Chapter Text
Usually, getting adopted is a good thing. You get to leave the orphanage, you get parents and all that kind of stuff. However, everything was different when it came to the man of the cursed house on the other street. The house wasn't cursed by itself, of course, but everyone in the orphanage new it as such. No one dared to come close to the house out of fear and a little bit of grief.
After all, every month they would loose kids to the house. No, not just the house.
To the man, who came after them.
At first glance, he's a friendly somewhat young adult, but they all knew better.
After all, no kid came back or was found after he took them away. Even adults never questioned his appearances, as if he came to them for the first time every time. Wilbur wished he could say he cared, but he didn't. It was a new kind of norm that they had to get used to, unless they were lucky to get adopted.
Wilbur was never lucky enough for that to happen, so he never dared to hope for more and tried his best not to fall victim to the cursed house and the creepy Mr. Craft. Sometimes he wondered if it's his real name.
Every month he refused to care much, not letting fear overpower him. And then Tommy came.
And then he got adopted.
And then he came back.
At this point, he was the most unlucky of them all. To have hope of escaping certain death only to crawl back to it later. Unfortunately, he didn't even know that he was supposed to be afraid. No one really talked about Mr. Craft until he came to take someone. New comers always were oblivious and naive, they would always try to get adopted by the man. And no one would interrupt them, in hopes of saving their own skin. Not that Wilbur could blame them, he wasn't better than them, after all.
But that was until Tommy came. Annoying, loud, different. He was the only child, who would check up on him, laugh with him and follow him no matter what. For the first time Wilbur got attached to someone and for the first time he learned what it means to fear. Not for yourself, but someone else. Someone dear to you. And that was the worst feeling in the world, at least to Wilbur it was.
Perhaps, he should have told Tommy about the man. But something wouldn't let him speak. So he would always embrace his brother and hope, sometimes even pray that the man would not take them away. But, of course, the world told him to fuck himself as another month came by and Mr. Craft has returned to the orphanage. Everyone stood back, fearful and pathetic. Everyone, but Tommy who had no idea. Creepy man's glance immediately fell on Tommy's figure. With no hesitation, Wilbur stood in front of the child, hiding him and eying the man viciously. For a moment he saw a spark inside man's eyes.
“Wilbur, move! I see nothing!”, Tommy pushed him slightly, obviously annoyed.
“Not now, Tommy”, he shushed the child, keeping an eye on Mr. Craft.
“But Wilbur!”, whined the kid, managing to push his head under his brother's arm. Boy looked at the man and then immediately looked up at Wilbur. “His hat is weird”, he whispered.
Man smiled, not unkindly, it was clear that he heard him. Wilbur did not ease up. Mr. Craft always looked calm and kind and children were still disappearing.
“Hello, mate”, man greeted his brother, walking towards them. “You seem new here, haven't seen you before. What's your name?”
Tommy tilted his head in confusion, still standing a bit behind Wilbur. He couldn't remember ever seeing this man before. Kid frowned.
“What's your name?”, he puffed his cheeked. Wilbur kept watching the man, refusing to let Tommy go.
Not taken aback even a bit, man laughed and answered.
“I'm Phil, mate”
Tommy eyed him, as if trying to figure something out.
“Hello, Mr Phil”
Mr. Craft laughed once more.
“Hello, mate”
The situation was getting out of hand and Wilbur didn't like it at all. However, he knew better that to hope that adults or other children would intervene.
“Do you want to come with me, mate?”, Mr. Craft asked with a familiar glint in his eyes. Wilbur hissed.
“No, he doesn't!”, he stared back at the man's eye, too afraid to look away.
“But, Will!”, whined Tommy again, still unaware of the danger.
“Tommy”, warned him Wilbur, sternly and worriedly.
Mr. Watson laughed.
“Oh, so that's your name, I see. Tommy”, he smiled and said his name aloud as if… fucking tasting it. “Such a lovely name. It quite suites you”
“Thanks!”, smiled Tommy, wide and naive. “It's the biggest name ever!”
He hugged his brother's back, clearly getting exited from the compliment. After all, no one, except Wilbur had ever complimented him before! Not that he could remember, at least.
Tommy blinked and then continued.
“Just maybe Wilbur's name is bigger. Maybe. A bit”, he nodded, satisfied. He was such a good brother, presenting Wilbur to be even cooler than him!
Wilbur was not having a good time. He felt similar to a prey under the gaze the predator with nowhere to hide or run.
“Oh really?”, asked Mr. Watson. “How marvelous and peculiar”
Tommy didn't know what “peculiar” meant, but he nodded enthusiastically anyway.
“How wonderful”, he laughed, staring at Wilbur for a moment. “But I do believe you have a question to answer. You can do it, right?”
“Don't!”, hissed Wilbur, hiding Tommy behind him once more.
“...Wilbur?”, whispered Tommy. Wilbur didn't have to turn back to know that his brother was worried.
Man tilted his head.
“How peculiar. Peculiar indeed”, as if nothing happened, Mr. Craft gave him a warm smile that held no malice behind it. But Wilbur knew better. “But Tommy still have to answer”
He took a deep breath.
