On some nights, Will Graham prayed.
It wasn't as though he was religious; he wasn't. But a person didn't really need to be to recite a simple four lines in solemn request. Plus to him, it was more a ritual born of habit than anything else.
He was thirteen when he first learned to pray. A nun from what his father called an 'overnight drop-in centre' taught him.
It was a nice place. Even if he found out that most people in school called it a 'homeless shelter.'
People were kind to him there. Understanding. They didn't judge him nor his father when they find out about the pair's bi-monthly, state-jumping life style. They didn't try to take Will away even when they discovered that his dad couldn't even afford the lowest motel rate in Louisiana. Instead, the nun had smiled and patted his head; she tucked him in, and taught him words that were meant to protect him so that his father would have a 'home to return to.'
Even after his father's death, Will still murmured the same four lines as he closed his eyes for bed. Because by then, it was the only sense of stability he had left.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Will stared past his reflection in the mirror, mindlessly scrubbing his teeth. He blinked. The greying visage of Garett Jacob Hobbs regarded him carefully, his head tilted to the side as he looked through the mirror with milky eyes. He smiled, his teeth stained red and brown with stagnant blood.
Will blinked again.
Elliot Buddish with his lungs spread out like wings behind him stared back.
Again.
Eldon Stammets. Blink. Tobias Budge. Blink. Clark Ingram.
William spat out the tooth paste, staring diligently at the porcelain sink as he grappled for his cup. White foam drained slowly, spreading specks of red into lines from when he'd brushed his gums too hard. He rinsed out his mouth and looked up.
Abigail smiled at him.
He rinsed out his mouth again, just to remove the bitter taste of bile from his throat. And again, when the acid burn stubbornly refused to disappear. Winston whined from underfoot.
"I'm fine, Winston," Will muttered, giving the dog's head a pat as he threw his toothbrush into his cup. "It's just the usual. You know how it is." He stepped past his pet, making his way to the bed.
The newly changed white sheets were tucked tightly into the mattress – any looser and Will knew they would come undone after a night of thrashing.
"Winston, c'mon, bed-time." Will ushered the dog to the bed with no qualms of the pet hair already attaching themselves to the fabric. Winston immediately made himself comfortable at the foot of the bed, curling up and waiting for his master to do the same. Will did, giving the dog one last pat on the head before he slipped under the safety of white sheets.
Once, Alana had recommended that perhaps, he should buy black ones – just for the sake of them being easier to clean. Vomit and sweat didn't stain as easy on black. He'd considered it. But that was all he did. He'd imagined cocooning himself into darkness – the same gloom that he entered in his sleep.
The thought was inconsolable.
Thus, Will positioned his head on a scratchy, feather filled pillow. He closed his eyes and, under his breath, muttered four lines long taught to him:
"Now I lay me down to sleep -"
Will sighed, adjusting his feet under the comforter. He knew it might be easier if he prayed in the conventional way at the end of the bed. But, it didn't really matter to him. And he was tired.
Still, Winston whined his discontent at being prodded by his owner's feet.
"-I pray the Lord my soul to keep-"
Will turned to his side, trying to find a comfortable position.
He could already feel the words lulling him to sleep. The words never changed, no matter who died, or who was born: they were the archetype of stability.
Will shrugged his shoulders, bringing the sheets closer to his chin.
"-the angels watch me through the night-"
The darkness crept out from the back of Will's mind.
"-and keep me safe til morning light."
And he slept.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Will woke up disoriented. The light from the window was blinding, painting the entirety of the room monochrome white. He blinked the sleep away, looking around; the air was frozen. Nothing moved.
Winston was still sleeping at the foot of the bed, his fur still and pointed. Will reached for his dog with small hands, wondering why Winston was farther away than he last remembered.
"Winston?" said Will. "Wake up."
The dog didn't stir.
"Winston?" Will repeated. "Wake up."
Winston didn't wake.
"C'mon. Hannibal's gonna be mad if we're late for breakfast."
Will nudged Winston again. "I'm gonna leave if you don't wake up."
The dog didn't even breath. So, Will kicked out of the blankets, crawling to the edge of the bed just to climb off. He trotted to the bathroom, pushing the step stool next to the sink so he could reach the counter. He splashed water on his face, rubbing at the smooth skin around his chin and eyes. Next, Will grabbed his toothbrush, scrubbing at his teeth. He looked up at the mirror.
There was no reflection. Just the whiteness of the painted door and drywall behind him. But that didn't really matter. First priority was to get clean.
Cause a dirty guest at the breakfast table was just as rude as an absent one.
