He wasn't that bad, really. He just liked to have friends, and Rosalie was just perfect. She played piano very well for a twelve year old, and he enjoyed singing along. It was her parents that didn't understand. He had cautioned her to hide, as he had, because he did not like Rosalie's parents. Well, they had their moments. As Nora and Jacob staggered down the dark steps, Rosalie hurried to finish the last of her Minuet, her fingers slipping over keys with practised ease. He had ducked into the space between the piano and the wall, as it was dark enough, and if he pressed his ear to the large black antique, he could hear exactly every note Rosalie aimed to play, even though it was rushed and inperfect, it was a symphony to his ears. He hummed along until Nora's screeching voice interrupted Rosalie's playing alltogether. Jacob wrenched his daughter from the piano and the trio took her back up the night-fogged steps, presumably to her room. Rosalie always had trouble sleeping, but he always tried to be there for her. He ran a hand through his hair when he discovered the piano fiasco was his fault. He knew he had to be careful - the couple thought he had gone. It would not be wise to contradict that belief, as it would result in another visit from the investigator.

-{Three Years Earlier}-

Simply put, he was careful to always stay out of Nora and Jacob's sight after that first day. Not the piano incident - she would have screamed and he would have grabbed a gun if they'd seen him. No, the first day was absolutely terrible. He shuddered and pushed the thought from his mind, only hoping that Rosalie didn't remember it as well as he did. Since she had an imgination, Rosalie had always been creative, willing, and optimistic. But as she got older, it became clearer and clearer to everyone that her sleep deprivation wasn't just sleep deprivation. That was around the time he and Rosalie met, and they were rather loud at first, building couch cusion forts, cooking in the kitchen, and having tickle fights. But after Nora snuffed that fun, they had moved on to much quieter activities. He had listened in on the parent's conversations - talks of screaming at night, of nightmares, evil spirits, and of faults and things lost. And sometimes, he knew Rosalie listened, too. Once it was bad, even though he knew she wouldn't understand why her mother was crying about a 'stillbirth' because the child didn't know what that was. In times like those, he would wrap his arm around Rosalie's shoulders and she would fling her wiry arms around his waist. He didn't mind that she sobbed into his coat.

There were other coats.

December passed them, leaving it's snow on the ground for January to enjoy, and Nora and Jacob became still more worried about Rosalie's sleeping habits. They had tried many specialists, even a religious man, but no one could keep the nightmares away for long. But one day, when the two were walking along the city's sidewalks, they were met with a man. He was old and poor, it seemed, and Nora cowered before him and Jacob wrapped his arms around his wife. The elderly man said nothing, but handed them a single card. Even though Jacob had hardly raised his hand, it seemed...Eager to be there. As if it was a perfect fit to his work-worn palms. When he looked down at it with a raised brow, he read the few words on it with a skeptical tone;

"Hanna Falk Cross, #306," He flipped it over before speaking again. "Paranormal Investigator...Why would I - ?"

Too late - the geezer was gone, leaving a startled Nora and Jacob on the frozen sidewalk, alone and shivering in that faceless crowd as they stared down at the card that would probably be Rosalie's best shot at a good eight hours.

Finding the woman was the hardest part. They had to climb a few flights of stairs, only to find they'd had the wrong building, before they got to the third one, which turned out to be the right one. Jacob was careful to help his tired wife up the stairs, as she was very fragile given the circumstances. When finally they reached door three hundred and six, they only stood and allowed the silence to grip the hallway, as if hoping that the creaking floorboards under them would be as loud as any knock or doorbell. They were, however, sadly disappointed. Jacob had taken one for the team, forced to break the ominous silence by knocking on the thin, wooden door. A groggy snore met them halfway, as well as a few more moments' silence. The redhead man was completely alone, and he looked...Rather peaked.

Finding out the woman wasn't a woman was the second hardest part. Second, as in Jacob was udderly confused as to why his name was Hanna. It was okay - everyone was. Nora, on the other hand, was more interested in his middle name. Which was funny because Hanna had always thought his last name was the most important thing. Anyone could have a first name or a middle name - but how many people had a surname? Not just anyone.

After Nora and Jacob's plight was explained and Hanna was given several important details, none of which including a stillbirth, which would later be so mind-numbingly important. The investigator ran his hand through his scarlet hair and told the couple he would be by in a day to give everything a look. He assured them that their problem was paranormal, although there were many things that could mess with someone's dreams. He could have narrowed it down, however, if he'd had access to a few more key details.

But, oh well.

"They wanna get rid of you, Skeery."

