Short oneshot that came to my mind. Yes, this is the real Simkaye. Internet cafes are awesome. \(*v*)/

This is about Alvin; I just wrote it after thinking about the movie about the Wolfman... how Alvin has all these weird nightmares, I decided to give him a scary one. I really like Alvie though, don't get me wrong ...

WARNING:
The following contains unsettling content both sexual and violent in nature. Viewer discretion is strongly advised. What you are about to read is no made-up work, and is the recorded memory of the night terror had by my friend, Rose, who suffers from insomnia. Continue to read at your own risk.

As Alvin lay in bed, drawing cartoons and funny animals, he reached under his pillow and pulled out his cellphone to check the time. Two forty in the morning. He sighed. Alvin still had several hours before the sun would rise, banishing the darkness and the looming threat of sleep for another day. Alvin hated sleeping. All his life he'd been an insomniac, and even in those precious nights where he finally found slumber, he was plagued by nightmares. Not just any kind of nightmares, either. Horrible, painful ones where it felt so real, like what was happening in the dream was actually occurring.

He was starting to get drowsy, but as long as he had his nightlight on and focused on drawing, he was pretty sure he could stave off the clutches of the sand man. Just then, he heard creaking down the hall... Bill was coming up the stairs. Alvin hoped he wouldn't notice the small crease of light leaking from his closed bedroom door. He did.

"What are you doing awake?" he asked rather rudely, barging into his room, "Don't you know what time it is? Go to sleep."

Alvin didn't want to go to sleep.

"No," he replied flatly, "I'm not going to sleep."

"NOW. You have school in the morning."

He knew being obstinate would get him nowhere so he instead hoped to appeal to Bill's better nature, and pleaded instead.

"Please don't make me sleep...don't make me go there...I'm scared of the dreams."

"Go to bed."

He flicked off the light and shut the door. Alvin groaned in frustration and buried his face in his pillow. He never really cared for his babysitter. He was crude and crass and bossy. But worst of all, he he didn't understand. He viewed Alvin's condition as a weird quirk that was funny to him at best and an annoying hypochondria on his part at worst. He didn't comprehend that horrors of Alvin's mind, especially the ones that lurked in the realm of sleep.

Still, he didn't want to anger him, because then he'd get to yelling and wake up his brothers who he wished not to disturb. He sighed and set his drawing supplies down on the floor, and curled up in his blanket. His cat, Cookie Chomper III, who had been curled up at the foot of his bed, crept up closer to him, as if in solace, trying to comfort him. It helped now, of course, but once he was asleep, he and the rest of the world would fade away to something horrible and twisted.

He really wasn't looking forward to it.

It was dark. So very dark. Alvin was standing in an inky blackness that seemed to span out forever. He squinted and strained, but saw nothing. Then a beam of light opened up far above and flooded a circular space around him. The floor gave off a heinous glare from the light; on closer inspection Alvin found the floor was a giant mirror. He knelt down, and pressed his hand against the cold, glassy surface. Suddenly the glass became permeable and he fell through, vanishing beneath the floor, which shattered after his entry.

He fell down a shady chasm, watched by two giant distorted faces. They were nearly identical, but both were horrific. Their eyes were bulbous, round, and white, set in the back of deep sockets. They left eyes were vacant and empty, but the right eyes had large pupils ringed with twitching, bony fingers crawling out from within. The faces lacked noses, and their mouths were round and hollow, much like a plastic bag had been pulled over their heads and sucked in. There were no teeth in the mouths, which occasionally closed and made sick puckering sounds as acrid yellow saliva seeped out. These grotesque heads were mounted on long thick necks that rose from the floor far below, which was carpeted with thousands of smaller heads much like theirs.

Alvin landed on this floor, and the heads swarmed all over him, the fingers in their eyes probing and touching and scratching away. He sank deeper and deeper through this sea of hideousness before he finally fell out below onto a hard concrete floor, in a cold, dark room that was a barren recreation of his own. The ceiling he had fallen through shriveled and shrank away into the darkness.

Despite the walls being made of cold concrete, they didn't seem all that lifeless, peppered with opens sores and blinking eyes. Alvin's mind seemed obsessed without putting eyes where they didn't belong...

"Hello child..." a sickeningly saccharine voice called. Alvin's heart fell. He wasn't alone. He turned his head and looking at Lucy, one of the most horrific creations of his mind.

Lucy was hideously distorted and vaguely humanoid, but I use that latter term lightly. Her head was small, and skull-like because the slimy skin was drawn so tightly. Her jaws were wide and frog-like, rimmed with over sized teeth. She had three mismatched eyes; one was inverted, dark with a white pupils, that stared deathly into space, another was feminine with makeup and long lashes, albeit turned at an odd angle, and the third was round and white, resembling an oversized zit more than an eye. The pupil was tiny and dark and buzzes about madly, twitching and rolling every which-way.
Lucy's torso was elongated, with four breasts, each with a large bulbous eye in the center. Her right arm was long and spidery with several disjointed, sharp fingers, and her left arm was mechanical, with a discus-like hand that had several demented tools instead of fingers, such as a syringe, a buzz blade, a corkscrew and a scalpel. Her legs were long, with narrowed, withered eyes growing out of the knees. Her right leg also happened to sport a large, human-like mouth on the upper thigh, with an over sized tongue and slack lip that drools and grinds its teeth.

