Dying Young
A Dead By Daylight Fanfiction
A child witnesses a tragedy unfit for youthful eyes and is taken in the woods. A monster in human skins follows.
Innocence will not be spared here.
Ryan awoke with a feeling resonating within him. An unpleasant one. Something was wrong.
He sat up from his bright blue-colored bed and turned on the lamp on his night table. His bedroom was pretty much the same, the walls painted a shade of aqua green that was pleasing to him. His dressers were intact, his collection of action figures untouched, his drawings made at art class in school depicting his family in crude stick figure shapes (along with robots and dinosaurs). He got out of bed, still wearing his pajamas with spaceships plastered all over it. He glanced at the mirror hanging on the wall, showing a mousy-haired, green eyed six-year-old who had a small nose, somewhat pronounced ears, and a skinny physique for his age. He looked fine, and his room didn't have anything wrong with it. So what was this foreboding feeling slowly growing inside him?
A feminine scream ripped through the air, muffled only slightly by the bedroom door.
Fear and despair gripped Ryan's heart. Mommy!
He pulled out his shoes from under the bed, the red and black sneakers with straps rather than annoying laces, and slipped them on as fast as he could with shaking hands. Advice from his father was imprinted into his mind.
Remember, Ryan, if you think something seriously bad has happened, you should make sure to put on your shoes if you have the time. You may need to run as fast as you can, and me and your mom don't want you to hurt your feet. It could end up causing more problems and make things worse.
Ryan rushed out of the room, flinging the door upon. He heard noises downstairs. Grunts and cries. He descended as quick as he could.
"MOMMY! DADDY!"
He turned the corner into the kitchen, where the lights were off. He jumped up at the light switch and flicked them on.
In the back of his mind, Ryan reflected on how nice of a kitchen they had. Not exactly 'fun', but certainly comfortable. Enamel flooring, hardwood cabinets, cream-colored walls, and the latest appliances, from lightbulbs to refrigerators. A somewhat strange thought to have for a six-year-old. In fact, if you were Ryan's age and mentioned to him that this was what you thought, he would jokingly accuse you of being a secret grown-up in a 'kid suit' sent to spy on him. At this moment, these thoughts came unbidden to Ryan because the perception of this implacable aspect of his house had been changed forever.
Mommy and Daddy were dead in this kitchen.
His mother was lying on her back in her stark white nightdress. Her blond hair splayed over her face, making her expression unreadable. Her mouth appeared to be open, stuffed with her own hair. She clutched her stomach with limp hands as a blot of red slowly blossomed forth, eating at the nightdress. His father laid on his belly, facing away from Ryan, dressed in his tank-top and sweatpants. His back was on abstract painting of slashes and stabs. Protruding from the back of his skull was one of those extremely sharp knives doctors used- a scalpel.
Ryan was young, but not stupid. He knew what death was, even if it was only a rudimentary understanding. It was a deep sleep no one woke up from, and it usually involved a lot of blood. One day, it would come for him, just as it had for his Uncle Chester. But Ryan was never really all that close to Uncle Chester either, and didn't cry during his funeral. The whole prospect of death just felt too far-off, too alien, for Ryan to feel affected. It seemed to exist in another country separated from his. It would never appear in his house. He still had so much life to live.
Right in front of him was proof of how wrong he was. Fear gripped his body and mind, flesh and bone. Fear rooted him in place. He could hear his heart pumping frantically.
A figure stood between the bodies of his parents, breathing heavily. He reached down and yanked the scalpel from Daddy's head with a hand wearing a doctor's glove. Blood gushed from the wound. It turned around slowly, as if it was in no hurry.
It was a man in his thirties perhaps, maybe only a little older than Daddy is...was. His face was in the intermediate age between young and aging, for while certainly not old, wrinkles were beginning to appear on his clean-shaven profile. His hair was black, slicked back with oils of some sort, and his eyes were a dull hazel. He wore a dull gray buttoned-up business suit and slacks, with a white undershirt, muddy brown necktie and loafers. An inexpensive watch rested on his wrist. He fished out a tissue from his pocket and began cleaning his scalpel with his gloved hands calmly, as if it wasn't just utilized for murder.
Everything about this Man, from his clothing to his facial features, seemed so forgettably plain in ordinary circumstances. So nondescript, so unnoticeable. Ryan could not see himself holding a thought for this Man for more than ten seconds. He was just another face in the crowd.
Now, Ryan's mind was shrieking at him to run.
The Man finally looked up to see Ryan with a bored expression. Then he took a second glance at the corpses he brought about and smiled, as if he was simply caught after an embarrassing accident. That smile was what separated him from everyone else. It wasn't a happy smile, but an empty, soulless one. A bully's smile. Even though it was on the face of a grown-up, it didn't feel like this Man had ever really grown up. He probably still thought like the mean kids on the playground and believed that people only existed to be hurt for his amusement.
