1

There is a gentle ache that trembles in my chest as I walk through the dark and gloomy streets of Em Auri, towards the neighborhood where my human home is resonating. Rudy is surely in there, perhaps working on her homework from school or other such things. Our human home together is merely her grandma's house. When she was alive, that is. Now I am the so-called "owner" of it, even though Rudy lived in it before she met me.

It's not unfamiliar disguising as a human and becoming one in the flawed but astonishing race. What is unfamiliar is that I am not alone. Every single time I walk into the damned house, the little girl is there to greet me, to hug my waist and ask me how my day was. To play video games with me and crack jokes to make me smile. It's as if I am not some monstrous entity on the brink of internal destruction and malice. It's odd to not only disguise as a human, but to particularly feel human at the same time. This emotion called love is strange and out of place for the negative being known as the Boogeyman, but if I were to be honest, I don't mind all that much.

Besides, it's Rudy Ly that's comforting me. I shouldn't be complaining about a child like her.

My feet are silent and slow against the dry pavement, but the thought of greeting the girl gives me a spring in my step, and so I walk faster. It's still lonely without her. My time in the Negative Side by myself gives me an empty pit in my frame, like Rudy is a piece to the puzzle of the conscience of my mind. I feel hollow when the child isn't around. Love is what I get from her, a positive emotion that I shouldn't be praising. I shouldn't be happy for any of this.

Nearly everybody I have met before in the Mentality World has declared that such a man like me shouldn't be so goddamn joyous. Back then, I almost believed them. But now I realize the range of freedom I have, the encouraging things I hold that the Positives don't. A human, - a human child - the one who turned me around and understood me faster than anybody else, loves me.

Somebody completely different from everybody's expectations . . . loves me. Rudy Ly cares about me and I care about her.

If there is something to be proud of, it is having her as a daughter to watch over.

Today, I had to visit the Positives for a quick meeting that I so harshly despised, and as a result we clashed into a verbal argument. Without Rudy by me, the sides are unbalanced and engaged into a mental war of who is right or wrong. Despite being completely human, she somehow knows more than the both of us in the subject of equality and agreement. She's only thirteen. What the hell? Why is a thirteen year-old managing our immortal fight? She doesn't need to go through this stress.

Well, I should at least be grateful that I still get to see her. Even if it's an hour or two after what is expected.

The house's silhouette approaches me as I draw close, and I gaze up at it. Judging by the closed curtains at the top, Rudy isn't in her room. She's probably downstairs watching TV or something like that. Or maybe even just getting herself a snack. The usual things that youths like her do, fortunately.

A spark of a smile suddenly lights up my face as I find myself skipping along the front porch steps. I nearly exclaim her name out of sheer happiness and excitement as I knock on the door. "Rudy!" I call her, grin stretching from ear to ear. "I'm home!"

I've never called her like this before. I suppose I'm just extremely positive today. More than I will ever be.

I tilt my head, trying to peek behind the curtains to see if I can spot her. But she isn't in sight.

"Rudy?" I knock on the door again. "I'm here."

No answer.

I sigh. If she's sleeping, then I don't want to disturb her. The poor child is already suffering from the weight of her schoolwork. My hand fishes inside my pocket to take out a ring of keys. Then I unlock the door and step inside.

The aura of comfort of the home is recognizably warm. I slip off my shoes at the door, staring down at the ridiculous mat beneath my pale feet. It reads WELCOME in the most friendliest way possibly, with big, bubbly pink letters over the content of a purple background. It's fitting; Rudy's favorite color is pink. Mine is purple. Just thinking about it makes me laugh to myself. She was the one who spotted it in a store, and yet, she was the one who made me pay for it. She is a funny child. That's one of the reasons why I love her.

I wonder what surprise she is packing in store for such a gloomy man like me. Her humor brings a warm feeling into my stomach, like butterflies dancing in a synchronized circle. She is unlike other children. She can be serious and strong and temperamental and switch into someone youthful and silly in the blink of an eye. I don't know how she does it. With her deceased family, I would expect for her to be more sullen and solemn. But she beams with positivity at every angle.

"Rudy?" I call again, taking off my coat. I look around for a moment in the dimly lit living room. There's a little dip in one of the couches and the TV controllers are shifted to one side. I hope that she hasn't finished our favorite show before me. Then she'll be hiding hints of spoilers here and there, teasing me and hinting of every character's fate. I'm used to ignoring them and only focusing on the show itself, so it's easy to trick me into following the false trail of the plot.

"Come on, Ratgirl," I chuckle. "You make me nervous when you hide from me."

