Here is a piece that I've done three drafts on between 2018 and 2020. This final draft I've been sitting on while I decided on whether or not this should be a oneshot or multiple chapters. It has four parts, and this is the first.

The idea for this story came when I was going through random prompts. I've since lost it, but it was about someone finding unexpected things when they went through their family history. Eternal Darkness immediately came to mind, and at the time I had been introducd to Lovecraft. I hope you enjoy this fanfic.

Warnings: some gore, dark themes

The Beginning

March 26th, 20XX, Los Angeles, CA, 11:29 p.m.

Allen couldn't put a name to the feeling. It weighed heavily on his heart and mind, causing an awful queasiness in his stomach. It had bothered him throughout the day, because, you see, he recognized this emotion, even if he did not know its name. The last time he felt it, Uncle Neah had been escorting him up the stairs to the very apartment he was in now, introducing him to his new caretaker: Marian Cross. Uncle Neah seldom saw Allen, and every time that they did meet, he did little to hide the hatred he held for his nephew. That day, however, there was something uncharacteristic in his attitude that made him hold Allen's hand as they drew nearer to their destination. The man had gripped pale little fingers so very tightly—as if in fear that the future no opportunities to do so ever again. Uncle Neah must have known, even back then, that things would go very wrong. In retrospect, little Allen knew it too, but he didn't understand the death omen for what it was.

Less than six months from when Uncle Neah dropped his nephew off with his friend, he committed suicide. Now four years later, a fifteen-year-old Allen Walker felt the same clench in his gut. A sense of fear, of foreboding, anticipation, restlessness. Something was going to happen soon, and the boy had a feeling that it had to do with his wayward guardian. In recent weeks, Cross had become increasingly distracted. At first, Allen dismissed it as an avid interest in a challenging case—private investigator Marian Cross loved the difficult cases, and easily became obsessed with the ones he deemed no normal man (because he saw every man as a competitor) could ever hope to solve. At the beginning of the month, this is what Allen thought had led to the man's abrupt departure. He woke up one morning to an empty apartment (not unusual) and a scribbled note saying that he went away on an important errand without a return date (also not unusual). Allen shrugged it off and put the event out of his mind, getting ready for school as he normally did. A few days later, he received a postcard from Cross. The man's trip apparently took him to Rhode Island, and he planned on sending monthly postcards until he knew the duration of his stay. Again, this was nothing that Allen was not accustomed to. The longest Cross left him alone was three months, and halfway through the second, he assigned his ward a babysitter in the form of Mother.

Then came the morning of March 26th. That morning, Allen arose from bed with the same gut-feeling he'd had when Mana left (and later disappeared without a trace), and when Uncle Neah left, preceding his suicide. Allen couldn't shake the feeling, and he called Mother to ask her what she knew, to share his concerns, to receive a little comfort and assurance. Wise woman that she was, she could offer little more than advice.

"Stay home from school today, Allen. You will be too distracted to focus on anything. Best be available at home, in any case. Try to rest, and focus on other things, if you can."

Allen stayed home. He did his gymnastic stretches for a few hours, practiced on his keyboard for a few more. He even tried to watch television. No matter what he did, however, it didn't work for more than twenty or thirty minutes. His mind would shut down, wandering a thousand dark paths as his body moved on autopilot. It became so maddening that the boy even tried to call Cross's cellphone. Unfortunately, it went straight to voicemail. That was normal for Cross. Allen didn't find it comforting.

Allen went to bed early, at 9:00 p.m. sharp. He spent a long time staring up at the speckled ceiling above him. The silence of the apartment, his home, had never seemed so eerie before that moment. Allen ached for the presence of the man who allowed a child terrified of thunderstorms to sleep with him—despite the fact children disgusted and disturbed him. Allen never said it to anyone, but no one had ever made him feel safer than Cross did. The man was strong, smart, and utterly capable of defending him against any and every threat. Even the shadows caused by his own mind. Through thick and thin, Cross protected him. Cared for him. Loved him

Eventually, exhaustion won over anxiety, and the young man found his eyelids slipping shut.

. : T _ T : .

Cross was bent over dozens of books scattered across the surface of a large table. Most of the texts bore handwritten scrawl, some with a few gruesome illustrations of monsters and rituals made more macabre by the disheveled strands of crimson hair escaping the hair tie. His eyebrows were furrowed, and Allen was surprised to see a few threads of silver that he did not recall the man possessing when they'd last seen one another. It…hurt. It felt humbling to see someone so infallible exhibit something like age.

