Fascination

by faustedwires

Summary:

His work here is almost done.

The countryside burns, the bodies stack up, the world becomes cleaner. Were this anywhere else, he'd be moving on, continuing his work, migrating with the swathes of people as they tried in vain to escape.

But there's just one thing keeping him here. His little secret.

The house on the hill, one of the few with the lights still on. His favorite place, with his favorite person. One of the last few pleasures he allows himself.

One particular night, he decides to indulge.

Notes:

I wrote this whole thing in one day listening to "Cult of Goobalore" by On The Dot, such a good song... crazy what good music does for your productivity, isn't it?

Chapter 1: He Who Knocks

     The nights around here were getting quieter. 

     Fewer screams. Less shouting. Gunshots echoing across the fields were becoming a rarity, and it seemed as though even the crickets were hesitant to chirp. Only the bushes rustling in the hot, rolling winds dared make any noise, the brittle leaves crunching underfoot. 

     He didn’t mind. 

     Soon, his work here would be done, and he would need to migrate, move to a more densely populated area. He would need to seek out more people, more victims, more visitors in order to continue the cleaning of this new world. But that could wait. 

     For now, he chased the last few stragglers across long stretches of road, cornered them in their houses, picked through the underbrush of trails now familiar to him. The sickly sweet smell of rot and ashes drifted by, carried on the winds like a scourge, a consolation prize for a job well done. 

     He found he liked this better; the warm recognition, the familiar faces of the people who used to live here. The deeply primal, animalistic attack patterns he had to utilize were proving to be the most fun of all, tapping into equally primal fear responses, the thrill of the chase quickening his diseased heart like nothing else. 

     How had he ever hunted any differently? What fun was it if nobody saw you coming? What fun was it if you could not relish in the sweet sight of widened eyes, terrified screams, the last panicked thrashes of rebellion? 

     He was not fond of human beings, but he found these things absolutely enthralling. How expressive they could be, where the simple pinching of a few muscles or the lowering of a vocal tone could indicate such emotion! With every hunt, he found himself cataloguing new information; how some shivered and shook when cornered, how some screamed for their mothers, how some would try to bargain. How some would get angry and reach for weapons, while others would simply lie down in a puddle of tears. Such diversity! Like opening a present every time, wondering what response would be gifted to him in their final moments. 

     He remembered these things, faintly, as if looking into another life. His body, cold and clammy, often found itself missing the internal kisses of life, the promise of warmth it brought. The twinges of emotion that he often saw on other people, the fear, the sorrow. Other visitors felt these things; in fact, many lived in complete ignorance of what they really were, thinking they were still human. How stupid, how silly… but often, in the sizzling daylight hours, he would catch himself wondering what those sorts of things would be like, heartbeat thumping traitorously beneath a pallid cage of ribs. 

     On days like this, he knew just where to go. 

     It had been his own little secret for a while now, something he kept all for himself. The little white house at the top of the hill, sitting like a pretty pearl, the gravel walkway crunching beneath his every step. The charred remains of his last few presents lay sizzling in the dirt, and contented with the display, he curled up in his usual place beneath the window. 

     From behind the walls, he could hear voices, faint murmuring from within. He licked his lips, eager to pick out the words, trying to decipher who was speaking to whom. From across the yard, the bleached skull of a man stared back at him, grimacing, its helmet lopsided and burnt. Ah, that had been his finest work, his most prized offering he’d made. The look on the face of his favorite person had made it doubly worth his while, the little grimace of fear and terror flashing across his oh-so-expressive face. Of all the expressions he’d seen, that had been the very best one. 

     Most of his work was thankless- it was nice to be appreciated every once in a while. 

     Oh, the voices were getting louder, now. He pressed himself against the glass, listening intently- someone was yelling. He did not recognize the voice. 

     BANG. 

     Gunshots did not make him jump anymore, but this one surprised him. He thought back to the previous nights- who had been welcomed in recently? 

     Ah, yes. He smiled. He remembered now. The one wearing the coats had been invited in a few nights ago. That had been interesting to him; how had someone so careful not seen such glaring signs? The cold, clammy skin, the dirty fingernails, the odd, loping gait? It had all been there, and yet, the coat-wearer had been let in anyways. 

     But this was what intrigued him about his homeowner. The unpredictability, the sense of duty, the unrelenting moral compass. Just as he himself was unlike the other visitors, his homeowner was unlike other humans. Where others pillaged, stole, raped and murdered, he defended, provided, fought for what he believed was right. A losing fight, yes, but that was interesting in and of itself! How brave one must be to resist the inevitable! This blind faith, this unrelenting hope, only served to make him more endearing. 

     Over the hills, the oppressive sun began to sink below the horizon, the sky washing itself clean in hues of red. He smiled. It would be nighttime soon, and he would be able to indulge in one of the few pleasures he allowed himself. But he needed to be patient; he liked to be the last one his homeowner spoke to every night, the last one to knock at his door. It pleased him to watch how none others could affect him the same way, could drag out the sweet little tremors in his voice as he desperately tried to mask his fear. Other visitors made him angry. Only he could truly unsettle him. 

     The hours drifted by like dust on the breeze, stars sparkling in the clear night sky. The homeowner actually opened the blinds to peer out into the garden, missing him by mere seconds. Whether he actually saw him ducking beneath the windowsill to hide, he would never know. 

     And then… footsteps. 

     He watched from the shadows, curious as a fully-suited FEMA employee reluctantly trudged up to the house, cautiously looking around for any signs of life. The agent missed him completely, shouldering his pack as he stepped onto the porch and knocked on the door. 

     He leaned closer. This could get interesting. 

     “We need more people.” 

     A muffled curse. Rustling from behind the door.

     “Where are the people you took?” The tone was biting, angry. He knew this hadn’t been the first time the agent had been here; already, FEMA had seized subjects from here many times. A few visitors, a few people, too. He wondered when, if ever, they would try to take his homeowner away too. 

     “Cut the bullshit,” the agent sneered. “The world’s ending, haven’t you noticed? Keep playing games with me, and we’ll take everyone in your house and leave you alone.” 

     “You ARE leaving me alone,” the homeowner snarled. “I’m not giving you anyone else. You took two last time, I won’t-”

     “Mister?” 

     Ah, a new voice. Young, childish, female. He remembered her. Crying and sniveling. 

     “...you got a kid in there?” The agent was incredulous, taking a surprised step back. 

     Silence. Then, a reluctant affirmative.

     “Is she yours?”

     “...no. My neighbor’s.” 

     The FEMA agent shifted, tone almost apologetic. “I see. Can I… can I check on her? We were at her house. A few days ago.” 

     Shockingly, the door opened, the weary figure of the homeowner illuminated by the hallway light. A little girl clung to his leg, chubby hands fisting the fabric of his pants. She stared at the agent with dark, wet eyes. 

     The agent crouched down to her level. “Hey, there.” He couldn’t see his face, but it had most likely softened, something he rarely saw humans do. “How are you feeling, miss?” 

     She sniffled, ducking behind the homeowner. “C-can’t s-sleep…”

     “You can’t sleep?” 

     “I-it’s… dark…” The homeowner’s hand protectively patted her on the head, visibly clenching his jaw. The FEMA agent stood back up. 

     “It must be hard. For the both of you.” All previous frustration was gone, replaced by hollow pity. “It’s dangerous out here. No place for children.” 

     The homeowner raked his fingers through his hair, fighting a war within himself. “...I know.” 

     “Listen,” the agent tried. “I don’t have to take her to the quarantine zone. There are shelters I can bring her to, there’s so many kids just like her. She’ll be better off there.” 

     The homeowner stared at the floor. 

     “Look, how much food do you even have left? I’m sure you’ve seen how many visitors are around.” The agent was pleading now, re-shouldering his pack. “I’d hate to leave you alone. But there’s better places for her than here. Safer places.” 

     “D-don’t wanna go.” Her voice was small, and she clung even closer to his homeowner. “M-my daddy will be back soon…” 

     The homeowner sighed, kneeling down to face her. Despite how close he listened, he couldn’t make out what words were said, only the quiet sobs of the little girl. Eventually, his homeowner stood back up, nodding to the FEMA agent as he took the child’s hand. 

     “You’re doing the right thing,” the agent nodded gravely. “I’m sorry about this. I’ll make sure she’s safe.” 

     The homeowner looked exhausted, nodding one last time. He waved goodbye to the little girl, forcing a smile that twisted his face in a way he’d never seen before. It looked just as fake as when he tried to do it himself- fascinating. 

     He watched as the FEMA agent and the small child stumbled down the gravel walkway, disappearing into the darkness. How oddly sentimental that had seemed, how domestic, how heart-wrenching. Another intriguing emotion he’d been able to bear witness to. This house was truly the gift that continued to give. 

     And continue to give it will, he thought, a grin crawling its way over his lips. His patience had paid off. An opportunity had finally presented itself to him. 

     And he did not intend on letting it go. 

…

     God-fucking-damnit.

     He pressed his forehead against his front door, the cool wood barely helping to ground him. A lump had formed in his throat, and he struggled to swallow it down, even though there was nobody to keep the facade up for. Who cared if he cried? For the first time in a while, the house was empty. Blissfully, hauntingly empty. 

     Oddly enough, it didn’t comfort him as it used to. The silence was now oppressive, not calming. The stillness felt deathly, not relaxing. The loneliness- 

     He shook his head. No, no use in thinking like that. Surely, more unfortunate souls would show up at some point, seeking shelter from the sun. He couldn’t despair just yet, there was still rebellion to be had, still people to save. The image of the coat-wearing man flashed behind his eyes. 

     No. Not everyone was like that, not yet. Not himself, not the agent, not the kid. 

     There was still hope to be had. 

     On shaky legs he trudged back to the bedroom, looking forward to a long, fitful sleep. How long had it been since he’d been able to sleep in peace, not interrupted by children’s nightmares or bids for more food? With any luck, he could sleep through the next day, too, with nobody to check on and nothing to worry about.

     Tyck-tyck! 

     Already? He frowned, cautiously approaching the front door. That hadn’t been very long. Was someone seriously already here? His heart leapt, actually relieved to not be spending the night alone. He stepped up to the peephole…

     …and felt his heart sink into his stomach. 

     “Still holed up here, I see…”

     He jolted away from the door, chest heaving and eyes wide as dinner plates. Of course. Of fucking course. It was that pale, topless creep again, on tonight of all nights. He was smiling, as always, leaning close to the eyehole as if he could see him staring back. 

     At that moment, he said the only thing he could think of. 

     “I-I’m not letting you in.” 

     Fuck! He grit his teeth at the way fear wore at the edges of his words. So much for being intimidating. 

     “Tyck, tyck... That is no way to treat a guest, but I will forgive your manners.” That smile, that fucking smile, blinding white and with way, way too many teeth. “What did you think of him? The man in the suit?” 

     The FEMA agent? Why would he ask about- 

     Oh. 

     Oh hell no. 

     “You better have left them alone!” The fury and volume of his words surprised even him, screaming through the peephole: “Bastard! I swear, if you hurt that kid, I’ll-”

     “Relaaax…” The command did nothing to relax him. “I left them alone, for now. They are not of interest to me. You, however…” 

     His own breath echoed in his ears. It wasn’t too late to run to the kitchen, grab his rifle, maybe even a knife. Had he remembered to reload it? Did he still have ammunition left if he hadn’t?

     “W-why me?” he tried. Maybe if he kept him talking, he could stall until- well, until he came up with something better. “C-can’t you go bother someone else?” 

     “Why would I?” His creepy voice was... almost sultry, the darker tone sending a shiver down his spine. “I like you… so eager to cling onto hope, eager to ward off despair… yet for what? You interest me.” 

     “Go find someone else. I don’t care about interesting you.” 

