A/N: This was written pre-Town of Salem even being on Fanfiction... so, no hate, 'kay?

It's an old wives tale that spirits could come back to the living world as floating wisps or transparent figures. Honestly, people would claim that they had seen these little orbs in videos or of their long deceased grandparents standing over their beds the first time they were about to make love as teenagers. Illusions, guilt that manifested into seeing these things, or even just silly mess ups on the photo themselves.

Very few people actually believed her when she told them this. They all threw up their "proof" in her face and demanded that she explain why they heard the voices of their mother whisper something to them in the middle of the night, always rolling their eyes when she did give them an explanation. Sometimes things could be logically explained.

It sounded ironic coming from a woman whose whole livelihood came from speaking to those who had died. But she'd always been a logical person, even as a young child she demanded a proper reason for it. Most people with her "gift" (as her mother claimed, it was more like a curse) had thought like this, as well as they should. "Ghost" (it sounded like a slur, if she had to be honest) couldn't throw a grandfather clock at someone or take possession of some poor person.

No, they were harmless. A bit moody and depressed, but completely harmless.

All they ever seemed to really need was someone to listen to their woes when they were alive and help them forgive (be forgiven) so they can properly move on. She never knew how exactly they were able to leave, or if they were actually completely fully at peace when they left her. It was rather hard to fully investigate someone when most people tried to bury their past troubles once they died.

She couldn't exactly tell anyone how she had managed to talk to them though. No ouija board was typically needed, or a magic crystal ball, or even a personal possession that meant dear to them. She just... spoke and they answered. They spoke clear as day, like they were speaking to her face to face. There wasn't any way of knowing where they were, or if they were in the same place as her, but she could always hear them.

Almost like talking to herself, she used to muse. Voices just talked back to her.

He couldn't describe what it was that had drawn him out, but before he'd realized, he'd been at the graveyard, fumbling around as he tried to walk between rows of headstones. It was dark, pitch black, night sky rippling like a metallic sheet, not a star in sight, and it had only grown more and more strange. The longer he stayed outside, alone, the worse the sights got. Vivid flashes of little more than lights and red, striking shades of crimson and scarlet that practically burned the inside of his eyelids.

For too long, he thought, he'd had no idea in the faintest as to what was going on. Bits and pieces of fuzzy memories that all seemed to blend together, crammed in and strung out, led to no real semblance of anything. He ran and ran and tried to purge his hands of the red that stained them, but nothing ever seemed to work. It was more chaos, unending sorrow that killed his ears with blood and the rapid beating of his own heart.

Things could be restructured over time- he'd hoped it would be the same for his memory. But not long after the flashes, the heat, the bloody fragments of his already fragile mentality, he'd found himself overwhelmed, entirely too out of place, entirely too shaken in a reality beyond his comprehension. He found himself at an ungodly hour, outside, pounding on the door of a house, non stop. He waited, unsure of what he was waiting for, all he knew was that he needed shelter, needed to hide and needed to do it fast or else they'd be back, words ripping into his skin like the claws of vultures…!

A light flickered inside the house, the amnesiac's teeth working frantically against the skin of his lower lip, gnawing and peeling it away, fervently distressed. He reached his hand up to knock again, other arm pulling his jacket around his weak frame with unease. He needed… he needed… warmth. Safety. Comfort. Silence.

Silence, why, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that it was never silent, not anymore, and his brains had been practically rotting from the unending torment of whispers and noise pouring through his head. Hours on end, he'd sit and walk and run and flinch and yell and hit… and nothing happened, the words just grew more sinister, the whispers more frantic. He could practically feel them pressing down on his chest, like the weight of an impossibly great sword against his bare throat…

The door opened, just a tad, and he could barely think before the words were running past his lips. "Please, they're out here and I don't want to listen to them, please, you've got to help me, I don't know what they want from me, I'm so cold, let me in, please, I don't want to die, I just want to know, I don't understand them, why won't they shut up-!" Whywhywhy?

Shut...up.

Please!

Silence. Silence!

People banging at her doors at all hours of the night wasn't unusual. It was far from the first time that she had someone claiming that they were being followed by something. She briefly mused the idea of moving homes with the sheriff.

Getting up from her bed, she quickly slide on a small pink robe and slippers and made her way downstairs. The person continued to scream loudly outside, like a mewing cat in heat. Her brow furrowed in annoyance as she grabbed a candlestick from the table next to the door.

