Chapter Text
If he had known what would happen to him that morning, he probably would've stayed in bed.
He woke up hungry and a little cold, but that had been a regular reoccurrence the past couple of mornings. He released a long yawn and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, even though he didn't sleep that well. After that, he tightly wrapped his him-sized blanket around his shoulders like a cape and hopped down from his not him-sized bed.
He left his room, making his way down to the end of the hallway, where the front door and the only window in his "house" were. He was too small to see outside without his footstool, but he didn't need to. The raindrops racing down the windowpanes told him all he needed to know.
It was another icky day.
It was also Sunday.
Sunday was food-looking day. Not as many people were out and about on Sunday. Sunday was also when there was the most food in the trash; stores would throw out old food on Saturday and get new food on Sunday. It was also important that he looked in the morning when not as many people were awake. If he didn't, then a lot of the safe food to eat would be gone. At least, that's what the blind man told him.
The blind man was homeless and would wander around the city, looking for what he called "forgotten things": small objects that got thrown away, like spoons, books, and music boxes. Every Sunday, the blind man would come to the building where his "house" was and help him look for safe food. He, in return, would help the blind man find "forgotten things" to add to his ever-growing collection. The blind man would even let him keep one of the "forgotten things" they discovered that day, though they were usually toys or something of the like.
The blind man had told him that if he didn't come on Sunday, it was likely because he was sick; but, he promised to be back the following Sunday, and he would bring a special treat to make up for it.
The blind man didn't come last Sunday.
He wondered what the special treat would be?
Right now, he needed to get ready for the icky day ahead. He made his way back down the hall and into the bathroom. Climbing on top of the stinky toilet, he leaned over to reach the sink and splashed cold water in his face. Now fully awake, he went back to his room and traded his blanket for the pillowcase he used to carry food. Last and most importantly, he grabbed the head of his stuffed teddy bear and wore it over his face as a mask. He had emptied the head of its stuffing, and he had ripped off one of the eyes so he could see a lot better.
Now that everything was in order, he went back to the window, this time dragging his footstool behind him. He climbed on top of his footstool, opening the window and climbing through it. He landed feet first on the fire escape, causing the structure to shake slightly. Down the cold, slippery stairs he went, one hand tightly clasped on the railings as much as he possibly could. He then carefully descended the fire escape ladder with one hand until he finally reached the bottom. Excited to see the blind man after a long week, he ran to the nearby dumpster where they always met up, splashing through puddles as he did so.
But the blind man wasn't there.
He looked inside the dumpster.
Not there.
He checked behind the trashcans.
Nope.
He peered through the cracks of the surrounding empty buildings.
Nothing.
The blind man didn't come.
He stood in the alleyway, lost and drenched with rain. The blind man had told him not to go looking for food by himself; it was too dangerous, as a "funny person" might try to snatch him up. But he ran out of his extra stache of food halfway through the week; he hadn't eaten in the past three days and wasn't sure he could last another day without eating. His belly painfully complained, and he obeyed its orders to feed.
Bare feet trudged through freezing puddles and soggy filth as he made his way to the alleys where the food stores were. He ran to the first trashcan he laid eyes on and began digging through it. When he couldn't find anything that looked remotely like food, he went to the next can. Right on top, he saw a box of saltine crackers. Elatement grew, as he remembered the blind man telling him those kinds of crackers don't go bad.
So hungry...
Without a second thought, he snatched the box, tore it open, and stuffed a handful of crackers into his mouth. As quickly as they came in, he spat them out. Sour! Bad! They went bad! He'd been lied to! He feebly scrapped off the taste off of his tongue and moved on onto the next can.
Tin cans! Beets, green beans, peas, and carrots! Unlike the blind man, he couldn't smell through the tin to know if the food was safe or not; he couldn't afford to be picky, though, so he took the can that looked the tastiest.
One of the backdoors to the stores opened. A shopkeeper walked out, holding a bag of trash. They noticed him and yelled at him to scram, as "parasites" weren't allowed. He ran to the next alleyway, the shopkeeper complaining about the mess he left behind as he did so. Good thing he was wearing his teddy bear's head.
He managed to find more food: a potato, a cheese slice, and a loaf of bread. They all looked okay to him, but he couldn't tell if they smelled okay. The rain also wasn't helping matters, soaking everything until it felt like they were melting in his hands. His pillowcase was nowhere close to stuffed, but he couldn't carry anymore; all the food he found was his size and weighed half as much. He hoped what he found would last him until next Sunday.
He hoped the blind man would get better soon.
He sneezed and shivered. He was very cold, very wet, and very very hungry. He wiped his nose with his hand and heaved the pillowcase over one of his shoulders, beginning his trek back home. The sound of tin scraping pavement through thin fabric followed him, as was the distant rolling of thunder.
As he made his way back, he couldn't help but look over his shoulder over and over again. He kept thinking there was someone behind him, but there was no one there every time he looked. All the while, the sky darkened as black clouds gathered. Lights that hung above backdoors began to brighten the alleyways in a dim, sickly orange glow. It gave him a funny feeling that crawled all over his shoulders, and he didn't like it in the slightest. Finally, he had enough of this game and turned around to call out to whoever it was who was following him.
Nothing happened at first until the backlights flickered and brightened, their faint hum growing louder. Bulbs from the lights further down exploded, plunging that end of the alley in shadow. A charge of sorts filled the air, causing the hairs on his head to stand on their ends. Lightning cracked the black sky above and let the dark alley below.
That's when he no longer felt hungry.
For at the end of the alley, there stood...
... Him.