The man murmured to himself in inconsistent intervals, voice so low that what he said remained nigh unintelligible. Only a few fragments rose above voicelessness.

"—son of two, three, and one alone—"

"—harbinger, heralder of the apocalypse—"

"Prophesized son of the Great God of the Sea—"

Abruptly, Cross's skimming fingers found a line that made them, and his entire body, freeze. His mutterings broke off, his eyes going over the line again. He took a sheaf of paper from underneath the books and brought it atop of the volume he had a finger on for comparison.

"Neah was right," Cross said in a strangled voice. "He isn't safe."

The man stood quickly, knocking over the chair in his haste to get moving. Allen had never seen the man so uncomposed before, or so wildly panicked.

"I have to go back—"

He stopped, voice halted and caught in his throat. He stood before a window, and in the black of the night, he found a golden gaze staring back at him. Lightening split the sky outside and briefly illuminated the room. While the man was blinded and trying to blink away spots, a humanoid monster towered over mortal Marian Cross.

. : T _ T : .

March 27th, 20XX, Los Angeles, CA, 3:33 a.m.

Allen jerked awake from his dream. He was gasping harshly, panting and dripping with sweat. As his heartbeat slowly stopped roaring in his ears, he realized that he wasn't sure what had startled him from that dream—that nightmare—but he was somehow certain that something had woken him up. Allen was sleep-confused, and the adrenaline coursing through him passed out. With a sigh, he laid back down in bed, staring at the ceiling. How was he even supposed to process what he'd been dreaming about?

There was a familiar buzzing by his head. Allen realized that might have actually been what woke him up in the first place, and, hoping that it was his guardian, he hurried to answer it. The boy frowned when he caught sight of the screen. He did not recognize the number. Still, Cross could be using someone else's phone, so he answered it with the clearest voice that he could muster.

"Hello?" he greeted, voice gravelly.

"Is this Mr. Allen Walker?" asked an unfamiliar voice. Male. Older.

"Yes." His confusion turned the confirmation into a rising intonation. "Uhm, who is this?"

"This is detective Legrasse. I'm sorry to bother you, but…there's been an incident."

. : T _ T : .

April 6th, 20XX, Los Angeles, CA, 4:23 p.m.

Things went by quickly. Far too quickly. Detective Legrasse informed him that Cross's body needed to be identified, and that as his emergency contact, it was Allen's task. The boy had been numb, and somehow managed to convey that he was underage. And ask what would happen to him. That night—morning—really, the entire following day was a bit of a blur. Somehow Mother became involved, and she took over the duties the next of kin would take care of. Her son stayed with Allen while she went and identified the body. She returned shaken, and heartbroken as she confirmed—yes, it really was Cross, and he was not coming back. Allen didn't cry. He stopped crying when Mana left and didn't come back. What he did instead of crying worried Mother more. He stopped talking and eating. He no longer did his exercises, nor played on the piano. He sat by the front window in her house, watching the street outside. The walkway.

Cross's funeral took place on April 6th, a cool grey day. Allen went through that event with little more presence than he'd possessed since Mother confirmed Cross was dead. He hardly felt the cold droplets. He barely noticed the string of lovers that came to attend the funeral, though they were all stunningly beautiful, dressed in their best to honor the man who loved them for the beauty they held inwardly as well as outwardly. Their love for him was as deep as their hatred.

Allen found it difficult to accept. Throughout the week before the funeral, he had waited for the man to stride up to the house. It didn't feel real. He kept glancing at his phone, waiting for a text message from Cross (who had only faked his death again), saying:

I'm going under the radar for a while.

Or perhaps something like:

I'm alive, but I need more time for things to settle.

He waited for some sign. He waited and waited and waited. Mother drove them to the funeral. He waited. Words were said for him. Allen waited. Everyone said their goodbyes. Allen waited. And then they were lowering him down into the ground. And Cross still had not reappeared. No message came. They filled the grave, and the young man slowly began to realize that there would never be a message. Marian Cross was truly dead.

After the funeral, Mother sat Allen down in the lobby of the hotel they were staying at. According to his will, Cross wanted all of his guests to stay in a luxury hotel; the money he'd stolen from them went towards that, his thanks for them remaining by his side despite all of the things he'd done to them—like stealing money. Mother whispered she would bring him back hot chocolate to warm him up again. It was only with those words that Allen realized that he was soaked to the bone, and that his fingers and toes felt so cold that they hurt.

