A/N: *Peeks from behind the wall* Is...anyone there?

So...some of you guys might be wondering where I was. The answer is, I honestly had like zero motivation to write. Wish there was a better excuse but nope, just got no inspiration. Don't get me wrong, come hell or high water I am finishing all my stories. It's just that...it might take longer then I first anticipated. Oh well...

In the meantime, here's a totally new story that I hopefully won't drop sometime soon. Maybe, if I got this going, the rest will follow suit. Here's to hoping. Anyways, that's all from me, have a nice day!

Don Eppes had a secret, something that he's kept to himself for most of his life.

Blood dripped down the walls, pooling at the white tiles beneath.

Screams of pain follow his every waking moment, clawing at his mind to please save us.

Twisted and mangled forms crawl into his peripheral, grunting and groaning with the grace of a stumbling drunk.

Crying…so much crying…none of them ever stopped.

Not since that night.

A secret that he never shares, mostly because he knows no one will believe him.

Scratching on the windows, as if something's trying to get in.

Pale ghostly hands emerge from underneath his bed, clawing their way out to get him.

Eerie whispers that stretch long into the night, telling him things that no mortal should ever know.

The cold, biting chill that creeps into his bones whenever he walks out of his home.

He's never felt warm in his entire life.

"The supernatural doesn't exist?" he snorts out in the comfort of his own apartment, another bottle falling victim to his mind. His little brother's voice rang clear in his mind despite the haze of the alcohol. "You're so lucky you can think that."

We're here…a scratchy voice called out from the darkness.

We'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehere

We'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehere

We'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehereWe'rehere

His ears rang as the screams grew louder, dropping the bottle in favour of curling up on his couch, willing the world to go away for just one second. He grits his teeth, pressing the palms of his hands to his skull as the pounding in his head grows louder with the voices. "God, not again…" he whimpered as everything grew in intensity. He could feel cold hands reach out to him, some even managed to grab his wrist or ankle.

Looks like tonight was going to be rough.

While his hands were still pressed to his head, he shakily got up. Ignoring the scratching on the floors, walls, ceiling, everywhere—

IgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnoreIgnore

His own internal screaming managed to shove all the other screams out, allowing him to do a mad dash across his own apartment. Running away from the claws that threatened to rip him apart, from the foreign memories that threatened to sink into his soul.

From the screams of voices long gone begging for help.

Without even thinking, he threw open his bedroom door and slammed it shut, sealing the voices behind him. He felt them pounding at his door, desperate to get in. He heard their growls and wails, meant either to scare him or gain sympathy. He could feel the scratching, a constant clawing at the door as if they were trying to dig their way through.

Letting out a shaky breath, he dropped to the ground, exhaustion seeping into his very being as relief flooded his senses, even for just a moment. His bedroom was one of the few places that had been enforced to protect him from these things when the nights get rough. Although, they could never hide what was always there.

They have all night and even all of eternity to chase after him. He didn't even have one hour.

He weakly leaned his head back against the door, feeling the slight tremble and thud underneath it as they tried to force their way in.

They never could, but it didn't make everything less harrowing.

His eyes gazed upwards, wishing that he was back at home at the Craftsman. The warmth that was somehow innately built inside, keeping all the nightly visions from rushing towards him. The only safe space in his life.

Don't be silly, the supernatural doesn't exist. Psychics don't exist Charlie's voice rang in his mind once more. Don snorted despite the increased pounding behind his door. "Bullshit" he muttered, turning instead to look at his bed.

She was still there, staring at him constantly with empty eye sockets. Blood trickled down from her eyes, the red clashing with the wriggling white maggots that were her constant companion. Long clawed fingers, chipped and broken from years of neglect and decay, one or two even hanging by flayed skin, revealing the blackened meat underneath. Her body twisted and broken, shoulders moved far back, cracking with each movement. Bony, her movements were like that of a spider's, crawling, one limb before the other, sending a shiver down his spine. With the first stretch, Don could hear the audible snap of bones. She gave him an eerie smile, one that stretched from ear to ear, more blood pouring from her mouth and onto the floors along with dust and blackened water from wherever she was buried.

Congealed blood stuck to decaying teeth, glinting like gemstones under the moonlight as she made her way towards him. Each step of her wiry limb made a small scraping sound, audible over the screams of agony from the door behind him. It sounded like a light item being dragged over wood floors, not like a bony monstrosity that was coming towards him with the slow grace of a predator when they know their prey is doomed.

She was the reason why he preferred to brave the outside rather than hole up in his room for the rest of his life, only waiting until it was a particularly horrifying night before he locked himself inside.

His room might've been warded, but he was never safe.

Don closed his eyes as he buried his face in his knees, trying to block his eyes from the horrors around him. The smell of death and decay drew closer with each passing second, surrounding him as if the reaper himself was coming in to take his soul. With the way Don lived, he was surprised it hadn't happened sooner.

He grit his teeth at the sour smell of blood along with the rolling nauseating smell of the dying. Sharp and pungent, it attacked his senses, causing him to cough as he tried to hide.

Veilkeeper a raspy voice whispered out to him, creaky and scratchy from misuse.

I wish that Charlie's words were true.

Veilkeeper now more voices called out, all from beyond his door. Their scratching and clawing always going up in intensity the later the night went on.

For once, I wanted Charlie to be right.

He could hear the scrape of bones scuttling over his floors, each sound getting closer.

Please, let me detach myself from reality, if only to preserve what semblance of sanity I had left.

From beyond the darkness of his hands, he could see one clawed finger reach out tentatively, as if afraid that touching Don would burn it.

It doesn't happen often, but it happened enough times for them to be weary.

You can't run from fate…she whispered, her claws scraping on his leg before getting hold of his ankle, her grip tight for a pile of bones.

Don felt his heart rise to his throat at that, bracing for the possibility of her yanking him into the hellhole that she crawled from.

He felt her tower over him, her breath smelt like death and smoke, acrid and sour. He felt the sharp scrape of teeth over his arm as he pressed even tighter to the door, wishing for the world to melt away.

The supernatural does exist, Charlie, he thought hysterically as he looked up. He locked eyes with her, her hollowed cheeks and empty eye sockets with blood pouring out of them, thick due to age. Rotten flesh stuck to her face haphazardly, peeling and raw, the only sign of life from her being the maggots that buried their way under her skin.

Veilkeeper she whispered, her nails running gently over the side of his face as he tried not to puke.

They haunt me every day.

A/N: It's chapter one and Don's already having a rough time. Poor guy...