“So I'll ask again. Tommy, do you want to go with me?”
Suddenly, Wilbur could not speak up, as if some strong hand was keeping his mouth shut. Tommy slowly looked up from his back and then shook his head.
“No”
Mr. Craft was surprised.
“Are you afraid?”, he asked.
Tommy shook his head again.
“No, you look silly and old, I'm not afraid of you”, he said as smugly as one child can possibly manage. “But I can't leave without Wilbur”
Mr. Craft blinked.
“Without him?”, he gestured at Wilbur.
“Mhm!”, kid nodded. “He's my brother!”
Something warm burned inside Wilbur's chest. He would coo at his brother, but he was too terrified to do so, unfortunately.
“I see”, man said, smiling once more. “Such a protective brother you have”
It was definitely a threat. Oblivious as always, Tommy happily nodded.
“Yep! He's the best!”
Man smiled.
Don't, Wilbur begged silently. Just please, don't.
“What if I take both of you?”
“Really?!”, Tommy screamed, exited. Mr. Craft nodded. Tommy looked up at Wilbur and smiled with such happiness that Wilbur felt sick. He wanted to cry, to scream so badly. Wanted to hide Tommy away from this monster.
Why would the first person he cared about be destined to die in from of him from that despicable creature of a man?
But Wilbur was a weak child. He couldn't let Tommy be afraid in his last moments. So he breathed in harshly and forced himself to smile.
So he forced himself to walk with the man outside, holding his brother's hand gently.
They walked towards the cursed house, destined to be… What, murdered? Slaughtered? Eaten? Wilbur didn't want to think about it.
Tommy continued to chat with Mr. Craft, entertaining him on their quick stride.
As they walked inside, Wilbur immediately felt watched. No, not just that. He felt as if he didn't entered a house, but someone's mouth. As if he wasn't walking on floor, but some meaty substance. He felt sick. Tommy, unaware and happy, as usual, looked around and lively ran around the hall.
Mr Craft smiled at the sight. Wilbur might have heard a grumble of a stomach.
“Are you hungry, boys?”, he asked, clearly automatically. Wilbur's stomach ached, he was hungry. Not that he would actually tell the man that.
Tommy turned around to face them. He looked at Mr. Craft. He looked at Wilbur.
And he smiled.
“Yep!”
They ate. Well, Tommy ate, as Wilbur gave him the majority of his own plate and Mr. Craft walked away somewhere. Wilbur knew, if he took one more bite, he would throw up.
Eventually, they were tucked in. Wilbur wondered why they were sleeping in the same room, but he wasn't complaining. He wanted to be as close to Tommy as possible.
The room itself was weird and somewhat unnaturally red. He thought about someone's mouth once more and hugged Tommy. Kid shied away.
“Wilbur!”
Mr. Craft laughed. God, how he hated this sham kind demeanor of his! As Mr. Craft was about to leave their room, Tommy called him.
“Mr Phil?”, he chirped.
“Yeah, mate?”
“We're family, right?”, he asked, staring blank at the man as if remembering something.
“Yes, that's correct”, Mr. Watson nodded.
“So you won't hurt Wilby, right?”, he asked. Wilbur felt as if someone punched him. Why?
Why was he asking about him? Why not about himself? Mr. Craft tilted his head, most likely having thoughts similar to his.
Mr. Craft did not smile.
Tommy continued.
“Family not supposed to hurt each other, right?”, he sounded unsure, as if repeating someone else's word and not his own. “And you said we are family”
Mr. Craft was quiet.
“Were you lying?”, he asked in the similar voice Mr. Craft have asked him a few hours ago. For the first time, Tommy looked sad.
Wilbur embraced him. That was the only thing he could do.
How pathetic it was that his dear brother would believe such monster.
The answer was obvious.
Yet, Mr. Craft gifted them a warm smile.
“I promise, Tommy, Wilbur, you'll be fine”, words felt weird, unhuman even. “We are family now, after all”
It was a promise. It was a threat. It was comfort and horror in one single sentence.
Suddenly, Mr. Craft walked up to them and patted both of them on the head.
“Goodnight”, he whispered and left the room. The light turned off.
There were no light switches in the room.
There was no handle on the door.
There was only him, his brother, darkness and someone's breathing.
Someone's… heartbeat.
Tommy hugged him, yawed and lowered his head on the pillow. Blanked cowered them almost on it's own, similar to human's tongue. Only Wilbur noticed it.
Someone's heartbeat pounded loudly, but the was no sound whatsoever.
“Goodnight, Wilby”, whispered Tommy, falling asleep.
Wilbur silently began to cry. He closed his eyes, listening to that horrible heartbeat.
“Goodnight, Tommy”
He fell asleep.
And then he woke up in the morning. Someone shook him and someone – definitely Tommy – bumped his head into his chest.
“Wake up, mate”
Wilbur opened his eyes. Mr. Craft smiled at him.
“Breakfast is almost ready, I'll be waiting downstairs”, he whispered, ruffling Wilbur's hair.
The door closed. The doornob was almost sparkling in the daylight.
Tommy mumbled, dreaming about something.
Tommy was alive and so was he.
And it was the most terrifying fact ever.