-CHAPTER 2-

-Noodle's POV-

Have you ever watched the moon all night? If you haven't, you should try it sometime. It's not as hard as it sounds. The moon is always changing; every night it's just a little different than it was the night before. Even if you were to watch it every night for the rest of your life, it would never have the same shape, color, size or mood twice. Watching it slowly make its way across the sky can be very soothing. After a while, you start to let go of all your worries and your mind becomes clear. Blank. Tabula rasa. That's when the answers that were already hiding in the far corners of your mind can finally come out. Some people call it divine revelation. I think I like 2D's way of saying it better: "having an aha moment."

The moon seemed distant that night. Even though it was almost full, it looked small and lonely in a sky that had no stars. There were no shades of gray between light and shadow that night. The moonlight had a stark, white quality that split everything into either bleached spotlight or inky darkness. It was an eerie effect that gave the night an unsettling, nightmarish feel, but it didn't faze me at all. In fact, it matched my mood perfectly.

I had a lot of questions that needed answers and a lot of problems that needed solutions. I'd been watching the moon for hours, and under normal circumstances I would have already reached that empty, open state and been well on my way to finding my answers and solutions. However, that night was far from normal. Even after all that time, my thoughts were a jumbled mess and I was beginning to suspect that I wasn't going to get my "aha moment" at all. Instead of feeling my mind growing clear (blank, tabula rasa) all I felt was a dull, stupid numbness.

I suppose I had a good reason to feel that way. I was getting close to sixty-five hours without sleep and exhaustion was setting in. My body needed rest, and it needed it badly. Every muscle felt sore and creaky. My head felt as though it was full of sawdust and my eyes were like two balls of marble in their sockets—cold and unbelievably heavy. Worse yet, there was an unnatural scratchiness developing in my throat. If I didn't get some rest soon, that scratchiness would turn into a real cold.

I knew that I needed sleep. I wanted to give in and allow my body to shut itself down. Close my eyes. Breathe in…and out…and in…and out…until all that was left was comfortable darkness. I wanted it more than anything else. And yet, even though I needed and wanted it very much, I did everything I could to fight it. I drank coffee. Soda. Energy drinks. If my eyes started to drift closed even with a fresh round of caffeine pumping in my blood, I bit my tongue; sometimes hard enough to taste blood. I took ice-cold showers twice a day, so cold that it hurt before my body finally went numb. All to deny myself of a few more seconds, minutes, hours of the one thing that I wanted most.

I could not hold out for much longer. I knew this for sure, even through the thick fog that was settling over my brain. My body had reached its limit and struggle as I may it was going to have its rest one way or the other. This idea sent a chill down my spine. The thought that my body would betray me like that was frightening.

Somewhere inside, I knew that I was being completely ridiculous. I knew that it was stupid to sacrifice my health for the sake of…the sake of what? I strained my exhausted mind, but could not come up with an appropriate word to fill in the blank. Some people may have said 'imagination' and left it at that. Early on, I might have been willing to do the same. Seeing shadows that move, hearing footsteps you shouldn't hear…it's easy to blame these things on an overactive imagination. Under the right circumstances, it could happen to anybody. It's when those shadows that were dancing at the corner of your vision keep moving after you've turned to look at them that you start to doubt yourself. Is it real? Can I still pretend that it's just an overactive imagination at work? Or am I sliding down the slope to insanity? I was beginning to worry that it was the latter.

Normal people do not see the things that I was seeing. Normal people do not talk to people that do not exist. Normal people do not force themselves to avoid sleep to the point of collapse.

Do crazy people know they're crazy? I wondered and choked back a laugh. For some reason, I suddenly found the idea to be quite funny. If that's the case, I may have hope yet.

But the things I'd seen; the shadows…they were becoming more real. They were gaining depth, color, definite features. What I'd seen during our marathon recording session had been so solid, so undeniably there that I could not ignore it—but in spite of that, Russel, Murdoc, and 2D had shown no sign of noticing it at all. And then there was Taro. Though I had known that it was unlikely that all three of my band mates could have missed seeing a young boy roaming the halls of Kong, Murdoc had finally confirmed my fears. Taro was not real. Taro had never been real. I had been talking to nothing more than a figment of my imagination ever since I'd returned to Kong.

Whether it was some strange side effect of my insomnia or whether it was in fact because I was truly losing my mind, an ugly, accusing voice began to rasp away in my head. "That explains why he never answered you, doesn't it?" I shivered and screwed my eyes tightly shut. The last thing I needed to destroy my already questionable sanity was to start hearing disembodied voices.

"How much longer until the others figure out what's happening?" I covered my ears and willed the voice to go away. In spite of my efforts to block it out, the voice took on a sneering tone and pressed on with, "They're starting to suspect. All of them are starting to suspect."

