Author's Note: Hey, you guys! Welcome to the prologue! I'll make things really short. . .

WELCOME!

Okay, I'm done now! Enjoy the chapter! LEAVE REVIEWS, PLEASE!

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this story except for the plot and some characters (none which belong to Kingdom Hearts).

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Alone

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
My passions from a common spring—
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow—I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone—
And all I lov'd—I lov'd alone—
Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn—
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still—
From the torrent, or the fountain—
From the red cliff of the mountain—
From the sun that round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold—
From the lighting of the sky
As it pass'd me flying by—
From the thunder, and the storm—
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view—

—Edgar Allan Poe

Nocturnal Caress

Prologue: those inner demons, they're more than what you think. . .

I

The world around him was silent as he watched the blurring lights and large shadow of trees outside the car window. The faint music coming from the car radio—classical music, Canon in B—and both his and Mom's breathing were the only sounds that disturbed the quiet.

Sora sighed for the third time today, glaring out at the world. His mother just had to move to the islands for her new job; why couldn't he just have been left at the apartment in the city? No, he had to follow his damn mother to the more hot weather part of town.

Ugh, hot places made Sora sick to the stomach. The sun was too much for his already sun-kissed skin, and it burned his dark, chocolate hair and neck.

Saya Reynard glanced away from the steering wheel to her son, frowning at his lack of enthusiasm. She had hoped her adoptive son would be happy; he sure wasn't while they were in the city. He had no friends and rarely hung out with other kids his age. It was strange to think Saya wasn't really Sora's biological mother. Of course, people assumed since Saya and Sora shared the (Only Sora's opinion, and Saya could almost believe it) happy blue eyes, heart-shaped face, and chocolate hair, though Saya's went past her shoulders, making her hair look like waterfall cascading down her shoulders, but it didn't stop Sora from knowing the damned truth.

"The Islands will be fun, Sora. You'll get to meet new people."

"Says you," he had said.

"Please, Sora?" Saya had pleaded. "Try to cope with it until you can make at least one friend."

"You're not my mother. Don't tell me what to do."

Saya had finally lost her nerve. "I'm the closest thing to a mother you have!"

The words had slipped from her mouth without a moment's hesitation. The remark had stung Sora, a little. But it didn't make the situation better when he angrily stomped off, swearing loudly as he slammed the door to his room.

At the moment, Sora wondered bitterly if Saya only adopted him from pity. Maybe she felt sorry for a boy to sit alone, teddy bear with one beady eye hanging loosely from the fluffy head in his arms, staring only at his feet. He should have been happy to have Saya as a mother. She was very caring and sweet—sometimes that being her downfall. Nonetheless, she was—probably—the only one who treated him nicely. She disregarded the way he dressed, the black T-shirts, the faded denim jeans, the chains. She didn't judge him by appearance—wearing Levi's that was dangerously hanging past his hips, showing hits of his green-blue boxers, the black T-shirt that had long since faded to a dark gray color, written across the shirt in chipped, peeling black letters, Hug Me, I Dare You To. . . which was a bit large on Sora's small, lean body, the sleeves stopping past his elbows, not obscuring the black studded bracelets around his left hand. For being fifteen, he still was growing, which he hated.

He continued to stare out at the window, the car passing a sign, the white peeling off the wood like skin falling off a decaying corpse, exposing the skeleton structure beneath. The words, WELCOME TO TWILIGHT ISLAND, were chipped in black with a kid in blue shorts smiling and pointing at the words. Sora frowned at the sign, not feeling very welcomed at all. Just like he hated the sign, he hated himself. He hated that he was different from others, with his untamable spiky hair that could never stay flat when he wanted to, or the baby cheeks that never seemed to be unnoticeable even if he sucked in his cheeks. Sure, other kids had maybe, seldom, talked to him, only to be frightened shitless when Sora talked satanically, in spite or just from sheer boredom. In the city, he was considered "the kid with dark powers" or "the Spawn of Satan." Maybe they were right. Sora wasn't—he knew—like the other kids his age. He didn't like to interact with other kids; he'd rather watch from a distance, like his window for instance, as the kids played ball, their laughter reaching his ears, cursing them inaudibly.