"Well, damn," he said casually, "Isn't this a fine kettle of fish?"
He sighed dramatically, then gestured towards the bodies of Mommy and Daddy.
Dead, Ryan's panicked brain hammered in. Dead.
"I didn't intend things to get this out of hand," the Man went on, talking to Ryan as if he wasn't a witness to the death of his own parents. "I mean, I thought they'd be in their bedroom. I watched you all for a couple days now, so I figured you would stick to your routine, but I guess they must've stayed up watching a movie. It was a shame, too. I wasn't after them."
He suddenly stepped forward. Ryan stumbled and fell on his backside.
"It was going to be you. I wanted them to see you. To be sad. It was all for them."
He smiled again. It was a predator's smile.
"Oh well. That isn't to say I should deviate from our present course. I'm sure there's still people that will still be sad when you're gone. I certainly hope there are. That is the whole reason I'm here."
He brought up his scalpel, flashing in the dark like sharks' teeth.
A thought flashed through Ryan's mind:
I'm going to die.
Ryan was going to die. He was never going to grow up. He was never going to watch the next episode of his next cartoon, or taste ice cream again, or bounce on the trampoline in his backyard, or graduate school, or become a firefighter and help people like he wanted to, or be able to play with his friends, or hug his parents and tell them how much he loved them and how he was sorry that he was sometimes bad he was sorry he was so sorry…
And the Man smiled, approaching slowly, relishing in Ryan's misery as he laid there in miserable torment.
Anger began to build up in Ryan despite the terror in his heart. He was never going to experience the joys in life and it was this Man's fault. Why?! Why did he have to kill Mommy and Daddy?! They were all happy!
It was in that split second that Ryan understood. This Man had no reason. He didn't want nor need one. It was a game to him. Making people sad and scared was funny to him. Ryan's family had been brutally murdered, and it was only on a whim.
And a voice that was not his own spoke to him.
If you do not run, he will kill you, and their deaths will mean nothing.
Suddenly, Ryan knew a strength like none other. Sadness and fear momentarily forgotten with only anger residing, he scrambled up and dashed between the Man's legs. Surprise lit up the Man's face.
I need to distract him.
Ryan slid under the dinner table, trying not to focus on the empty vessels that he once called his parents. The Man's surprise had quickly abated and he sprung into action.
"Seriously, kid," he taunted, "Are we really going to drag this out?"
He reached under the table to drag Ryan out. Before he could, Ryan grabbed his finger in turn and bit as hard as he could until he tasted blood.
"Ahh, FUCK!" The Man yelped. "You little sh-"
While he was recovering, Ryan drove his tiny fist into the Man's crotch with all his might, doubting it would hurt much but it would divert his attention.
"Urg!"
It mostly worked, as the Man cupped his unmentionables as his face scrunched up. Ryan climbed onto a chair near the dinner table, only to feel his leg be seized by an unbreakable grip. He turned to meet the furious gaze of the Man. Clearly he was not expecting this much resistance from a child, and he did not appreciate it in the slightest.
"That's enough, you little fuck," he growled, his harsh language making Ryan flinch. He felt himself shrink. "It was going to hurt to matter what, but now I think I'm going to make things extra slow-"
Ryan noticed a glass on the table that must have been left out after dinner. Operating on instinct, Ryan swiped the glass and bashed it with all his might against the Man's face, shattering it. Ryan cried as he felt shards dig into his palm, but the Man's grip relinquished as he clutched at his face, screaming wildly.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAA MY FACE MY FUCKING FACE YOU CUNT I'LL FEED YOU YOUR OWN FINGERS YOU LITTLE FUCKING SHITSTAIN GONNA MAKE YOU WISH YOUR MOTHER ABORTED YOU-"
Ryan leapt down from the chair and rushed to the front door. He had to get outside. Get to a neighbor's house. Someone would notice what was happening. Police would be called…
His heart sank.
The door was locked. He was too small to reach the bolt!
He heard the Man getting up. He was breathing heavily, not out of exhaustion, but out of anger, like a bull seeing red. He was no longer toying with weak prey. Not he was out for blood.
He approaches, the strange voice from before reverberated.
Ryan could see his shadow over him, his rage almost palpable. He swiped fruitlessly at the lock. He was almost there…
Suddenly, the bolt slid, unlocking itself. Did he do that?
Flee, the voice ordered.
Ryan flung himself at the door handle and crashed into the ground, front first. He let out a startled cry and clutched at the hand embedded with glass. Tears fell from his eyes as he experienced pain that made all the boo-boos of the past seem trivial. It hurts…
"What in the fuck?"