"Stay here," she instructed. "I will be right back."

Allen nodded, a knot in his throat. Cross was dead. He was really dead.

Mother departed, leaving behind a boy who had never felt so lost before.

What will happen to me? He wondered. Mother hadn't spoke to him about it, but he knew that there was a will. Cross had not left the world unprepared. He left her in charge of it in the case that Allen was still underage. She probably had custody of him too.

Am I cursed? He thought. He certainly felt cursed. In his short lifetime, he had lost his father, his uncle, and now his guardian. A pessimistic, and possibly insecure, part of him wondered if he would lose Mother, too.

Allen started out of his increasingly heavy thoughts when the weight in his suit pocket began to vibrate. He pulled it out, checking the caller ID with that hope—which only soared when he saw that it read UNKNOWN. He wasted no time in answering the call.

"Hello?" he asked eagerly, hoping that it was Cross.

"Is this Allen Walker?" asked an unfamiliar voice. Allen had to quell a rising sense of panic when he realized this echoed…that call; and then the burn of his throat when he realized it wasn't Cross. He took in a few steadying breaths. "Hello? Can you hear me?"

The boy swallowed the painful lump in his throat.

"I—" he cleared hi throat when his voice croaked. "Yes, I am Allen."

"Hello, Allen. My name is Tyki Mikk. I contacted you a few days ago," the man said in a kind, friendly tone. It took Allen a few moments to gain enough control over his emotions to cast a figurative glance back on his memory. It was hazy, as he had only been going through the motions of living. He vaguely recalled the name, but the voice seemed a bit more familiar. Ah, yes, this was the estranged relative of Mana and Neah's. If he recalled correctly, there had been some issue as to the guardianship—Mother had mentioned that he had relatives, but Cross put his guardianship firmly with her, and this caused them to reach out to arrange meetings with him in the hopes that they could build a relationship, possibly even split custody in the future. Mother had given him the phone to talk to someone—Tyki, he guessed—as a test to see how he would receive the man. Allen thought he remembered the warmth in his voice, questions about how well he was coping.

"You're Mana and Neah's cousin," Allen said uncertainly.

"Yes, I am. And your cousin as well, by extension," Tyki replied.

"I'm adopted."

"Adopted or not, Neah and Mana loved you, and you are family," Tyki responded firmly. His vehemence on this matter confused Allen.

"Yes, well…" The boy paused. What could he say? Mana had only raised him for seven years, and Neah had shown a great deal of reluctance in that task when it felt to him; neither one ever mentioned their relatives. Allen wasn't sure he really could be counted as a Walker. Besides, if Neah, who had cared for him for several years, could not come to love him, why would any of his relatives? Not to mention the fact he might be cursed. Oh, he just wanted to wake up from this nightmare, wake up from the terrible dream without Mana or Neah or Cross. Wake up and have waffles on Saturday with his father, or to go out gambling with Cross on a Friday night after school. Allen shook away the thoughts. "I-I'm sorry, this really isn't a good time…"

"Today is Cross's funeral, isn't it? I apologize for my lack of consideration. You must be tried."

Well. "That's one way of putting it, I guess."

"I will be brief: we would like to meet you."

"I—" he broke off. "I don't know that that's such a good idea."

"I know you're struggling, and we really want to help you. It wouldn't be a bad idea to get you away from everything for a few days," Tyki pointed out. His voice was so sincere with every word he said. Allen found himself hesitant to decline. And he admitted that getting away from…the memories…sounded like an excellent idea.

"We've both lost a lot, you even more than us. We don't want to miss any more time with you," Tyki continued. "Grief doesn't really go away, but maybe together we can heal from the loss of our family; maybe together, we can help you heal from the loss of your guardian too."

"I don't want to be stuck in another city," Allen said in a quiet voice. One wouldn't think it, but in a city filled with millions of people, it was even easier to feel lost and alone than in a small town where he didn't have anything in common with anyone.

"Our home is away from the town, and the town itself is very small. It's beautiful, and peaceful; the perfect place to get away from everything for a while. To forget."

Allen's grip tightened on the phone. It all sounded really nice. He wanted to do it, wanted to go. Logically, he could only imagine what the logistics would be, the legalities he would be stirring up. Not to mention, these people were complete strangers to him. He sighed.