     “So resistant…” The Visitor cooed. “Why should I bother? I like it here… you have a nice home. Nice and spacious… nice and sturdy. Perfect. Just perfect.” 

     A sick feeling wormed its way through his guts, unsure if the Visitor was talking about his body or the house. 

     “I h-have a gun.” 

     Somehow, the smile got even wider. “Do you now?” He seemed almost excited, in a haunting sort of way. “How fun! I was wondering if you would fight back… I have thought about your death many, many times…” 

     He froze. Instinctively, he knew he should be running, running to the kitchen. Running towards any sliver of hope. But his legs were like jelly, and he was too afraid to move. 

     “I have seen so much of it,” the Visitor continued. “Would you scream? Cry? Become angry with me? Attempt to plead with me? It is an interesting gamble… I am eager to make it.” 

     His own heartbeat pounded in his ears. He couldn’t even bring himself to look out of the peephole anymore, cheek pressed against the cold wooden door. 

     “But first, let me ask… 

     Are you alone?” 

     “N-no,” Fuck, he’d answered too quick, but he just couldn’t help it, helplessness clawing at the back of his throat. “No, I’m not alone.” 

     For a few heartbeats, there was only silence. 

     And then the laughter started. 

     Harsh, pealing, mocking laughter, echoing past the porch and down the hallway. Laughter. He was being laughed at. 

     “Oh, I know you’re alone,” the Visitor purred. “I just wanted to see if you’d lie or not.” 

     The lock clicked, doorknob twisting. 

     “I’ll let myself in.” 

     He didn’t bother trying to fight it, the Visitor was practically already inside. Instead, he spun on his heels, tearing down the hallway like a bat out of hell. Behind him, he could hear footsteps, long limbs matching his gait and then some. He burst into the kitchen, diving for his rifle and hitting the floor beneath the sink. 

     As he flipped around, the sheer size of the Visitor made him gasp, a pale mess of skin and flesh pulling itself into the kitchen. Its smile- so goddamn wide- glowered down at him, eyes shining with pure, unfiltered malice. He scrambled to get further away, the cabinets digging into his back as he shakily aimed his gun. The Visitor’s eyebrows raised in delight. 

     Click. 

     Nothing. 

     Bile burned the back of his throat, despair making his arms shake. He stared up at the pale man, mouth agape, all previous adrenaline draining from his system. The Visitor loomed over him, chest still shaking with laughter. He shook his head, teeth flashing in the dim light. 

     “How unfortunate… how unfortunate.” 

     A bony hand seized his ankle, dragging him closer, closer. His attacker’s jaw unhinged like a snake’s, deranged giggling filling his ears and buzzing in his brain. In a blind panic, he swung the rifle upwards, the stock colliding solidly with the Visitor’s head. 

     For a moment, the monster stilled. 

     Triumphantly, he wound it back, preparing to slam the Visitor with it again. But the creature turned back to face him, eyes blown out wide, pupils deep and dark and bottomless. Effortlessly, he seized the rifle, saliva dripping from his teeth, ripping the weapon out of his clammy grip. 

     This was it. 

     It was over. 

     In one last bid for protection, his trembling arms curled around his head, body twisting in on itself. He wasn’t afraid of death per se, rather whatever would come after. Would the Visitor be merciful enough to simply kill him? Or would it turn him into whatever… it had become? 

     He shuddered, not daring to glance up. 

     “Tsk tsk…” The Visitor chided, clammy fingers prying his arms away from his face. “No hiding… this is my favorite part.” 

     His jaw was gripped and forced upward, bared for the cold gaze of the Visitor. Terrified, he squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassing whimpers escaping his lips. If nothing else, at least nobody was here to see it end like this. 

     “Look at me.” 

     His fingernails scrabbled at the Visitor’s wrists, to no avail. He tried desperately to turn away, but he wasn’t allowed to, the grip tightening with each passing second. 

     Tentatively, he opened his eyes. 

     The Visitor was mere inches away, dark pupils blown out and a disgusting grin stretched wide across his face. He could feel his cold breath, smelling of iron, fanning across his cheeks, and he squirmed uncomfortably. 

     “...you are disappointing.” 

     He wasn’t sure what to make of that. He willed himself to take a deep, shuddering breath. 

     “So much death… so many faces. You are wasted like this. You are acting like all the rest.” 

     Another panicked gasp. “I-I’m s-sorry…!”

     The Visitor pulled back, eyebrows furrowed. “You are… sorry?” 

     “Y-yes!” he spluttered. “P-please, I don’t… I don’t wanna be turned, d-don’t make me-”

     The Visitor threw his head back, sharp laughter echoing in the tiny kitchen. The pit in the homeowner’s stomach somehow sank even deeper. 

     “Is that how you think it works? That we are so simple?” He turned red at that comment. “No,” the Visitor answered for him. “No, we are not. Don’t be silly. It is not a question of turning you… but a question of killing you.” 

     He went quiet, staring up at him with wide, terrified eyes. The Visitor’s free hand threaded through his hair, almost petting him affectionately. He seemed to be deep in thought, looking over him in the way one would look over an injured animal. His head was turned from side to side, breaths quickening as broken nails scratched over his scalp. 

     “So expressive…” the Visitor hummed. “You react to everything. Yes, this will be interesting. I will like it here.” 

     He was dropped like a sack of flour, the Visitor rolling his shoulders and looming to his full height. Instinctively, he moved to cover his head again, shivering in a little ball on the floor. 

     “Oh, do not be dramatic. I have decided not to hurt you..!” 

     Was that supposed to comfort him? He gritted his teeth, willing himself to ignore it. Maybe if he stayed still, he would leave. 

     “The sun is almost up…” the Visitor mused. “You should be sleeping.” 

     “I-I’m f-fine…” 

     “No.” The Visitor’s hand fisted the back of his collar, dragging him upright. “I want to see you sleep.” 

     “Y-you… what?” 

     With seemingly inhuman strength, the Visitor dragged him out to the hallway, pausing only to let him get back to his feet. He was pressed against a cold, clammy body as the door to his bedroom was opened, once a place of familiarity and calm now reduced to one of confinement. 

     The Visitor’s next words almost made him throw up. 

     “Undress.” 

     His collar was released, and he nearly tripped over himself trying to back away. 

     “N-no,” he tried, attempting to keep the pleading tone out of his voice. “Y-you can’t ask me to do that. I-it’s n-not right...”

     “I don’t care… Humans have such pretty skin and muscles. I would like to see yours.” 

     He tried to step back, leg pressing against the bedpost. “N-no, I said-”

     “I’m not asking.” 

     Spindly fingers tugged at his sweater, and he yelped in terror. Before he even registered what was happening, he was pinned to the mattress, a disapproving look on the Visitor’s face. 

     “Don’t be difficult. You understand.” 

     He did. The Visitor was physically stronger than him, maybe even the strongest person he’d ever seen. He could throw him around like nothing, could take on several people at once. Hadn’t he learned from the others’ mistakes? Even an entire squad of soldiers hadn’t stood a chance. Things would be easier this way. 

     As he tugged off his blue sweater, he made sure to keep his eyes to the floor, unable to meet the cold, calculating gaze hovering above. He immediately moved to cover himself, wrapping his arms around his shivering frame. The Visitor stepped closer, head dipping down to sniff at his neck. He prayed that would be enough for him. 

     “Hmm…” A bony hand pressed at his hip, and he had to resist the urge to jerk away. “Yes… very nice. Yours fits so well…” 

     Cold hands roamed his skin for a few minutes more, leaving goosebumps in their wake, but he didn’t dare move away. He kept his focus solely on the ground, steeling his resolve and simply waiting for it to be over. 

     “...alright. Lay down.” 

     It was as if all the fight had left his body, mind numbly dragging himself over to the bedside. With his sweatpants still on, he slid beneath the covers, trying to ignore the oppressive heat beginning to creep in through the widows- because fuck no, he wasn’t sleeping naked with him around. No matter how suffocating it was. 

     The tall figure slowly slinked its way across the room, and he was careful not to shift from his curled place beneath the sheets. Even when the Visitor crept behind him, weight settling onto the bed beside him, he didn’t dare move. Outside, the sun rose, its rays slipping in between the gaps of his shutters. 

     How long had it been since he’d shared a bed with someone else? He’d forgotten what it felt like, the Visitor settling into the long-abandoned dips in the mattress. For a split second, a vision of her flashed across his memory, the image fuzzy and half-forgotten with age. It ached as it always did, as it probably always would, but he tried to cling to the familiarity anyways. Anything to rid his mind of the pale man, stretched out beside him, breathing softly in the quiet morning air. 

     He wished he could say that it was hard to fall asleep; but between his exhaustion, the stresses of the night, and old memories, it was embarrassingly easy. 

     He hadn’t even needed beer this time.

Chapter 2: He Who Enters

Notes:

Tags are updated! Please be sure that you read them, this chapter is going to be VERY heavy handed between Protag and Visitor, and this is your only warning ;33 take care of yourselves

     Ah, yes. This was nice. 

     This was perfect. 

     How sweet his homeowner looked, relaxed and limp, sides slowly rising and falling in time with his breathing. The usual lines around his eyes were gone, mouth open ever so slightly against the pillow. Peering closer, he was delighted to find a small wet patch in the fabric. Humans often drooled when deep in sleep- observing it in visitation was enthralling. 

     He’d carefully peeled the covers back during the day, enjoying the perfect display of vulnerability in front of him. Already, he had counted every notch in his spine, noticed each freckle adorning his skin, appreciated the little pout of his tummy protruding ever so slightly from his abdomen. Adorable. He could sit watching this for days, the hours dripping by with ease. Yes, he had made the right choice. Who would trade a few moments of rushed bloodshed for such sanctity? 

     More than anything, he longed to run his hands across warm, pulsing skin again, but he held himself back, not wanting to disturb. Maybe if his homeowner slept well, they could do this the next night. And the next. And the next. And the next… 

     Not like he would have a choice in it, anyways. 

     Outside, the sun began to set, reddened streaks sliding their way across the wallpaper. Soon, it would be nighttime again, and his homeowner would wake. Delicious. 

     “Mhmm…” 

     The homeowner shifted, legs pressing together. He rolled onto his stomach, pushing his hips forward into the mattress. 

     Interesting. 

     Cautious not to disturb him, the Visitor leaned over, observing his face carefully. No changes. He was still asleep. Behind his eyelids, his pupils shifted. Oh, my. Was this what dreaming looked like? 

     He wanted to dip his fingers into his brain, rummage around, see what he could find. Was this a pleasant dream, or a bad one? What were his good ones about? His nightmares? 

     His diseased heart thudded at the thought that he might be included in some. Had his homeowner ever woken in a sweaty haze, memories of his face burned into his memory? Did he ever think about their conversations at night, lying here with a sinking feeling inside? How much fear had he missed out on, how much did he have to make up for? Feeling very pleased with himself, he turned his attention back to the homeowner. 

     There was an odd redness to his face, but he chalked that up to the heat. Hard to bear for humans, but perfect for creatures like him. The sun was a comforting heat lamp, his pale skin unyielding to its sizzling rays. But the nights were cold. And night was falling faster and faster. 

     Before long, the room was dark again. The body beside him grunted and stirred, gradually pulling itself from the depths of sleep. He rolled over, curling in on himself, blissfully unaware of who was towering beside him. Good. A few moments more… he was sure to savor it, smiling at the sheen of sweat over his homeowner’s skin. What he would give for just a taste…

     The homeowner sighed, cuddling deeper into his pillow. His eyelids fluttered, and for a split second, he was awake, simply lying beside him, existing in his presence without a sliver of fear. Had any human knowingly dared share a space with him, fully aware of his capabilities? No, this was a first. A moment to be cherished. 

     And then the recognition hit him. 

