Hey! Home from school. Get ready for the most haunting, scariest, terrorizing Chapter you ever seen!
There were too many doors in the upstairs hall. Tsubasa told his friends, but they couldn't see it. They told him not to worry. They told him there was nothing there. But there was an extra door at the end of the upstairs hall. An extra yellow door, and it didn't belong.
It was the color of disease, jaundiced and infected, with spidery black veins across its face. One perfect silver knob gleamed in its center above a shadowy keyhole, and it didn't look right. The doorknob shone with a mirror's finish, and caught the light from any angle, begging for Tsubasa to look its way. Tsubasa did his best to ignore it, but the door knew his name, and it whispered it when he drew near.
"Tsubasaaaa..." the door would rasp with a voice like dried leaves as tiny claws scraped against the other side. Tears would well in Tsubasa's eyes as he'd hurry past, his arms laden with everything he'd need to get ready for the day.
"Tsubasaaaa..." it would call again before he'd shuffled out of range and closed the bathroom door, cutting off its paper-thin wails. When he'd creep from the bathroom to head downstairs, the door's voice would follow him with a furious flurry of scraping claws and tormented howls. They lingered and gnawed in the back of his mind as he'd rush through breakfast so he could leave the house a few minutes sooner.
This place became a blessing, an excuse to be someone somewhere else. At the shed he could forget the door. At the shed he could pretend his house was like everyone else's, with the right number of doors and no eerie whispers. But at the end of the day it was still waiting for her at the end of the upstairs hall, with its mirror-ball knob and yellow face. He hated coming home and knowing it was there, but even more than that, he hated going to sleep, because in his dreams, he opened the door.
Every night, he stood before it, fighting the urge to reach out. Dread knotted his belly in anticipation of pain when his hand rose anyway to grasp the silver knob. Some nights it burned him like the driest ice. Other nights it seared like a red hot coal. Very occasionally, it did neither, instead turning and turning without ever opening the door, and he couldn't stop turning it until he woke up.
When the door did open, it revealed a swirling vortex of shadow and sound, with a thousand voices crying in the darkness. The voices curled around him, crawling through her hair like spiders. He thrashed and swatted at their skittering whispers, but the words still tingled across his skin.
He never should have listened.
"He sees..." they said. "He hears..." they moaned. "He hungers..." they wept, and burrowed in his mind like worms. "Ryuga, Ryuga," they echoed in his mind and screamed to him from the gaping vortex. "The Darkness . . . he hunts!"
Tsubasa shot up with a scream that night, gasping and sweating, but alone in the bed. The clock's crimson face said morning had passed, but not by much. Sun light enveloped the room, except where a vestigial nightlight illumined the corner by the desk; it wasn't much, but he felt better when he saw it.
He pulled the bedsheets over his head and pushed away the echoing voices. "I'm fine," he swore, hugging his knees and rocking. "It's just a dream. They're always dreams. The dreams will go away like they always do."
He started humming a song Sierra used to sing to her baby singer, small enough to need the nightlight, and the panic faded little by little with every note.
"Just a dream." He repeated. "Just a dream. Just a—"
"What's with you?" Someone asked from the hall.
Tsubasa froze.
"Are you OK?" It was the voice of a rival and not at all like the voice he usually heard the end of the hall with the door open.
"K-Kyoya?" Tsubasa whispered back from beneath the sheets.
"It's already noon and you still asleep?"
Tsubasa didn't move; he was terrified of leaving the safety of his net. As the moments ticked past, however, an anxious curiosity emboldened him enough to peek out from the covers. "It was... Kyoya," he thought. He sounded really serious as Tsubasa acting quite scared.
Tsubasa crawled from her bed clutching the sweat-damp night T shirt he'd worn to sleep, and waited. When nothing happened, he stood up and tip-toed toward Kyoya; toward the waiting lion, with the mirror-ball knob, on the wall at the end of the upstairs hall. When he stood before it, his stomach lurched, and for a moment he couldn't tell if he was going to vomit, or faint.
"Come on," Kyoya said when Tsubasa got close. "You look a little pale. "
Tsubasa opened his mouth to answer, and his voice was a calm of nothing. He took a deep breath, so he would forget about it.
"Yes," he finally managed. "...I'm fine."
"Really?" Kyoya asked as he stared at Tsubasa. He felt like he was want to know something what is going on with him.
Tsubasa sighed. "I just had a bad headache."
"And then what happened?"