I clenched my jaw and resisted the urge to answer the voice as it continued to taunt me: "They're starting to suspect and soon they'll all know. They'll all know that you're—"

"Stop," I breathed. It was barely audible, but with that one whispered word, I'd given the voice the acknowledgement it needed to grow stronger, more insistent.

"Careful, now…talking to yourself is one of the earliest symptoms of insanity." An ugly chuckle, and then: "So is self-harm. Self-imposed sleep deprivation…for what?"

I bit my lip, refusing to be tricked into answering the voice a second time. The voice snorted derisively and answered its own question. "All because you're afraid of a harmless little dream."

But was it really just a 'harmless little dream?' I had my doubts. I'd been exposed to more than my fair share of the strange and unsettling side of life during my years of living at Kong. Zombies, possession, ghosts—I was so used to it all by now that it seemed normal, even boring. This 'harmless little dream' was in a class of its own. The content was disturbingly graphic and it was so real that I could smell its rancid stink long after I jerked awake soaked in sweat and tears. Sometimes the smell was so strong I could taste it. To know that my mind had invented something so brutal terrified me.

"You think it makes you crazy, don't you?"

My throat grew tight and I swallowed nervously. "No."

"You're crazy, crazy, cra-a-a-a-a-a-zy!"

"No!"

I squeezed my hands against my ears so hard that it hurt, but it wasn't enough to block out the sound of that voice. It continued to chant "crazy, crazy, cra-a-a-a-a-zy!" over and over, louder and louder until all of my senses were dizzy with it. It rose in pitch until it was as shrill as a tea kettle screaming in my head: "cra-a-a-a-a—"

I tried to run, but my legs were suddenly clumsy and uncoordinated and I couldn't manage a single step forward.

"—a-a-a-a-a-a—"

My knees gave out and I dropped to the floor.

"—a-a-a-a-a-a—"

I threw myself forward, arms flailing to find something solid, something that could bring me back to reality and anchor me there.

"—a-a-a-a-a-a—"

My hand grazed something smooth and hard. Even through the impossible screeching in my head, I recognized what it was immediately: my acoustic guitar.

"—a-a-a-a-a-a—"

I made a grab for it.

"—a-a-a-a-a-a—"

The voice stopped the second my hands closed around the instrument's sleek neck. The strings dug into my hands, but I didn't loosen my grip until the last remnant of the shrieking stopped ringing in my ears. When I was sure that the voice was not going to return, I adjusted my grip until my hands found their familiar playing position and cautiously strummed a chord.

The rich, warm sound pulsed through the room. It was wonderfully comforting, much more fulfilling than a child's security blanket or a simple nightlight. I shifted my fingers and struck a stronger, more confident chord. The tense, painful fear seemed to melt out of me through the pads of my fingers. Slowly, the tension that had built up in my nerves began to fade away as I allowed my fingers to pick out nonsensical melodies and random chords.

I could feel my body starting to relax into the hazy cycle that comes between being awake and being asleep, but I no longer tried to fight against it. Playing my guitar had had a therapeutic effect and my mind was finally ready to allow my body the rest it needed. My fingers became clumsy, missing notes here and there. My guitar seemed heavy in my lap, as though it had turned into solid steel. I allowed my eyes to drift closed for one second, just to give my aching eyes a rest, and one second became two, three, four…five….

It was the cold that alerted me to the fact that I was no longer alone. They always brought an unnatural chill when they appeared—even Taro-kun did. The comfortable lull that I had fallen into was shattered. I snapped my eyes open and sat straight up with a gasp. My guitar slipped off of my lap and clunked to the floor, but I didn't give it a second glance. All that mattered was finding the source of that sudden chill.

At first I saw nothing, but that didn't make me feel any better. It's here, it has to be here, I thought. I could feel my chest tightening and my breathing shortened into quick, panicked gasps. Where is it?

I whipped my gaze around the room, searching, searching, searching, and finally, I saw that it was sprawled on top of my bed. Every strand of hair, every chip and crack in its fingernails, every bloodstain and violation was visible in explicit detail. It was looking directly at me and I knew that it saw me just as clearly as I saw it. For one long second, my blood froze in my veins.

Somehow, even on its ruined arms and legs it managed to jerkily crawl towards me. When it reached the edge of my bed, it flopped to the floor with a sickening thud. I knew that I should get up and run away, but my legs were suddenly weak and useless. All I was able to do was sit on the floor and watch as the misshapen thing continued to advance. It's real, I thought. No more shadows…it's all real!

-Russel's POV-

I was busy plugging away on my X-box when I heard the scream. Let me clarify something for you right off the bat. You can hear plenty of screaming on any given day if you're living in Kong Studios and most of the time it's completely harmless. Sometimes it's the creepy but generally non-threatening demons that live in the bathroom. Other times it's a character in one of 2D's zombie movies. Even more often than that, it can somehow be traced back to Murdoc.

