Demon In The Dark

by LuckyTurtle

A little excerpt of Naruto's childhood, one in which the Demon has more influence on him than in the series. Naruto struggles with his loneliness, the Noise in his head that comes from the Demon, and the taunts of the villagers. Oneshot. RxR.

I had this idea, and I just had to write it down. It went much further than I was expecting, but that's good, I think ^.^

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

Why?

Why do you hate me?

Why do you glare, degrade, and torture?

Why does no one love me?

When I was younger, I used to think that it would get better. The villagers would realize that the person they hated, the person they thought I was—

(Monster, Demon, Murderer)

—wasn't me. I used to think that maybe they mistook me for someone else. Or maybe someone had told them that I was a bad person—

(Thief, Killer, Fox)

—and that they would realize, as I grew and showed them who I was, that I wasn't like that at all. They would realize I was just an innocent child, not—

(Fool, Criminal, Devil)

—anything else.

But as I grew older, the beatings only got worse, the loneliness grew, the insults just began to hurt so badly (sometimes worse than the bruises and cuts), and the noise. The noise was nearly unbearable.

I could hear them—the insults, the shouts, the laughter, the children singing, taunting—

Monster! Monster! Demon in the dark!

—never ending—

Hear it! Hear it! Listening—Hark!

—never ceasing—

What's that sound?

—never stopping, not even for a second.

And it grew louder, and louder, and louder.

In the streets, I could hear the adults—

(Just look at him—pretending he's innocent.)

(Don't look at him, Honey.)

(What were they thinking? Letting that thing live…it's unbelievable.)

—their insults stung.

At night, I could hear the shinobi—

(That's the one?)

(Yes.)

(He doesn't look like a Monster.)

(Looks can be deceiving. You're a shinobi—you should know that.)

—it scared me to think that I would become like them, like the shinobi, eventually. Once I graduated.

But at the park, I could hear the children—

(Mommy says you're a bad person!)

(Ewwww! The Demon has germs!)

(Don't touch him! He's probably contagious or something…I don't want to be a Monster, too.)

—and their comments were the worst. But nothing, nothing, could compare to that song. That damn song. The song that was the source of the noise, the main current—the center—of everything that was loud in my head.

Monster! Monster! Demon in the dark!

It just repeated over, and over, and over again.

It got louder, and louder, and even louder.

It was blaring at times, screaming and screeching and shouting through my head. Tearing apart my mind, shoving its way into the corners and crevices of my very being, until it was impossible that I could ever be rid of it. It invaded my personal space, my idea of self; it intruded on who I was, until I was no longer Naruto. I was the Monster.

I was the Demon in the dark.

Hear it! Hear it! Listening—Hark!

Oh, I could hear it all right. I could hear it loud and clear—too clear. Too loud. I could always hear it, because it was a part of me. It was imprinted so much onto me that separating the two—the song and I—was impossible. I was Naruto-Monster-Demon.

I answered to Naruto, though rarely.

I answered to Demon, sometimes.

But I always, always looked up when Monster was said.

(Look at him! He actually answers to Monster!)

(He's pretty smart, actually.)

(What? The Demon? How'd you come by that?)

(Well, he answers to Monster well enough, but he doesn't answer to Demon. If he did, we'd have enough reason to kill him—because he'd be acknowledging that he's the Demon. Tricky, that one.)

(You're right…huh. Tricky.)

After I heard that, I tried not to answer to Demon anymore.

But it was hard.

When someone calls you a name enough times, it becomes your own. You are that person, just as you are whatever else you've been called before, most of the time.

What's that sound?

And then, just as it got to the point that I was sure it would begin to get better, because it was so bad already…it got worse.

I always had a headache, and I could never rid myself of the disease. The disease of my mind, the disease that was the awful, Goddamn song.

It got to the point where I could hear it in my dreams; I could hear it in the dark—

(Especially the dark)

—I could hear it anywhere and everywhere. And I could see it, too. Or sense it, in a way. But it seeing it and sensing it were the same to me.

Though I couldn't physically see them, those glaring red, evil eyes, I could sense them.

They were always watching, waiting.

They were cunning and devious, evil and dark, the epitome of everything I hated.

I became more paranoid than I already was, especially after it began.

Behind, in the background, I could hear something. Something in the dark.

Behind the song, behind the taunts, behind the insults and glares and mental scars in my head, words were forming.

Kill…

The Red Eyes said.

Hate…Murder…Vengeance…

At first the words were rare and much time went on before the next word was heard, but that ended soon enough.

Eventually the words became sentences.

Don't you feel the hate?

Don't you want to kill?

Don't you want revenge?

Murder them all!

The Red Eyes began to have a form to them, a form in the shape of a shadowy fox. I gigantic one, that had nine tails, and a dark aura.

I still couldn't see the fox—never see—but I could feel it. I could feel it—and see it—in my mind.

When I looked at the children, and wished to play, I could see the Red Eyes in my mind—without seeing them all the same.

When I walked through the streets—I could see them still, and feel the shape, the imprint they left.

Because of the Eyes, it became much harder to resist the name Demon.

They're calling us! They're asking for you—they're saying Demon.

Demon's your name, isn't it, Naruto-Monster-Demon?

Why don't you answer?

I tried to ignore the words—really, I did. I tried so hard.

But in the end, I wonder, was it even worth it to try?

Because I could feel It coming—my doom, the end of my resistance…the Fox.

I could always feel It, hovering over me like a dark cloud, waiting and watching with Red Eyes, ready to snatch Victory away from my clumsy fingers.

It was part of the noise, too.

It was part of the song, part of the words, part of the Eyes.

Part of my downfall.

It was the whispers of hate, It was the shouts of vengeance, It was the sing-song voice of the children, It was part of the Noise.

It was Its entire fault.

The hate—that was Its fault. The vengeance—that was Its idea. The song—It came up with that. The Noise—well, it never ceased because of It.

No, the only time the Noise ever ceased—was because of me.

Perhaps it was the single thing that I ever did that made me proud of myself—yet made me hate myself all the same.

I'm not quite sure what happened afterwards, really, that made the Noise stop—

(Perhaps I'm dead?)

—but I know what happened that made it stop.

I answered to the name Demon.

Someone called to me—

(Demon!)

—I looked up.

And everything went silent, but for the Song.

Monster! Monster! Demon in the dark!

It echoed within my head, the last Noise I was to hear.

Hear it! Hear it! Listening—Hark!

It was my death sentence.

What's that sound?

It was me.

Monster's coming to kill-you-now!

So…tell me how it was in a review? Liked it, hated it, loved it, found-a-mistake-that's-bugging-you-super-bad-and-you-really-want-to-tell-me-to-fix-it? I'm good with anything :) (Flames not-so-much, but if it was really THAT BAD, well, I'd like to know what your opinion is ^^)

LuckyTurtle

P.S. I'm VERY aware that this was probably pretty confusing—feel free to ask questions, I'll answer them to the best of my ability—but even I'm not quite sure where this ended up. It's kinda supposed to be confusing, if you get what I mean.