Title: From the Darkness Comes: Chapter 1

Genre: AU fic, Slash, Romance, Horror, Supernatural, Merthur

Words: 1,584

Rating: Pg-13/R?

Warnings: None (Not canon so, no spoilers for the series, possibly some for the books though.)

Disclaimer: I asked, but alas, to no avail :(

Summary: Arthur Pendragon is one of the best paranormal investigators in England. He's also the most cynical; sceptical of all 'supernatural' occurrences, but all that could be about to change when he takes a job in the eerie town of Avalon and meets the mysterious Merlin. Will Arthur discover the terrible secret both the town and the man hide?

A/N: This is my second Merlin fic and first venture into the horror genre, which is a little strange considering it is my favourite genre. This is a multi-parter based on the James Herbert novel 'Haunted', there are also references from 'The Dark' and 'The Ghosts of Sleuth' by the same author but all with my own twists. Hope you enjoy it and if you do please tell me! It encourages me to write faster ;) so any feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading! :)

A Dream? Or a Memory?

The darkness seeped in, but this was no ordinary darkness. It was thick, suffocating, swallowing everything around it into its all-encompassing blackness. Perhaps the depth of the darkness was the result of superstition – the fabled 'witching hour', nothing more than a trick of the mind – or perhaps it was a reflection of the black shroud that had engulfed the day, a warning of what was to come. After all, foresight is most often, a terrible thing.

However it wasn't the uncommon darkness that snatched the small figure curled-up tight in the bed from unconsciousness. No, it was the cold that woke the boy. There was a chill in the air – a bite that seeped in even through the locked window panes. The breeze was . . . unnatural – it seized it's icy fingers around the sleeping child and tightened it's unwelcome grip without mercy. It is unclear whether the shivers that racked the tiny frame into wakefulness were directly the result of the strange drop in temperature or more influenced by some sense of the terrifying wrongness in the atmosphere around him.

The boy cracked his eyes open, half-expecting to see his breath in front of his face in the cold, half-wondering if he'd imagined opening his eyes in the first place as his barely-conscious state registered the total blackness surrounding him. Heart speeding slightly in his chest, the boy willed his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but to no avail.

As the confusion of his sudden wakefulness subsided, the memories of the day before assaulted him cruelly forcing him to sit up with a jolt. He fought back the fierce, fresh burning in his eyes – all the more painful in the near-freezing temperature of the room.

The salt of the now-dry tear-tracks stung his face. Daddy wouldn't be pleased to learn that his only son had cried himself to sleep that night. Dadd-his father, had always taught him that Pendragon men were strong, they didn't let something as petty as emotions blind them . . . he wondered if his father felt the same pain as him that night, and if he did, then how did he manage to stay strong against it? Perhaps his father was just naturally stronger than he would ever be, after all the man had managed to deal with the loss of his wife, the boys mother amiably well . . . although sometimes the boy couldn't help but feel that his father blamed him for that. He had never known his mother, she had lost her life bringing his into the world – maybe it was his fault after-all. Maybe this was his fault too, maybe he was the one who deserved to be . . .

The boy's thought process cut off abruptly as a slight movement caught his eye in the corner of the room. Slapping a hand over his mouth to prevent himself crying out in shock, lest his father hear – the boy quickly ducked his head under the pseudo-safety of his bed covers. His heart racing. After a few moments he calmed himself enough to berate himself for his actions. Surely at the age of nine years old he should be mature enough to face his fears. He was not weak. He was a Pendragon.

Slowly the covers lowered over a tangled mop of blonde hair, continuing their decent over wide blue eyes until finally they pooled back down at the boys waist. Scanning the room the boy breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that the movement was merely the slight shifting the curtains as his eyes finally became accustomed to the unusually thick cover of darkness. Calling himself all kinds of stupid the boy resolved to lock the window to keep the breeze out and then return to bed and try to forget about the event of the past 24 hours, at least for the night. Climbing out of bed he made his way over to the window as fast as he could without running. Reaching out toward the window the child was startled to find that it was already locked . . . so then where was the breeze coming from? It was too cold to be the usual drafts of the house.