     With a startled gasp, his homeowner scrambled backwards, falling off the bed, body making a satisfying thump on the floor. Amused, the Visitor leaned over the mattress, glowering down at him with a pleased grin. 

     “F-fuck..!” the homeowner cursed, raking a hand through his hair. “Were… were you seriously there all day?” 

     “Hm…” he hummed non-committally, deciding not to grace that with an answer. “You were dreaming. Interesting.” 

     The color drained from the homeowner’s face. Almost subconsciously, he huddled in on himself, pressing his legs together. “C-creep..!”

     “I like watching you.” The Visitor cocked his head, leaning closer. “You change so much when you sleep. Your body temperature drops, did you know that?” 

     The homeowner’s gaze dropped to the floor, fingers curling into fists at his sides. He said nothing. 

     “So many changes…” he continued. “I enjoyed that thoroughly. I have never watched a human being dream before. Do you dream often?” 

     Still, nothing. 

     “Do you ever dream of-”

     “Cut it out.” The tone was biting, seething. Even the one he’d used with the FEMA officer had been softer than this. “S-stop it. Stop fucking with me, t-tell me why you’re really here.” 

     Oh. Interesting. The Visitor’s eyes narrowed. “I believed I was perfectly clear with you,” he mused. “I like it here. I like you.” 

     “Y-you’re a monster!” Desperation tore at the edges of his words, fear once again wearing away any intimidation he might have had. “You c-can’t like anyone! You w-were about to kill me!” 

     “Oh, suuure…” He stepped off the bed, looming over the body on the floor. “I almost did. But I didn’t. You seem upset about that.” 

     “I… n-no, that wasn’t…” 

     “So what is your point? You would rather be dead?” The Visitor rolled his shoulders back, each one popping grotesquely. “Unpleasent ending, but that can be arranged…”

     “N-no! No.” How he loved it when he begged! He’d never found it interesting before, but the way his homeowner’s eyes bugged when he did so was thoroughly enjoyable. “N-not what I’m saying! I just-” 

     “You’re talking about things you don’t understand,” the Visitor hummed. “Who are you to tell me what I cannot do? I used to be like you, you know…” 

     That seemed to shut him up. The homeowner shivered, naked back pressed against the bedroom door. He was staring at the floor again, unsure of what else he could say. 

     “I remember things,” The Visitor cooed, trying to win back his attention. “I remember dreams. I remember sleep. I remember liking people, liking things…” He dropped his tone, trying to mimic something akin to softness. “Is it so unbelievable that I might miss that?” 

     “...g-guess not,” the homeowner replied quietly. 

     “Indulge me, then.” 

     Tentatively, he crouched down, carding bony fingers through soft brown hair. “What do you have to lose anyway, hm?” 

     “N-Nothing.” Was it just wishful thinking, or were there tears in his eyes? “I d-don’t have anything...” 

     “Good…” He forgave the way he tried to squirm away, body pressed firmly against the door behind him. “That’s the spirit…” 

      They were so close, so tantalizingly close. He could feel the warmth radiating from his homeowner’s body, and he just couldn’t stop himself from pressing his cheek against a sweaty scalp. The heat was better than any sun, his eyelids fluttering as he took a deep inhale, savoring the scent of something alive. 

     “S-so f-fucking weird…” The homeowner was whispering to himself, but he didn’t care. He had exactly what he wanted, right? To be as close as possible? He leaned forward, nearly covering the homeowner’s hunched form with his own, sharp knees prodding at his midsection. Not even thinking about it, his free hand went to part them, to allow them to be even closer, but he was stopped. 

     He drew back, and glanced down. The homeowner looked mortified, that same flush having returned to his cheeks. He was staring stubbornly at the wall, arms crossed over his midsection, legs pressed firmly together as if it would hide the little tent in his sweatpants. 

     Oh. 

     Oh! 

     “Interesting…!” he grinned, licking his lips in delight. “Interesting, indeed. I have never-”

     “I can’t help it.” The homeowner’s tone was empty, hateful. “I-it’s just a thing that… that happens after sleeping.” 

     “Hmm,” he appraised, sitting back on his heels. Even like this, he towered over the other man, and it brought him a sick sense of satisfaction. “After every sleep? Good to know…” 

     A scowl twisted over his pretty features, the flush darkening. 

     “Don’t!” There it was, that fresh, renewed fury again. “Don’t get any ideas! I-I won’t-” An arm came up to push him away, but the Visitor seized it effortlessly.

     “You would have no choice in the matter,” he reminded him, smiling toothily. 

     The words hung in the air like lead. Had the homeowner looked scared before? This new expression was even better, eyes wide with barely contained anger. But his lower lip betrayed his fear, trembling ever so slightly, and he seemed as though he was almost about to cry. Beautiful. Maybe he would be lucky enough to see tears at some point. That would be entertaining. 

     “And why not?” he continued, ignoring the way his homeowner’s fists clenched. “You might like it... I could make you like it.” 

     A horrified war seemed to be occurring behind pale blue eyes, and he tilted his head to stare down at the homeowner. For a few moments, they simply sat and breathed, neither making any move to injure or restrain. It would have been easy; but the Visitor was intrigued. He’d proven to be unpredictable for a human; what would he do next? 

     He stopped trembling enough to finally get a sentence out. 

     “C-can… can I go to the bathroom?” 

     The Visitor smiled. 

    “Of course.” 

…

     The second the bathroom door closed, all his walls broke down at once. 

     Legs turning to jelly, he sank to his knees, curling up beside the cracked bathtub and cradling his head in his hands. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks, broken sobs escaping his lips no matter how hard he tried to muffle them. It was all in vain. He was just as terrible at it as he’d always been. 

     Shut up. Be quiet.

     Men don’t cry. 

     No, no, he couldn’t think like that. Couldn’t let those thoughts poison his head, not right now. He shoved the old memories down, clasping his hands over his mouth to quiet himself. This was a life or death situation, surely he’d earned a pass, right? 

     Despair bubbled in his stomach, and he crawled his way over to the toilet. For a few moments, he hung over the bowl, dry heaving aimlessly. He had nothing to give, and he knew that, but it felt good to try anyway. To pretend that the sickness he felt was something he could get rid of. 

     Tears dripped into the still water, his eyes burning and his cheeks flushed. Why? Why was this happening to him? In the reflection of fluorescent lights, he caught a watery glimpse of himself, red and puffy and shivering. He hardly recognized the person staring back at him. 

     He hadn’t prayed in years, but when he was done retching, he instinctively clasped his hands together, knuckles pressed to his forehead. He’d thrown out his rosary with the rest of his beliefs, promising to never turn back again, but he found himself missing it now. 

     Even in adulthood, apples could never stray far from their trees. 

     “P-please,” he whimpered to nobody in particular, body shuddering with the weight of his sobs. “Please, s-somebody… somebody h-help me…” 

     What was he even asking for? No loving God would let such a fate grace the earth, and it wasn’t like he could rely on his fellow man. The yellowed suits of FEMA offered no protection, nor did the roving gangs of vigilantes, trophies rotting around their belts. Other houses would turn him away if they were being safe, and he doubted the Visitor would let him leave so easily anyways. 

     He was trapped. In his father’s house, no less. If he cared for irony, he’d be laughing about it. His father probably was. 

     Get off the fucking ground. 

     Stop crying. 

     Take it like a man. 

     Maybe that would be easier, he thought miserably. The Visitor was certainly still in the house; it would be easy to simply lie down, take him up on the offer of death. Go out with at least a sliver of dignity. But he just couldn’t ignore the fear that gnawed inside, the yawning unknown that death would promise. 

     His thoughts drifted back to a man he’d had to kill, one of many. He’d claimed to be immortal, that the cycle of life and death was a continuous circle that would never, ever end. God, what a nightmare, continuing to live in this crushing reality. That was scarier than any hell he’d been promised; perhaps the real fear wasn’t of death itself, but the possibility of no end in sight. Visitors and FEMA and burning cities forever, the pale man haunting him for the rest of time eternal. 

     Feverishly, he shook his head, wiping his tears away. No, there was still hope to be had… wasn’t there? 

     He found he didn’t believe it as much as he used to. 

     Blearily, he dragged himself to his feet, pointedly ignoring his reflection in the mirror. He knew he looked pathetic, he didn’t need confirmation of it. 

     Until it hit him. 

     The mirror.

     The mirror. 

     He practically tore open the secret cabinet, and at the sight of spare ammunition, he felt like crying again, this time in joy. Hope. Real hope, encased in pretty little brass casings. A whole box of it. God bless his past self, hiding supplies around where others wouldn’t snoop. How had he forgotten? Maybe something really was looking out for him. 

     He slipped a few bullets into his pocket, closing the cabinet as quietly as he could manage. The reflection staring back at him was still splotchy and tear-stained, but he didn’t look half as pathetic as he had a few seconds ago. 

     Now, he had a chance. 

     He splashed his face, shuddering at the cold, his chest feeling a little lighter than it had when he’d first hidden here. It was amazing what a good cry could do for you, even if you were losing your faith in humanity. He took a deep breath. 

     Okay. He’d had his moment of weakness. 

     It was time to face the music. 

     It was time to be brave. 

     Tentatively, he cracked the bathroom door open, listening intently. The house was silent as a grave, and the hallway light flickered ominously. The ammunition weighed like a ton of bricks in his pocket, the metal slowly being warmed by his body heat. 

     Bravery. Right. 

     On shaky legs, he forced himself to walk towards the bedroom, the door looming out in the dim light. Steeling his nerves, he twisted the doorknob. 

     “Are you finished crying?” 

     The slimy, condescending voice nearly made him jump out of his skin, and he whipped around. The Visitor loomed over him, a sickly sweet smile on his face, clearly pleased with his success in sneaking up on him. 

     When he didn’t reply, he continued. 

     “What a shame... I have been looking forward to that.” 

     He clenched his jaw, refusing to give him the reaction he was clearly looking for. No. No more cowering. This was how you had to deal with these things. Like a man. 

     “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he bit out, his voice still raw. He made a show of pushing past him, heading down the hallway towards the kitchen. The Visitor made an odd humming sound; clearly interested, with how close he was following behind. Despite the nagging instinct to do so, the homeowner resisted turning around; there wasn’t any place for fear here. No place for hesitation. 

     The plan? Embarrassingly simple. Distract the Visitor. Reload the rifle. Point, and shoot. How exactly he was going to do step one, well, that could wait. He could figure that out. 

     He would figure that out. 

     Almost trembling with adrenaline, the Visitor at his back, he opened the kitchen door…

     …and his hope died on his tongue. The sour taste returned. 

     Perfectly placed on the dining table was his rifle, or at least, what remained of it. It looked as if someone had cracked it over their knee, the wood splintered and the metal warped to an astonishing degree. He approached it as if it was lying in a casket, mouth agape and dry with terror. 

     “Y-y-you…” 

     “I’m sorry,” the Visitor hummed, not seeming the least bit remorseful. “I know people like their possessions... but I don’t like taking chances.” 

     He was frozen where he stood, brain struggling to form thoughts. His last and only defense, rendered to scraps. He shakily reached a hand out to touch it, desperate mind hoping it could be salvaged. 

     “Ah, what’s this?” He didn’t even flinch as his wrist was gently taken, the Visitor lifting his hand to his nose. “You smell of metal… don’t tell me…” 

     Spindly fingers dipped into his sweatpants’ pocket, the brass casings shimmering in the fluorescent lighting. They winked at him like old friends, all previous comfort gone. Looking at them now, he just felt numb. 

     “Tsk, tsk… were you really going to try the rifle again?” His tone was bored, disappointed. That, at least, was familiar. “I expected better from you. This is… lazy.” 

     Oh, fuck, his eyes were watering again. He wouldn’t cry, he wouldn’t cry, men didn’t cry- “I-I’m t-trying, at least…” 

     “Yes,” the Visitor agreed. “Yes, you are.” 

