.The Nightmare on Palm Street.
I
Distorted Fears
One, two...
Her white dress swished back and forth along with her long platinum blonde hair as she ran out of the kitchen, barely escaping with her life. Her sandals clacked rapidly against the checkered tiles, passing the booths and bar stools, showing how desperate she was to get away.
She knew how cliche this was. The blonde girl in the movies always pitifully attempting to run away from the horrors to live just a second more. To breathe another shattering breath for the most.
But this wasn't a movie, no, no. This was real. She couldn't deny it any longer.
"Why are you always running away from me, Naminé? I thought you were my friend— Oh, wait, we're playing, aren't we? We're playing tag, is that it?" Even though she was far away from him, she could still hear him as clear as an average day on Destiny Islands. His voice echoed in her thoughts making her shriek a desperate cry and fasten her pace.
"Why are you doing this to me?" she choked out, her voice mangled by the exertion of her actions. She could see the entrance to the diner now.
"Naminé, Naminé," the voice sneered, sounding malicious and spiteful. "You already know why!"
The girl skidded to a stop at the door she was so happy to finally reach. She shook the door violently, making the bell that was strung at the top of it ring as quickly as her heart beated in her chest.
"No, no, no—" she whipped around to see the dark figure approaching her slowly from the kitchen, knife still in his hand. She could almost see the mirthless grin stretched across his face. "—N-NO! Please God, don't do this to me!"
"In my world, there is no God that you speak of!" His sadistic laughter rang like the bell on the door as he advanced, scraping the sharp object on the metal of the chairs, making the poor girl flinch.
She was long past the stages of panic, her heart would probably give out any minute with all this pressure on her, but her want— no, need— to live dominated her instincts.
The door finally opened when she forcefully tackled it with her side, stumbling through it.
Go to your room...
Her knees burned from the friction between the carpet and her skin. The familiar setting made her sick. Most of her artwork hang from the walls, staring mockingly as she turned in dismay to see the gates of her sanctuary wide open, obliviously welcoming the bane of her fears without judgement.
Three, four...
Her hands trembled so much as she slammed the door closed, failing to turn the lock as her manicured fingers fumbled with it.
Lock your door...
She ran to the furthest corner of the room and collapsed, curling into a ball as she faced the door.
Five, six...
The sound of his footsteps finally reached her ears. Her heartbeat was the countdown to her demise, beating too loud and quick for her liking, as if it was reminding her that her time would be soon. Teary violet eyes trailed above the door's frame, staring coldly at the cross that hung symmetrically. Somehow, she sorta believed him when he told her God wouldn't save her here.
Grab your crucifix...
"Please, God... Don't do this... Please," she whispered nonetheless, her inflection as course and scratchy as a skipping record.
The blood in her body turned cold as she saw his shadow under the door. She closed her eyes and braced herself, whispering repetitious prayers with clasped hands when she heard him sing behind the door.
"Seven, eight... Stay up late~!"
Through her pleas and desperate calls to the Lord, she could hear the click of the lock as the door opened. Not even daring to open an eye.
"My Lord, our God, g-give me this strength to overcome the f-forces of evil," she sobbed, trembling when the footfalls were silenced by the plush carpet. The white interior of the walls would soon be a canvas covered in her blood, she could imagine it. "M-Mother of Christ, bare comforting arms as we shy away f-from the Pr-Prince of Darkness! Savior Jesus Christ—" what slipped from her lips was a mix of a squeak and a shrill cry as she was pulled up by her hair, away from the warmth of the carpet .
"You're so foolhardy," he exclaimed, chuckling with his hand still entangled in her unkempt hair. "Didn't I tell you that God can't help you here?"
His whispers sent shivers down her spine. She had no other choice but to face fear. Her violets met eyes that contrasted hers perfectly; flickering amber that she remorsefully recognized.
What had she done? She never thought this— more like he— would ever come back to haunt her, but what better did she know as a child? They were only five when it happened.
