The watchers -
They watched the young man wander aimlessly through room after room, his pain radiating through the house like a beacon of warmth in the frigid night. He could not see them as they swarmed around him, drinking his energy, his life, taking away his hope and his energy little by little. They took their sustenance from him, and used it to build. Another wall, another room, and another, and another… as long as they kept building, they would live forever.
But one of them did not build, did not take from the living soul. He followed that living soul like a forlorn, lost dog, trailing him, protecting him from the Dark Ones that whispered in the walls, gazing at him with woebegone eyes, begging him in a voice that went unheard to leave, to run, to get out while he could. But the living man did not hear him, did not see him, was unaware of his companion, who whispered his name with so much aching, heart-wrenching longing.
"...Stephen…"