     He expected something, anything, really. Death, or at least some kind of punishment. But the Visitor simply stood there with him, their breathing echoing in the tiny room, both staring at the rifle in silence together. 

     Finally, he spoke. 

     “Human beings eat when they wake up, do you not?” 

     He didn’t even feel like fighting, taking the order for what it was. He dragged himself over to the cabinet like a zombie, everything feeling as though it was detached from his body. To his relief, the Visitor was content to lean against the refrigerator, giving him some space and simply watching him from the shadows, like a vulture waiting for its prey to give up and die. 

     He swallowed thickly. Nothing seemed good, his stomach turning, the dull labels staring back at him from their places. 

     But he’d been told to eat. 

     Shakily, he managed to pick out an old can of borscht, the label faded and nearly worn away. He hadn’t tasted borscht since his childhood, the memory of it fuzzy and half-forgotten. 

     Oh, well. He fidgeted with the can opener. 

     No time like the present. 

     He dumped the chunky, pink froth into his dented little pot, the stove flickering for a moment before properly turning on. Before long, the nostalgic scent was drifting through the kitchen, the Visitor’s eyebrows raised in interest. 

     “What is that?” 

     He stirred the pot weakly, the chunks of vegetables floating to the surface. “It’s… uh, borscht. S-soup.” 

     “Hm.” 

     The feeling of being stared at weighed on his shoulders, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. “D-do you… do you want some?” 

     Footsteps padded closer, and he willed himself to stay still. Long arms caged him against the countertop, spindly hands wandering into view. 

     “I don’t eat like you do.” 

     The words were whispered, the Visitor’s lips uncomfortably close to his ear. He had to repress the urge to shudder. “T-then… how d-d-o you, uhm..” 

     “Do you want an answer to that question?”

     No, he really didn’t. He shook his head in defeat, giving the pot another half-hearted stir. He jumped a little as he felt the bony chin of the Visitor settle against the crook of his neck, and he froze in place. 

     “I-I w-wish you wouldn’t do that.” 

     “Why?” He seemed genuinely curious, like he couldn’t see what was wrong with this picture. “I see people doing this often when they cook. Pairs of people… people in pairs.” 

     “Y-you… see people?” 

     “Oh, yes.” The borscht was slowly starting to bubble, but he didn’t move to take it off the heat. “I used to watch through the windows… I liked that very much.” 

     He frowned, his first memory of the pale man flashing across his mind. It had been after the initial alerts, when his neighbor had been staying over. He’d awoken that night to a face staring back at him, peering through his bedroom window. He hadn’t dared lift the shades ever again. 

     “C-creep…” he muttered, turning the stove off. He’d burnt it; great. 

     “I’ve seen many things through the windows.” 

     He shuddered as cold, blood-scented breath fanned across the back of his neck, the Visitor mere centimeters away from touching the exposed skin. His hands froze where they were, the pot handle warm to the touch. 

     “So interesting, the things people will do when they think no-one is watching…” He could swear he felt thin lips brush his skin, but he couldn’t be sure. “Such domesticity… such closeness…” 

     Okay, now there was definitely something pressing against him, a cold, slimy feeling dragging across the back of his neck. He whirled around, nearly knocking the pot to the floor, cowering against the countertop. 

     “W-what the fuck..!”

     The Vsitor’s tongue looked like a fucking earthworm, squirmy and long and a sickly gray color. He clapped a hand to the back of his neck, the cold, wet traces of saliva still lingering. His face flushed angrily, watching as the Visitor licked his lips. 

     “You are salty.”

     “T-that… that’s gross.” 

     The Visitor cocked his head, an amused smile crawling over his face. “I would like to try other things with you… many, many other things.” 

     His blood ran cold.

     “D-don’t… ugh, don’t be disgusting…” 

     He forced himself to turn back around, spooning some of the borscht into an old, chipped bowl. Some of the cabbage had seared, and he wrinkled his nose at the acrid smell. The conversation they’d had before flickered in the back of his mind, a sick feeling settling in his guts. 

     You wouldn’t have a choice. 

     I could make you like it.

     The thought alone was enough to make him nauseous, and he shook his head, trying to clear it away. Mercifully, the Visitor allowed him to move away, taking a seat at the dining table, pretending to ignore the twisted heap of wood and metal serving as the centerpiece. He stared down at the soup, the odd pink color only worsening his nausea. 

     The only sound in the kitchen was the clinking of his spoon against the bowl, the Visitor content to simply watch. He’d taken the seat directly across from him, staring with that sick little grin, eyes narrowed like he knew something the homeowner didn’t. He did his best to keep his eyes on his soup, not wanting to look either at his guest or at the remains of his weapon. 

     Everything around him was falling apart. 

     Anger bubbled in his chest, mostly directed at himself. Maybe his father had been right, maybe this was a punishment for turning away from everything. Maybe if he’d just stuck around, had been able to take it for a few years more, abide by the faith a few years more, live in this fucking house for a few years more… the memories clawed their way up his throat, echoes of argument after argument still staining the walls around him. 

     Always knew you were worthless.

     Running away like a coward.

     You’ll regret it someday.

     And sure enough, here he was, eating at his father’s table again, a demon smiling back at him in his place. 

     Because that’s what the Visitors had to be, right? Demons, just as his father had promised, coming to raze humanity to the ground for its sins. Coming to clean the world, mop up the stain that man was in the web of the natural order. They were righteous in their work, unleashed by a malicious God, the worst punishments saved for those who managed to survive the longest. All the lucky ones had burned up by now, able to rest in peace, blissfully unaware of the horrors plaguing this new world. 

     He thought of her again. 

     At least she hadn’t had to see everything end this way. 

     “There is so much behind your eyes…” The Visitor hummed, intrigued. “What are you thinking so hard about?”

     “...nothing,” he lied, knowing it was useless. 

     “Hmm…” The Visitor mused. But he was polite enough not to call him out, at least not directly. 

     “I would love to look inside your head…” The thought sent a shiver down his spine, but he kept his eyes on his bowl. “So many emotions, so many feelings… I can see them on your face. Perhaps one of these nights, you’ll let me in…” 

     Fat chance. He gritted his teeth, occupying himself with another spoonful of borscht. He’d definitely burnt it, a charred carrot staring up at him from his spoon. He choked it down as best he could. 

     “Are you finished?” 

     Fuck, might as well be. He rinsed out the bowl in the sink, glad to finally leave the table. Bits of flabby onions and slimy beets were washed down the drain, and he wished he was going with them. 

     “W-whatever you have planned, I-I’m not going along with it.”

     Better to take a stand now, while he was still on his feet. Maybe this would make whatever happened next feel less humiliating. The Visitor chuckled. 

     “I don’t expect you to.” 

     The struggle barely even started as one, pale hands resting on his hips and attempting to steer him back towards the bedroom. His initial attempts to squirm away were half-hearted, stomach sinking with dread and churning from a morbid sort of curiosity. Did the Visitor even understand intimacy in the same way he did? Did he know what acts flashed through his mind when he threatened him? Regardless, the fight was well worth his while, even if he didn’t believe he would ever win. All hope was still strewn across his dining table, broken and splintered where it lay. 

     “Adorable,” The Visitor sneered, pulling more forcefully as they made it to the hallway. “Pretending you have a chance… I always liked that about you.” 

     He tore at the fingers clutching his waist, matching the creature’s violence with his own. Dull, bitten nails scrabbled at thin wrists, blood rushing in his ears. 

     “Why bother?” The Visitor asked out loud, not really expecting an answer. “We both know how this- how everything- is going to end. And yet, you put up such a fight. Is it so terrible to let go gently?” 

     “D-don’t… w-wanna,” he managed through gritted teeth, the feeling of clammy hands making his skin crawl. “J-just w-wish you’d leave..!” 

     “Really?” His smile widened. “There are worse things out there than me, you know… it’d be a pity if they found you here, all alone…” 

     The bedroom door was slammed open, the Visitor tossing him on the mattress like a rag doll. He landed on the sheets with a thump, the air halfway punched out of his lungs. Blearily, he tried to pull himself to safety. 

     “Tsk, tsk…” The Visitor chided, yanking him back. He crawled on top of him like some kind of deranged insect, wormy tongue poking out from between thin lips. 

     Another wave of fear crashed over him.

     Okay. This was bad, but he could handle it, breaths wheezing from behind clenched teeth. He tried to focus on the ceiling instead of the Visitor’s wide grin, teeth flashing in the dim, fluorescent light. Every nightmare he’d ever had could not compare to this, this feeling of terror as the mattress dipped beneath foreign limbs. 

     He’d always found the Visitor’s unnatural body to be horrifying, but in this context, the effect worsened tenfold. The bony chest with shoulders far too broad blocked out the hallway lights, skinny arms pinning him in place with shocking ease. Gnarled fingers, much too long, splayed out against his flesh and the sheets, the off-white color of diseased skin stark against the warmth of his own. He couldn’t bring himself to stare below the creature’s waist. 

     Fuck, this would be so much easier if he couldn’t see. Despite knowing better, he closed his eyes. 

     “Silly, silly...”

     He cringed as he felt his sweatpants get eased off, his legs snapping shut on instinct. They were easily pried open by cold, clammy hands, and he pressed his face into the comforter to hide. 

     “Hmm, interesting…” That sterile curiosity was back, and he had to push down the lump in his throat. “Are they supposed to look like that?” 

     Incredulous, he cracked an eye open. The Visitor was staring down at him, head cocked, brows knit together in amused confusion. All attention was focused between his legs, his flaccid cock limp against the cleft of his thigh. He felt his cheeks flush, hot shame and embarrassment making his stomach flip. 

     Taking his silence in stride, the Visitor continued, as if this was a two-way conversation. “Not that I see very many. But this seems… rather small.” 

     “F-fuck off,” he managed, hating the way his voice was shaking. 

     “Oh, not to criticize!” The Visitor cooed. “Simply to compare… look, you will see mine, if that helps.” 

     It most certainly will not, he thought to himself, wishing he was brave enough to spit out the words. Rebellion mattered, even if it was only in his mind. 

     Spindly fingers moved to tug down the Visitor’s pants, and despite knowing better, he let his gaze drift down, already cringing away in terror. 

     He was right to do so. 

     The thing that unfurled from the Visitor’s crotch barely seemed like it belonged there, protruding from the folds and folds of excess skin hanging off bony hips. Unnervingly long, it looked like a fucking elephant trunk, if only paler, a weird gray tinge to the sickly skin. An oddly bulbous head peeked out from beneath thick rolls of foreskin, its tip dark and wet. 

     “W-what the f-fuck!” 

     In an instant, he was clawing his way across the mattress, desperately scrambling in an attempt to escape. His every muscle felt like it was on fire, panic and adrenaline flooding his system, urging him away, away from whatever the fuck the Visitor had planned. 

     He barely made it to the edge before a punishing grip closed around his ankle, forcefully dragging him back towards his assailant. He knew fighting was useless, knew that this attempt was just as pathetic as all the rest, but he couldn’t help himself. 

     He just wanted it to be over already. 

     A sob broke through his lips as two slender hands closed around his throat, and the homeowner found himself fighting for every gulp of air he took. The Visitor leered down at him, pulling him back and forcing their hips to meet, nauseating member dripping clear fluid over his navel. 

     Fuck, his eyes were watering again. He was crying, that was okay, it was fine to cry at things like this, it didn’t mean anyth-

     “I’m not hurting you.” 

     It felt like an insult, because of course he was. Who was he kidding? What else could this be, other than a twisted way to inflict pain on someone who had no chance of reprieve? 

     His vision was blurring. The Visitor stroked over his wet cheek in a poor mimicry of affection.

     “...of all things, you are crying at this?” 