"Now.. what seems to be the problem," she huffs once she opens the door. Suddenly, she nearly drops the candle in shock once she meets eyes with the loud intruder. While she was used to the occasional person with a disgruntled appearance, she was not used to someone looking like they were on the verge of death.

Eyes bloodshot, skin pale as the snow outside, and barely any clothes to keep someone warm in the cold outside. Typically she would refer them to the "hospital" (i.e. the local doctor homes) or the jail, but she didn't think they'd last long enough for this to happen. She'd really hate herself if something were to happen to them when she sent them away, but she couldn't be sure if they were safe..

Hissing back any form of regret, she opened the door further. "Come in. Are you okay? That can't be warm is it, sweetie? Let's get you some tea."

He didn't know whether it was relief or fear that lead him to follow the woman into the comfort of her small house- it was quaint, warm, entirely different than what he was normally used to. These days he barely even saw the inside of a house, always outside, unwanted by the doctor who had so kindly taken him in, finding him to be a burden as time went on. She'd always tell him that she knew his uses- 'and they are few.'

He wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up here, at the door of this woman in particular, and the aching throb in his skull was accompanied by a slew of whispers screaming at him that she was dangerous, that he shouldn't trust her, not even for a second… They kept dragging him, forcing his eyes to wander about the room, settling on a small ritual knife to the left of a mantle.

Don't you want to live? Don't you want to remember? Take the knife and drive it into her chest. It's simple, dear- you'll know, you'll remember. Haven't you been listening? Haven't you been watching? The red, the red, the blood, it's all you've ever dreamed of. Kill her, and you'll see. Kill her, and everything you've ever wanted to know… you'll understand. Kill her, or kill yourself.

He quickly reached up a hand to brush away the tears from his frozen eyelids, already thick with exhaustion, stress. He heard sounds, rustling from in the other room, but he couldn't bring himself to move… his eyes moved, staying trained on two slim feet, covered only by socks, no shoes in sight. He'd barely noticed the grating pain of glass that was embedded in his heel; he must have run here, must've forgotten…

Everything was fading quicker and quicker, and these days there was little time for thinking and all too much time for reaction. He glanced up, his arms braced around his trembling, thin shoulders as he tried to hold back a sudden sob that threatened to slip from his lips as one particularly nasty voice screeched in his ear. His body caved in on itself, back hitting a wall as he trembled, the amnesiac's body slowly sliding down the wall until it met with the ground.

He shuddered, trembled… it was ever so painful...

Perhaps she had made a mistake with letting him in.

It might've made more sense to send the poor child to the doctors- or the sheriff's home to find out quite a bit faster what kind of drugs he was on.

Whatever it was, he had a bad reaction to it. Almost like a seizure, his body laid twitching on the carpet floor and disgusting moans escape from his lips. He almost looked like a wild animal, the way he looked and the sounds he was making reminded her of a dog she used to have as a child- he had gotten rather sick, constantly howling in pain and often dazed and confused, and they had to put him down.

This time though, she doubted she'd be able to put the dog down.

"Alright, kid, let's get you on the couch.." she proceeded to bend down, locking her arms with his shoulders and dragging him onto the couch. Were you supposed to move people having a seizure, or were you supposed to leave them alone and put something in their mouth so they wouldn't hurt themselves? Hesitating, she choose the best course being to letting him lay on the couch.

It was too late in the evening to call over either of them over to look after him, and she doubted that he'd hurt her in any way.. for tonight at least.

The medium placed the tea next to his body, sitting on the end on the couch where his head continued to whimper in pain and grimace at her touch. Her heart sank, she hated when she saw that the living was suffering. All their pains and sufferings just carried into the next life- something they didn't deserve, that anyone deserved.

"You poor dear," she caressed his cheeks, noticing how cold and pale his skin was. A pale blush was the only colour on his face, which frightened the medium. How cold he must be in those clothes. They were completely useless for the near blizzard level outside.. how long had he been outside- was he homeless?

He certainly had the body for it- almost at a dangerous level of skinniness. His arms almost like sticks, ribs tracing his sides, and hands almost skeleton like. His eyes were in almost scary shade of red- like he hadn't slept in whoknowshowlong, with dark shadows almost begging for sleep.

She had pitied him.

It's a sudden cacophony of voices, meshing together in the most aggravating way, his head buried, hands clasped over his ears as he rolled to one side, trying desperately to ignore them. He couldn't help the tiny, muted whimpers that would leave his mouth, eyes shut tightly as though it could erase everything around him, help him drift away…

Look at you, you pitiful thing.

I almost feel bad for you.

Spineless, worthless, weak little boy.

