Michelangelo jerked awake with a gasp, his fists clenched in the sheets, heart pounding in his ears. It took him a moment to realise that he was in his room, not struggling underwater with ghostly hands trying to drag him down. He stared into the darkness, watching the fading visions of his nightmare. It always took him a while to move after he woke from his dreams, his body frozen in terror, unresponsive, unable to even pull the covers over his head in case they saw him move.
But as the nightmare faded his body became his own again. He sighed and rolled over. Something crackled underneath him. His searching fingers found paper, the comic book he'd been reading before he went to sleep. He wriggled around and pulled it out from under him.
Had he finished? He couldn't remember. It had been a good one, though, The Curse of The Calypso Pearl. Undead pirates and sea monsters and cannon battles on the high seas. The hero slicing his way through the undead with a cutlass, and the heroine with, let's be honest here, a really tiny shirt.
Best of all, dead sailors had crawled up the sides of the ship to join the battle, their skin pockmarked with barnacles, seaweed clinging to their rotting skin. A delicious shiver ran up his back and he shuffled down under the covers until just his eyes were visible, pulling the comic under with him.
On the walls above him his collection of movie posters peered down, a montage of terrifying faces, monsters, screaming victims and gore. Nothing gave him more of a thrill than the hero facing a terrifying, life-or-death situation with a supernatural monster.
As long as there was a happy ending, of course.
He was wide awake now, and warm. He glanced over at the clock beside his bed. 3:47am. Maybe he could finish the comic. That would put him back to sleep. He flicked through until he found his place, then settled in. There was almost enough light to read by, but not quite.
He was reaching over to switch on the light above his bed when his brain said hold on…. He couldn't usually see his posters in the middle of the night. Carefully he sat up. Light leaked in under the door. Not bright yellow light, but pale, greenish light that flickered and danced.
One of Donnie's experiments? Not at three in the morning. Goosebumps rose on his skin and he slid back under the covers, pulling them over his head. He lifted one corner of the cover until he could see out. The light was still there. Was there something outside? He should really go and look. He reached for his lightswitch again, but hesitated. If I turn on the light, whatever it is will know I'm there.
There was nothing else to do. Mikey slid soundlessly from under the covers and made his way to the door, ninja feet making no noise on the floor. He opened the door, wincing when the hinges squeaked. Outside the strange light lit the walls, faint but visible. He moved out of the doorway.
The light was coming from under the door to Leo's room.
What are you up to, bro? He padded silently over to the door, pressed his ear to the metal and listened. Nothing.
"Leo?" he whispered. He tapped softly on the door, but there was no response from inside. What should he do? It was an unwritten rule that they kept out of each other's bedrooms unless invited. He tapped a little harder. What if Leo had just fallen asleep with the light on? He glanced down to the crack under the door. The light streaming out flickered and danced across his legs, turning his skin a strange colour.
Maybe he'd just take a quick peek.
Slowly he turned the handle. The click of the latch sounded like a gunshot in the silence. He froze. Carefully he eased the door open.
Pale greenish light washed over him. The room rippled, as if he was seeing it underwater. Slender, dark tendrils snaked across the floor, slid up the walls, curled around furniture. What the…
Leo's foot was visible, lying on the covers. Mikey inched forward until he could see the bed. His breath caught in his throat. Leo was splayed out on his back, and there was a girl curled up on either side of him. The girls' eyes were closed, and they pressed in against his brother's sides.
Long, dark hair spilled from their heads, curling over the edge of the bed, and he realised those were the tendrils spilling about the room. They moved like snakes, curling up over his brother's form, sliding around his legs, his arms, his throat. Mikey couldn't breathe. He was frozen in place, watching the snakelike tendrils move across his brother's plastron, then push through it and into Leo's chest.
He gasped. The girls' eyes flew open. Black gazes turned to stare at him from empty eyes.
Michelangelo filled his lungs and screamed.