     He moved to hide in his arms again, but they were blocked. 

     “I have nearly killed you, and you were ready for that… but every time I reference intimacy, you tear up. Why?”

     Oddly enough, the tone wasn’t mocking, rather genuinely curious. It took a few deep breaths to be able to form sentences. 

     “B-because…” he choked out, the grip on his jaw lessening for him to speak. “T-this… i-it’s supposed to be s-special. Y-you… you’re violating me…” 

     “And death isn’t?” He raised an eyebrow, a confused smirk crawling across his face. “I don’t understand. Is it simple sentimentality?” 

     “K-kind of…!” 

     “‘Kind of.’ Hm.” He loomed over him, deep in thought, eyes focusing and unfocusing on his bare torso. “Special… how?” 

     Oh, my fucking god. “Y-you… you d-do it with people y-you love,” he tried, putting emphasis on the word people. “I-it… uhm…”

     “Well, now you’re just lying again,” The Visitor sneered triumphantly. “I have seen it. Men no different from you, men who are not visitors. Their subjects are indiscriminate. Some are not even alive...” 

     Bile stung the back of his throat. Sickening. “T-that’s wrong!” he cried, desperately trying to get through to him. “That’s wrong! T-that’s what you’re d-doing to me, that isn’t right, it-” 

     “You are special to me,” the Visitor proclaimed, and just like that, the fight was over. 

     “N-no,” he begged, tears dripping down his face. “N-no, i-it’s not… p-please…” 

     “Explain to me how it works.” The homeowner’s chest was heaving with sobs, words becoming incomprehensible. “Or I will try it from memory.” 

     In the end, he explained nothing, the Visitor pressing the side of his face into the sheets. Cold, dead hands aimlessly roamed between his legs, stroking and prodding at the sensitive area. He tried to jerk away from the intrusion, to no avail. When the frigid pad of a thumb caught on the soft pucker of his hole, he actually squealed, hips twisting away feverishly. 

     “Ohh, I see…” The Visitor cooed, pupils blown wide with interest. “Hm. Yes, this might be complicated… do you need to be wet?”

     The homeowner didn’t respond.

     “Fine, then. Stay still.”

     His legs were hiked over sharp, bony shoulders, his lower half propped up against the Visitor’s freakishly broad chest. The hand around his throat held fast, neither restricting or freeing him, and the Visitor ducked down, chilled breath spilling over his crotch. 

     He couldn’t help it. 

     He hid his face again. 

     Pathetic. 

     Stupid. 

     Helpless. 

     Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop his hips from jerking upwards as something cold and squirmy pressed against his entrance, another broken sob escaping his lips. The grip on his neck tightened, and then let go, as if to say quiet, relax, give in. 

     You don’t have a choice. 

     The Visitor’s cheek was pressed snugly against the side of his thigh, and he swore he could feel the muscles pull into a smile. The wormy tongue simply coiled against him, not breaching, simply pressing, as if testing the resistance. Slick saliva dribbled down the curves of his ass, and he shuddered.

     It was slow, almost teasing, the gradual breach pulsing as the Visitor dragged his tongue in and out. Thin, clammy lips met the soft skin of his perineum, surprisingly soft despite the teeth lying just beneath. 

     Slick, wet sounds filled the little bedroom, joining the quiet sobbing of the homeowner as the Visitor sloppily made out with his body. Greedy hands grew rougher with him, squeezing the sparse flesh of his hips and putting the slightest of pressures on his throat. He felt himself tense as he was slowly, slowly filled, the squirming appendage softly spreading him open and working him through the waves of discomfort. 

     And all at once, the Visitor pulled back, leaving him slippery and empty. 

     “You are stretching…!” he mused, the timbre of his voice buzzing in the homeowner’s chest. “Wonderful! I am glad you are feeling relaxed…” 

     Relaxed? Was that really what was happening? He didn’t have the experience to know, but to him, he felt tenser than ever. Sure, he’d spread himself before, piss-drunk on one of his many lonely nights before the cataclysm. He remembered the dull, throbbing pain, his breath wet and heavy against his pillow, his own fingers emboldened by inebriation. It had been fruitless and silly, something he’d regretted later, finding no pleasure in the blunt scissoring of his own digits.

     This was nothing like that. 

     The Visitor’s tongue was so much softer, his walls clenching at every twist and wriggle as it coiled into shapes no fingers could mimic. It seemed to pulse with the rhythm of his heartbeat, synced with the panicked gasps leaving his lungs. While not hard, his cock had certainly taken an interest, traitorously stiffening ever so slightly against his belly. If he didn’t know any better, he’d tell himself that the Visitor was being kind, in a fucked-up way. An apology for what was to come. There was no pain yet; only disgust. Whether at the pale creature or at himself, he couldn’t be sure. His cock gave another interested twitch. 

     “Hah…” The Visitor grinned, tongue licking his lips before disappearing behind them. “Yes. Very good, I believe you are ready…” 

     His legs were gently lowered to sit around the Visitor’s waist, the creature rising to loom over him again. He still had his eyes squeezed shut, face pressed into the comforter, seeking any way out that he could. 

     His jaw was squeezed gently, three sharp times

     “Stop that. Look.” 

     His vision was sticky and blurry, barely able to make out the pale face of the Visitor in the darkness. His lungs ached, and his thighs were shaking, and the Visitor grinned as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. 

     “So pretty… I’ve never cared for crying. But you do it so well…” 

     He tried to cover himself again, but the Visitor shook him cruelly by the jaw, playing with him despite his distress. Something blunt and wet nudged at the inside of his thigh. 

     “N-no, no…” It couldn’t hurt to try one last time, even if he knew it was fruitless. His voice broke in all the wrong places, making it impossible to hide how scared he was. “P-please, please listen… please…”

     “Oh, I am hearing you just fine,” the Visitor cooed, free hand smoothing up and down the curve of his hip. “Don’t hide… I love to listen…” 

     The homeowner wasn’t sure what would have been worse; being forced to take it in one, sharp thrust, or whatever the hell the Visitor was doing now. The press was slow, gradual, stopping every few moments as if he was savoring the protests of his body. His hole fluttered uselessly, trying in vain to push the intrusion out, but the Visitor simply pushed through it, ignoring the spasms and twitches of agony he was being subjected to. 

     Everything hurt. It was as if his entire body was capitulating against this misuse; hands clenching and unclenching, thighs shuddering, knees trying to close around a thin, pale waist. His breaths stuttered to the point of hyperventilation, chest heaving with the strain, mouth open and panting with effort. He didn’t want to think about how stupid he probably looked, shaking and trembling, gasping like a dying fish, face streaked with tears- and he found he barely had to, the pain mercifully making his mind go blank. 

     The grip on his jaw disappeared, both of the Visitor’s hands seizing the handle of his hips. 

     “Almost in…” he hummed, pausing for a moment to count the visible ribs with his fingers. “You are doing well… so well.” 

     It did not feel like he was doing well. He felt full to bursting, and the Visitor still had more to give. He’d resigned himself to staring at the place where the wall met the ceiling, eyes glassy and unfocused, muscles occasionally spasming. He was entirely limp, having given up on struggling. Even if he managed to get away, the pale man would simply chase him down anyway. All hope was lost. 

     Finally, the Visitor pressed his hips flush to his victim’s, wriggling slightly just to feel his intestines seize up. 

     “You are so warm,” the Visitor appraised, giving him a moment to adjust. “Such heat… your insides could replace the sun, and our work would be done twice as quick…” 

     “H-hurts…” his voice was barely there, the word more akin to a wheeze than actual speech. “Y-you… h-hurting, please…” 

     “Oh, I know… so delicate, so fragile. How you were ever an apex predator, I will never understand…” 

     Without waiting for the homeowner’s permission, the Visitor began shifting himself experimentally, sickening squelches breaking the relative silence. His pallid face was pinched in concentration, black eyes narrowed in curiosity. 

     “Is this really all it is?” he asked, not expecting any answer. “In and out? How primitive… and to think you procreate like this…” 

     Whimpers were punched from his lungs every time the intruder slid back in, guts shoved around repeatedly in an attempt to grant him some relief. The pressure was nearly incomprehensible, hole stretched to its limit and then some. He hated each and every pathetic noise he was making, but there was no way to help it. He felt like he was being ripped in half. 

     The Visitor was enjoying himself, the usual grin stretched wide across his face. He was panting as well, tongue occasionally swiping across his teeth, drool pooling in the dips of the homeowner’s collarbone. He looked like a maniac, the thrusts slowly picking up in speed, giving his victim less and less time to recover between particularly sharp ones. 

     Even through his haze, he could feel the chill of the Visitor’s skin, the cock feeling like a rod of ice lodged inside of him. He wanted to squirm away, but cold hands held him fast, forcing his bruising hips to meet unnaturally bony ones over, and over, and over… 

     Fuck, it was getting unbearable now. Unable to stand it, shaking hands tried to brace themselves against a broad chest. 

     “S-stop… s-stop..!” 

     “Shh…” The Visitor snarled, a hand winding itself around the homeowner’s neck. “I know, I know…”

     “C-can’t!” He half-screamed, breathless. “P-please, no more, I can’t…!”

     “What did I tell you?” The thrusts picked up even more now, the Visitor using his throat as leverage to drag him back and forth onto his cock. “You can take it. You will take it… you look perfect, scrambling to survive…” 

     Involuntarily, he thrashed, back arching off the mattress as an agonized shriek tore past his lips. It was quickly silenced by the tightening of the Visitor’s grip, the sound strangled out of him as he continued struggling. It wasn't about rationality anymore, it was just his body, slipping into the primal need to protect itself. It was no match for the predator above, and they both knew that, but the instinct refused to be quelled. 

     The Visitor clasped both hands around his throat, sealing his fate. 

     “Fine,” he sneered, cutting off his oxygen entirely. “I am being gentle, and yet… you continue to disappoint.” 

     The words barely got through to him, teary vision beginning to go dark. His body shook, its last desperate bids for life useless against something so strong. 

     “I will be careful,” he promised, eyes narrowing. “But I will not coddle… can you blame me? Wanting all you have to offer?”

     He wasn’t given the chance to reply, not that the Visitor had actually wanted him to. 

     “When you wake, we will talk.”

     With a whimper, the last of his adrenaline left his aching muscles, instincts abandoning him to his fate. 

     His body went limp, and the world went dark. 

Notes:

third chapter on the way boss... if you enjoyed, please leave a comment!! I loved reading yours from the last chapter...!

Chapter 3: He Who Intrudes

Notes:

GUESS WHO'S BAACK! Finals week is finished, so you know what that means ;) 30 PAGES OF PALEGUN FIC WOOHOO! Thank you all so so much for reading! I've never had this many hits or comments or kudos!!! I really appreciate the love you guys have been showing, it truly means the world <333

     “Mroww.”

     “Meeoww.” 

     “Mrrp..?” 

     Something soft was nuzzling against his shoulder, daylight peeking in through the blinds. For a moment, the homeowner simply lay there, breathing, his chest aching and lungs burning. 

     God, what a terrible dream. 

     That’s right, it had to have been. His cat was curled up beside him, and the bedroom door had been left wide open. His wife must have left for work already, he wondered when she’d be back tonight. Half asleep, he brushed a hand over his stomach. How long had it been since-

     He froze. 

     Something wet was coating his hand, and not water wet. It was viscous and thick, perfectly clear and foul-smelling. And it wasn’t just his hand. 

     The odd substance drenched his lower half, pooling in the dips of his abdomen and seeping into the bedsheets. He was stark naked, bruises darkening on his hips and thighs. When he tried to sit up, searing pain shot through him, aching muscles protesting at being used so soon. 

     No. No. 

     It was just a dream. 