Nobody to care, nobody to notice…

Dumb as a brick, that one.

Why don't you do us a favor? That rope necklace, the one in the town square? Wouldn't it look so lovely around your neck? Wouldn't you just love to swing back and forth and back and forth? You could be pretty! So pretty, so beautiful to their eyes…

Or the knife? Red, red, red, such a glorious red! Carnelian, scarlet, alzarin- let it out from your wrists! It's your favorite color, innit?

"S-shut… pl-please… shut up… go away… GO AWAY!" His voice continued to escalate in volume, sitting forward abruptly and tumbling off of the couch where the Medium had let him rest, his head smacking against the floor. He couldn't lose anything else, though, not now- had nothing to lose, nothing, nothing…

Thin, shaky breaths left his body, so sharp he could see them in the air. He wrapped arms around himself, trembling, back hitting the base of the couch where it was situated against the floor, tugging knees up to his chest…

He barely noticed the way the medium had leapt back, abruptly, startled at his sudden movement, his frantic shouting… her hair was a mess, and she was looking at him in obvious fright. The amnesiac couldn't help the ugly groan that came from his throat as she reached a hand out to him, tried to help him back to his feet.

"T-thank you," he said, practically a whisper. "I'm sorry… so sorry… please, I- I don't know what to do…" He looked up to her, eyes wide, a stray tear leaking down, rolling over icy white cheeks.

She hates you.

She wants you to die, wants to kick you out in the cold, watch you squirm like a dog.

She's too good for something like you. Sickly, desperate… filthy little lunatic.

They know you've lost your mind. Everyone knows. Everyone watches. Everyone wants you to suffer. They know something like you doesn't deserve to be breathing.

Tell her. Tell her now. Let her do it.

"You… y-you can help me…" he choked out, reaching out to her with a trembling hand. "You can make them… shut up… please…"

She had four possible ideas on what he meant.

The first one being that he was crazy- delusional, bipolar, psychotic, "happy stabber" type of crazy. Very likely as of right now- she had to remind herself to lock away all her knives. (Even if it turned out this wasn't it, just to be safe.)

Second one- he was a medium just like her. Perhaps people get them later in life, unlike her who had always had it since they were born, and have only been surrounded by more malicious spirits. This could be it- it's always scary when you're suddenly start experiencing and hearing things for the first time and no one has anyway of telling you how to make them stop- or call you downright crazy.

Her third idea was.. probably more realistic, but she wanted was hoping the previous one was believe truer than this one because this one wasn't as fun to make up. He was suffering from the side effects of either a drug or medication.

And her fourth being.. well, she didn't have a fourth one yet but she was still looking for it.

"W-what's wrong with you..?"

That probably wasn't the best choice of words- "what are you on" or "are you insane, you moody little bitch?" were probably worse. She didn't really know what to say.

The look in his eye was scary, like a wild animal caught and trapped by a predator and begging for it's life to be spared, fighting for it's final few moments, completely unpredictable and dangerous if she wasn't careful.

Personally, she couldn't see herself winning against a fight between her and the boy. Even if most of his weight was bone, he looked a bit heavier and quite taller than her. He looked like the type to use his fingers to gouge out her eyeballs and rip out her tongue, given the chance, too.

It wasn't the best idea to get on his nerves- she had to be careful and delicate to what she says. "I-I mean- what can I help you with?

She felt cold. Very cold. Like someone had just thrown her outside in her robe and she could feel shivers consistently going down her back and she kept sniffling back cold shakes.

Thoughts of running out now, locking herself in the kitchen and calling the jailor or sheriff, and hoping they take him and lock him up forever run through her mind like a series of film that has been put on repeat. And it amount of rather stupid, impulsive ideas that would surely fuck her over that she has in her mind, burns her deeply.

She was scared. Perhaps more scared than him?

"Are you hurt?" Her lips felt dry, and her voice was a bit high. "D-Do you need me to call someone? I mean, are you on some- uh, have you taken- are you okay?"

What is she talking about? He thought to himself, utterly confused as he looked up at the woman, his eyes zoning in and out from the scene before him. The voices were impossibly loud, all but screaming in his ears, and he shook, rapidly, trying to get them out, to get them to leave him alone-! He'd pressed his head down on the floor, ears covered by thin hands as he hit it, again and again, trying to force them out- maybe with enough force they'd leave, maybe they'd just disappear-

"I w-want them out," the amnesiac says, loudly, unable to look at her. "I want them out!"

