Soo... here's an incredibly gory one-shot I wrote.

Scared of the Dark

Mitch woke up alone.

"Jerome?" Mitch called out into the dark, his voice shaking slightly. A quick glance at the clock on the dresser showed it was four AM. The room was pitch black except for the dull, sickly green glow of the clock. Mitch knew he was holding his hands up but he couldn't see them. Feeling around blindly, Mitch felt the space beside him. Instead of finding Jerome, there was empty space. Pressing the pads of his fingers to the soft bed, Mitch couldn't detect the littlest bit of heat. Jerome was gone, and had been for a while.

"Jerome? Biggums? Where are you?" Mitch whispered. Finding the edge of the bed, Mitch swung his legs over it. His bare feet touched the cold floorboards and Mitch shivered. The room was freezing and shouldn't be this dark.

"Jerome? If this is a joke, it isn't funny!" Mitch chuckled nervously. "You know I'm scared of the dark!" Rubbing his arms, Mitch stood up and didn't move. The bed was behind him; his isle of safety in the darkness, the only thing he was really aware of. Everything was different in the dark. It wasn't his world anymore; it was the world of monsters under the bed, murders in the closet, claws clicking along the floorboards. Feeling around desperately, Mitch found the lamp and smiled. Light will help. Nothing's wrong, it's just my imagination. He flicked the switch and no light illuminated the room. Mitch flicked it again. Nothing.

"Come on!" Mitch hissed, flicking it over and over, a desperate tune. Click-Click. Click-Click. Click Click Click Click Click Click Click.

"Please!" Mitch whispered, shoulders sagging. The lamp was broken. Mitch turned and realised he was shaking violently. Mitch hugged himself and held back a sob. He was scared. There was no hiding it. Mitch took a step forward, his feet freezing from the cold floor. Mitch made his way to the wall and searched it, dragging his fingers along what should've been green paint but was now an inky black void. His fingers hit wooden trim and Mitch realised he'd found the door. Mitch moved his hands quickly and his hand bumped against the doorknob. Grabbing it, Mitch steeled himself and opened the door. It creaked loudly and Mitch laughed softly, nervous and scared as hell.

"Jerome?" he whispered into the hallway. Maybe Adam is awake. I'll go to his room. Stepping out into the hallway, Mitch could see faint, grey outlines. The walls, the doors lining said walls. Mitch pressed his fingers to the light switch and pressed it gently. There was a flicker and for a moment, the hall was lit up. That moment was enough to nearly make Mitch's head stop. There was a crack and the sound of clinking glass of the light bulb blowing as Mitch stumbled back, eyes wide, heart beating fast. In that moment of sudden light, Mitch had seen red. Red everywhere. Up the walls, over the floor. For the first time, Mitch registered the metallic smell in the air. Blood. Mitch took a few steps forward and his feet came into contact with wet, slimy liquid. Shaking, Mitch practically threw himself at Adam's door. He shoved it open.

"Adam! Adam, what's going on?" Mitch cried. Adam's room was as dark as his own and Mitch fumbled for the light switch. It was out as well. Growling in frustration, Mitch found Adam's dresser. Adam had often joked he kept a flashlight on top of his dresser in case the power went out because he would scream like a girl if he was stuck in the dark. Mitch felt hard plastic and picked it up. Finding a button, Mitch depressed it down. A flickering beam of weak light shot from the front of the flashlight and Mitch breathed a sigh of relief.

"Adam?" Mitch whispered, realising his friend hadn't replied when he'd burst in. Slowly, Mitch turned the flashlight around at the bed and what he saw made his knees weak. Adam was lying sprawled across the bed and was quite obviously dead. His shirt was off and his stomach was cut open, the flesh peeled back, revealing blood and organs inside. His right eye was missing and was now an empty socket filled with blood. His left eye was intact but dull and opened wide. His arms were broken and the bones jutted out of his wrists, slick and shiny with blood. The bed was covered in the red liquid and oozed along the floor. Mitch's breath quickened as he played the flashlight over the scene.

"No. No no no no no," Mitch said, voice rising in hysteria. "Jerome! Ty! Anyone!" Mitch ran out of the room and slipped, forgetting the puddle of blood in the hall. He fell heavily and cried out in horror. He rose shakily, blood up his arms and over his hands and knees and feet.