"I had a bad dream. And... that was it."
"Hmph!" Kyoya closed his eyes as he crossed his arms.
"I have to go now. Please, excuse me." Tsubasa walked past Kyoya and went downstairs.
Later that night, The author man had completely lost control of the book. Part of him thought it was funny, but even so, Gingka and his friends had a hard time laughing. This whole thing had he worried. Killua wasn't sure why at the time, but maybe some part of him sensed that this was only the beginning of a much more enormous horror.
On the surface nothing was out of the ordinary to justify his unease. It was just his usual Friday night ritual. Dinner done, lights off in the livingroom, a bowl of popcorn, and the local news before watching a movie with Gingka and his friends. This was his comfort after a long, hard week of angry clients and angrier bosses. It was time to unwind.
Still, tonight it wasn't working. Tonight something felt off. Killua couldn't put his finger on what it was.
On the news tonight was the latest on a series of killings that had terrorized the city. People were being murdered in their own homes, with rarely any sign of struggle, and never a sign of a break in. They were just found gutted or stabbed or sliced up. The victim was almost always an adult, although there were a few children. Disappearances of other family members were common as well, but there didn't seem to be a consistent pattern.
The only clue left behind was a bit of residual chalk dust lightly powdered over all of the victims.
"This is a real death cult, alright? The next Charles Manson is out there turning people into murderers!" The shrill woman, I think her name was Gladys something, was a representative for a group called "Family Survivors of the Chalk Murders". They were a growing group.
She was debating someone who also had a family member that was recently killed. The guy's mother was butchered in her own kitchen. Even so, he was disagreeing with her. He was some kind of expert on cults, and said that none of it matched the patterns of behavior that these groups usually showed.
"Look, this doesn't fit with how cults do things. There are no messages left behind, nobody emptying their bank accounts or posting manifestos. None of the active cults in the area are taking responsibility, and believe me, they would if they could. I understand that you need to assign blame, to have someone that you can attack, but there are more important things! We need to stop looking for some cult leader and find the person or persons who are really doing this!"
He was making sense but… I don't know. Maybe he was the reason Kenta was feeling so uneasy. He was average looking, not really remarkable, but there was just something about him. It could have been that, even though he was yelling, he looked completely calm. His voice didn't match his face.
Finally the anchor broke in: "Kevin, thanks for that. I'm sorry but we're out of time, we have to move on."
Rick Warslen's face appeared on screen again as he shuffled papers dramatically and the graphic reading "Chalk Murders" appeared over his shoulder.
"Tonight's grizzly murder of Thomas Greetly brings the total number of Chalk Murders to 38. Greetly was found in his office by the cleaning staff this morning stabbed through the back of the neck repeatedly and coated with a fine layer of chalk dust. The city lives in fear as the number of murders seems to be increasing in frequency, with a murder every day for the past four days. Authorities have yet to comment on… I'm sorry… one moment…"
He seemed to be listening to someone off-screen. Riku, Gingka, Masamune and Killua had to laugh a bit. Kenta really did not have it together tonight and it seemed like the whole news broadcast was disorganized and amateurish.
"I see the four of you laughing at the depressing entertainment."
They was so startled they nearly jumped out of their skin. Kyoya was standing there next to them, backlit in the darkened room by the kitchen light. Weird that he startled them. Gingka and Kyoya have done the rivalry battle for 3 times now, and He is used to being able to hear him coming. Gingka must have been even more wrapped up in this news story than he thought.
"That's right! Don't laugh at him, he's just upset!"
"Yeah OK Benkei, I'll give the guy a break, his daughter having been killed and all. He's still a wreck though, really he should have taken more time off than just a month."
"Well, if I got all hacked up and chalk covered, would you go to training the next day?" Kyoya gave them his creepy, strange, you're-going-down and battle-me-now look. Gingka knew what that look meant. It meant he wasn't going to let me watch the news until he gave his some attention.
"Of course not man, I'd be a wreck for years!" He rolled his eyes and Killua smirked at him with just tough enough to make him feel like he wanted him, but not so much that Kyoya would get pumped up and want Gingka to battle. This way he can push Benkei away with an "Don't touch me!" and Killua can go back to the news. Works most of the time.
Rick Warslen had started up again. "… obtained exclusive closed circuit security footage of the murder of Thomas Greetly. Ladies and gentlemen, while this may be hard to watch, it will be important to identify the killer and for your own safety familiarize yourself with how these murders are being done. Children and those sensitive to violence should leave the room. The following footage is very shocking."