It was then that he heard it, behind him, by his bedroom door there was the sound of . . . laughter? It was feminine, soft and faint but it was unmistakably there. Spinning around the admittedly frightened child came face-to-face with . . . nothing. There was no one there and the laughter had abated the second he turned to look for the source.

Breathing heavily the boy knew he should return to his bed, try to forget what had happened, the cruel trick this night and his own mind had played on him – or at least try to, but that's not what he did. You see a child's curiosity is a powerful thing and he couldn't help but wonder if it really was just his imagination or if there was something . . . more. Instead of returning to bed the boy found himself moving towards his bedroom door, hesitating for a moment with his hand on the handle before finally opening the barricade and escaping into the hallway beyond. Not entirely sure what he was doing, what he was looking for, the boy deftly and quietly made his way down past his father's bedroom and towards the stairs as if following some unique instinct that told him just where he needed to go. It seemed the instinct was correct as no sooner had he placed his foot on the top step than he heard the voice again. This time It spoke, unfamiliar words that seemed to draw him in with their melody like some morbid lullaby.

"Tywyllwch"*

He followed the voice further down the steps.

"O'r tywyllwch ddaw"**

He followed it to the bottom of the steps and down the hallway left of them.

"O'r tywyllwch ddaw y golau"***

He followed it to the door of the luxurious guest sitting room.

"Arthur"

He froze, hand still gripping the door handle.

"Arthur"

He released the handle as though it burned and quickly stepped back from the door. The spell was broken – hearing that voice say his own name had snapped him from the trance. Registering where he was Arthur began to panic. He knew what was beyond that door. He knew and he wasn't ready to face it. He didn't think he ever would be ready.

"Arthur"

The voice sounded impatient now – it wanted him to go inside. Why did it want him to go inside? He couldn't do it.

"Arthur"

No. Why was it doing this? He knew what had happened, but it wasn't his fault! It was an accident!

"Please, I didn't know. It wasn't my fault. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

The voice didn't listen to his furious whispers, it grew louder, more insistent. Now it seemed there were multiple voices, all variations of the first and they just wouldn't stop!

"Arthur" "tywyllwch" "Arthur" "o'r tywyllwch ddaw" "Arthur" "o'r tywyllwch ddaw y golau" "Arthur"

Arthur covered his ears, tried to block out the sound – but it didn't work, nothing worked.

"Arthur" "tywyllwch" "Arthur" "o'r tywyllwch ddaw" "Arthur" "o'r tywyllwch ddaw y golau" "Arthur"

Arthur grabbed the door handles and flung the barrier keeping him from the room open. Immediately the voices ceased.

Eyes fixed on the object ahead of him, Arthur tentatively entered the room and slowly made his way towards it. Finally reaching his destination the boy grasped the last of his courage and looked down upon the still body laying inside the open casket.

The girl – no, she hadn't been that for a long time – the woman, was beautiful even in death, the faint, respectfully dim lights placed behind the casket only served to highlight her beauty. She seemed to be merely sleeping, the sickly-grey pallor of death only just beginning to over-take her features. Perhaps this shouldn't have been as surprising as it was, after-all it was only mere hours ago that those cheeks held the rosie-pink flush of life and now here she was, on display, ready for her final goodbye before the body was removed for the funeral preparations. The police hadn't been involved, there was no need, Arthur had heard his father on the phone stating 'what was the point in investigating when I already know how she died'. When you had as much money and influence as the Pendragon's buying some time for your final farewell was all too easy. The casket his father had demanded be brought around by the under-takers was too big for the woman's frame, making her seem small and fragile in comparison when in life she was anything but. Arthur missed her already – if only he hadn't . . . but it was too late for what-if's now.

Holding back the tears once more Arthur reached out intending to brush a lock of hair from that pale face. As his hand neared the woman's cheek suddenly her hand shot out grabbing his wrist in a vice-like grip. This time there was no way he could hold back the scream as those lifeless eyes snapped open, and burned gold.

"Mae'r golau sy'n llosgi"****

TBC.

* Welsh for 'Darkness.'

** Welsh for 'From the darkness comes.'

*** Welsh for 'From the darkness comes the light.'

****Welsh for 'The light that burns.'