"Thank you for the offer—"

"There is no need to decide now," Tyki interrupted, though he did it with the gentlest of tones. "You've been through a lot today. Sleep on the offer, there is no rush and our home will always be open to you."

"Okay," Allen agreed, feeling both relieved and slightly resentful. He'd been trying to do the mature thing, after all. "Thank you."

"Thank you for listening. I will call you again tomorrow to see how you are doing."

"Okay," the boy repeated.

"Goodbye, Allen."

"Goodbye."

A few minutes later, Mother returned with two Styrofoam cups of hot chocolate. Feeling a little more…present…Allen accepted the beverage and leaned into Mother's warmth when she sat beside him on the couch. Comfortable, if grief-stricken, companionship fell between them. He allowed her to comb her fingers through his hair, and his idle mind wandered again. He wondered if there were ulterior motives for his family contacting him; Mother hadn't mentioned any possible custody battles over him but Tyki had learned about him as a result of Cross's death (otherwise he would have been in contact earlier, right?). That meant he at least had some sort of claim that he could probably pursue. Allen really didn't understand much about the family either. Perhaps the house Tyki wanted him to visit was valuable, but the ownership fell to him—or something like that.

"Tyki called me," Allen said.

"O, did he now?" Mother asked lightly. He didn't know what to make of her expression or the tone of her voice. "How did it go?"

"Fine. He wants me to visit," Allen added. Mother stiffened.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she replied.

"Why?" he asked curiously. "Are they bad people?"

"No, not that I know of," she responded. Something in her posture was less certain of those words, but not outright doubtful. Mother had not ruled out the possibility of them being terrible people, then. "They live in Rhode Island."

"Oh," Allen said, eyes widening. That's where Cross had been found. Dead. There was still no decision about whether or not he had been murdered or if it was an accident. No one had told the boy details, but while the cause of death was known, no one could seem to figure out how the man had died. "Was it in the same place?"

"More or less," Mother responded with pursed lips. "I know Cross was looking into Neah's suicide and Mana's disappearance. It isn't surprising that he was there."

But it is surprising that he died there, Allen finished mentally. And that was downright fishy. Had they murdered him?

"I probably shouldn't go then," he added.

"No," Mother agreed. "You should not."

. : T _ T : .

Allen stood on a strange shore. He recognized neither the strand nor the distant horizon. Even the sea looked alien to him. He sensed something lurking beneath the surface of the water, perhaps hidden in the undercurrents. A dark, brooding presence that watched him intently. Did Allen fear it? Perhaps not, but he didn't feel all that comfortable under the weight of that gaze, either.

"Can you hear it?"

The boy turned towards the owner of the voice. He blinked, surprised to see Uncle Neah standing only a handful of feet to his right. Gone was the hatred, the vitality, that so seemed to define the man in life—nearly everything about him was gone in terms of spirit, thought there was some lingering peculiarity in his appearance.

"Uncle Neah?" Allen asked wearily. His uncle stared back at him solemnly, eyes sad and glistening gold.

"Can you feel it yet?" The man's gaze flickered towards the sea. "The calling. Once it starts, you are doomed. There is no escape. No redemption. Only damnation remains; of one kind or another."

His bitter gaze touched Allen's confused, silver eyes.

"I chose…and I am forever stuck on this shore: too close to what calls me, and the memories of a beautiful life behind me."

"I don't understand," Allen told him with frustration.

"You will," Uncle Neah responded softly. "Arkham is our doom. We cannot avoid it. Mana went home and chose one path. I followed him, and took the other, this…purgatory. Cross might have saved you, but mortal man is weak in the face of the Ancients…"

"Wait," Allen interrupted, "What do you mean—"

. : T _ T : .

April 9th, 20XX, Los Angeles, CA, 3:00 a.m.

Allen awoke to the sound of his alarm going off. Groggily, he found his phone and turned it off. He was too tired to be confused about why he was awake; his mind was still processing the echoes of his strange dream, and the words of his uncle. It had been a strange dream, and he would be lying if he hadn't wondered about some of the things that Dream-Uncle-Neah had mentioned. Why had Mana left him? Where did he go? Why did Neah leave him too, and why did he leave him with Cross, a frightening, tough man? What made Cross leave him too? Allen's dream-uncle told him that Mana went home, and that Neah followed him. Had Cross done the same thing? Had they all discovered something there? Allen wasn't actually sure about the details of everything: where Mana had last been seen, where Uncle Neah had last been seen. He wasn't sure about where Cross had been staying, except that it was somewhere in Rhode Island.