Ryan scrambled onto his back to see the Man. His face was scarred and bleeding, showing an array of cuts across his left cheek and forehead, including a decent sized shard of glass embedded near his eye that was reminiscent of a devil horn. Aside from the newly created physical aspects, the homicidal rage seemed to be absent from his face this once, instead replaced by confusion as he stared at something behind Ryan. Ryan looked for himself, despite believing that he may still be in immediate danger…
The neighborhood was completely gone. In its place was dead woods and ghostly fog.
Welcome to your new home, Ryan.
"Question for another day. Just need to tie up a loose end…"
Ryan's fight or flight instincts kicked in once again, and he was back on his feet and racing into the unknown. There must be someone out here who can protect him from the Man.
"HELP! HELP! HE KILLED MY MOMMY AND DADDY! HE'S GONNA KILL ME TOO!"
He ran and ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. Fear and sorrow finally attacked him in full force as the reality of the situation was finally fully realized. Sobbing erupted from his throat and tears dripped from his cheeks like morning dew as he sprinted into the dark, tangled woods, with trees that reached into the starless night sky like severed limbs, as the fog enshrouded the young survivor.
So absorbed in his suffering was young Ryan that he failed to notice that the Man had ceased his pursuit. If he had listened over his sobs, he might have heard the Man ask in bewilderment:
"What are you?"
Ryan forgot how long he had been walking. Partly because he was too young to measure time properly or tell the difference between a minute and an hour, but he understood enough to know that he had been walking for a long time.
It was hard to see in the dark (the fog wasn't helping), and so he was constantly tripping and stumbling. Exhaustion had hit him full force. He was hungry, thirsty, tired, everything. His hand was bleeding and throbbing. He stopped crying, at least. To be honest, he could barely talk. Only a dull fear kept him motivated to move forward. Even though he realized long ago that the Man had stopped chasing him, he was afraid of starving, or worse, being eaten by some wild animal. Strangely enough, he found these woods to be almost completely bereft of wildlife. Except for crows…
Then, his blurry, half-lidded eyes caught something. Light. A fire. He heard voices. Talking. Laughing.
He began shambling desperately in that general direction. It was in a clearing. Figures were gathered around a campfire. Conversing, clueless.
"Help…" Ryan croaked weakly, shuffling forward with arms outstretched. They didn't notice him.
"Why you always gotta wear that mask, Meg?"
"Hey, I figure if I can put anything between my skull and a Killer's weapon, I'll take it."
"Please…" Ryan moaned. "Help… me…"
"...anyone hear something?"
"Might be another new bastard who got caught up in this shit. I'll check it out."
His legs could not take anymore, after so long of supporting the weight of his torso.. They gave way, and the grassy earth came up to meet Ryan. It knocked some of the breath out of him, but it didn't really hurt. He felt his eyes fluttering…
Mommy… Daddy… I'm sorry…
"Hello? Is anyone- Oh my fuck. No fucking way."
Ryan looked up to see a stark white, featureless face with nothing but two black, beady eyes. He felt a surge of panicked energy and frantically crawled backwards, huffing and puffing.
"No, wait, shit- It's just a mask, buddy. See?"
The figure took off said headwear to reveal the smiling face of a teenage girl with red hair tied into two pigtails hanging off her shoulders. She looked pretty, yet not in a delicate way. She must have experienced some pain of her own and came out stronger for it. Her smile, Ryan knew, was painfully forced, but not in a way that was trying to trick him or anything like… the Man's. She was just trying to calm him down, and he appreciated it for what it was. It seemed to be working, since he felt his heart slow. He, indeed, felt safe.
He gave a one-over at the older girl. She wore a beat-up white tank top, a really big, gold necklace that made her look even tougher, torn jeans and heavy boots. She radiated strength that was not violent, but protecting. She seemed pretty nervous herself. She looked at Ryan like she wasn't sure if he really existed in front of her. Why would she think something like that?
"Are you OK, kid? I mean, aside from- Christ, you shouldn't be here," she muttered to herself in frustration. "Nobody should be here, but especially not a kid."
She stared at him, settling on his hand. Her eyes widened.
"Oh my God, you're bleeding."
Ryan stared wearily at his hand. The palm was slick with blood.
"It's… okay…" He croaked. He managed a smile. "It doesn't… hurt as much…"
The girl frowned at him. No, not at him. For him. She got on her knees and opened her arms to him, inviting him.
"Come here," She cooed. She sounded like Mommy.
The thought made Ryan's throat tighten. Mommy…
He stood up on shaking legs. He took a tentative step. Then another. Then another once more. Before both of them knew it, he sprinted to seek solace in those arms. The girl, the stranger Ryan met before, who could've wanted to hurt him like the Man did, caught him in her arms and held him tight as he unleashed all his sorrow into her chest. He couldn't stop the tears from flowing nor the moans from escaping his lips.