She kept on with her trembling, but it had ceased the moment he hovered the blade above her neck.
"Do you remember? When you asked me how it would feel like to be in absolute fear and pain? I don't know what ever it was in you that brought it up, but it seems like it should be reopened for discussion, don't you think?" The knife slid across her skin, grazing it without tearing, creating such a static-like sensation to burn deep within her.
If reality and dreams weren't so distorted around each other, she would've answered him. She would've told him that secret side of her, but she actually wanted to wake up and stay alive another day. She wanted to escape the arms of death.
Secretly, it was her thrill.
She gasped as he let the knife dip at the curves and contours of her skin, letting that sensation sear her with shameful, sinful thoughts. Honestly, she asked herself so many times why she thought and felt this way. She wasn't supposed to be so hot and bothered about her life hanging on a line like now. She's supposed to be that dimwitted blonde begging for mercy while her captor proceeds to torture her. No enjoyment or pleasure should be sprung! If anything, the only person who should be taking pleasure from this should be the sadistic bastard holding her by the hair! Oh, how ashamed was she when she could hear herself panting like a horny schoolgirl.
The knife was pressed too firmly to her skin, drawing blood and the girl from her thoughts.
She resumed with her prayers once again, making him pause his administrations.
"O-Our Father, who art in Heaven. H-Hollow be Thy—" she was violently thrown, landing on something soft. Her bed.
He pounced, looming over her with a dirty smirk. He had gracefully landed on her without disturbing the bed, supporting his body with the palms of his hands and his knees, one of which had found its way in between her legs. She never felt so exposed and vulnerable to him until now.
"I couldn't help noticing how you were so flustered. Does Naminé have a little fetish for sharp objects?" He teased her flushed face with his breath as he spoke, making her blush deepen.
Unlike most horror films, this victim didn't have to endure the foul stench of bad breath. Her captor's breath was hinted with the burning fragrance of cinnamon and every other dirty desire.
"You turned out to be quite the fine, young woman," he added suddenly, trailing his hand across the flesh wound, smearing blood on her white dress while he settled his hand on her well-developed chest. "If only I were still around. I would've thought about all of the ways I could fuck you."
"V-Vanitas—!" she managed to pant out. She was speechless, but definitely not from shock or the lust that clouded her eyes. She was still afraid despite the boy that hovered above her, with soft natural spikes tainted by the darkest sin and topaz eyes that could render any teenage girl soaked to the pantie.
"Hm... I don't want you to die, yet," he murmured in her ear, removing his hand from her chest to trail up the bare skin of her inner thigh. "However, your death will be inevitable and slowly torturous. You must suffer for the consequences of the crime committed by our so-called friends."
"Please," she whimpered. "I-I can't."
"Don't worry, I'll make you scream soon, if that's what you wanted to know."
He dipped his head to let his tongue slide across the curve of her neck, ending at her ear, where he panted for some time, before whispering slowly.
"Nine, ten... Never... Sleep again..."
His fingers curled around the knife that was forgotten, holding it high above her. It immediately penetrated her skin, ripping a guttural scream from her lips before he removed the blade and held it above her once more to repeat the motion. His sinister smile twisted his lips sickeningly, his eyes glinting with the pleasure of that contained by a man consumed by insanity.
Oh, how high could a girl scream from a nightmare? Pretty high, for certain. Well, at least high enough to arouse the boy lying next to her from his slumber.
"Ngh... Naminé—? Naminé, calm down!" He had a firm grasp on her shoulders, shaking her senseless while she continued to scream.
"NAMINE! IT'S JUST A DREAM! WAKE UP!" As if from his command, her eyes shot open, tears following immediately afterward. "O-Oh God, Naminé, you're bleeding!"
She instantly held the deep wound on her thigh and clasped a hand over the cut on her neck, desperately trying to hide it from spindrift eyes that swirled with fear and shock as she sobbed.
"N-No, Roxas, it's not what—!"
