His insides coiled as he took the path up to the farm. The looks from the bar goers really gave him the creeps. He tried to brush it off, they're his neighbors, he's going to have to learn to live with them. Besides, he's probably overreacting anyways. He got a little lost trying to find the path at first. A part of him felt like he was being watched.

On the farm he felt some relief as he plowed the fields some more. He plowed and plowed until there was a definite hole in the soil. He tried to shake it off but the stares bothered him. Do you bathe in blood too? He didn't want to ask Takakura about it, no need is to needlessly worry him. This is only his second day.

Takakura would probably think that he was overwhelmed or something by the new environment. He suddenly jerked his head up, confused. What was that? He glanced around the farm. He thought he heard a voice. A whisper.

He slowly made his way back to tilling, making sure to look over his shoulder every few moments. Soon enough, his thoughts reemerged.

It was only as the red sun blared behind him that he thought he should head in. He was hot and sweaty when he came into the house. The cool breath of the home enveloping his skin is what he was expecting, instead the house was even more humid than outside. It was as if he left all the doors open. He pondered if the door needed fixing again or if that tiny window had opened again.

The inside was shadowy red from the sun and he went to turning on the lights. When the lights clicked on, it revealed the dusty furniture and bed. He sighed and his aching stomach was grumbling. Takakura supplied the refrigerator with fish and some tomatoes, which he was eternally grateful for. He didn't make any haste and ate straight out of the fridge, standing in front of it with his mouth open.

In bed, he felt his bare sweaty skin crash against the stiff covers of the bed. He didn't want to concern himself with anything else for the day. It was only around 7 pm and there was still plenty of time in the day. Stark red scrapped along the floorboards. It must have only been a few minutes later when he heard a different scrapping from the kitchen.

He stayed still, consciously listening.

When he heard it again he leaped from his father's bed knowing exactly what it was. Damn, he pushed opened the kitchen door expecting to see rats but instead saw a lone chair sitting still behind the table. The spare momentum escaped him and he just looked around, slightly confused. He didn't see rats. He saw his plate, fish bones scattered on top, still on the table. He decided to clean it since he was there.

When he left he went back to bed, this time he made sure to get under the covers. The blanket had just eclipsed his nose when he heard it again. The scrapping.

Feeling the heavy blankets atop him and the darkness beneath him, he ignored it. As the night emerged, the sound festered louder in his ears. Damn it! He hopped up from the bed and stomped to the kitchen. When he burst through the door, tired and agitated, he was startled by the stillness of the room. He stood and stared into the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the chair wobble. He had to catch his breath.

He approached slowly, squinting his eyes as he got closer. He stopped suddenly when the chair wobbled again. The corner of the table obstructed his view of the chair's legs-which were shaking the entirety of it. As he crept closer he smoothed his hand along the wooden table. It was smoother than he had expected, especially since all the other wooden furniture was withered, warped, or splintered.

He craned his neck to see farther as the chair wobbled. He quickly lunged forward to catch the animal. The chair instantly stopped wobbling. Mark was stunned to see nothing there. What? He just stood for a few moments. There was nothing there. He even leaned over to get a look under the table. Still, no signs of anything. He was sure he saw the chair moving. Confused, he went to the chair-looking it over. All the legs were the same length so that wasn't causing the wobble. He wasn't sure what to think, the dragging sound too was strange. He looked around the kitchen to find some explanation. What could be dragging or scrapping? Everything except the table and chair was nailed down.

He stood still for a little longer hoping to hear it again but it did not come.

After a few seconds, he returned to bed. He wrapped the stiff blanket back around himself. He still had a few hours until morning- and hard labor. The moonlight through the windows was comforting and he began drifting away again as he watched it.

As his eyes closed for the last time he heard it again, much louder this time. He gritted his teeth-royally pissed. He sat up in the bed, the edges of his form illuminated by the pale moonlight. The rest of the room was pitch black but he stomped to the kitchen door regardless.

"Damnit-"

He was barely able to scream before he felt back onto to the ground. On instinct, he had slammed the door back shut upon seeing it. The chair. It was now on the table. The instant he hit the ground he shot away, crawling like a crab as far back as possible.

That's not possible-that's not possible!

He bore into the kitchen still despite the closed door. Maybe I did that? He thought. Yeah, I was pretty tired. I probably did it unconsciously. He hobbled up shaking. What am I so afraid of? It's just a chair. He breathed in deep and puffed his chest out. It's just a chair. He approached, repeating that he wasn't afraid. However, the shakiness in his hand made it difficult to turn the knob.

Even though it was in fact just a chair, he was slow to open the door. "I'm coming in" he whispered despite himself. When the door was wide stretched, he felt his body go laxed. The chair was in his original position.

Maybe he imagined it? That was his conclusion until he saw the shadowy figure beside it. "Father?" The two stood silently. The figure remained still and Mark thought he was losing his mind. "Fa…" he couldn't finish. The figure, it had the same face. The same stretched wrinkled skin that drooped. The dark shadows casting over his eyes left his sockets empty. Mark felt his whole body trembling.

The figure stood high above him and slowly lifted its tree-branch thick arms from its sides. It held them outstretched to him. Mark remain still, only being able to watch with wide eyes. The figure looked as if it was made of shadows and dust but it was still clearly him. His father.

Mark felt his eyes brimming with hot tears. "Father" he whined. The first step was heavy but the second was light as broke into a dash for his fathers out stretched arms. "Daddy, I'm sorry!" He grasped onto the figure, shuddering when he hit the solid form.

As he held tight, he felt his father's arms fall and wrap around him. His father felt so solid, so tangible. Only for a brief second did Mark believe he was still alive. "Father, I'm sorry I left. I-" he was interrupted by his own crying. He couldn't believe his father was here right then and he didn't know where these feelings were coming from but they were so overwhelming. He felt the hot tears stinging his eyes as he squeezed them shut. Mucus was dribbling from his nose and into his mouth as he cried like a newborn.

"Father, I-" he was caught off guard by the breath forced out of his body. The arms were squeezing him. "Father-" It was so tight, he felt his lungs being crushed by his ribs. The figure felt like it was enveloping his entirety. He was suffocating in it. Even his arms that had be wrapped around his father had straightened out like wood and could bare move on their own.

"Da…ddy" He tried as his eyes started seeing white. The arms lifted him up off the ground with their strength. As his whole body was being crushed, he felt something new coursing through him. Fear. It was it's own chemical and he overdosed quickly.

"AhghhhH!" He started screaming. Despite the pain in his lungs he howled and screeched in writhing pain. He had never felt so terrified. His body was moving on its own. Whether it was in self-defense or he was shaking intensely, he was kicking at his father screaming.

His lungs screamed dry as he cried. As he did, the tightness around his body began to loosen and his father's face became distorted almost like it was melting. The figure instantly vanished into nothing Mark felt his entire body tremble intensely. He almost bit off his own tongue as he breathed.

The tears felt cold and ran smoothly now. He just tried to breath in and out slowly. His heart was racing inside his chest. It's quick bursting hurt and he winced with every beat. That night he slept in the fetal position.