It made him sick to know they were actually happy with life. Maybe once in his lifetime Sora had thought life was a real gift that was only given once, but hose times had simply vanished. It was only stupidity, or futile hope made by a foolish youth but still. . . "Murder! She's dead! Oh my god, she was MURDERED!" There were the very words out of many people's mouths only a few weeks ago. After that, his whole perspective of the world shattered before him like the mirror he shattered back home, the pieces of glass falling with ease, glittering under the moonlight. Saya had to bandage his hands, not able to take a piece of glass dug deep in his flawless skin. No doctor would understand why a fourteen year old would do such a thing. So she just let it stay there, forming a small scar on the back of his hand. It looked like a pale, jagged heart.

Sora thought his glass was the only connection back home, back when everything seemed all right, when he didn't silently cry himself to sleep. He also hated that he was weak.

After all, crying was a sign of weakness, and weak was not what Sora wanted to be.

II

The black Mercedes came to a stop in front of a steel gate, a three story house that was mostly obscured by the trees' shadows around it beyond the chained entrance. Sora first got out, looking at the house with disdain. The house was in some bad shape, the windows dusty and dark, and some even had holes from having rocks been thrown at them by the neighborly kids. The outer coating of white paint—it should have been white—was now tan-ish and very ugly looking. The pillars around the front had lost the fine details it once had, and the place was in major need of new furnishing. But, overall, Saya smiled at what her luck was. She was only able to buy the house because the people in this town desperately didn't want it—so she was the only available candidate.

On the high tower that seemed to be the center of the house held a sign: Hollow Bastion. Whatever a bastion was, thought Sora, it must have meant creepy places that are probably infested with disgusting rodents. The thought almost made his almost breakfast of an omelet escape from his lips. Saya came over to her son and patted his back, ignoring the look of horror and disgust.

"It looks nice, huh?"

Are you nuts? "I suppose. . ."

"Why don't we go inside?"

And they began hauling the little they had in the back of the car and trunk, and walked up to the house, Saya fumbling a little with the keys. The stairs—thirteen in all—that lead to the porch and the actual floor in the porch creaked under their weight, not use to such things after fifty years of living absence. It was said that a rich family, staying only half a year in the home, died mysteriously, no traces of murder—as most people suspected—or any other things that would have left clues on how the died. The case had baffled the police for fifty years, still with no clues. But people had forgotten about it, only to develop stories of ghosts living there. There was no other explanation about the ominous screams that erupted through the walls whenever anyone came close to the home. But strangely, nothing happened with the Reynards moved in. Unbeknownst to them, that was a bad sign.

Unlocking the door, Saya stepped over the threshold, the door's hinges creaking. Sora flared his nostrils; it stunk. And a sudden chill swept over the two, making them jump. A little. The strange wind must have picked up from outside, for the trunks of the oak trees moaned as the wind rustled through its branches. As they walked into the foyer, the floor creaked dangerously beneath. It was finally when Saya found the switch, which was a chain attached to the chandelier hanging above them, when they realized how much the damage was inside. The stairs, which were before them on their right, were closing in the middle, looking as though it couldn't carry anything up there. There were many cobwebs on the corners around the main room. The furniture that was left needed polishing and dusting. But everything else seemed okay, just a little cleaning, in Saya's opinion.

She dropped her boxes, making a soft thud when it plummeted. Sora rolled his eyes.

"We are not staying here, Mom."

Saya turned to face him, raising her eyebrows. "Where else are we staying then?"

"Somewhere other than here,"

"Sora. . .we just need to fix this place up. One of my employers from work even offered to help me to clean up." She ignored the indignant look from the boy. "Come one and help me put the stuff to our rooms. You do want to find a room to place your stuff, dontcha?"

Not really. But he kept his mouth shut as he followed his mother up the stairs, hoping to dear God they wouldn't close in on him. They didn't, which made Sora issue a sigh. Still unenthusiastic about the whole idea of moving in a dump like this, it was huge, and Sora could explore around the place with no care. Besides, it reminded him of one of those really cheap horror movies with hot blond chicks who were usually the first victims to die. They walked in silence as they passed many rooms down the hallway, pictures draped with white linen cloth to hide probably hideous pictures of hideous people in hideous poses. And they walked the next set of stairs. The stairs here were in better shape then below, but they still creaked under their feet, and they needed a good cleaning. The whole place was really spooky, shadows moving this way and that from the shadows of the rustling trees outside. Saya needed to get some colorful curtains and lamps to make the atmosphere, well, less scary.