"Whoops, that's my cue to get out of the room," Riku said, "Really I have no idea how you can watch that!" He smiled and gave Kyoya a head shake of disapproval as he left. Riku was fearless as Gingka is, but as soon as anything the slightest bit scary comes on the TV he either runs away or makes Gingka change the channel. Killua haven't been able to watch a horror movie in peace in years.
Tsubasa walked into the living room.
"Hey Tsubasa! You've been sleeping awhile." Gingka greeted him.
"Oh. Sorry... Um... I maybe had a long dream." Tsubasa said with a hesitated smile.
The camera quality was pretty good for security footage; sharp and in full color. You could clearly see the rows of cubicles and into the glass office that Greetly was working in. It was late and he was the only person there. The lights were on in his office area, but the rest of the place was mostly in shadows.
Two people entered from the left. One was a guy with longish hair wearing a vest over a purple shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He had a pair of glasses that reflected the light from the office. The other person was an older lady in a shawl and drab looking dress.
When they entered his office Greetly looked up at them and leaned back. He seemed relaxed; not at all apprehensive about his guests. The old lady walked around the desk to stand next to Greetly while the guy in the shirt and vest stood back by the door.
The anchorman's voice cut in: "I've just been informed that the woman on screen has been identified as Greetly's mother, Mildred Greetly, an 86 year old pensioner. She… oh…"
He stopped talking when Greetly's mom pulled out the knife. It reflected the office lights brightly. She held it behind her son's back, and he never saw it coming when she drove it down into the back of this neck.
Tsubasa couldn't help but wince and jerk back from the TV. The utter brutality of it… she didn't even hesitate. She just pulled out the knife, positioned it in the air, and then put her whole body into the thrust. The force drove Greetly face-down onto the desk, but she wasn't done. As he went into spasms she wrenched the knife out and then drove it back in with both hands, leaning back to lift the knife as high as she could and then bending at the waist to make the most of each thrust. One, two, three, four… blood splattering up her arms, over her face, everywhere.
The worst part was her expression. That part turned my stomach. She was smiling this big false-toothy grin as she murdered her son.
The man she'd come in with made a slight motion, and she stopped and stood back. He approached the desk and lifted his hands to hover about a foot away from the dripping body, as if giving it a blessing or something. The picture warped then, bulging out unnaturally. It wasn't a digital interference but more like the lens was being twisted somehow. Then… everything went black.
After a few seconds Mark Warslen's face reappeared, shuffling papers with shaking hands and a drawn expression.
"Shocking footage of the murder of Thomas Greetly. We've been informed that Mildred Greetly has been taken into custody. We have… yes, OK… we do have footage of her being brought in for questioning. We take you live to the 9th precinct headquarters."
The camera cut to an outdoor scene. It was mayhem as a crowd of reporters was being held back by a few officers. The back door of a police car was being opened. The old lady was pulled out in handcuffs, blood still splattered across her face. No sign of the other guy.
She seemed calm despite the shouting from the reporters. She looked happy beneath the blood, as if all was right with the world and there was nothing to worry about.
A shout cut through the noise of the crowd: "How could you kill your own son?" She said something then, but it was hard to hear. It was something like: "There are more important things."
They led her to the door of the station and she seemed to be going peacefully, but then suddenly she straightened up, looked around until she spotted a camera, and stared into the lens.
"Heh heh! I'm kinda hungry." Gingka laughed as his stomach is grumbling. "Who wants the triple beef burgers? Beef burgers on me!"
"OK!" Kenta said as walked outside, following Gingka.
"B-B-B-Bull! I'm so starving!" Benkei ran to the front door.
"Sounds good to me." Riku laughed and walked off.
"Good luck guys." Killua scoffed as he walked off.
Kyoya and Tsubasa stared at each other, Tsubasa was confused.
"What's so important?" Tsubasa asked.
"Let me guess: You had a nightmare, right?" Kyoya said as he stood up.
"Yes... The darkness are coming inside me, and I can't get those voices out of my mind." Tsubasa said.
"It's Ryuga's power. I heard that Gingka started to worry about you." Kyoya said.
"..."
"Hey! Are you listening to me?" Kyoya snapped his fingers.
Tsubasa shook his head and sighed. "Sorry. I was just wondering about something."
"OK, I see what's going on with you. You were scared this time." Kyoya said as he crossed his arms.
Tsubasa blinked. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't act like you don't know!"