He would hear the other homeless tell all sorts of stories about Him, as he and the blind man would look for food and "forgotten things". In one story, He turned someone's tongue into worms and their eyes into moths. He turned someone entirely inside out in another story, leaving them to suffer an excruciating death. Then, there was the story when He made an entire neighborhood of people disappear, leaving only their shadows behind. He was a monster, a specter of mutilation.
Everyone was afraid of Him. So afraid, in fact, they dare not say His name, in fear that He would appear if they did. They say He was so tall, He made grown men feel like little boys. They say He was so thin, He could fit in crannies that not even mice could go. They say He was so powerful, the city's towers would literally bow in reverence to Him.
Fighting back will accomplish nothing. Running will only encourage Him to give chase. Hiding will never work because He will always find His victim in the end. If one ever saw Him, they might as well be a goner.
And there He was, standing straight and still as a lamppost, a silhouette in the darkness.
That said, he had heard of a method that supposedly placated Him enough that He would leave one alone. Ever so slowly, he placed his pillowcase on the ground and tied the ends as well as he could. After that, he lowered himself to his knees, clasped his hands together, and recited the following prayer:
Oh, Great Eyes of heaven and earth,
Sake-red emperor of humankind,
May your gaze remain divine
And your nature ever ben-vo-lent.
This humble offering, of all I have,
I give to your loyal steward;
May my offering please you both,
And bring forth blessings to the world.
He didn't stay to see if his offering worked; the moment he finished praying, he got back up on his feet and made a mad dash toward home, leaving splashed puddles in his wake. He barely registered his surroundings as he ran down the alleyways, eventually spotting the ladder that led him up to his "house". Hands grasped cold metal, and feet climbed up slippery stairs. The next thing he knew, he slammed the window to his "house" shut, the sound of rain and thunder instantly becoming faint.
Heavy breaths filled the silence of his "house" as he waited to see if He had followed him. When no one appeared, he released a huge sigh, falling butt-first from his footstool and onto the floor. He didn't care that his butt was now sore or that he lost all the food he found; he was just relieved that he escaped Him. He continued to sit contented on the hallway floor, shivering and drenched but safe.
Suddenly, the air became filled with charge.
And then the front door did something that it had never done before: its locked knob jittered and clanked.
He just managed to get up on his feet when the door began to peel as the old wallpaper on his "house's" walls. In terror, he ran to his room, hiding under the table that someone had placed there for some reason long ago. The moment he slid under, he could hear the front door fall over. An eerie silence followed, then heavy, slow footsteps. They made their way down the hallway to his room, then stopped at the doorway. He covered his mouth with his hands in the vain hope that He wouldn't hear him breathe.
"Hiding will do you no good, little nightmare. I know you're here."
The voice echoed in his head, croaky and void of any emotion. That was probably the scariest thing about Him: He's neither happy nor sad, neither angry nor bored, neither afraid nor disgusted. He feels nothing.
Even though he knew hiding was pointless, he continued to do so anyway. It was the only thing he could do. Seconds felt like hours as He waited for him to come out and surrender. When that didn't happen, the room began to tilt and shake from impatience. The worst possible thing happened as this took place: he lost his balance and tumbled onto the floor in plain sight.
He dared not move, let alone look up to the face of the one who will soon bring his end. So he was caught off-guard when a loud CLUNK hit the floor right in front of him. It was his pillowcase, with the food still inside. Why did...?
"You left this behind," He stated, dry and straightforward.
He didn't hear his prayer. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened again; when he did, a terror-filled whisper came out.
"... it's... y-yours..." was all he managed to say.
"I don't need it," He bluntly replied
He rejected his offering. That was it, then. He was a goner. He curled himself into a tight ball, arms wrapped over his head and legs tucked under his torso. The sound of his heart rapidly pumping overwhelmed his ears. He hoped whatever was going to happen to him would happen quickly.
... Why was nothing happening?
"Stop quivering. I have not come here to bring you harm."
He barely had time to register what he just heard when he found himself lifted from the collar of his shirt. The floor was now yards below him, his feet dangling in thin air. The sudden change caused him to yelp and rapidly whisper "no" under his breath. His mask was roughly yanked off his head, and a large fingertip forced him to look up from the ground. Inches from his tiny youth-filled face was another longer and much older face. Aged, wrinkled skin flickered and glitched. Dark, tired eyes pierced his inner being with impatience. He spoke the following words, His dry lips never moving:
"I have come here to grant you a wish."
... huh?
"A... a-a wish..?"
"Yes, a wish. Anything your heart desires, I will make it so."
He... didn't even know how to respond to that. Him, the monster who did unspeakable things to people, wanted to grant him a wish! This didn't make any sense at all! He didn't even know what he wanted! He had food and clothes! He even had his own "house"!
But he didn't have the blind man.
And if he didn't see him soon, he likely would never have him again.
"M-My - my friend!" he managed to sputter out. "The blind man - He's sick! He said he... he'd be here today, bu-but he d-d-didn't come! And - and... and..." His voice died, not knowing how to finish his plea without acknowledging... it. He merely tilted his head to the side in a curious manner.
"That's it? You want nothing for yourself?"
"... I don't want to be alone..." he silently confessed. He tightly closed his eyes and covered them with his hands, no longer able to look at His face anymore. He released a long, weary sigh.
"Then it shall be so. I will ensure the well-being of your friend, and you will be my successor and heir to the Signal Tower."
He let him go, causing him to fall on top of his pillowcase. He looked up to see Him and ask him what he meant by "successor" and "heir", but He was already gone, leaving behind a disheveled bedroom. He snatched his pillowcase and blanket and dived under his bed.
Wet. Cold. Scared. Very scared.
What did he do?!
He began to cry from fright and confusion, hiding under his bed for the rest of the day.