She used this time to entertain not only herself, but maybe Sora.

"Oooh. . . creepy isn't it?" she said in a spooky sing-song voice.

Sora rolled his eyes. "You wish." He couldn't help the smile that was dangerously worming to his lips.

Saya smiled evilly. "Really, now. . . Oh my god!" Her voice rose in an exasperate voice. "Was that a ghost that I just saw?-!"

Sora blinked at where Saya was pointing at. For a moment, the hairs on the back of his neck stood high. He did not want her to be joking around. This was too scary. He cautiously walked a little ahead of his mother, as if he was going to protect whatever was threatening to scare them. He groped the air like a blind man, and was about to touch the source of what seemed to have scared Saya, when something probed him in his sides.

He yelped loudly, dropping his things on his toe. He clamped his mouth shut before the swearing began and glared at his mother. She had a big grin on her beautiful face, and her eyes gleamed with mischief.

"Oh, ho! I have finally made Sora almost pee in his pants!" She laughed, not taking in that Sora was very pissed. Not the serious pissed, but the kind he had when he was annoyed yet happy pissed.

"Don't do that, Mom! You could have given me a heart attack!"

And she pouted. "Oh, but, sweetums; I didn't mean to give you such a fright!" she said in a mocking baby voice. "Mommy didn't want her wittle boy to be fwightened by a ghost. . ." And she laughed even harder, clutching her sides to keep her balance. Sora rolled his eyes, picking up the brown box with Sora's Junk written in permanent marker.

"Well, I'm going to place my stuff here," he pronounced, stepping into the closest room he could to escape from Saya. Sometimes being around her just made his day, well, okay in some terms. He liked her when she laughed—her laugh just made his heart leap in joy. Especially when he was the reason she was laughing.

A kicked the box near the bed, the box sliding and almost making it under the bed, when it came into a halt before one of the legs of the wood bed. A mirror stood against the wall to the bed's right, the window a few feet from the feet of the bed. The mattress was battered; that would mean buying an entire new set of things for his bedroom. Sora was about to plop his whole weight of the bed, if he hadn't seen a shadow in the mirror's reflection, standing at the doorway.

It wasn't a shadow made by one of the trees outside, no, but from a human. Someone that wasn't Saya or Sora was standing near enough that their reflection had been caught by Sora's eyes. A shadow that vanished as quickly as it came.

Last time I checked, I knew there was only me and Saya here. . .

Sora watched the mirror a little longer, as if the shadow might come back if he stayed like that. And his patience was rewarded; it was there, and Sora now had a better look at it.

It was human, with long black hair falling down past their shoulders and their pale dress of white like their skin. Their face was mostly obscured by their mane of hair, but Sora saw a sliver of green where an eye should have been. Sora felt the air around him had just lowered under thirty-two degrees. His breath came out fogged like on a wintry day. Sweat rolled freely down his face, making his face cold since the perspiration cooled in the chilled atmosphere. The girl—Sora assumed it was a girl since it was too small to be a boy, and it had too long of hair—slid to the side, vanishing behind the wall outside. Sora blinked, noticing that he could be just hallucinating and that he was this place was affecting his brain and sanity. But whatever was the reason, Sora followed it.

He walked out of the room, hearing Saya downstairs making lots of noises, probably moving furniture or something. And he saw it again, only it slid to the middle of the hallway, raising a pale hand slowly upward.

She was pointing to a door that was in the ceiling.

She pulled the rope attached to it, and stairs protruded out of the hole up there. She slithered up the stairs, soundlessly and with no effort. Sora followed, as if it was his duty to know what the hell the girl was doing here. He was met with another dusty room, similar to the others, except boxes and boxes of dusty junk lay in every corner, cobwebs and the actual spiders dancing around them. The girl stood in the middle of the room, the boxes stacked high around her like pillars. She was muttering coherently, Sora catching none of the words she was saying. But the longer she said the words, the sounded angrier with each chant. It seemed as though she was very disturbed with the peace around her. And she was going to put all the anger at Sora.

She raised her head, allowing her hair to uncover her face—and Sora screamed at the top of his lungs. One of what was supposed to be green eyes moved with no effort as the other socket was empty, a big hole on her ashen face. Her mouth was opened in a shrill shriek, and it was wide enough that it looked like she was going to engulf Sora in one gulp. Her hands—claws?—were in front of her now, and before he could move out of the way, she went right past him. Her screams were louder as Sora felt an unimaginable cold throughout his body.