It had been a quick statement, though Rosalie had been careful to make it sound just the right amount of harsh. She was not taking the situation lightly - she'd been sure to listen in on her parent's conversations, and had gotten quite a bit of information. She had discovered that they had hired an investigator, someone by the name of Cross. They talked about how they had mistaken his gender, but that was of little interest to Rosalie as she sat across from her only friend, who was in danger of leaving her. Who else would she tell her secrets to? Who else would she play games with? Who else would smooth her hair and sing to her whenever she needed them to? Keeping Skeery had become her life's mission, it seemed. But when the investigator did show up, it would be a bit difficult to hide her friend. He was extremely tall, and had to duck to get through the doors. He also had unnaturally long arms, but that was just another reason Rosalie loved her best friend.

He was different.

And maybe she couldn't tell anyone, including her loving (yet clueless) parents, but having a secret was like having candy when you weren't supposed to. Not only was it sweet, but it was yours, and no one else could ever know about it. That was the melty goodness that she associated with her self-named friend, minus the ruined chocolate-stained pockets. He was her hershey bar, and she inteded to keep the situation that way.

-x-

"Uh - the winow's open."

Rosalie listened from the top of the carpeted steps, her hand wavering over the open laundry elevator and/or chute, a small white string in her hands. Her dreams were the problem, so the inspector or whatever would be inspecting the things that she was around the most. She and Skeery had devised a little plan a few evenings ago, and they were both delighted to find the other growing more clever all the time. As the investigator stared blankly at her piano, Rosalie was careful to peek around the corner at the top of the staircase, while trying to keep her short arm as close to the laundry chute as possible. She had always done things like that, things she thought spies did, but she had grown accustomed to having Skeery's long arms do half the dirty work. As silence ran rampant throughout the usually bustling home, Rosalie assumed her parents threw him a questioning look in regards to the window. They loved it cold.

"Uh...There's like, ninety feet of snow on the ground...How can you stand it?"

Rosalie waited, the sweat growing in small beads on her forehead and it her tiny, string-clutching hands. She craned her neck to see the investigator, while wishing she lived in a cartoon. How come Scooby-Doo could peek around a corner with just his eyes? He made it look so easy, and yet it was such a daunting task for a ten-year-old. Perhaps years of practice had trained the dog. Rosalie quickly attuned her thoughts back to the investigator, whose eyes were wandering dangerously close to her hiding spot, but as she was crouched down, it would have been difficult to move without falling back or moving fast enough to catch his eye. So, like a chamillion, Rosalie slapped her cheek against the wall and tried to keep her face as straight as possible.

Unfortunately, Rosalie's brilliant disguise only seemed to attract the gaze of the sleepy investigator, and she quickly found herself staring at him as he stared right back. Her eyes narrowed as a tired grin slowly crept onto the redhead's face. Rosalie stuck her tounge out and tugged on the string, which she had cleverly tied to a vase in the kitchen and had taken the end of the string with her through the laundry elevator. Below, an expected smashing of the hideous lilac vase invaded the penetrating silence. Everyone, including the investigator, ran right for the kitchen. Rosalie was quick to yank the string so that it would pull back up through the laundry elevator. She grinned and rubbed her hands together and listened intently to the conversation below.

"Woah - you've got something worse than I thought..."

"But it was just a vase - "

"Uh...The Paranormal beings we're worrying about usually aren't violent at all, much less enough to break something..."

Next, Rosalie had to fall down the stairs. Then she would claim she was pushed, and her parents would (hopefully) think that Cross's presence was bothering the house's fung shui or whatever and make him leave. The short and scrawny nine year old was having second thoughts as she stared down the long staircase, however. She had fallen down it once before, which was why her parents had carpeting put on it, but still she stalled. Maybe that vase would be enough? Rosalie shuffled her feet back and forth, unable to decide.

"...I'll go check. Wait here."

It was Cross, and Rosalie puffed out her cheeks in desperation. If she was going to make her move, she had better get on it. That's when the worst thing possible happened. Skeery walked out of the room, obviously curious as to whom the voice belonged to, and took his usual place behind Rosalie. As Cross's shadow became more stout against the beige wall at the bottom of the steps, she knew it was too late to get Skeery out of there without causing a scene. Instead, she stood on her tippy-toes, as well and high as she could, even though she didn't even cover up half of Skeery. The radiant blue eyes of the investigator didn't seem to mind Skeery at all. Instead, a sad but satisfied smile replaced his nervous expression. He slowly climbed the stairs, and with a voice Rosalie had to strain her ears to hear he said,

"Just as I thought - an Imaginary Friend. You are so lucky."

What's this? A new series!
I edited a little too, hooray!
BUM BUM BUUUM.

Okayso - there won't be a whole lotta chapters to this one, but I think I might get 5+ out of it. Maaaybe. I don't want it to be just about Rosalie and Skeery, but about Hanna, who doesn't have a zombie partner and is getting over some residual pain from the surgery that resulted in the scars on his chest. You'll notice how 'tired' he is. Don't worry - it'll be explained.

Hanna is Not a Boy's Name belongs to Tessa Stone.

Rosalie and Skeery belong to me.