A/N: Well, after being fantastically flamed a few weeks ago on my writing skills for this story, I sat down, chortled for a bit at the ridiculousness of such a flame, promptly removed it and started to re-write this story. Because honestly, I was a newly-turned fourteen-year old when I wrote this story the first time round. I'm seventeen now, and I can safely say that I think my writing skills are much, much better than they were the first time I wrote this. So, to that rather fantastic flamer, thank you for making me laugh so much and, next time, do bother to check both the published date as well as the date of birth of the author and have the grace to at least understand that fourteen year old girls aren't, naturally, brilliant mind-boggling writers. Lovely knowing you though!
I'm starting to rewrite this, and I'll publish all chapters up at once as well as a notification chapter to those readers who read this four years ago just to let you know it's been rewritten. It may take a while for this to be released; I'm sitting AS-Level exams in a few weeks, after which I plan to stew in laziness until mid-August when I get my results back and begin revising for the next set of exams. Have fun re-reading!

Demyx

"Larxene!" The voice, clear and almost whining, echoed down the corridors of the large house until it reached the ears of a sneaky, cackling little girl. "I told you to get to bed an hour ago! I need to do my coursework and I can't do that if you're playing another game of hide and seek!" The voice rose in volume until its owner entered the spacious living room and, with speed only a sportsman could have, dashed behind the plush settee to grab the laughing child.

"I don't want to go to sleep, you're boring!" Popcorn was tugged from the boy's hair and thrown back into his face as Larxene kicked and struggled, but the boy simply shifted her in his arms and carried her towards the nearest staircase.

"Mhmm, of course, incredibly boring, that's why I'm your favourite babysitter." The boy tossed her a cheeky grin, moving his head out of the way of a certain slap to the face as they ascended the stairs.

"You are. I hope you get murdered by that sitter killer!" Larxene was shifted again as a look of understanding passed across the boy's face.

"Aha! So that's why you won't go to sleep! You're scared of the big baddie. Well, you shouldn't have watched that film with me, should you? I bet you're scared in case poor old me gets killed whilst you and Sora sleep soundly in your beds."

"No. You're a dummy, Demyx. Dummy Dem!" Larxene stopped struggling once Demyx reached the landing of the third floor, and once she was planted on the floor she turned to face him. He tapped her on the nose with his finger before laughing at the pouting child.

"Well, if I'm such a dummy, you can go and get ready for bed on your own then. I'm sure Sora's nightlight can guide you to your room. Off you trot." Demyx watched as Larxene triumphantly walked down the dark corridor of the large house without a single hint of fear in her mind, and once he saw the door to her shared room with her twin brother, he moved back down the stairs.

Larxene and Sora were both very young, at only five years old, and were the twin children of an incredibly rich scientist. Vexen Clesova and his wife Aerith had raised their children strictly but lovingly (on Aerith's part, at the very least) and yet the two children couldn't have been more different. Larxene fancied herself fearless and would proudly beat up anyone who dared to challenge her. Sora, on the other hand, was hyperactive but preferred to do as he was told and only fight back against his sister when it was needed.

Demyx sighed, glancing into a mirror in the hallway as he passed it. His vivid, unusual aqua eyes stared back at him, rimmed with dark circles that proved just how tired the young man was, and his murky blond hair was filled with popcorn seeds from Larxene's earlier fit of anger when he had switched off When a Stranger Calls due to it getting a bit too scary for the five year old. After all, he was seventeen and he'd been scared out of his wits!

Snapped from his thoughts by a loud ringing, Demyx darted to the main living room and stared down at his mobile phone as it belted out a bell tune for the entire house to hear. Cautiously, Demyx slid the phone up and pressed it to his ear.

"Hello?" He suddenly felt incredibly stupid at answering a Withheld number when heavy breathing met his ear.

"Have… you checked the children?" A sudden urge to vomit overcame Demyx as his heart skipped several beats in his chest and, with a steady yet terrified gulp, Demyx answered.

"Who's this?" His voice, usually so clear, came out like a muffled squeak. A moment later, just before he was about to start screaming the large house down, a laugh resounded down the phone along with a cackle of delight.

"Oh man, I can just see your face right now, I just, oh god, I wish I could see your face right now!" Fuming, and far from impressed, Demyx glared out the window and pressed the phone into his ear.