Every bone in his body felt like they were icebergs, weighing him down, along with his muscles that felt like cold rubber rubbing roughly on his bones. He wanted to scream, but his voice seemed lost in the confusion. He felt another surge of cold, and saw the back of the girl's head. It wasn't really the back, for it looked another face, more horrific than the first. The eyes were empty and black, nostrils were flared and slits like a snakes, and fangs almost reached her bottom mouth as the face let out another horrible scream. Her body twisted unnaturally, the ugly face with the back of her body showing, her head spinning around and around.

Sora couldn't move, not even one muscle. He had to get out. His life depended on it. All his fears had made his knees weak, and he finally fell on his knees and his face fell to the floor. Dust was in his mouth as he shut his eyes, hoping the screams would stop. His body twitched in the cold, his limbs moving uncontrollably.

He tried getting to his feet, but with every effort took all the strength he could muster, he was failed when another rush of cold swept through him. His eyes flashed opened and moved around, trying to find an escape form this endless torture of a troubled spirit who seemed to like hurting the boy. But there was nothing that was going to save him, no hope, no retreat from the brutal, rapping cold that flooded throughout. He was going to die. . . Saya was going to find his lifeless body later on, screaming at the top of her lungs of the lost of her the only person who could have been called a son. . . He hadn't even apologized to her about all the smart talking, the things he wished he had never said to her. . . All was lost. . .

The claws were approaching his throat, ready to suffocate the very life that was left in him. . .

The whole house echoed the unnatural screaming that erupted from above.

III

Saya stopped whatever she was doing, which was moving some furniture to their rightful places, when she heard the screaming. She had heard a faint sound from above a while back, but she suspected Sora must be having fun putting his things away. But after that loud and terrified screaming, she just knew.

Her baby needed her help.

She dropped her can of Lysol, her rubber gloves and washcloth, and dashed up the stairs, to the third floor. She almost lost her footing since she was taking three, four steps at a time. But it didn't matter; her heart was racing and beating against her rib cage hard and fast.

Sora was screaming.

He needed her. . . He might as well be. . .

Saya tried pushing such thoughts from her mind as she frantically searched where the source of the screams were coming from, when she stopped abruptly in front of the stair leading upward. Another scream erupted from the attic.

Another dash, and Saya was panting as she found her baby, his eyes rolled in the back of his head, shaking vigorously. His body was writhing across the dusty floor like a snake with a stomach cramp. His teeth were tightly clenched together; the strange sounds from deep in his throat did not sound anything like something that should come from someone so young. Maybe an adult would have this, but a child could not. Should not!

The words coming from Sora were like tidal waves, loud and fast, she couldn't catch one word. But the muttering sounded between something like, "Every solace green. . . Every solace green. . ." The same words over and over. Saya didn't know what they could have meant, but they sent shivers down her spine.

She cradled her son in her arms, rocking back and forth as he twitched violently against her embrace. For a moment, she thought he would thrash and kick, or even yet, beat her, but he calmed down a little, whimpering more incoherent words, until he quieted down in a sob and went limp in her arms.

Saya had no clue how to explain this to a doctor.

IV

He watched with intent from the perch of the tree as the woman with long brown hair, a boy cradled in her arms, walking out of the large house, screaming to her self that she needed an ambulance. She ran quickly to the car, the boy's head flopping helplessly with each step she took. How funny that she was so scared of the dear boy's life that she hadn't noticed the man smiling maliciously.

Step one of the flawless plan had been checked. This was going to be great fun for him.

After all, they had disturbed the peace here. And now they were going to pay, the son being the first to suffer.

Fin

What the freak?-! Everything is confusing, isn't it? I mean with Sora's whole past and all, you guys must be like, what in the world?-! Who's the girl that attacked Sora, and who's the man who's plotting against them and why is he truly doing that? What's going to happen to Sora?

You'll find out soon enough, some sort of shock to you all.

So who am I referring to with the whole 'murder' thing? Not the whole story revolves around that, but it has a lot to do with how Sora behaves.

He seems way out of character, but I don't give a damn. He's evil to me! MWHAHAHA! Okay. . . anyways, leave a nice review and that'll make me very happy, okays?