Hannibal told him. Hannibal was his best friend. Hannibal knew best.
Will jumped down from the step stool, walking through the still blinding white landscape of the bedroom.
"Winston," he said. "I'm gonna wake dad up now. They're not gonna leave out kibble if you don't come out."
Will exited. There was no click of nails following behind. "Winston!"
Not even a ruffle of fur.
"Hannibal's gonna get mad," Will muttered from the door. He turned into the hallway. It stretched out like a highway: long, narrow, and boxed in by smooth, blank white walls. There was a small, black door to the right, just a minutes pace away. Its bronze door knob gleamed even from the distance.
Will padded over to it. He knocked. "Dad? Breakfast time."
No one opened the door.
"Is everyone still sleeping?" Will murmured to himself, exasperated. "Hannibal's gonna be really mad."
He glanced up at the clock that appeared above the doorway. 7:26. Twenty-six minutes late.
"Hannibal's gonna be really really mad."
Will turned the knob to his dad's bedroom. "I'm coming in dad," he announced, just to be polite. The door swung open and Will entered. It was empty but for a single, queen sized bed marring the pure, detail-less space. The bed was built with a black wooden frame, polished and smooth – identical to door. Its corner posts stood tall, sharp and pointed. However, Will's attention was drawn to the stag's head carved into the headboard. Glossy black eyes greeted him.
Look, they whispered. Look.
The stag's horns extended the surface of the bed, curving downward and almost encapsulating a still figure draped by crisp, white sheets. The sheets were loose, spilling over the sides of the bed. An image of a small, stainless steel table paired with the putrid scent of iron, latex, and antiseptic appeared in Will's mind. It was gone before he could begin to wonder. So instead, he approached the bed.
Long brown hair escaped from the top of the sheets, strewn out as if on water. Will guessed from that, and the curvature of the body, that it was a girl. She must be sleeping, he thought.
"Excuse me, miss?" Will addressed. "Have you seen my dad? He's late for breakfast."
The still figure did not respond. So Will stepped closer.
"Miss? Are you awake?"
He stopped at the side of the bed. The sheet was tucked up high over the girl's forehead. Will peeled it down, tucking it lightly under the girl's chin. Her eyes were closed, skin pale and bloodless.
"Miss? Sorry to bother you, but have you seen my dad?" Will asked again.
The girl blinked up at him, her blue eyes stark against sallow skin and deep brown hair. She stared.
"You can join us for breakfast, if you want," Will offered. "I don't think Hannibal would mind."
"It's too late," the girl whispered, her voice a low, gritty rasp. Will wondered if she was sick. Maybe, that's why his dad lent her his bed.
"Too late?" Will tilted his head, a moment of understanding coming over him. Well, he thought, they were half an hour late for breakfast. So Hannibal would have finished cooking by now: a portion of three for Will, dad, and him. But then, Hannibal always made extra. 'Cause Will was a growing boy, so he needed to eat more. More meat, Hannibal said. So it wouldn't be a problem if there was one more person. Will told her so.
The girl blinked at him again. Then she sat up, the sheets falling from her form. A simple, tawny-brown colored shirt paired with black denim.
Will frowned, noticing that the girl had gone to bed without changing into nightclothes. Hannibal always told him he shouldn't do that. The boy almost mentioned it to his guest, but he froze when he saw the girl's expression.
Her mouth was downturned, yet she smiled from the red line on her neck.
"You came in too late. Too late, too late, too late."
Her body rose from the bed in a single swift motion; she edged closer to the boy. Smiling, still smiling, always smiling.
Will gasped, taking a step back. Blood seeped from the wound on the girl's neck, staining the sheets crimson. It dripped down to the floor, the colour staining and spreading like a disease. Every step away brought the scarlet blight closer; it encroached everything, veinlike.
The girl loomed over Will. Her shadow spread through the room, dying the entire landscape black.
Even the blood. Especially, the blood.
You could have saved me," she whispered, sticky black-stained saliva burbling at the corner of her lips. "You didn't. Too late. Always too late."
Will whimpered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be. Winston wouldn't wake up! I told him we'd be late."
The excuse sounded wrong to his ears. He stumbled away, backwards.
Blood pooled around Will's feet. It seeped into his socks and every backward step he took came away sticky with thick black tar. His feet were numb with weight. He could feel the girl's closeness but there was no heat. She was so cold.
"Why?" she asked him, her voice cracking, desperate for answers. It hurt Will's ears to hear. And her breath was sour: acrid and dead.