     His left side burned especially bright, and when he looked at it, he could’ve screamed. A massive bite mark, far too wide and with far too many teeth for a human being, was flushed red against his skin, dried blood flaking at the edges. 

     The Visitor. 

     The cat beside him leaped off of the bed, and he realized he’d been wrong; that hadn’t been his. In fact, he’d never seen it before. It was a Persian, and bright orange, thick fur sticking up in odd places like a poorly sewn stuffed animal. Its smushed, lumpy face disappeared around the corner as it left the room, embarking into the hallway of his near-silent house. 

     Where did it come from…?

     His attempts to pull himself up were pitiful, the soreness making movement a near impossibility. But he had to shower this shit off of him, the disgusting slime making bile rise in his throat. 

     Still naked, he leaned against the walls for support, limping to the bathroom and turning the shower to its hottest setting. He felt like a zombie, not even wanting to be conscious as he fought to keep his eyes open. As hot steam began filling the room, he caught sight of himself in the mirror, a ring of dark bruises circling his neck. 

     …ugh. 

     He stepped underneath the hot water, hissing initially at the scalding heat. His skin reddened wherever the water ran over it, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn the temperature down, the pain replacing the cold, pallid touch haunting him. He couldn’t scrub himself thoroughly enough. 

     Soon, steam nearly choked the air, his head spinning and vision blurring as if he’d stood up too fast. His floppy, half-asleep arms struggled to turn the water off, leaving him wheezing and flushed like a cooked lobster. Splotchy red now joined the swathes of purple staining his skin, and even though he’d hoped it would make him feel cleaner, it didn’t. So much for that idea. 

     But the slime was gone, at the very least. That counted for something. 

     Dragging himself back to his bedroom, he paused, the sound of purring echoing down the hall. Right, that cat was still here. He made a mental note to check on it. 

     After pulling on some clothes, he stumbled from room to room, trying to see if the animal was there. How had it gotten in? Certainly not through the front door, and all the windows were sealed shut. Was there a hole somewhere he hadn’t seen? Fuck, he’d have to find that before anything else crawled its way in… 

     And where was the Visitor? 

     For once, he was actually anxious to not see him, half expecting for the creature to pop out from the kitchen cabinets. The fact that he didn’t know where he was set him on edge, and the more places he checked, the more stressed he felt. 

     Only one more place to look. 

     The purring got louder as he approached the living room, the door barely ajar. It creaked as he opened it, cautiously peering into the bright space. 

     And what he saw almost made his heart stop. 

     This can’t be happening. 

     A woman, just as freakishly tall and lanky as the Visitor, was hunched over the couch, spindly fingers gently petting the lump of fur in her lap. Her skin was a sickly green color, bulging eyes nearly bursting out of her head and a deranged smile stretched across her face. Stringy, dark hair was messily tied up in a bun, and her clothes hung from her skeletal body. 

     He took a shocked step back. 

     Her gaze suddenly snapped up to him, dark pupils expanding at the sight. Her smile grew even wider. 

     “Hi.” Her voice had a horribly strange pitch, each syllable strained. “Your house good. Good for kitty.” 

     Blood was rushing in his ears, his own breathing harsh and panicked. Somehow, he gathered his resolve enough to speak. 

     “Y-you need to leave.” 

     “Leave?” Her neck was unnaturally long, and she cocked her head to the side quizzically. “No. Won’t leave. Why you say that?” 

     “You… you aren’t human.”

     “So what?” She shrugged, hunched shoulders rising and falling. “Two arm. Two leg. One head. All same to me.” 

     “N-no.” He struggled to stand his ground. “You need to leave. How did… how did you even get in?” 

     “He ask me to come here. Look at you.” She went back to petting the cat, who did not seem put off by her in the slightest. 

     “H-he?”

     “Yes. A someone ask me. You pet. Just like kitty.” 

     The homeowner felt his mouth go dry. Fuck, was that really what had become of this fucked up situation? That he was considered some monster’s pet? His fists clenched at his side in a mimicry of anger, but all he felt was helplessness. 

     “I’m not a pet.”

     The lady giggled to herself. “Sure. Okay. You are small dumb. Perfect for big idiot. Know that?” 

     He grit his teeth. Fuck this, this was his house! What right did the Visitor have inviting this lady in? Why hadn’t she killed him yet? In fact, she seemed nothing like the pale man, focused entirely on the fat, lazy cat draped across her skinny knees. She couldn’t care less that he was human, or that she was in his house, or… about anything really, despite clearly knowing more than he did. Her dismissal infuriated him. 

     He was practically shaking with anger, but the questions pulling at his insides were far more pressing. He took a seat in his beat-up armchair, staring at her ruefully. 

     “You know the… the pale man?” 

     She sniffed, as if surprised he was still here. “Too many question. Yes, I know.” 

     Fuck her. Nausea rose in his throat, but he shoved it down enough to keep his line of questioning. “Fine. Then who are you?” 

     This seemed to perk her up, spine cracking as she straightened. “I dance,” she announced. “Ballet. You can tell?” 

     Well, that wasn’t helpful. “No, I can’t tell,” he seethed. “Listen, why are you here?” 

     “To look at you.” She wrinkled her nose. “Said that already. Small dumb.” 

     “You mean watch me?” he pressed. “The pale man wanted you to watch me?”

     “Yes. You very dumb. Getting bigger.” 

     He rolled his eyes. There had to be some way to actually get through to this woman. 

     “...is the cat yours?”

     She smiled again. “Yes. Kitty with me. Kitty with us now. This is good house for kitty.” 

     “Great.” He forced himself to match her grin. “So glad. When will you leave?” 

     “No leave. Like I say, good place for kitty.”

     His fingers curled around the armrests, nails digging into the worn fabric. Ignore it. Don’t start a fight. “Will this house be good for… more people?” 

     She seemed to think about this for a moment. “...No. Don’t think so. Ours now. His.” 

     His. His knuckles were turning white with how fiercely he was restraining himself. As if. 

     “Don’t be sad,” the lady chided. “We are protected. Good for us. Good for you.” 

     Whatever that meant, he doubted it was as ‘good’ as the Cat Lady made it sound. 

…

     The Visitor didn’t return until after night fell. 

     The front door creaked open, not needing to be unlocked, as he seemed to have figured out how to do so from the outside. His gangly body pulled itself through the house, eventually ducking into the living room.

     The homeowner had spent all day watching her, half asleep in his chair. She really didn’t seem to have any motives aside from caring for the cat, just speaking when spoken to. Only when the pale man entered did she break her concentration from the flabby lump in her lap. 

     He shuddered and pressed himself into his chair, but the Visitor didn’t even seem to notice. 

     “Things have been well?” He addressed the Cat Lady as if he wasn’t even in the room. There was a terrifyingly hollow light to his eyes, a deep hunger that the homeowner had never quite seen before. 

     “Very good. Kitty like it here.” 

     The Visitor seemed to puff himself up, the usual creepy grin wiped clean off his face. “You did not touch it.”

     “No,” the Cat Lady shook her head. “No touch. Your pet.” 

     The homeowner practically cowered in place, hardly breathing in an attempt to go unnoticed. It did not work. 

     The Visitor’s head swiveled over to him, eyes raking up and down his body. Seemingly satisfied, he hummed. 

     “...excellent. I thought you’d understand.” 

     A hand the size of his face reached for him, and the homeowner jerked back, hissing. 

     “D-don’t touch me!” 

     “Oh. It is just like kitty,” the Cat Lady mused. “Bad kitty.” 

     The Visitor’s eyes narrowed, completely devoid of the earlier affection. Looking him in the face felt like staring down the barrel of a gun, or being trapped in a cage with a rabid bear. 

     “I’m low on patience.” His usually jovial, mocking voice had considerably darkened. “Don’t be insolent.” 

     The Visitor’s hand gripped the collar of his sweater like a vice, yanking him to his feet and dragging him through the hall. The Cat Lady seemed to perk up again, unfolding her lanky body and tottering after them, the cat wrapped in spindly arms. 

     Fluorescent lights nearly blinded him, the kitchen bathed in flickering white light as the Visitor shoved him forward. 

     “Eat.”

     Okay. This was fine, it was happening again but that was fine, he could do it again, just so long as the Visitor didn’t touch him, everything would be okay… 

     “Kitty will eat, too,” the Cat Lady proclaimed. Where she got the dented can of cat food from, he didn’t want to know. She moved closer to the homeowner, trying to look through the cabinet, and the Visitor noticeably stiffened, teeth glinting from behind thin lips. 

     It didn’t seem to faze the Cat Lady, who simply puttered off to sit at the table. The homeowner busied himself with picking another rusted can of soup from his store, trying to ignore the two sets of hollow eyes fixated on him. 

     What was killing him was that there simply wasn't an end in sight. There hadn’t been any freedom before, but now even the chance of it seemed impossible. Not one, but two visitors had taken up residence in his home; one his tormentor. The other, his warden. 

     His father’s walls would keep him here forever. 

     He hunched in on himself a little more. 

     When the soup was finally, mercifully, finished cooking, he took a seat at the table, back to the wall. The Visitor was leaning against the refrigerator again, back hunched and eyes glittering at him like marbles; empty and cold. 

     The silence was suffocating. Everything was wrong; his sweater too itchy, his shoes too tight, the air too stuffy. With every clink! of his spoon hitting the bowl, he resisted the urge to glance at the Visitor, as if the slightest noise would set him off. Like walking on eggshells, he tried to move as little as possible, ignoring any urge to shift or scratch or even breathe too loud. 

     It felt like his father was angry with him again. 

     Because really, what was the difference? To a child, what was worse? The monster hiding in the closet, always begging to be let in, or the wrath of somebody you were supposed to rely on, somebody who was supposed to love you?

     “How you get soup?” 

     The Cat Lady’s question jarred him from his train of thought, her beady eyes staring at him from across the table. He thought he saw the Visitor’s haunches rise ever so slightly, but for the sake of his own composure, he ignored it. 

     “Uh… deliveries.” 

     Deliveries that had long since stopped, since most of the people around here were dead by now. Deliveries that had hardly been reliable in the first place. Deliveries that wouldn’t pick up anymore, even if he called.

     “Is kitty food by delivery?”

     He couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes anymore. “Maybe. I can check.” That seemed to satiate her. If the Visitor knew he was lying, he didn’t say anything about it. 

     “You nice,” the Cat Lady proclaimed, turning her attention to the Visitor. “Why you not bug him? Would be good.” 

     The Visitor took a moment to respond, his sinewy body tense. “I’ve told you already. No more questions.”

     “Dodge answers. Big idiot.” She leaned across the table as if to share a secret, her grin cracking her features in half. “He think he smart. Smarter than me. But he really just big idiot.” 

     “How is this any different from your pet?” The Visitor pushed himself off the fridge, head scraping the ceiling as he straightened to his full height. “I am not an idiot just because you don’t understand.” 

     “No. No understand,” the Cat Lady replied curtly. “Why you keep him? Not cuddly at all.” 

     “He can be. He will be.” The last words were practically growled out, sending shivers down the homeowner’s spine. 

     “Could be more cuddly,” the Cat Lady hummed. “Less trouble. You never have big trouble.” 

     “Keep to yourself.” 

     The homeowner stared into his empty bowl, listening with rapt interest. So this was how they spoke to one another? They actually talked? He wasn’t sure how he thought they communicated, but it hadn’t been like this. With the way they bickered, it almost seemed as though they were close, or at the very least knew each other. 

     Weird. 

     Not like anything was normal anymore, though. 

     Without another word, the Visitor stalked out of the room, ducking to get beneath the doorframe. The Cat Lady unfurled from her seat, spine cracking in odd places as she glowered down at him one last time. 

     “Kitty.” She pointed to the cat, which was still eating off the floor. “You watch kitty.” 

     “Y-you’re leaving?” he asked, incredulous. 