"I'm sorry but I can't tell you."
"Tsubasa, You have to tell me and you're going to tell me right now!" Kyoya demanded.
"No." Tsubasa said.
"Tell me or else!" Kyoya growled.
Tsubasa glanced as he sighed. "After I lost at the tournament, I got upset. The bladers laughed in the room. I opened the door to take look and I saw them talking something cruel and making fun of me, then my anger goes inside me, so I decided to destroy them... all of them..." he finished.
Kyoya smirked, this is starting to get interesting. "I see."
"So, what about you? You are might be afraid of anyone or anything." Tsubasa said.
Kyoya closed his eyes. "How smart are you to say that." He took a step forward and opened his eyes. "I was, but you're the one who's scared." He walked closer. "Cause I know trembling, I know your fears and I know what I feel your pain. " Tsubasa gave him the terrified look. "Wow, you're giving me a look. I thought you're a strong blader. But now, really? You're just a troubled little guy." He walked closer and closer and closer towards Tsubasa, who stared at him with his wide eyes open.
Tsubasa breathed heavily, he doesn't know what is got into him. "Kill him..." They whispered. Tsubasa gasped as he shivers. "Kill him... before he kills you..." He panted.
"What? Did I scared you a lot?" Kyoya smirked maliciously.
Tsubasa panted faster. "Take the knife..." He slowly looked over the knife on the table. "Go and take the knife..." Tsubasa tries to run to get the it, but Kyoya grabbed Tsubasa's arm.
"Trying to run away huh? Ha! Don't even try! I'm not going to let him go." Kyoya said. "So, I'm gonna give you... a little warning." He started whispering to his ear then: "They will consume you all! Every last one! You'll rot in the pit, and your presence will be made manifest!"
Tsubasa panted even more faster as he trembled uncontrollably, so Kyoya whispered to his ear some more: "They are your disciples, and they are everywhere! They're the people you've loved and trusted! And they will kill you, I promise! You will be fed to they that emerges!"
Tsubasa shut down his eyes as the darkness whispered to kill Kyoya.
Kill him...
Kill him...
Kill him...
Kill him...
Kill him...
Kill him..
Kill him...
Kill him...
Kill him...
Kill him...
Kill him...
Kill him, kill him, kill him, kill him, kill him, kill him, kill him, KILL HIM, KILL HIM KILL, KILL HIM, KILL HIM, KILL HIM, KILL HIM, KILL HIM, KILL HIM, KILL HIM, KILL HIM, KILL HIM, KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIM
"RRRAAAAHHH!" Tsubasa screamed and grabbed the knife. The blade gashes Kyoya's right arms, pain shooting up his wrist. When Kyoya turn to look, Tsubasa is standing over him, tugging at the knife that has buried itself in the chair. He's got the anger inside.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Kyoya asked angrily. He doesn't even know Tsubasa seem upset that he accidentally hurt him. Tsubasa's fear at the man's presence hasn't left him, but he is more than confused at that moment at what he is trying to do.
Tsubasa pulls the blade out of the chair and winds up for another blow. Shock and surprised registered on Kyoya's face as he gurgled, blood hemorrhaging from that wound, staining his black t shirt with red hue of his life essence. Again and again that silver blade stuck out, Tsubasa's speed not restricted to his flying as he plunged that blade into the king of the beast before at rapid pace, sobbing hysterically as he carved the squirming and flailing Kyoya up. Through breast, through bone, Kyoya's struggles slowly faded as his blood was spilt onto the floor of the living room, pooling around him, splattering Tsubasa a top with that hot red fluid.
"STAY AWAY FROM ME!" Tsubasa screamed, fear turning to rage. "YOU COULDN'T JUST GO AWAY, COULD YOU?! YOU HAD KEEP COMING BACK!" Kyoya's struggles grew weaker and weaker, his eyes wide with terror, visage frozen in a mix of fear and anguish.
Kyoya react, standing up and making a grab for his wrists to hold him back. Kyoya's right arm is in searing pain and gushing blood. It's making his arm weak, and the gleaming knife is getting closer to his face. he can't hold him back, but at the same time Tsubasa is worried that if Kyoya push back any harder he'll hurt him. He'd rather let him kill him than hurt him.
Still, Kyoya don't want to die either, and a terror begins to creep in as he realize that Tsubasa really is trying to end his life. This wasn't an accident. If he hadn't been trying to wave him off his hand wouldn't have deflected the blade and he would have buried it in his chest.