His hand hesitantly moves away from his head, to fumble for the medium's leg, grasping hold of it as he tried to meet her eyes with his own, but his own were so hazy… he felt foggy, like he wanted to pass out, couldn't even feel anything else. He just wanted… just wanted something, someone to take it away, make them leave…

The medium begins to speak again, her voice impossible to make out, but slowly, he hears the screams begin to fade, until they're merely voices, talking level and…

"K-keep talking. Please." He says, because it seems like they quiet at other sounds, at other voices. They can't scream, can't destroy, not while she's here- he just wants her to talk, he thinks, as he clings to her leg, pressing his head against her shin.

He can't explain the sudden feeling that swells in his chest as she reaches down, her hand brushing over his hair, looking down to him with an expression he can't explain… he thinks she seems nice… nicer than the doctor had been, and he doesn't want to go back there, doesn't want to be locked up…

"D-don't lock me away," he chokes out, voice cracking as he looks up to her, eyes wide.

So, she hadn't deleted any of the theories- if anything, she had confirmed them more or less... Was it safe to stay around him anymore?

She felt wrong for thinking this was about him. After all, she was probably thought of the same way growing up. Telling other children that she could hear the mournful cries of their loved ones wasn't the best way to try and get friends- it squandered any way for her to build a reputation or get the chance to even do so once the others went around and made sure that the brunette was was crazy.

"I-I won't," she clears her throat, licking her lips. Her hands felt clamp and her cheeks were a bright red. Ignoring his outburst, he seemed... sweet? That wasn't really the right words to describe him. "I promise.."

Keep talking.

"H-how old are you?"

Yeah, that was a good question. Completely overrated and used way too much, but it was a question.

She didn't wait for him to answer. "W-we should change your," her nails dug into her hand and she cringed. "I mean.. do you want to change out of that?"

Why was so she anxious and stuttering? She'd been around families that were actually about to hurt her for uncovering some painful family secret and she didn't even blink... but around him- she could actually taste blood coming from her lips as she tried to move farther away from him.

He was so much skinnier than her- even if he tried something, she might've been able to overpower him. Maybe she'd at least be able to lock him in the room..

No- that would be wrong. Maybe he wasn't dangerous, a bit eccentric and jumpy, but he seemed harmless… for the most part.

"Come here," she takes his hand into hers. They felt so warm compared to the rest of his body. "H-here, please. Let me help you change out of your clothes."

Trust. Trust was a beautiful thing, right? She wanted to believe he could trust her.

"I just… j-just want it to stop. Make them stop. Please- I… they're quieter. With you. H-help me?" He doesn't know why he's saying this, why the words seem to be spilling out from his lips without the faintest recollection of what he's saying, but it's enough that he thinks he makes sense, wants her to understand, needs it so desperately-

She made it quiet. They didn't want to talk. It's enough that, almost thoughtlessly, he pulls himself closer to the medium, her hand so small in size compared to his, and yet it was so much warmer… there was something, something warm and welcoming and almost tranquil about her. He liked her. Almost wanted to stay here…

When the words finally catch up with him, the amnesiac looks up to her, his eyes widening almost completely when he realizes the expression in her eyes… it's care mixed with fear, something foreign mixed with something familiar, and it's enough to make a gasp leave his throat as he lets his eyes fall back on the ground.

"Y-you don't… have to be scared of me," he adds, finally, hoping it's enough to calm her for now, because he could feel how sticky her hand was with sweat… but even then, knowing that only made him squeeze it tighter, like a lifeline to reality, one that he was so scared of losing… he didn't want to have to go back. It was… cold, there. In the hospital. So cold he barely felt human. It was like ice had taken over everything...

Still, he neglects the thoughts when the medium gives his hand a tug and pulls him after her down the hallway, barely looking at anything that lined the walls or the doors, only feeling the sudden presence of warmth that wasn't there earlier. The amnesiac swallows, lets out a short breath as he finally manages to tack on a soft, "Thank… thank you."

He wants to ask for her name, but he thinks it might be rude- to ask when he has nothing to give in return. Hell, he wasn't even sure he had a name, in all honesty- people would just call him the amnesiac, or… crazy, loony, insane… those words threw him off. Made him angry. Made the voices angry, made them want to call for blood and slice and stab and rip until the town was nothing more than a pile of mangled bodies. Corpses.

Almost unnoticeable, a smile plays across the young man's thin features at the thought. Wrong, maybe… but satisfying? Maybe the voices weren't all bad… at times. At times they weren't. But he didn't want…

He didn't want to hurt the medium. He couldn't.