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There was a gentle tapping at his window. And at first, Rolan had brushed it off. He lived in a bungalow after all, it was probably some neighbourhood kids or the bushes. But the more and more he listened, the more and more he began to understand. It was like hollow plastic. Almost rythmatical, like his maths teacher's false nails against her desk, drumming along to a rhythm almost every parent seemed to know and drum along to. And it continued to drum and soon scrape across the glass, in a frantic manner, like an animal, a creature of some sorts trying desperately to claw its way into his bedroom.
And then it stopped.
His eyes darted onto the outline of his window, painted onto his wall with the yellow street lamp light. And there, a lithe figure stood. Perhaps it was the shadows playing tricks on him; its nails seemed longer, abnormally so, as the clear outlines of hands against his window dragged down to the base of his window. And he heard it. The sound of something trying to pry his window open.
Rolan felt the world sink in on him as whoever was at his window kept trying to dig their fingers under the slide-up glass, his body freezing in fear. He felt a hard lump form in his throat as he slowly inched his hand over to the book he kept on his nightstand, wrapping his bony fingers around it tightly and holding it as if such a simple thing could protect him.
And, for somebody who clearly wasn't holding any tools, the locked window slid open with a staggered slide far too easily, the figure, rising to enter.
"Shit," Kian's voice was raspy as he fell through the window, coughing wildly as he stumbled to come to all fours, let alone his knees.
Rolan whipped around in bed, dropping the book as soon as he heard Kian's voice, staring down at his friend for just a mere second, before scrambling over the bed, practically dragging the sheets with him as he rushed down to Kian's side.
As Kian continued to fall into a coughing fit, Rolan pulled back his hair, watching either vomit or blood pour from the blonde's lips and splatter across his carpet with each heave of his chest. He couldn't decide on which it was due to the room's darkness, though settled for blood due to it not being as watery as sick like this could be.
"Jesus fucking christ, Kian, I thought you were at that party, what the hell're you doing here?"
Kian didn't respond, too busy practically heaving his guts out on Rolan's bedroom floor as tears began to well in his eyes from the coughing fit.
"Fuck...you should've gone to the hospital, not me. Alright- shit- let's at least get you in the bathroom come on."
Rolan let Kian's hair fall into the usual dishelveled mop around his face, taking the same arm he was holding it back with and tucking it under his armpit, his other hoisting the arm that was closest to him over his shoulder. Shakily, he raised the two of them to their feet, a majority of Kian's weight slumping against him as they began to slowly stagger forth out of Rolan's bedroom, into the unlit landing.
The bathroom wasn't too far off from his bedroom, just a door or two down the hallway. Around the corner from the closet. Kian's head lolled left and right, almost as if he was a corpse in Rolan's arms, and if it wasn't for the man's coughing, Rolan thought he pretty much might as well be. Yet as it bobbed right one last time, Kian slowly looked up, eyes blinking hazily, before snapping wide open. A startled Yelp left Rolan as Kian practically leapt forward from his arms.
He was moving, almost alien in nature, arms stretching wide to cover as much surface of the walls he moved against, yet he was moving faster than ever. He darted past the bathroom, into the kitchen, leaving Rolan behind. With a groan, Rolan shuffled into the kitchen behind him.
"Hey, man, come on what the fuck-" Rolan cut himself off as he entered the kitchen and his eyes lay upon the sight before him.
The first thing he noticed was Kian, illuminated by the fridge-light. Because not only had he been coughing up blood, but the man was practically drenched in it, head to toe. His usual tank and jacket had looked like they'd been tie-dyed red with the deep crimson soaking them. And his face, god his face was just as covered as his shirt was and for a moment Rolan almost chalked all the blood up to Kian having been hurling it all the way over to his house, due to it practically smearing across his lips and soaking deep into his teeth. Though it was his throat what made everything obvious. Because nestled at his throat, just about where the adam's apple would be, was the raw muscle and skin, peeled back and practically gored for the world to see. He could see the fleshy pink convulsing and twitching with every ragged breath the man took, watch the blood- no- it wasn't blood, it was almost black and like mucus- ooze and drip from it before being sucked back in by a particularly deep breath Kian took. It looked almost as if he'd been cut, right around the neck, yet somebody, some creature, had torn away at the skin and crawled inside.
Though other than his clearly-off appearance, what told Rolan something was wrong, was what Kian was exactly doing, bathed in the blue light of the fridge.
A packet of raw meat, Rolan guessed maybe chicken judging by its colour, had been practically torn open, and Kian was coughing into the shredded chicken meat, nails digging tightly into the carcass as if he'd hunted it personally. And as the black ooze hit the chicken, he watched as the droplets began to turn this meat into paste, becoming deep, deep red. And he took his paste, soaked nails and began to string this paste across the floral, yellow wallpaper in long, thick lines.
Rolan felt bile rise in the back of his throat but swallowed it down.
"Kian?"
Kian almost jumped from his position, baby-blue eyes staring wide at Rolan, yet he continued his task, almost with glee, a smile creeping onto his face. Rolan took several cautionary steps into the kitchen, watching as more ooze dripped from Kian's mouth, practically melting and tearing into the chicken and creating even more mass that he continued to coat the wall with.
Something within Rolan almost clicked. Maybe if this was a stranger, he would have been a less braver man, but this was his friend. And when you friend starts to melt chicken with their mucus in your kitchen, you're going to fucking confront them about it.
Rolan had quickly gotten close enough to grab Kian by the wrist, making him drop the chicken on the floor with a loud, wet, thwack. Kian practically whirled around to face him, eyes staring blankly up at the man.
"What the hell are you doing?" His words were less than a whisper, practically tumbling out of his mouth faster than what he could speak.
It was within an instant of what happened next that made Rolan stumble backwards, crashing into his dining room table, a vase rolling off and shatting into a pool of water, flowers and pottery shards on the tiled floor. The table had cracked underneath him, splintering off with a groan, the only thing protecting him from splinters and the cold, hard floor being a thin decorative cloth that had once laid neatly across it.
It was a hollow noise, one that both reminded him of cicadas but also not at the same time. As Kian Stone's jaw suddenly hung even more ajar than it already was, his head being thrown violently back as a cacophony of echoing clicks resonated from the back of his throat. Rolan watched as the strained muscle vibrated like a plucked string in his throat, as the black ooze that dripped out of it, out of his mouth, began to slowly seep down his neck and tear through the flesh on his chest; melting through the clothes he was wearing until holes ripped through it and it laid itself on the prized flesh underneath. And it began to devour as the clicking rose to a halt, Kian's head slowly careening back down. Eyes looking up at him under thick lashes, a sickeningly sweet, black-toothed smile across his face.
And it took merely seconds after this was over for Kian to be atop of Rolan, practically pinning him to the broken table. Rolan felt his body break out in a sweat, though due to the situation or the context of the situation, he couldn't quite tell. Yet either way, the blonde hair fell around them in a curtain, almost cutting the two off from the world. All Rolan could see was Kian. His tired eyes, his lopsided smile, the blood coating his face, the red paste that dripped from his lips, the black ooze that pulsated from the hole in his neck,the hot red eyeliner that was drawl in sharp streaks across his eyelids and swooped into points.
"'Sup dude,"
Kian's lips ghosted over Rolan's neck, wet and burning with heat. And in any normal situation, Rolan would have just jokingly pushed him off and Rand would of called them Fags. But Rand wasn't here right now, and this wasn't a normal situation. He felt them move, almost uttering words against the skin that he couldn't quite make out, before a sharp pricking pain pierced into his neck, like a needle, before Kian retracted, almost as if he was repulsed.
And the kitchen door slammed shut behind him.