He's laughing crazily at him, opening his glowing red eyes, but seems calm even as the muscles strain and cords stand out on his neck in his effort to push the knife into his face. He doesn't understand.
"You insane son of the bitch! What the hell did you do that for?!"
"I know everything," Tsubasa says shakily, "it would be better if you can just go away and never come back. I'm going to kill you for my pain."
"W… what?"
"It's an exchange of shadows. There are…"
The tip of the blade starts to dig into Kyoya's cheek, and he panic. he shove hard enough to make him stumble back, and suddenly he is running. His feet take him down the hall, and he slam the door of the bedroom behind him. It's only then that he realize the stupidity of this move since the door has no lock. Tsubasa brace his back against the door.
"Come back here! You wanna stab me?! YOU WANNA STAB ME, TSUBASA?! TSUBASA!" Kyoya yelled. Tsubasa's hand is throbbing now, and he wrap a random t-shirt around it that happens to be laying nearby.
I still can't believe this is happening to me. Why me? Why would I being acting like this? I almost killed him, and now he is really about to kill me?
Kyoya tries the doorknob and he press back against the door, his feet sliding on the carpet. Terror wins over confusion then, and all he can think of is survival. he can't fight back at him directly or he might hurt him again, and he'd probably kill me.
Kyoya tries the doorknob again and pushes. Tsubasa holded it shut, but his feet feel like they just have no grip on this carpet. His heart is beating so hard now he swore he can hear it. Kyoya had always been a fitness buff and nagged at him to get in shape, but he've always preferred the couch and a strong drink. He is regretting that now. The extra pounds he've packed on are going to give him a heart attack before the king of beast even has the chance to kill him.
Kyoya starts throwing himself against the door over and over. He looks wounded, but he isn't holding back at all and is hitting the door with more force than Tsubasa imagined he could. Although it's only one thump against the door at a time and it's his grunts of anger that he hear. This has to be bruising him up, and he'll break a collar bone if he keeps up this pace. The door opens an inch every once in awhile, and Tsubasa keep having to scramble to keep his back against it. He is sweating now, although more with fear than strain.
In the window across the room a face appears, looking in at him. It's the girl with the black hair and the white dress, the one Marianne Cohen named her daughter, Carol Cohen. Her black are reflecting the light and she's grinning at Tsubasa.
Madness took him then. The throbbing in his hand, the roaring of his blood in his ears, she gave herself a target for all of it. Tsubasa stood and ran at the window, screaming at the top of my lungs some crazy, incoherent thing. He have no idea what was thinking. All he could think was that maybe, if he could get her, maybe somehow Kyoya would snap out of it.
"Tsubasa, open this door!" The door's silvery knob shook violently, rattling as if locked and jostled by someone on the other side. Tsubasa stumbled back with a gasp, staring at the shuddering, alien knob.
"Let me in, Tsubasa, please! I can't stay in here! Please help me! Let me in now!"
Tsubasa dropped to his knees when his legs gave out, and he screamed when he looked at the door.
Level with the shadowy keyhole, below the rattling knob, he stared directly into Kyoya's eye. Tears shimmered in the other eye, as they shimmered in Tsubasa's. It darted around, wide and white with fear, as if searching through the hall. And then, without warning, the keyhole became shadow, and the silver knob stilled, and Kyoya on the other side of the door began to cry.
"Please, Tsubasa," Kyoya pleaded. "They're almost here."
"The Darkness?" Tsubasa whispered as a chill slithered up his spine. Kyoya sobbed quietly. Tsubasa scooted closer to the door, his fear growing colder when he from the other side didn't answer. "Kyoya?"
Silence fell, as if it had always been there. He couldn't hear Kyoya crying anymore, and even the house was too quiet behind him.
Tsubasa put his ear near the door, and held his breath.
He waited. Minutes passed — but it couldn't have been minutes.
Nothing moved. Nothing whispered. Nothing cried. Nothing stirred. He couldn't hear anything but her own racing heart. Was he gone?
"Kyoya?" He tried again, afraid the The Darkness had taken him.
"They're here..." Kyoya whispered at last, almost in his ear, as though Kyoya's lips pressed tight against the keyhole. "Please, let me in..."
Tsubasa's head ached. The world was a little fuzzy around the edges, and it was harder to focus than before. He had to stand up. He didn't dare touch the sickly door, but his legs felt too wobbly and weak to support him. He reached for the knob with a trembling hand.