     “Yes. We check other place now. You be good. Protect kitty.” 

      “W-what?”

     She, too, started off towards the front door, which was already wide open. Hot, summery air floated through the hallway, the Visitor perched on the porch like he owned it. 

     “Why?” he pestered, trailing her eagerly. Both excitement and dread flushed through his veins. Was this it? His chance at escape? What other house were they headed to? 

     Were they going to kill someone?

     As he approached the door, the Visitor lurched forward. The moonlight fell over every dip and crevasse on his misshapen flesh, highlighting every imperfection as he practically filled out the doorframe. 

     “You,” he began, forcing the words from between his teeth. “Stay put. You won’t leave. Try and make this easier.”

     “You’re leaving me with no protection,” the homeowner retorted, trying to keep the trembling from his voice. “What am I going to do if… if another shows up?”

     “They won’t.” 

     “What makes you so-”

     “They won’t. You understand.” 

     The Visitor turned from the doorway, not even bothering to close it. The Cat Lady had already wobbled halfway down the dirt path, turning to wave at him in a way that suggested she’d only ever seen the action mimicked before, which is to say that she did so very poorly. 

     He was left to watch as the two gangling figures disappeared into the darkness, their long shadows dancing with the dead, waving grass. 

     He couldn’t lock the door fast enough. 

…

     Barely thirty minutes had passed when he heard the knocking. 

     He glanced up at the hallway, vision blurry, beer dripping condensation onto the kitchen table. Fuck, he hadn’t even had the chance to get properly wasted. He’d need to, if the visitors were back already. So much for a little peace. 

     He hated the course of action he’d chosen, but what else could he do? The Visitor had told him to stay put like a good little pet, and he didn’t want to seriously risk the creature’s ire. As painful and horrible as it was, he had a better chance here than outside, making a break for hopeless freedom, running across the fields of dead grass.

     The homeowner wobbled to his feet, his lack of coordination due to exhaustion rather than being tipsy. He forced himself to the door, peering out of the peephole, fully expecting the pale smile of the Visitor to be glaring back at him. 

     But no. It was a man. A flesh and blood man, dirt streaking his face, his long hair matted and filthy. 

     “Open up.” 

     He jerked back, shocked. Oh, fuck, it was another person. He hadn’t planned for this, hadn’t spared the thought that there would be anybody left alive this far from the cities. 

     What was he supposed to do? The two visitors had promised to be back, there was no way he could let another human being suffer the same fate he would. He wasn’t a beacon of protection anymore; he was just another death trap. 

     “I-it’s not safe here,” he tried, voice laced with desperation. “You have to find somewhere else, I can’t-” 

     “I know that, fucker. Open the damn door.” 

     Frowning, he took another look, his heart dropping as he noticed the long barrel of a firearm. Not just that; around the man’s neck, a string of various body parts dangled limply, teeth clicking against each other in the soft summer breeze. 

     He’d taken too long to answer, transfixed by the gory jewelry. The vigilante’s face twisted into a snarl, moonlight illuminating his tattered figure. 

     “Not gonna ask you again. Know you got a fuckin’ colony in there… been waitin’ all night for that damn big ‘un to leave…” 

     “I-I’m the only one here,” he tried his best to convey his desperation, anything to keep the vigilante from entering the house. His kitchen knives would be useless against the weapon on the other side of the door, and besides, what did he know about hand to hand combat? Especially against a man willing to string fingers along his neck? 

     “I know.” The cruel edge to his words made his stomach drop. “I’ll pick you lot off one by one. Startin’ with you.” 

     “I’m not a Visitor!” He snapped, desperate to be heard, desperate to be believed. “I promise, I’m not like them, I’m stuck here, I just-”

     “Bull-fuckin-shit,” the vigilante sneered. “Ain’t no way you don’t got dirt under your nails.” 

     “I-I don’t!” 

     The vigilante narrowed his eyes, rat-like face scrunching up in scrutiny. He turned the gun over in his hands, seemingly considering something. 

     “Hmm…” he grunted, cocking his weapon. “Fine. Lemme test you, then. We’ll see.” 

     Against his better judgement, shaky fingers undid the lock, opening the door, pale moonlight illuminating the vigilante’s figure. The barrel was trained directly at his chest, and almost instinctively, he raised his hands in submission. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on.

     “You got any others in here?” 

     He shook his head. 

     The vigilante spit on the carpet. “Figured. You don’t seem stupid enough to lie.” 

     He stepped forward, prompting the homeowner to back up. 

     “Got a chair? I ain’t testing you without some kinda insurance. Keep your hands up.” 

     The homeowner had no idea what ‘insurance’ meant, but he nodded anyway, arms trembling ever so slightly as he turned and shuffled down the hall. Making sure he wasn’t moving too fast, he flicked on the kitchen light, the flimsy wooden chair left exactly as he’d left it a few moments ago. The beer still dripped onto the table, suddenly the most tantalizing thing he’d ever seen in his life. 

     The vigilante gestured towards him with the barrel, prodding him. 

     “Sit down.” 

     He did so, stiffly. The vigilante maneuvered around him, the gun trained directly at his skull. 

     “Hands behind your back.” 

     What other choice did he have? He grit his teeth as the sound of a zip-tie ripped the silence open, the barrel resting against his shoulder as the vigilante turned his wrist over in his hands. 

     “Clean,” he spat, voice way too close to his ear. “Yeah, of course they’re fuckin’ clean… un-fuckin-believable…” 

     Suddenly, the vigilante was in front of him, the stink of body odor and rot nearly suffocating him where he sat. Dirty fingers pried his left eye open, forcing him to stare up into a dark, unfeeling gaze. 

     How many had failed such testing? Whose body parts hung around his neck, swinging dangerously close to his own skin? How many had died, either from crying or forgetting to wash or being stuck outside, unfortunate enough to cross his path? 

     At the end of the day, how were the two of them any different? He used to use the same signs himself, after all. His own hands were soaked in similar amounts of blood. Between the thrill of the hunt and the desperation of survival, what was worse? Visitors and humans alike died regardless. Did the burning sun above care? 

     It didn’t seem so. 

     “Hah… haha… great. Just fuckin’ great.” The vigilante’s eyes burned with hate, jaw clenched in frustration. 

     “Teeth, then. Open up.” 

     Reluctantly, he allowed two grimy thumbs to slip behind his lips, pulling his face apart to stare into his maw. 

     “Wider. Don't shit yourself.” 

For a third time, the vigilante’s nose wrinkled in anger and disgust, and he released the homeowner roughly, shoving him backwards. 

     “That’s impossible,” he growled, raking a hand through his stringy hair. “No signs? Impossible.” 

    “I-I’m telling the truth,” he rasped out. “I’m h-human, I swear.” 

     The vigilante leaned back against the table, staring at him hard. He didn’t seem to know what to do, confusion worrying in the middle of his brow. 

     “But… you can’t be.” He said it like he was trying to convince himself more than anything. “Saw the big one and the crazy lady… they’re fuckin’ visitors for sure… what are you, some kinda proxy?” 

     He shook his head vigorously. “No! No, I don’t… I don’t know, really. Look, I have no idea why he left me alive… keeps me like a pet..!” 

     “A pet?” The vigilante’s voice rose, and he white-knuckled the barrel of the gun. “The fuck do they want with pets? I ain’t seen that before.” 

     “I don’t know!” Finally, someone was listening, someone could help him! Even if only to vent, someone to confide in, he would take what he could get. Relief bubbled in his throat, and he fought the urge to grin. “The… the cat! The lady, she brought this cat, it’s around here somewhere-” 

     “Hold it.” 

     The vigilante suddenly straightened up, an odd light in his eyes. 

     “Almost forgot… one last sign,” he half-whispered, suddenly leaning closer. “Never really needed it before… always showed someplace else.” 

     The homeowner’s stomach dropped. “W-what? What do you mean?” 

     A hand suddenly reached for the bottom of his sweater, the faded blue fabric fisted in a tight grip. All color suddenly left his face, his side suddenly throbbing in renewed anxiety. 

     “Armpits,” the vigilante glowered. “Can’t believe I almost fuckin’ forgot.” 

     Dread curdled in his guts, his mouth going dry. This was it; his fate was sealed. Better than the Visitor offing him. But was it really any different? 

     As expected, the vigilante barely pulled the sweater halfway up his torso before freezing, eyes bugging at the sight adorning his rib. He nearly jumped back, mouth agape, fury and fascination both burning in his expression. 

     “What the… what the fuck?” 

     The scabbed, red imprints of teeth burned from within his skin, as if he could feel the vigilante’s oppressive gaze. The homeowner couldn’t bring himself to meet his stare, vision tunneling into the dark abyss of the hallway. Would death look like that? He supposed it didn't matter; he’d find out soon enough. 

     “Biting…” the vigilante quivered, gingerly lifting the fabric to get another look. “Biting… a new sign? New way of turning…?” 

     To his horror, he found he was fighting tears again. “I know… I k-know you won’t believe me,” he whispered, voice faint. “But I’m not… I’m really not…” 

     “Oh, man, FEMA might pay for this kinda thing…” the vigilante murmured, paying him no attention. “Maybe there’s more…? You hidin’ more signs, fuckass?” 

     He shook his head feverishly, but he knew it wouldn’t do him any good. 

     “Heh, thought you could pull one over on me, yeah?” The vigilante’s face had become the picture of glee, a wild, deranged light in his eyes. He loomed over the homeowner’s helpless form, blotting out the kitchen lights, a smile pulling grotesquely at the skin of his face. 

     Between this and the Visitor, really, what was worse? 

     “Lemme check your teeth again,” he snarled, pulling his chair closer. “Did I miss something…? Fuckin’- stop squirming!” 

     He couldn’t help it, trying in vain to pull away from the sickening taste of blood and dirt, hating the way blunt fingernails dug into his jaw. Tears were brimming in his eyes, his vision blurring as his lips were pried open. 

     “Hm. Straight, but yellow. You smoke?” He nodded, knowing there wasn’t a point in it. “Sure. Covers up your fuckin’ status. Smartass.” 

     Oddly enough, the vigilante pushed his thumb between his teeth, forcefully pulling them apart so the homeowner couldn’t clamp down. He pressed into the soft flesh of a tongue, ignoring how the homeowner’s eyes flickered up to his face. 

     “…fuck, that’s kinda hot,” the vigilante grinned. “Betcha wanna bite me, don’t you? Stupid little fuckin’ visitor… thinkin’ you’re smart, yeah?” 

     Again, he tried to pull back, but the hands prying his mouth open only forced it wider. His own heavy breathing echoed in his ears, panicked and confused, but the vigilante merely ducked down to get a better look. 

     “Don’t get it… you infect through spit or somethin? Or is it only the big ‘uns who do that?” 

     He didn’t grace that with a reply, shuddering as the grimy hands disappeared, allowing him to properly catch his breath. He made a point to stare at the floor, not wanting to spare even the slightest glance at the vigilante’s crotch, which was directly in front of his face. If he noticed his discomfort, the vigilante didn’t seem to care. 

     “A man’s got needs, y’know?” The vigilante sneered, palming over the front of his own jeans. “Don’t got much sympathy for you, parasite. If you bite, I’m blowing your brains out on the spot. Got it?” 

     The vigilante didn’t wait for his reply, unzipping his pants. The homeowner grimaced as he was presented with a half-hard cock, the vigilante again moving to force his jaw apart, free hand fisting his member. 

     “I like a little danger,” he huffed, guiding the tip past the barrier of teeth. “Gets the blood pumpin’ like nothing else… you’re gonna make the prettiest trophy, mark my fuckin’ words…” 

     He recoiled at the disgusting taste, trying vainly to pull away. Instead, calloused hands yanked him closer, forcing him to choke on the intrusion. His nose was suddenly buried in black, wiry pubic hair, and he gagged out of sheer disgust. 