Even more curiously, the boy realized he knew nothing about his family. He had relatives, apparently, who lived in the same town that his guardian had died in (the police were leaning towards 'accident', without having anymore answers for Mother). Cross had known both Mana and Neah when they were young men, possibly even in their late teens. He would have known where they came from, possibly even met them there.

I smell a conspiracy, Allen thought. Perhaps Mana felt the draw of home, and when visiting family, was killed by them. Was there an inheritance? A falling out? Possibly. When Uncle Neah came following after a few years later, Mana's murderer would know another death would look suspicious, but a twin killing himself in the same place his brother had died wouldn't be nearly as suspicious. If Cross thought it was fishy like Allen did and began to investigate, then it only made sense that he needed to die as well.

Allen was half-tempted to visit his family just to understand what had happened. He wanted answers. Didn't know if he could go on not knowing. He'd always assumed that Mana had been a little crazy; Uncle Neah and Cross had both alluded to it before. Time apart from Mana later made Uncle Neah unstable. He'd been falling apart at the seams when he handed Allen over to Cross, so he never questioned the suicide before. He was starting to now, however.

Allen picked up his phone, and despite the time, he sent a message to Tyki Mikk:

IS THAT OFFER TO VISIT STILL OPEN?

. : T _ T : .

April 11th, 20XX Los Angeles, CA, 9:40 a.m.

Allen wasn't sure how Tyki managed to arrange a flight so quickly, but he did. Mother was worried about the abrupt decision, and displeased that she had not been consulted on it. He'd spent most of the previous day trying to convince her that he needed to find closure; and admitted that he wanted to make sure there was no foul play. Mother did not like the idea of him dabbling in potentially dangerous situations, particularly since they both suggested that is what happened to Cross. They developed a few safe phrases, and Allen promised to keep her informed every day of his trip.

That is how the fifteen-year-old found himself waking up at 6:00 a.m. to catch a flight to Westerly Rhode Island. He was unimpressed with his itinerary: he'd be on a plane for a total of seven hours, flying from one side of the country to the other. He didn't relish the idea at all, but he wanted answers, and he was determined to do whatever was necessary to get them.

"You can do this," he told himself softly. Allen was more than little frightened by the reality that seemed to be closing in around him. Mother wouldn't be with him, and he would truly be all alone, possibly in a den of enemies. He tried to tell himself that Mother didn't really know him either. To be fair, though they'd known each other for the same length of time that Allen had known Cross, she had only babysat him once or twice a year. "You can do this. You can."

The boy felt an awful lot like the sugar work on cakes: artful and perfect on outside, hiding the frailty that could allow a single touch to shatter it. His grief and fears, and even loneliness, were rising up, wrapping around his throat to choke him.

"Are you alright, Allen?" she asked him. She had been allowed to escort him to the gate, thankfully. They'd slept at the apartment one last time the night before. Everything had been packed up, so it didn't really feel like home anymore, but Allen had been feeling fragile for the past eighteen hours because it would no longer be there when he returned. It would be the official end of another chapter of his life. No more happy days in his home with Cross.

"I will be," Allen managed to get out.

"And you have everything?" she asked. "Tickets, itinerary, our family's address , and phone—"

"Yes, I've got it all," Allen confirmed. "I still can't believe that they managed to arrange everything on such short notice, and that they're footing the bill, no less."

"Money can buy a lot," Mother replied simply. "They must really want to see you."

"Let's hope we get along," the boy said, trying to make it sound like a joke. Considering that he suspected all three of his guardians had died there, it fell rather short.

Mother took his hand in hers, giving it a squeeze.

"It's alright to be scared, Allen," she told him earnestly. "If you need to, please call me day or night. Even if it's because of bad dreams. I am here for you."

Allen wasn't sure if she was talking about meeting relatives he suspected might have killed his guardians, flying alone, or his situation in general. It was quite possibly all three options. Still, he nodded in agreement.

"I will," he promised, already knowing that he was likely going to be breaking his promise to her sometime in the future.

It came sooner than he expected. Mother let him go, and he boarded the plane. As people filed on, the fears began to bombard him. Was he flying to his death? In the case of turbulence, was the plane really going to protect them from anything? What if he went to them, hated them, and found out they were fighting for full custody? Even worse, what if Mother died while he was away?

The boy forced down the feelings of panic rising up, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. He realized the world and the unknown were truly frightening things when you were all by yourself.