A/N: So I was … chatting … to some friends (read: lunatics) online and it suddenly struck me that I had forgotten to post this (incredibly short) piece I had planned to put up for Halloween. So, here you go people – enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the monsters in my head and a pretty pen sent to me by a member of my online 'ohana.


"Can't you hear him out there?" Danny hissed, eyes wide with terror. "That incessant squeaking ... squeak, squeak, squeak ... it's the tricycle ... that blood-red tricycle!"

"For heavens sake, Danny - it's just a kid on a trike, not the devil incarnate!" Steve scrubbed his hands over his face as his partner's rant cranked up a notch, the smaller man's hands practically windmilling in emphasis as he anxiously paced a trench into the stone-tiled floor.

"It's not 'just a kid on a trike', Steven. It's not. He's driving that thing round and round and round in circles. It's like he's whipping up some sort of vortex into an alternate realm or something ... or ... or a black hole that'll suck us all directly to hell. Do not pass Go!, do not collect two hundred bucks!"

"Now you're just being ridiculous."

"Am I? Am I really? I bet if you looked hard enough you'd be able to see the six six six marked on his skin. Everything only started going to shit after he showed up - and where the hell did he even come from, huh? Just 'poof' suddenly appeared out there ... immediately after the priest - Father Brennan, I might add - said ..."

"Danny stop! Just ... stop. Please."

Danny laughed. That stressed little giggle he does when he's nervous. At any other time it'd be cute, but right then? In the small ante-room of the chapel with the fuck-off thick wooden door that was firmly wedged into the frame and seemingly bolted from the outside? Right then it was an omen - not the kind he was freaking out about, mind you. Not the kind with the weird deaths and prophetic photographs and strange daggers. No. The kind of forewarning of his impending meltdown into a blubbering fool, strangled by fear and the oppression of claustrophobia. Not that he could see it himself. He was blinded by panic and imprinting of childhood fears. Steve saw it though. He knew. He knew and he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting patiently. Tolerating Danny's ridiculous outbursts about the antichrist on a tricycle. Of course, the fact that the child's mother had called him by name and asked him to wait with the other children while she conducted her business ... and the fact that that name had been Damien? Well that was neither here nor there.


A/N: Ho`ailona Translates to: sign; symbol; portent.