Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts and characters copyright Square Enix and such people. Not me.

A/N:

There is a Polish movie called Hiena. I have no idea whether or not it has been subtitled in English (maybe?) but I highly recommend it.

This fic has been worked around some of the ideas of that film. Some things are the same, some things have been twisted around, some have been added, and some have been taken away.

You really don't need to have watched the movie to read this fic, trust me. You don't. I still recommend it, if you can find it.

Also, this fic is being written in a very (for me) experimental style. Please let me know what you think of it. The prologue is written one way, but the main story is being written in a way that for some strange reason (really, it gives me a headache) makes me really happy. I'm having fun. I hope you do too.

Prologue is short but chapter one is getting uploaded right after, so yeah. Hope to have a new chapter up very soon.

It's been a while since I've ventured back into the world of KH fics. I'm hoping that someone at least will find this one interesting.

It is an AU fic, and it has certain members of the cast appearing. It will be weird and strange and not, er, nice…? I hope that it will be entertaining and attention catching.

We really need a psychological genre option. We really do.

Hey there, do me a favor and read the second chap while you're here? I know this one is really short, but it'll be getting more interesting. I promise. Go for it!

Review please! Reviews make the world go round!

Title: Hiena
Author: Zoshi the Confused
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Psychological/Horror
May contain: Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

Prologue

The woods… there's strange things in the woods. Weird things, in the shadows and among the bushes. Wrong things.

There's a moan on the wind, a low keening wail ending in high-pitched staccato laughter.

They say there's a killer in the woods, a murderer. It's a he, or it's a she, it's an it.

It eats children, they say, but really it eats anything. Children, men, women, dogs. Sheep sometimes.

They say it's a hunter gone crazy. They say it's a wolf-man. They say it's a vampire, or a deranged ice cream man. They always say it's human.

They're all wrong.

They were out back of the apartments splitting logs for firewood when their father died.

The ambulance-tempo siren wailed over the town from the mine, and they paused in their work, their breath clouding white in the chilly December air. Their mother came out to stand in the doorway, dirty dishcloth in one hand, the other clapped tightly over her mouth. Her eyes were wide.

The log hit the ground long after Roxas had started running, cloud-breath trailing behind him as his feet carried him up the small hill to the building and past it onto the road. The axe thudded into the tree stump they were using as a base, and Demyx ran past his mother, now clutching the dishcloth in both hands, mouth moving silently in prayer. Roxas was far ahead of him, a dark dot in the distance, and Demyx didn't catch up to him until he reached the courtyard out front of the mining building. The younger blonde was pushing through the throng of miners exiting the building, his jacket streaked with soot and dust from the workers's clothes.

Demyx grabbed his arm, hauled the panting boy behind him as he led the way through the chaos. There was shouting, grabbing, people were pushing against them and away from them. A man was limping out of the doorway when they reached it, pausing a moment to wipe the coal dust from his face. Tear trails glistened pale on his coal-darkened face. He was shaking.

They pushed past him and towards the main offices, pausing at the entrance of the room where hurried voices were speaking into telephones, a mosquito cacophony of whispers. The head manager glanced at them, his eyes darkened, lost somewhere between here and there, but then he shook his head once, and the boys moved on.

Stragglers passed them as they sat on the bench in the entry room, men reaching up with weary arms to pull their bags off of the hooks hanging from the ceiling, steps echoing hollowly around the two blondes. The last rescue worker stumbled out of the elevator shaft, dragged his feet past them, dirty rope wound up in a coil at his waist, the light of his helmet still shining feebly. The last bag with its clean change of clothes hung above their heads, silent.

They returned to find the head manager long come and gone.

Roxas went back out to the tree stump, logs as enemies, axe as dearest friend. His anguish came out in sharp thuds and splinters, his eyes burning as his palms blistered with the force of his blows. His hands clutched the handle too tightly. The logs splintered.

Demyx listened to the thwack of metal on wood from inside the house, his mother letting the sobs escape as she leaned on his shoulder, her face buried in the thick material of his jacket. The dishcloth was held twisted in her hands, and she twisted, and twisted, even as the poor worn material began to give, began to rip and riiip and riiiiip. Roxas returned, climbed onto the couch with them and sprawled across his brother's lap, his arms around his mother's waist and his face pressed against her side, his body shaking with sobs he didn't want, didn't want to let come.

Demyx lay a hand on his brother's back, felt the shudder, felt the cold where his mother's tears were seeping through his jacket at his shoulder. He stared hollowly at the wall across from him, at the tiny statue of Jesus on the leaning shelf, at the picture of grandparents he hadn't had the chance to meet. His tears never came.

There's a hyena in the woods. It prowls among the trees, searching, always, always searching.

You aren't safe in the woods.

You're never alone.

You're lost in the woods, no matter how well you know where you are.

And at night, in the woods?

The moon is always full.