The scream I'd heard wasn't any of those things. This scream was one of the most desperate, gut-wrenching, throat-scarring things I'd ever heard. It was so bad that for a couple of seconds I froze up—my muscles were paralyzed and a chill crept up and down my spine. Once the initial shock of hearing it had worn off, I realized where it had come from and felt my stomach churn sickly. "Oh, Jesus," I muttered. Noodle!

I was on my feet and running without a second's thought. Unfortunately, I was in such a hurry I forgot that I still had a death grip on the X-box controller. I almost made it to the door of my room before the cord ran out. There was a sharp jerk and then the sound of TV static as the X-box went flying through the air, but I didn't even look back. I was already out the door and running.

When I got to Noodle's room, I was out of breath and sweating buckets. It took almost all of my resolve to resist the urge to pound frantically on the door. Instead, I knocked as gently as I could and said, "Hey, Noodle? Are you OK?" I cringed at the sound of my voice. I'd been going for mild concern, but I'd gotten quivery panic.

There was no answer from Noodle. I frowned and pressed my ear up against the door, listening for anything that might explain the scream I'd heard. After a few seconds of holding my breath and straining my ears, I heard a quick, sharp gasp followed by something that sounded like a dog whimpering on a stormy night. Sounds like she's crying, I thought and then frowned with worry. Noodle crying? I'd seen her upset before, but actually crying? The idea was so alien to me that it was unsettling to think that she was doing it now. I took a second to settle my nerves, then cleared my throat and announced, "I'm coming in, Noodle." Slowly, I took the doorknob in my hand, swung the door open and stepped into the room.

She was huddled into a little ball with her arms hugged around her legs and her knees pulled up against her chest. At the angle I was looking from I couldn't see her face, but it was easy enough to tell that she was terrified. Her whole body was shaking and I'd been right—she was crying hard.

I quickly glanced around the room, looking for anything that could have scared her so badly. I didn't see anything; the room didn't look any different than the last time I'd seen it. "Noodle?" I gently said. She didn't even turn around to look at me. Did she even hear me at all?

"Noodle?" I repeated, a little louder this time. Still no answer. I walked across the room and knelt down on the floor beside her, but even then she didn't seem to notice me. Carefully, I reached out a hand and put it on her shoulder. The physical contact was enough to snap her out of her mini panic attack. She jumped and whipped around to look at me with eyes as wide as dinner plates. Then she sucked in a long, deep breath, threw her arms around my neck and started a fresh round of wailing.

"Hey, Noods, it's OK," I whispered. "You're OK." I rubbed her back, hoping to settle her down and eventually her hysterical sobbing died down to a soft mewling and then nothing more than occasional sniffling. Once she seemed calm enough to speak rationally, I untangled her arms from around my neck, put my hands on her shoulders and turned her around so she was looking me in the face. "What happened?" I evenly demanded.

"Russel—" she hiccoughed and her breath hitched. I was afraid that she was about to start crying again, but she managed to keep talking. "I had a…a dream."

I bit back the instinct to say, "Bullshit." From the look in her eyes (not to mention the desperation I'd heard in that scream), it was obvious that it wasn't something as simple as a nightmare. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head vigorously. "No…I cannot remember what it was about."

"All right…." I trailed off and tried to think of the right thing to say. All I could come up with was, "Do you need anything?"

She didn't answer right away and I started to get up off the floor. I was only half-standing when she grabbed my hand and whispered, "Please do not go away."

I looked down to her face and saw that the wild, fearful look had returned to her eyes. "Are you all right?"

A tremor shuddered through her small frame and then she looked away from me, down to the ground. "Please do not leave me alone."

"Noodle, what happened?"

Another tremor went through her and then I realized that she was crying again. I grit my teeth and tried not to show how afraid I was getting. Seeing Noodle like this scared me because I knew that she was a tough kid. Whatever had happened to get her this worked up, it must have been something really bad—something that I wasn't prepared to deal with at the moment.

"Hey, settle down," I whispered. I swallowed back a yawn and after a moment's thought, I added, "Would you feel better if I let you sleep in my room?"

She sniffled and wiped away some of the tears and snot on her face with the back of her hand before nodding yes. So that's exactly what we did. I took her back to my room and let her have the bed while I slept on the floor. She didn't stop crying for a long time after I'd tucked her in and turned out the light, but eventually her breathing became calm and even and she slept. Not long after that, I fell asleep myself thinking that after a good night's sleep Noodle would be fine and everything would go back to normal. But I couldn't have been more wrong. When I woke up in the morning, Noodle was gone.

Author's Notes: I had a very hard time writing the Noodle POV at the beginning of this. For some reason, it was really tough for me to get into her head and write her convincingly. Hope you all enjoyed it and let me know what you thought by reviewing!

Next chapter: "Seeing is Believing"