So he shut his eyes tightly, turning his face away and clasping his hands over his ears. But the whispers echoed louder.
Why didn't you come sooner?
Why didn't you see?
Why didn't you save me?
Why? Why?
Why WHY why WHY why?
WHY?
Will shook his head violently, the words vibrating through his head despite his best efforts to shut them away.
"I don't know!" he shouted, his voice just a tone below a scream. "I don't know. I'm sorry. I'M SORRY!"
Liar.
The girl tilted his head at him. Looked at him. Sneered at him. Mocking, judging –
Accusing.
Will turned, his arms falling from his ears as he ran for the door. There was only darkness in his line of sight, but he kept running.
Liar.
And running.
LIAR.
Faster.
Into darkness. Cold, insidious, darkness.
(My poor, sweet, William)
He fell.
He was caught.
By shadows.
(I have you.)
William whimpered, shaking in the grip of shadows. It enfolded him, embraced him as it crept across his skin and into his pores. He couldn't move. He couldn't breath.
Hot breath on his ear. Cold fingers trailing along cheeks.
(How lost you've become without me.)
The shadow nosed at his neck, breathing in William's scent as it squeezed him tighter. William was sinking. Drowning. He sobbed. He wanted to scream. Stop it stop it stop it let me go.
(Don't worry.)
Will struggled, but every move spread the gloom around him. He couldn't even see his hands reaching out anymore.
(I'm here now.)
The dark oozed into his nose, his mouth, his gripped his heart.
(And I won't let you go.)
-0-0-0-0-0-
Will woke up disoriented. Black spotted his vision and he couldn't see the light from the window, if there was any at all. The sheets stuck to his skin, wet and cold.
(I'll take care of you now, William)
Will vomited bile and stomach acid onto the empty side of the bed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, cringing as he stared at the mess by his side. At least, he thought, it was easier to clean than the carpet.
From the foot of the bed, Winston barked.
Will stood up from the bed, dragging himself into the bathroom. In the mirror, the eyes of his reflection stared back at him, red and swollen. His beard couldn't even hide how sunken his cheeks had become.
Why? his reflection asked. Why?
Will splashed water on his face, unable to answer. He didn't know. There were too many endings to that question. Too many answers.
Will let the water drip off his face. The cold felt good despite the sweat chills that racked his body. He let out a sigh of relief, rubbing his temple in an attempt to keep the head aches away
(Poor, pitiful boy. Let me help you)
He closed his eyes, shuddering as the memories of his nightmare came back to him.
The stillness. The darkness. Abigail. Hannibal.
Will grimaced, pain stabbing at his temple. One thing, he was missing one thing. Will squeezed his eyes as he tried to remember.
Hannib...
He cradled his head; the pain throbbed.
Hann...
His headache intensified and Will flinched.
H... a...
.
.
.
Will shook his head, groaning when it only exacerbated the pain. He stepped back into the bedroom, in search for the bottle of aspirin he'd kept in yesterday's jeans. The thought of the dream was shoved to the back of his mind; there was no point in digging through nightmares when he already had enough on the surface.
"Winston, wake up," he said, peeking at the dog who'd gone back to sleep in the five minutes he'd spent in the bathroom. He went to check on his phone by the bedside table. 7:31. "It's breakfast time."
Will nudged the dog off the bed, ushering him towards the exit. He glanced at the window as he left through the door.
Morning light bled through the curtains.
A.N:
Wow. Everyone seems to have relocated to A03, yeah? Well, anyways, author's note:
Thanks for reading! And no, Will can't hear Hannibal when he's awake.
Well, a lot of people mentioned how this fic is giving out Coraline vibes, righty-o, SeniorPotato's doujinshi on DA is a Coraline cross-over so as yeah, as 'll always say, go check that out!
For the prayer thing, hopefully my use of it didn't offend anyone. But, to be on the safe side, I apologize if it did. If you were confused about the wording, there's actually a lot of versions of the prayer; I chose the one that suited the fic's purposes most.
But yeah, what do you guys think about my attempt at writing almost horror stuff? Nay or Yay? 'Cause my experience in it is basically reading Silence of the Lambs and Coraline. Like, was there too much detail? Not enough? Any grammar mistakes? Be honest, please?
Btw, did anyone notice the significance of the time in the fic? (Hint: considering that Will was eight years old when he first met/left Hannibal) Kudos if you did!
One last thing lol, on the next update: I'm taking a spring class starting next week, so updates might be a little slower when that starts. But I'll still write during the classes! Plus It's a six-week class then vacation time so I promise that I won't disappear for like five months as I did between chapter one and two.
