A/N: I want to apologise for how short this is, it was written from a prompt I received on my tumblr a while ago. I've planned out nine more chapters for it which will be much longer, but I don't know how often I'll be updating, since I have one long ongoing fic (see in my bio) that takes up a lot of time (it's updated every week if you'd like to check it out!) However, this story is something I'm quite excited about, so I'd like to update it as often as possible. Once again, the later chapters will be much longer, and if you liked it leave a review and let me know your thoughts! :D
He has always been able to see them. The creatures, hovering at the edge of his vision, haunting flickers of another world. They have no bodies- are simply crimson patchworks of veins, a strange woven mess of blood and other fluids he'd rather not think about. Lukas knows it's not normal. He knows no one else can see these 'things'. But that doesn't stop him from thinking about them obsessively, wishing he was rid of them and wanting to know just what they are at the same time. They thrive on shadow, on all the dark spaces of his little flat, so Lukas walks. Down roads, past shops, through parks and playgrounds, everywhere the sun touches. It is only at night that the creatures truly torment him. The second he closes his eyes they are there, clamouring behind his eyelids, a constant crimson nightmare. Lukas never sleeps well. Sometimes, when it is especially bad, he throws caution to the wind and ventures outside again. After a few midnight jaunts the cold does not bite at him so much. And yet, often he feels as though he is going mad. No psychiatrist would believe him, none of the almost-friends he sees every day at his safe little accountant's office. So Lukas smiles at the world, and pretends the one in his head is not real. Not going to kill him.
Today is Saturday- the worst day, meaning Lukas has a whole forty-eight hours to spend with his demons, when during the week he is preoccupied by spreadsheets full of numbers. Today he decides to walk through the town centre. It is a riot of activity, bustling crowds of pedestrians and the roar of traffic filling the air, but all that helps to suppress the creatures. Lukas spends much longer than he should in the park. The air there is cool, tucked away from the city's cacophony, and he can sit reading a book for as long as he likes. But dusk arrives with irksome speed. Lukas rises, joints creaking from being still for so long. His eyes flicker immediately to the tree in front of him. Its leaves cast thousands of small shadows, each one concealing a red web of horrors, yet Lukas cannot tear his gaze away. He stares, half-fascinated and half-repulsed. If he squints they become less demonlike. Strange instead, almost beautiful with their delicate scarlet skins. He tucks the book into his jacket and begins the journey home.
There is a road Lukas likes to walk down, mainly because it is not shadowed in the evening like all the others. But the concrete is a work of art. It is covered by bright chalk drawings, everything from childish scribbles to intricate patterns. There are messages, declarations of love, doodles and cartoons, yet another feature of the cheerful world Lukas has never quite belonged to. He longs to draw something himself- but what? All that springs to mind are his creatures. Shaking his head, he continues down past the drawings. But something stops him in his tracks. There is someone right at the end, knelt on the pavement, hands sketching out a red blur. Lukas moves forward despite himself. The artist is a young man with a shock of dark blond hair, sleeves rolled to his elbows and forearms dusted with chalk. He draws well, every stroke of the chalk having a purpose to his creation.
'That's good-' begins Lukas. And then he stops dead. Drawn on the pavement, accurate to the millimetre, are the petrifying demons of his mind. Just seconds ago he was marvelling at the artist's skill. Now he finds himself cursing it.
'You- you can see them too?' Lukas blurts out. He slaps a hand to his mouth, but the damage is already done.
'What do you mean?' says the artist, climbing slowly to his feet. He holds a stick of chalk in each hand- one red, one white.
'The creatures,' stammers Lukas. 'Those...things.' He gestures at the drawings. Just as it had been serious moments ago, the young man's face breaks into a wide grin, and he attempts to siphon off some of the chalk with a tissue.
'This is great!' he enthuses. Lukas did not expect that to be his first reaction, but he supposes it could have been much worse. 'All my life I've thought I was mad- probably true- but now there's someone else!' The grin is so wide, so sincere that Lukas cannot help smiling too. 'What's your name? I'm Mathias.'
'Lukas,' he replies, shaking a hand smooth with chalk residue. His heart is acting strangely, fluttering one moment and slowing the next. I'm not mad. I'm not mad. The revelation is so liberating, so beautiful, that Lukas could have jumped about and shouted like a child. 'Do you draw here every day?' Mathias' eyes catch his own. They are a light, clear blue, like the summer sky- a pleasant colour. Lukas' own are deep and dark as an ocean.
'Mostly,' replies Mathias, waving a hand back at the pavement. It is obvious now- some of the dragons and mermaids and fairies have his style, the soft shading and sharp, distinct lines that first captivated Lukas. 'My brother's kid loves it, and so do a load of his friends, so I get dragged here a lot.' He has a brother. A nephew. A normal life. Lukas swallows, trying to forget his gloomy little flat and the horrors within that haunt him every night. 'But this is different.' Mathias becomes serious again. 'I'm an artist- when I want to draw something, I won't rest until I've done it. That's what happened with our creatures.' His grin returns, though more wry and subdued.
'What do you think they are?' Lukas dares to ask. His own suspicions are dark ones- demons, devils, spirits sent to torment him for no apparent reason.
'Honestly? I have no idea. But I'd like to know.' They exchange nods. Something is itching in the back of his mind. Intuition, perhaps.
'And they- they never go? You can always see them?'
'Unfortunately.' Mathias taps his lip, as though struggling to remember something. After a moment he pulls a card from his pocket and hands it to Lukas. 'Mathias Andersen, Professional Artist' it reads, along with his qualifications and contact details. 'Call me sometime. We can talk about our, ah, mutual aquaintances.' They grin at each other again. Lukas says his goodbyes, and is just turning away when Mathias calls out again. 'They tell me things. Warnings, advice- and names.' A chill of foreboding scurries down his spine with icy claws.
'Which names?' says Lukas before he can stop himself. His mouth is dry- fear, or anticipation? Though maybe they are the same thing.
'Yours. Lukas Bondevik.' This time Mathias' smile is almost apologetic.
More to follow.