Not sure where i'm going with this. Don't ask me about Best of Enemies, I have no idea what i'm doing with it (MAJOR writer's block). This is kind of different to my other story because it's horror. I'm not even sure what pairing in using, or if there is even going to be a pairing. I'm just really confused and not sure. Have fun.

The soft knocking on the door broke through his dream: he was backstage of the Book of Mormon show on Broadway and was arguing with Sutton Foster about how shoulder pads were so last year. His eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as he clenched his eyes shut tightly, trying to will himself back to sleep so that he could finish his fashion-related rant as the angry voice of Sutton Foster merged into a high-pitched, nasally, yet equally angry voice, coming from the direction of the television, effectively ending his dream.
At a second knock, he let out a low groan and stuffed his face into the pillows, blanket falling from his legs and onto the floor into the process.
"Go away," Kurt croaked, too softly for the person outside to hear, his voice hoarse from sleep.
The knocking continued, to his dismay, and he let out another groan and a barely contained sigh as his lifted his legs onto the floor and pushed himself up off the couch. So much for having the weekend off work to catch up on sleep.
He stretched his back briefly and rolled his head, wincing at the stiffness of his shoulders and neck, the consequence of falling asleep on the small two-seater whilst watching reruns of Housewives of Atlanta. Again.
Kurt shuffled sleepily towards the television and switched it off, immediately silencing the blonde woman who had previously been complaining on the screen. Another knock.
He glanced at the clock on the wall. 1:34 am. Who the fuck was knocking at his door at this time? His mind immediately bounced to the fact that it could be a murderer or some kind of mafia member, waiting for him to open the door so that they could kidnap him or kill him... Or it could be Rachel, coming to him for cuddles and "you're too good for him" 's after breaking up with yet another boyfriend. Either way, the knocking at the door was getting louder and the only way to stop it was to see who was on the other side.
As he stepped carefully towards the front door to the apartment, it was as if the knocker had sensed his approach: the tapping stopped immediately. He froze mid-step.
The knocking started again.
He scoffed and rolled his eyes, hand extending towards the handle. A sudden feeling of dread and coldness swept over him and sent a shiver down his spine, a voice inside his head screamed at him to not answer, to run into his bedroom, shut the door and hide under the covers.
He laughed to himself nervously, passing off the feeling as being half asleep and still being tipsy after the two glasses of wine he'd had a few hours earlier, and swung the door open before he could talk himself out of it. His eyebrows rose at the sight before him and he let out a soft gasp.
"Hello there, sir."
Two children stood hand in hand in the hallway, about a metre from his door. The one who spoke was barely a teenager, brown tousled curls framing his round face, dressed in a dark blue hoodie and jeans. The other, a girl about six or seven years old, wore a plain white dress, her long, blonde hair cascading down her back. However, it wasn't the sight of the two being outside his apart at such early hours, on their own, or the fact that the boy's accent held a slight twang of what could only be described as French that caused him to gasp, it was the fact that the unblinking eyes of the two children were black. Completely and utterly black.

...

"I..."
Closing his eyes, he shook his head quickly. Maybe he had had more to drink than he'd remembered. He was just imagining things. Yes, he had had a lot of wine and now he was just imagining things, he told himself.
Kurt took a deep breath, and exhaled shakily as he opened his eyes again, squinting slightly as they adjusted to the dim light of the hallway. He hadn't been imagining it. The children were still there, their coal black eyes boring into his.
The boy stepped forward slightly, his head tilting slowly to the side in an almost curious manner. Like a predator watching its prey squirm. "Please, sir. Won't you let us in?"
The warning voice in his head was back, screaming at him furiously. He hand clenched the door frame tighter as he swallowed around the dryness in his throat.
"N..W-where are your..your parents?" He stuttered. His voice was high with nerves and his heart fluttered violently in his chest. He needed to shut the door, to hide away from these..not-children, but his body refused to respond to his mind's warning.
He watched as the girl glanced towards the boy and back; the boy remained facing him but a slightly glimmer of irritation flickered across his face. He repeated. "Please, sir," the boy let go of the girl's and stepped toward slightly, causing the man to take a step back, "Won't you let us in?"
"We're awfully hungry, sir." kurt's head swung towards the little girl who piped up in a soft, high voice. He watched the small smile slowly grace the boy's face.
"I.. I haven't been food shopping today." He mentally slapped himself at the stupid response, but was too terrified to really care at that moment. He was starting to feel slightly light-headed and his breaths were coming out too fast and too shallow. The boy seemed to notice his nervousness and stepped forward again. They were almost toe to toe now.
The boy looked up at him from under his eyelashes, his voice taking on a hint of innocence. "Please let us in. We won't stay long. We'll leave straight after we get..," he turned towards the girl, an unspoken message passing between them. The boy turned back towards him, "...what we want."
Kurt violently snapped out of his trance at the implication of the boys words and stumbled back a step.
"LEAVE!" He shouted frantically. The boy lowered his head, glaring furiously at him and the light of the hallway flickered rapidly. The little girl moved forward and slipped her hand into the boy's, her own face expressing her anger.
"Let. Us. In." He growled as the light bulb in the hallway popped; the only remaining light being a lamp in his apartment which casted a ghostly shadow over the two, adding to Kurt's terror.
A small hand moved forward out of the darkness, twisting towards him; he was unsure of which child it belonged to, but didn't care as he moved back and quickly slammed the door shut, only hesitating for half a second before slamming the locks into place.
Then the voice spoke through the door.
"Oh sir," it sang, almost mockingly, "please let us in."
It was the little girl.
Kurt ran towards the bedroom, jumping onto his bed and under the covers before the bedroom door had even shut. He tucked the quilt in around his legs and arms and head, not even giving himself enough room to breathe properly as he secured himself. Once he was sure that no part of his body was exposed to the cold air of the bedroom, he sat and he waited.
The silence that followed was thick with tension.
A minute passed.
Two minutes.
A soft rattle against the bedroom window startled him and he tucked his head into his knees and clamped his eyes shut, his hands tightening their grip on the quilt. Pretend you're asleep ,he told himself, just pretend you're asleep and they'll leave you alone.
The rattling stopped and the silence began again.
Hours passed, without any more knocks or voices and eventually, for the second time that night, Kurt fell asleep and dreamt.
This time, however, the dreams consisted of coal, black eyes, children's laughter, and his own blood-curdling screams.