"Axel! Don't ring me again tonight, or I'll take your lighters from you again you stupid pyromaniac!" The phone was slid shut with more force that strictly necessary, and thrown across the room in annoyance. With a huff of despair, Demyx rooted around for his bag and, once found, decided to settle with some coursework.

The house creaked in the darkness, and somewhere upstairs Demyx could have sworn he heard a window slide open. With only a slight bout of fear, he shrugged it off and returned to his work. The house was relatively old and, despite being modernised inside, still made terrifying creaks throughout the night, and Demyx had become more than used to it. He knew every nook and cranny of the large house, had found passageways and trap doors in the numerous rooms and could utilise them to his advantage if attempting to play hide and seek with Sora and Larxene. The house was huge, containing a reception, an entrance hall, two conservatories, two offices, a laboratory, four living rooms, a dining hall, five bedrooms and a ballroom, all spread over three floors, along with the usual bathroom and kitchens. And that wasn't including the guest house a few hundred metres from the main house.

An hour later, with a heavy sigh, Demyx folded his coursework into two and unceremoniously dumped it into his College bag. As he tossed his bag back onto the floor, he jumped in terror at the sight of his mobile phone on the table. Immediately, the hairs on the back of his neck rose and his eyes darted to the clock in the room. Half twelve in the morning. He'd been so engrossed in his work that he hadn't noticed someone placing his mobile onto the table. It gave him chills to know that someone could be so quiet.

The moment he reached for it, it chimed loudly with the sound known to Demyx as an unrecognised number. Fearfully, and wondering if it was Axel playing some sort of trick on him again, Demyx slid it up once more and pressed it gently to his ear.

"Hello?" No response other than heavy breathing. "Axel, if this is you, I swear to god your life-" The call ended halfway through Demyx's sentence, and with a renewed terror he switched off the lights and moved into the darkest corner of the room, staring at the entrance to the living room. The large bay windows flooded moonlight into the room, and the doorway and the hallway outside could be clearly seen from where he was standing.

Minutes passed, and after ten minutes and no sounds other than the usual creaking of the house, Demyx shrugged the call off as a practical joke from Axel, and made his way through the house to the kitchens. He'd barely managed to open the door to the brightly lit kitchen before all the lights in the house went out in time with a particularly harsh gust of wind that rattled the window panes in the kitchen. Demyx didn't even need to think of the cliché of the situation before, as he dared to guess would happen, his phone rang once more.

"Hello?" More heavy breathing came from the other end, and then-

"Have you checked the children?" Demyx nearly dropped the phone then and there in sheer terror. He knew, almost immediately, that it wasn't Axel on the other end of the line. For one, Axel had no where near as deep a voice as that, even if he'd tried extremely hard to put it on. And second, the accent wasn't Axel's. It sounded closer to American, although Demyx couldn't place where in America the accent seemed to come from. The call cut off once more, and in a panicked haze Demyx grabbed a knife from a drawer and fled up the stairs. Visions of the children dead in their beds flashed through his mind, and only once he had practically stormed into their room and checked that they were definitely safe did he allow his breathing to calm. He shut the door to their room with a hysterical laugh, and smiled at the warm glow of Sora's nightlight peeking out under the door.

Proceeding to check every inch of the house with the knife bared before him, Demyx felt the fear and shock slowly drain from him, and after using the unused passage from the ballroom to the living room, he collapsed onto the couch with a bout of hysterical giggles. The knife slipped from his hand to the floor, and Demyx couldn't be bothered to pick it up lest he collapse from the effort.

The hairs on his neck shot back up and adrenaline pumped back through his body, however, at the sound of his mobile ringing yet again.

"You didn't find me, did you?" The voice on the other end spoke slowly, tauntingly, and Demyx could practically hear the smirk on the man's face.

"Who are you?" Demyx's voice was little more than a frightened squeak, and he felt his stomach drop as the too-familiar beep beep beep of the call ending entered his ears once more. He froze in fear when, not a moment later, the mobile was plucked from his hand where it was being held against his ear, and he gulped loudly in the silence of the room. Turning slowly, all colour drained from his tanned face when he locked his aqua eyes with the crazed midnight-blue ones of a man only a few years older than himself. But the eyes weren't what worried him.

It was the extremely large, previously discarded by himself, kitchen knife held threateningly towards him that caused his heart to skip a beat.