"Please, Tsubasa..." Kyoya's voice was getting smaller. "Please..."
Grasping the mirror-ball knob, he pulled himself up from the floor. It moved noiselessly beneath his hand, gliding without resistance, and opened the yellow door.
A lonely expanse of normal wall inched into view, and he felt sick. He worried at his thumb in confusion, and extended a trembling hand to touch the wall behind the door. It was solid. As solid and as normal as the wall at the end of the upstairs hall should be, but his stomach churned.
He gently closed the door, which issued a soft click as the latch sprang into place, and waited. He hardly dared to move or breathe as he listened to the night, waiting for the door to speak again.
Hours passed in oppressive silence — even though it couldn't have been hours–, and the door had nothing to say. Tsubasa grew sleepy — too sleepy to keep standing. Too sleepy to remember why he was standing so still at the end of the upstairs hall. It was time to go to bed.
It's just a dream, he remembered, turning away and rubbing at his eyes. They're always dreams.
Shuffling to the bed was like swimming through Jell-O, and most of the way there he couldn't keep his eyes open. Luckily, he knew the way.
The dreams will go away like they always do.
The crimson clock was broken when he rolled hisself back in bed, its face declaring 12:16 AM to a room that only vaguely felt familiar, but he couldn't bring herself to care when his eyes and body felt so heavy.
"Tsubasa..." Kyoya whispered. But it couldn't be a whisper.
"Tsubasa," Kyoya whispered. "Tsubasa, don't wake up."
Tsubasa groaned a little.
"Don't wake up," Kyoya said, his voice echoing in Tsubasa's mind.
Tsubasa frowned, and rolled on his back. He didn't want to wake up. He wanted to stay asleep. Kyoya didn't need to tell him not to wake, because not being awake was the whole point of being asleep.
For a long time, all was silence. Tsubasa's mind drifted, and he felt himself grow lighter, as if getting ready to float up through the blackness that surrounded his. He could feel the cool sheets beneath his then, and for a moment he thought he heard the papery-thin rustle of leaves in the room.
"They're here..." Kyoya whispered at last. "Please, don't wake up..."
"Who's here?" Tsubasa wondered as he steadily rose.
His hollow face, an eerie mask. With hollow voice at doors will ask. To be invited in to bask. Above his favored midnight task.
A strange tingling worked its way up Tsubasa's body as Kyoya recited the haunting rhyme in a disconcerting monotone. Clarity inched its way toward his slowly, melting away the fog of sleep. Hadn't she been dreaming? Was he still dreaming?
Something was wrong.
They're waiting inches from your face. To be the first thing your eyes grace. But keep them shut, or else embrace. A dark shell to take your place.
Cold dread seized Tsubasa's heart with each new stanza, and he trembled with the weight of his mistake. For a moment, he swore he could feel the air stir above him, stale and strangely warm against his cheeks. Leaves rustled above the bed.
The yellow door, you always keep. The darkness follows you to where you sleep. Into your room he then will creep. Your life and dreams for him to reap.
Kyoya's voice became little more than a breath within Tsubasa's mind, and the air cooled around him when a pressure lifted from his chest.
The leaves were in the hall.
The Darkness, above your bed. With red eyes, deep slumber fed. His darkest dreams may fill your head. But never peek, or you'll be dead.
Everything was wrong.
Distantly, Tsubasa registered the sound of Gingka and his friends screaming in the living room, and felt tears sliding down his cheeks. No longer dream tears, he could feel the wet warmth as each one fell.
"...Gingka," Tsubasa whispered. "Madoka," he rasped with a voice like dried leaves.
Kyoya? He thought, but Kyoya did not respond.
Silence fell over the B-pit and Tsubasa knew nothing would ever be right again.
From the hall outside the bedroom door, Tsubasa heard the soft click as a latch sprang into place, and waited.
Silence filled the house again. The leaves were gone.
Sunlight peeked through the curtains, and the crimson clock said it was 7:45 AM before he felt it was safe enough to open his eyes and leave the room. The yellow door, with its mirror-ball knob, stared at him from the wall at the end of the upstairs hall, and the house was still too quiet. It was a different quiet than before, though, a different quiet than from his dream.
It was the quiet of a tomb.
Except, of course, for the occasional tapping, as if from tiny claws, from the other side of the yellow door.
OMG! That's was horrifying! Up next: Chapter 4. Now, If you like this chapter, please review. Thanks.