I can sense her presence somewhere. I know how much she likes playing hide-and-seek with me, the Boogeyman of all people. But it's always easy to find her because of the giggles in the distance. When she tries to find me, however, she gets a bit annoyed by my advantage, the ones that allow me to hide underneath beds and closets without being seen. It still makes me feel all giddy inside when I think about it.

I walk along the rim of the living room. "You've always been good at hiding," I tease out loud. "Most of the time, until you find something funny and end up laughing about it." That is her cue to do exactly what I have just mentioned. But there is only silence that answers my call.

So she's strategizing. Perhaps she's outsmarting me. I smirk to myself and cross a corner. Then I spot a garment hanging off one of the kitchen chairs in the dining room. What a clever little hint. Rudy left her hoodie there.

Walking towards it, my eyes then trace to the kitchen. I let my footsteps be louder than they usually are on purpose to let her know that I'm growing closer. I find my smile widening as I take slow, careful steps, and I anticipate my chance to scare her. There is a strange, coppery smell in the air as I approach the kitchen table, set in the middle of the room. She's behind it, I know.

Then I take my chance. I swiftly reveal myself from the corner, jumping from one side to the other with my hands curled like claws and my teeth bared wide.

"I found you, Ru-"

But my smile drops from my face in an instant as I am greeted with a dark, red puddle of disgusting blood.

She lays there barely twitching, lips stained with velvet as it continues to slowly leak down her chin. Her stomach is grossly split open. A few feet from her is a bloodstained knife. Her eyes are lolled to the back of her head and watery ichor is gushing out of her wounded abdomen. Her finger shakes back and forth as if reaching for me.

It takes me a moment to process the scene, but when I finally do, a wave of nausea slams into me, and my stomach clenches. I smack a hand over my mouth and hold back the sudden urge to vomit. I squeeze my eyes shut and gag, hands quivering uncontrollably. "Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god no."

Looking at her makes me feel so suddenly sick. I've seen worse before over the millions of years I have lived, but when Rudy is contorted in and out and literally bleeding to death, I can't help but sway a bit from dizziness and lose a few breaths along the way.

My senses strike me deep and I immediately fall to the floor, laying the dying girl's head on my knee. Damnit, damnit! What the hell do I do?! I lean in close, listening to my voice as it slowly snaps, cracks and breaks while I stare into her hollow and twitching eyes. "Rudy?"

She groans before weakly curling the corners of her small mouth into a crooked smile. Blood gushes out as she painfully coughs.

I can feel my pulse quickening, my composure burning to ashes. "Fuck!" I hiss angrily at myself. Why can't I do anything but panic and stare?

There's no use in trying to take her to the Positive Side; there aren't any healers there. And I don't know where the hell Jess is. He wouldn't be able to heal her fast enough, anyway. My breath grows cold, and I begin to pant as my throat churns with dryness. What do I do what do I do-

I am left with one final choice to finish this all. Holding back the dark liquid wanting to push itself out of my stomach, I snatch Rudy's phone from her pocket, which is one of the only things that has stayed clean from the disgustingly large amount of blood coming out of her wound. Hastily, I make an emergency call with my terribly shaking pale hands.

The operator on the line answers immediately. "911, what's your emergency?"

"Th-There- There has been- shit!" I gnash my teeth together, struggling to keep myself in one piece as my anxious stutter begins to tear me apart. "My daughter has- she's- sh-she's been st-stabbed and-"

"Sir, I'm going to need you to speak clearly. It's hard to understand what you're saying.

"My daughter i-i-is bl-bleeding out! She's been st-stabbed, and- a-a-and-"

"She's been stabbed?"

"Yes! I need puh-puh-paramedics ruh-right now. Please!"

"Okay, okay. Where are you right now?"

"I'm-" Fuck, fuck, fuck! The street name and address is at the tip of my tongue, barely hanging on and on the edge of dropping into the forgotten abyss. Sweat is running down my face as I hold Rudy tightly, every inch of my body quivering like hell. "I'm in . . . I'm . . . in 3842, Morganite Avenue," I sputter.

"Is there anybody else inside the home?"

"N-No."

"Okay. And you said that this is your daughter?"

"Yes!"

"Okay. Get her outside and right next to the street sign. I'm sending paramedics. Make sure that they can see you."

"A-A-Alright . . " I look down in anguish at the poor child's sickly pale face.

"Stay with me on the line," the operator continues. "Okay?"

"I- O-Okay."

Without any time to waste, I scoop Rudy up into my arms and dash outside, the nausea and dizziness in my head long forgotten.