at the same time – pulling him away from the bed and slamming him into the wall.
Down the hall Puck was turning towards the door, throwing his weight against it when the scream reverberated through the household, but the door was locked and it seemed as though three people were pushing it in the direction opposite the one he wanted to go.
Blaine had enough time to cover his head before he was slamming against the wooden wall, the pictures on it shaking, yet none of them falling. The bandages on his wrists crinkled with the violent change of position.
The black figure from the day before grabbed his throat again, pulling him up off the ground and holding him back against the wall as it choked him.
Blaine tried clawing at the hand that the being obviously had but it was shapeless and not visible and he could feel himself fading again...
Down the hall Puck was turning back towards the mirror, catching sight of the new message scrawled across it in red.
There was a little girl
She liked balloons
So her father bought her one
A little red balloon
Then the balloon went pop
And a gun fell at the little girl's feet
Now father and daughter are dead.
Just like your little friend.
"Fuck." Puck gritted out, turning back towards the door and jumping back when yet another message in red stared at him. This one more ominous than the last.
There were two little birds.
They loved to sing.
They went to chirp.
And a man followed them home.
The man stomped on the birds.
Crushed their song.
One little bird is covered in blood.
The other one...
Well he will be soon.
"Always wanted to do this." Puck kicked at the door, surprised when it actually flung open, sprinting as fast as he could up the stairs.
A hand wrapped around his foot, pulling him down and down and down – his chin or cheek or head in general banging on almost every step - until he was right back in the main foyer. Fuck he hadn't felt that winded since his last football game. "Blaine!" Puck hollered as loud as he could, pushing himself up by the palms of his hands and sprinting back up the stairs, shaking off the feeling of little hands trying to grab onto his feet again, throwing himself down the hall and...
Fuck the sight he saw...
Blaine was literally suspended in air, choking, some black mass standing in the bedroom doorway before it swung shut, obscuring the two of them from view.
"Blaine!" Puck tried again, throwing himself into the door, but it wouldn't budge.
It wouldn't budge.
Puck was going to be too late and Blaine was going to die. Just like almost every other fucking person in this fucking house and -
And then the door was flying open – nearly smacking him in the face in the process – and Blaine was on the floor, gasping for breath and Puck could have sworn he heard a bird chirping.
But he honestly didn't care, running over and grabbing Blaine's arm and pulling him off the floor and out of that house.
He wouldn't be coming back.
Puck would make sure of that.
A: N – End. The end. Right there.
Unless I decide to write more sometime. What do y'all think? If enough people ask for more I may do more. -shrug-