But her most frightening feature would have to be that while her four chest-mounted eyes glare hungrily at you, yet another mouth salivates, clacks, and clatters. It resembles the mouth of a monstrous insect and has pincers, and is squarely set between her wide-angled legs and reached as far as halfway up her waist. Indeed, she was one of the most sickening and twisted abominations of Alvin's mind.

"It's time for us to play tonight, child," she said soothingly, in the same placid tone a mother would use, "Please, come..."

Her face twisted into a hideously devilish grin, and she grabbed Alvin with her organic arm, pinning him to the floor.

"We have some fun things planned this time."

A small, blunt hammer revealed itself from her mechanical hand. She swung it down and broke Alvin's nose, smashing it into his face. He felt the cartilage crunch beneath the force of the blow, and warm blood began to flow out. Alvin yelled out in pain, only to be silenced by a needle and wire stabbing through his face and sewing his lips shut. He made pained wailing sounds from his nose and throat instead, but there was no mercy there.

Then dozens of other twisted nightmarish creatures scuttled, scurried, and slithered out from the shadows and proceeded to torture the poor boy. Biting, gnashing, stabbing, and burning were the least painful of their procedures. Small spiny slugs burrowed under his fingernails while hairless, boil-covered rats gnawed out the insides of his ears.
And they took delight in everything they did. Alvin knew none of this was really real, but the pain...the horrible, agonizing pain, made his doubt the fantasy as being just that. What was worse is he knew they were only warming him up for Cleaver, the nightmare he hated and feared the most alongside Lucy.

"That'sss enough..." a hissing, gurgling voice croaked from behind the back of the mob, "He'sss ready now..."
Alvin wasn't sure if he was glad Twister was intervening or if it filled him with even more fear. Twister was a bizarre, warped female who may have looked human once if her limbs and body were so horribly stretched and twisted into painful spirals, writhing and wrapping around each other constantly. Her bones and organs constantly knitted just in time for new twists and fantastic shapes to snap and crunch them further. Sometimes she's bend in such way her own bones would tear out from under her skin, which was pale, but raw and leaking watered down blood from the constant abuse. Her scraggly black hair covered her face, although Alvin had seen it before. Beneath the hair Twister's eyes were yellow and reptilian, with pinpoints of red as pupils, and spiraling veins that swirled over the surface, around and around and around...
These eyes were actually rather small though, so there'd be more room for her giant maw of sharp, crooked teeth. She bit the hood of Alvin's coat and dragged him away, twisting and spinning all along as she took the battered child to Cleaver.

They reached their destination - a filthy rubber room with one dingy, grime-encrusted light bulb illuminating the stained walls. Twister dropped Alvin like a rock, and slithered off into the halls without closing the door. Alvin lit up slightly, and got up, limping towards the exit for a chance to excape...but too late, the Mother blocked his way.

"I'm sorry, Alvin... But you can't leave," the Mother sighed sadly.

The Mother looked perfectly human, around the age of twenty, although she was beaten, bedraggled, and weary. She often looked as frightened as Alvin did, and she always carried her hideously deformed baby with her. Although Alvin somewhat pitied the Mother, he hated her at the same time. The Mother seemed utterly mindless, like a fretful zombie completely under the authority of Cleaver and her monstrous infant.

She closed the door, and fed the key to her baby. She then set the baby in the corner, and while it wailed and cried heinous sounds, the Mother stripped Alvin of his clothing, burning it in a trash bin on the far side of the room. She did let Alvin keep his hat, however. For some reason the nightmares always let him keep his hat.
The Mother collected her baby and turned to ash. Alvin was alone.

Alvin curled up, begging for the morning to come, or something in the outside world to wake him from this nightmare before Cleaver came. Nothing ever did. Cleaver always got his way, and tonight would be no exception.

A shadow loomed over Alvin. He was standing there, he knew he was, but he tried to pretend he wasn't. He took a slow few steps toward Alvin. Cleaver was humanoid as far as he knew. He had the basic shape of a human, and his hands, while brown, dry, and withered, were human. He wore clothing like a human, albeit filthy and stained with bloodsplatter, and he walked upright like a human.

But he wasn't human.

Alvin knew he wasn't.

He knew it because his face wasn't human, even though he'd never seen it. Cleaver's face was always hidden, his face wrapped in a brown cloth sack at all times. There were no holes for his eyes or mouth, although a single thin string was tied very tightly across where his eyes would be. So tightly, that blood was always staining the cloth there.

There was only one part of Cleaver that Alvin could prove was inhuman - his feet, which were large, pink, plastic combs. Combs that were dirty, grimy, and missing a few teeth. But why was this so awful? Well...

Cleaver was male, as he had certain needs. Very sick, twisted needs which he fulfilled with Alvin. And before you think, listen to one last detail for me. He never had to undress or remove the burlap from his face. He used those sick, shattered feet of his.

The next morning, Alvin woke up, slowly, and in pain. His face was scratchy, something had dried on it. He discovered in the bathroom mirror he had had a nosebleed during the night. That's not too abnormal. Many people sometimes get nosebleeds in the middle of the night. But bruises and scratch marks? That was abnormal.

Alvin was the only one awake. He washed his face, and dressed in long sleeves and pants to conceal it all, lest somebody wake up, see his condition and make the wrong assumptions. When he was done, she sighed, picked up his drawing supplies, and continued to sketch.

So yes ... please no flames for this; I'm sorry if you didn't like it, but I warned you.

Please review!