"Anyone!" Mitch yelled. Mitch ran and desperately opened the door to the room Ty shared with Jason. Jason was lying against the wall, head tilted unnaturally to the side, helmet off. He seemed relatively unscathed, but Ty was a different matter. He was stuck on the wall, wrists above him, head tilted forward. Further inspection revealed knifes driven through his wrists, holding him up, and blood dripped from his head. Mitch weakly walked up to him and pushed his head up, gasping in shock and pain for his friends and fear. Both eyes had been gouged out and from his empty eye sockets, he'd been cut down to the middle of his cheeks, effectively splitting open his face. His neck had been slit, a wide gaping smile of red. Dropping Ty's head and stumbling back, a scream bubbling in his throat, Mitch ran out, unable to scream, tears streaming down his face. He couldn't check his other friend's room. Mitch shot down the stairs but slipped on the last step, bloody feet sending him to the floor. His head cracked on the step and Mitch let out a sob.

"No! No no no no no no no they're all dead they can't be dead no no no no!" he screamed, choking on his tears. He scrambled up and shifted the flashlight across the living room. He saw people sitting on the couch and nearly cried with relief.

"Guys! What the hell is going on?" Mitch said, rushing over. They didn't reply and fear was growing in Mitch's chest as he recognised the two.

"Quentin? Ian?" Mitch whispered. He walked around the other side of the chest and let out a long, horrible wail. Some of Quentin's scales had been ripped off and his fingers had been cut off. His mouth was open and gaping and his tongue was missing. His eyes were wide and he was silently screaming at whatever he had faced before he'd died. Ian was gazing at nothing, his jaw cut out and still dripping blood, his shirt slashed open and words carved into his chest:

YOU MADE A MISTAKE

Shaking, Mitch reeled back held the flashlight to his chest.

"Jerome? Anyone! Is anyone alive?" Mitch yelled into the darkness of the room, voice shaking. Mitch angrily wiped away his tears. "Who did this? Show your face, monster!" A low chuckle echoed through the room and Mitch backed up slowly, shoulders shaking, tears continuously falling, fear rising in his chest.

Mitch realised he was up against the back door. His hand groped blindly and his hand closed around the doorknob.

"Who's there?" Mitch yelled. The darkness was closing in on him. The room was pitch black and the laughter was building from somewhere across the room. Mitch couldn't take it. He twisted the knob and the door opened behind him. Mitch spun around and ran out into the backyard before skidding to an abrupt halt. He dropped the flashlight and stared in horror.

"No!" Mitch screamed. Jerome was speared on the tree, the gnarled branch protruding through his chest. Jerome's lips were peeled back in a snarl, fangs showing, and blood clumped in his fur. A hand touched Mitch's shoulder and he whirled away, spinning around quickly and holding up his hands. His arms dropped and he stared numbly.

"S… Seto?" Mitch whispered, dumbfounded. Seto smiled devilishly, purple and silver magic swirling around him.

"Do you like it?" he asked. It dawned on him then that only one person he knew had the power to kill his friends in such a gruesome way, and that power was magical.

"You did it," Mitch gasped, voice shaking.

"You made a mistake, Mitch," Seto hissed. "You shouldn't have kicked me out. Team Crafted was all I had, you know. And you ripped it away from me without a care in the fricking world."

"I… I thought…" Mitch trailed off. Seto smiled.

"What are you scared off, Mitch?" Seto asked, tilting his head to the side.

"The dark," Mitch whispered listlessly. He didn't know anymore. His friends and lover were dead and his former friend was before him after killing each and everyone one of them. Seto grinned.

"The dark? How childish," he said. "Good thing it's night." Mitch shivered. He was right: it was pitch black in the backyard except for the flash light that was shining up at Jerome. With a crack, the flashlight went out and Mitch began to rise up into the air. He kicked feebly, weak.

"Stop it," Mitch whispered. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Too late," Seto hissed.

"I'm sorry," Mitch pleaded.

"It's too late for sorry," Seto yelled furiously, insanity tinging his voice. "This will teach you a lesson."

"Seto-"

"The night belongs to monsters," Seto growled. Pressure began to build in Mitch's neck as Seto stared intensely at it, magic swirling and whipping violently around him. "You were right to fear it."

Snap.

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