"Naminé, who did this to you? Did you—?"
"NEVER! I would never do this to myself!"
"Then, who did?" He spoke quietly after the heavy pause, leaving the room as silent with the exception of her sobbing.
"I-I..." She didn't know what to say. I mean, how would you explain to your best friend that a boy who happened to haunt you in your dreams actually did this to you? That and the fact that you also got some sort of sick, twisted, sexual high from this boy's sadistic tendencies?
"I'm sorry, I just... I can't," she cried. Roxas pulled the frightened girl to him, enveloping her into a tight embrace, hushing her cries before her parents will suspect anything. He did sneak into her house in the middle of the night, after all.
"Shush, it's okay. You're okay. Let's get you cleaned up," he stated with finality, picking up the petite girl and carrying her bridal-style to the bathroom adjoined with her room.
He settled her on the counter next to the sink while he looked for bandages and other medical items. With the light, the wounds weren't as terrible as they seemed. Namine guessed that Vanitas was clever enough to hurt her greatly without involving any serious injury. This thought made her blood run cold once again, referring to what he told her.
"However, your death will be inevitable and slowly torturous."
"You must suffer..."
"So, you're still not willing to let me know?" The artist snapped from her reverie to listen to the other blonde's want to divulge in her problems.
"I just don't know how to tell you. It's not like I don't want to. I would never hide anything from you, Roxas." Another lie.
"If you say so," he trailed off, letting his eyes linger on her body.
"Roxas," she whimpered. "M-My cuts."
"Oh! Right, s-sorry." He began the painful task of cleaning her with antiseptics and burning chemicals that promised a successful healing.
Roxas couldn't bear to hear Naminé's gasps and whimpers, but he never thought about the real purpose for such a reaction to arise from her. The cuts didn't hurt her too badly, it couldn't have been pain.
"The liquid's just cold, that's why," she merely excused as he finished bandaging her.
After replacing the items he had used, he carried Naminé back into her room, laying her on the bloody sheets. Naminé's eyes widened as the scene of Vanitas straddling her played over in her mind.
"I can't stay here any longer. Your parents might be awake from your little episode from earlier. It'll only be a matter of time before they come to check on you. You'll be alright by yourself tonight, will you?"
"Roxas, I-I'll be fine. It's just a nightmare. Nothing more than a figment of my overcreative imagination. I'm probably not getting enough sleep, that's all."
"Naminé..." The troubled blonde boy couldn't help showing his concern, placing a warm hand on her cheek. After all, this beautiful, violet-eyed beauty was his first love. She was the only reason for living and he saw it as an infallible truth.
"Go home, Roxas. Go to bed, just sleep on it. I'll be okay," she murmured.
With a defeated sigh, he turned his back on her, climbing out of her window with ease. This wasn't his first time sneaking into her room, so to say.
After confirming that he was finally gone, Naminé's thoughts returned to the evil in her life. Vanitas was here to stay, she knew it. He was after sweet revenge, and he'll pry it from all of their cold, motionless hands in the end. Naminé will only keep this to herself for the time being, not knowing her friends will suffer from the same impending hell.
After all, they were the murderers. They had much more to do with the long deceased boy than she.
They were responsible for the death of Vanitas Strife, so now, they were going to pay.
NEW STORY! Lol I know, but Grace~! You barely update the others! Pshh, I think I'm capable of keeping up with my stories now :3 I mean, it's summer, after all. :D So, I got this idea from watching Nightmare on Elm Street (the new one) with my brother and his girlfriend a while back on a weekend, which I enjoyed by the way. So, during the following school week, I missed the bus and walked to school. And this strange phenomena occurred! My mind started wondering how it would be like if KH characters went through the same thing, so I started freaking out and I was all like, "ZOMG I'M GETTING SOMEWHERE WITH THIS!" so here it is!
Heheh, well I hope you've enjoyed it! Tell me whether I should continue this or not!
Bai~! :D