"He… he killed them! He k-killed my M-Mommy and Daddy! H-he l-liked it and now he's gonna kill me too! WHY?! WE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!"
The girl just continued to hold him tightly, but not too tightly as hurt him. She rocked the boy back and forth, stroking his hair. Ryan could do nothing but whimper into her chest.
"I'm so sorry..." Ryan heard her whisper. "You don't deserve any of this…"
What could she possibly be sorry for?
A voice called out.
"Meg? What's going on? Who is that?"
Ryan heard the shuffling of feet and murmuring of multiple voices.
"Who is that?"
"Is that the new Survivor?"
"Oh holy shit it's a kid."
"A kid? That fucking thing is taking children now? Fuck me…."
"Guys, you aren't helping," the girl sternly stated to her companions. She looked down at Ryan with a smile. "My name is Meg. Meg Thomas. Can you tell me yours?"
Ryan wiped at his eyes and sniffled. "R-...Ryan Molt, Ms. Thomas."
Meg laughed lightly at that. "Oh man, please don't go around calling me that. I don't look that old, do I?"
Ryan shook his head rapidly. "No, I'm sorry. It's just that… my Mommy taught me to be as polite as possible with older girls."
Meg's smile wavered a bit at the mention of Mommy, but tried her best to keep it on her face regardless. "Thank you anyway, Ryan. That's very considerate of you."
Ryan took a peak behind her to see a small group of people milling about, watching them. They were the oddest group Ryan had ever seen, wearing a variety of different clothing and even seemed to radiate opposing personalities. They were currently being held back from coming too close to him and Meg by another young man near Meg's age wearing an untucked shirt, a necktie, and glasses.
Meg followed his gaze and smiled.
"Sorry if they scared you, but you have no reason to worry. They're really nice people once you get to know them."
Ryan hoped so. He didn't want anyone to hate him. Then he remembered:
"There's a man chasing me. And he- and he… killed my…"
"I know," Meg rubbed his back. "I know. I'm so sorry, but we can't help you. The same has happened to all of us. Is happening."
Ryan's eyes widened in horror. They were being chased too? Where were the police? Shouldn't someone help them?
Meg stared sadly at his realization. It looked like she was debating within herself whether or not to tell him something.
"That… monster that hurt your family… Fuck, I'm so goddamn sorry, but he'll probably show up again too."
Ryan could do naught but stare right through her.
He's coming back?
He felt her strong hands on his shoulders, bringing him back to reality.
"Hey."
She made him stare right into her eyes. Not forcing him to, but imploring him.
"I'm right here, Ryan. You're safe. And I promise, I'm gonna protect you this whole time moving forward."
Ryan gulped, trying to force down the lump in his throat. "Pinkie-promise..?"
Meg grinned at that and brought her own up, pinkie outstretched.
"Pinkie promise."
The two digits intersected, and an accord was struck between Survivors: a veteran and a new recruit.
Ryan noticed the stain on Meg's tank top caused by his wailing. He looked down in shame. Meg followed his gaze and ruffled his hair.
"Hey, it wasn't as if this was a designer brand. Now come on. We'll get that hand cleaned up and I'll introduce you to everyone else."
She took the six-year-olds unhurt hand in hers and ushered him towards the Fire.
In a place in between time and space, a realm invisible even to the Dark One that fed on hope and fear in equal measure, books were stacked high on shelves, a fire was crackling, and some tasteful scotch was being imbued.
The Observer was aware of the new arrivals even before the Survivors and Killers. Perhaps even before the Leech knew, as the Observer was so adept with predicting its behavior through study and experience. He gulped down his glass, erased it, and used the Auris to produce two leather-bound books. On the front cover of one, a photograph depicted a smiling six-year-old hugging his parents. The tile was printed in a white font: Ryan Molt, a traumatized youth. On another, a smiling man in a suit cleaning blood off his scalpel. His title was printed in a bright red font: John Smith, the Sadist.
The Observer looked at the first book. He spoke to no one in particular. He found it helped him keep a clear mind.
"My sincere apologies to you, my young friend. A soul as innocent as yours should not have been exposed to such barbarity and horror, and no child should ever find themselves here. However, 'should not' is irrelevant to 'shall not'. Unfortunately, the universe is always finding ingenious ways to punish the innocent…"
He gazed at the second book in disgust.
"...and reward the guilty. I have no doubt that a soul as depraved and craven as yours will see this nightmare as Heaven itself, but know that you shall forever be nothing more than a lapdog to a being far greater than you, and I shall pray even to gods I no longer believe in that one day you will know all the suffering you have inflicted on others."
The Observer shook his head.
"In the end, this matters not. This is simply another bloody Chapter in the Entity's insidious game, where only it shall emerge the victor…"
The Observer got up from his comfortable leather chair and walked to the shelves to place the new entries. A new story begins...