      “F-fuck,” the vigilante groaned, lightly grinding his hips into the stimulation. “P-pretty warm for a visitor… usually cold, but nah… feels nice.” 

     The vigilante pulled back, the harsh sound of choking echoing in the little kitchen. He wasn’t allowed much relief, the spit-slicked cock stuffed in his mouth again before he could plead for understanding. 

     “Use… use that tongue, yeah… there you fuckin’ go. Better. You ain’t that bad…” 

     The praise made his face flush, anger and embarrassment coloring his cheeks. He knew these things were happening, had heard rumors of roving gangs stalking across the dying fields, but having the rumor standing in his kitchen, facefucking him senseless, was a different thing altogether. Stories of rapists and thieves and con artists hopping from house to house, with no organized justice to fear, used to be a thing of nightmares. But then again, wasn’t everything a nightmare these days? 

     The homeowner squeezed his eyes shut, cringing as a stray tear tracked its way down his face. Just another thing he needed to muscle through, another thing wearing away at his sanity. How much longer did the torment need to last? How many more days filled with dread and pain, humiliation and suffering lay in his future? He could barely remember the last pleasant day he had, the last day he’d been truly happy and content. Even before the cataclysm, they’d been few and far between. 

     “Little- hah, fuck- visitor, hiding behind everybody else? C-cowards… cowards like you prove we can win this, that we can- agh, fight back properly. You’re a fuckin’ disgrace, good for nothin’ but a… but a nice, wet hole…” 

     The vigilante was rambling, on and on about cowardice and cruelty, but the homeowner forced himself to tune it out. It was nothing he wanted to hear, evidence of depravity he’d previously been sheltered from. Even the Visitor had at least respected his humanity, in his own, odd way. To the vigilante, he was nothing but a toy, something to be used and discarded; or, more mercifully, shot afterwards, body left to rot where he died. With any luck, it’d be quick, and he wouldn’t feel any pain. 

     Would he be missed? Probably not; he doubted the neighbor’s daughter would care enough to check if he lived, provided she survived as well. He’d been a piss poor guardian, willfully handing her over to FEMA on nothing more than a shaky promise. No, she wouldn’t grieve, hopefully wouldn’t remember him enough to do so. 

     And the two visitors? Forget it; the Cat Lady probably only cared so long as the ugly Persian lived, and to the Visitor, his death would be a mild inconvenience at best. He wasn’t even sure that visitors knew how to grieve, not that he really wanted them to. 

     Maybe it was better this way; certainly kinder than burning up in the sun, or being ripped to shreds by the Visitor. Still, the thought of dying in the same chair where he’d suffered so many memories of childhood left a bad taste in his mouth. Alongside the obvious. 

     The vigilante’s thrusts were getting sloppier, harder to breathe around. His words had faded into mumbled gibberish, ugly groans slipping from his mouth between curses. Rough hands gripped his head like a vice, forcing him to match every stagger of his hips. His vision blurred further, tears dripping their way down his face, his mind fuzzy from lack of oxygen. 

     No matter. It would all be over soon. 

     A familiar sound wormed its way into his brain, barely making it through the fog. The floorboards had creaked. The vigilante didn’t seem to notice, and for a moment, he believed he had imagined it. 

     But the figure looming in the doorframe proved otherwise. 

     Mercifully, he didn’t actually see anything, the force of something ripping the vigilante off of him throwing him to the floor. He yelped in pain, shoulder taking the brunt of the fall, instantly squirming to try and wriggle out of the zip ties. 

     A frightened scream ripped through the silent house, instantly silenced as the front door slammed shut again.

     The homeowner didn’t dare move. Hardly dared to breathe, despite the way his lungs ached. His jaw ached like never before, lips swollen and slick with spittle. Offhandedly, he did his best to wipe his mouth on the shoulder of his sweater. 

     After a few minutes, when he was sure nobody was in the house, he managed to kick away the flimsy wooden chair, scooting himself so he could at least lean against the cabinets. On instinct, he drew his knees to his chest, curling around himself as best he could. 

     The front door reopened. 

     “Small dumb?” The Cat Lady was back, cautiously peering into the kitchen like a curious bird. “Oh. You there. Alive. Good.” 

     He hated the way he relaxed upon seeing her, some of the fear unraveling from his muscles. Fuck, how messed up was he that the sight of a visitor could be comforting? But at this point, did it really matter? 

     She crept closer. His lower lip trembled. 

     “You okay,” she chittered, curling up beside him as the tears started back up again. “You okay. Big idiot silly for leaving you alone. His fault.” 

     The Cat Lady barely batted an eye as he leaned into her bony shoulder, crying his eyes out like a little kid. She didn’t mind the sniffling, or comment on his failed attempts to muffle the sobs. She didn’t seem to care that he was a grown man, didn’t comment on how pathetic he was being, didn’t make fun of him for this outburst. 

     She just let him have it. 

     Eventually, he gathered himself enough to speak, still fighting down the lump in his throat. 

     “S-sorry, fuck, I’m sorry-” 

     She stared at him quizzically. “What you talk about? Kitty is okay.” 

     He shook his head. “N-no, I don’t… don’t mean the cat, I mean… f-for crying.” 

     She blinked. “No understand. Hush. You stay quiet with me. Until big idiot is back.” 

     He sucked in a breath. “O-okay…” he relented, mind too shaky to argue. This was new territory. He’d never let anyone, especially not his late wife see him in such a state. Too many bad thoughts. 

     Such an embarrassment. 

     Fucking pussy.

     If you don’t stop I’ll make you. 

     He buried his head in his knees, hands aching from still being tied together. Cautiously, he glanced up at the Cat Lady’s face, her grotesque features seeming a little less harsh in the fluorescent lights. 

     “C-can… can I ask you something?” In his youth, he would’ve been mocked for how his voice broke. 

     “Maybe. Okay.” 

     “C-can you c-cut the zip tie? M-my hands…” 

     She nodded, inspecting him closely as he shuffled to turn his back to her. He tensed as lanky fingers pressed against his own, and with the slightest flex, the thin plastic snapped. 

     “T-thank you.”

     “Sure. Okay.” 

     Again, she put up with him curling closer again, practically hiding in her skeletal form, not shoving him away or making fun of him for it. Realistically, they probably sat on the floor together for only a few minutes, but to him, it was blissful centuries in the first place he’d felt safe in a long, long time. 

     She paid him no mind, only perking up when the cat strolled in, content to cuddle up in the space between their knees. The homeowner barely noticed, and barely noticed when the sun began to peek through the shutters. 

     “Bed time,” she suddenly announced, jostling him playfully. “Come. Or big idiot be mad.” 

     “Why does he care?” the homeowner mumbled, already fighting off sleep. 

     She shrugged. “Don’t know. Up now.” 

     Reluctantly, he dragged himself to his feet, staring mournfully at the space he was leaving behind. The Cat Lady simply grinned back up at him, stroking the cat’s fur like she didn’t know how to use her hands. They stared at each other for a moment, the homeowner choking on the same word he used to say to her. 

     “Goodnight.” 

     She shooed him away with a flick of her wrist, but her grin wasn’t cruel or dismissive. Maybe he was just blindly searching for comfort, but he found a hint of humor in her eyes. 

     “Small dumb. You okay.” 

     With an apologetic smile, he downed the rest of the beer on the table, and wandered back to his bedroom as the dawn broke across the barren horizon. 

     For the first time in a long time, he settled into bed, less worried than he usually was. 

…

     He woke up alone again. 

     Surprisingly, he’d slept fitfully through the night, waking to a slowly darkening room as the oppressive sun dipped below the horizon. The hot, stuffy air that had lulled him to sleep now proved too suffocating to stay in, and pulling his usual clothes over sweaty skin, he ventured into the cooler climate of the hallway. 

     Voices mumbled from the living room, their presence not nearly as scary as it once had been. Tentatively, he peered through the doorway. 

     The Cat Lady was perched on his little plaid couch, the cat in her lap, purring contentedly. The Visitor lay on the other one, splayed out like he owned the place, lanky limbs curled into unnatural positions just so he’d fit. He looked like an oversized lapdog, and in any other context, it might’ve been funny. They didn’t seem to notice him yet. 

     “How long you stay?” the Cat Lady hummed, head cocked. 

     “I don’t know.” The Visitor’s voice was lower than usual, gravelly. He almost sounded… tired. If visitors could even get tired. 

     “You getting weaker,” Cat Lady warned. “I see it. Big trouble.” 

     “We shall see,” the Visitor murmured. “It… it is worth it.”

     “Is it?” Her eyes examined him carefully. “Is it? You not eat enough. Bad. Must move, more people.” 

     “But he lives here.” It didn’t seem like they were arguing, more like an oddly civil discussion. “He does not leave.” 

     “And he not like you,” the Cat Lady supplied helpfully. “Small dumb mad. You silly.” 

     “I know.” Was that defeat in his tone? “I don't understand as well as I thought. Not even myself. I don't remember.” 

     “Maybe for better.” 

     “Hm… I don’t know.” 

     As if he hadn’t been listening at all, he scuffed his foot on the floor, pretending to have just walked up. Both pairs of eyes swiveled to him, like hawks locking onto a mouse. 

     “...you are awake.”

     The Visitor’s head dipped as he meekly entered the room, tensely settling into his armchair. Even after his eavesdropping, the tension thickened, a silent standoff standing like an elephant in the room. 

     Are you hurt? 

     Are you going to hurt me? 

     But neither of them gave voice to it, their thoughts hidden behind impassive masks. 

     “Sleep good?” the Cat Lady asked, the Persian kneading her skirt. “Sleep through day. Good small dumb.” 

     “Uh… t-thanks.” 

     She nodded approvingly. 

     “You will be happy,” the Visitor suddenly cut in, beady eyes alight as they fixed him in place. “I have… well, consider it a present. Maybe an apology. I do not give them freely.” 

     A present? What the fuck did that mean? At once, the homeowner’s blood ran cold, and he swallowed uncomfortably. When the Visitor rose from his seat, he took it as the cue it was. 

     Silently, the Visitor trailed through the hallway, checking periodically to see if he was following. When the front door opened, the homeowner hesitated. 

     He only ever went outside to dispose of the garbage bags, hunks of rotted meat left to burn in the sun. He’d never gone past the porch, scared of the things that lurked in the darkness. Scared of the Visitor. 

     But at his back, what was there to fear? 

     He stepped over the bleached skeletons of the soldiers, trying his very best not to think too hard about them. Their uniforms had long since disintegrated, but still. Ironic, how he tried to pretend human life still meant something to himself. 

     This line of thinking was tested when they rounded the corner of his father’s house, the Visitor puffing up to his full height. In the growing moonlight, he looked almost proud. 

     “Look.” 

     His eyes widened in horror. 

     There, in the garden, pegged to the wall with several spare tools, was the remains of the vigilante. Not that much was left. 

     How had he not smelled it? Roasted intestines hung from the cavity of an abdomen, limp and dried like dehydrated sausages. Everything below the belt had been ripped off, strewn haphazardly in the dead grass in large, Visitor-jaw-sized chunks. Thin arms were pinned above his head by a spade, driven cleanly through the baked flesh of palms. His face, leathery and charred, must have been the picture of fear when it had been fresh, mouth agape in a soundless scream. 

     The homeowner took one look and promptly threw up. 

     “Agh! Oh my…. Oh my fucking…” 

     The Visitor was peering at him, a pinched look on his sallow face. That hollow light was back in his eyes, that same cold demeanor he used to see... on his father. 

     “You don’t like it,” he said dryly, after the homeowner had finished retching. Shakily, he stood back up, all color drained from his face. 

     “I… I…” 

     “No, you don’t like it.” Was the Visitor sulking? Through the shock, it was hard to tell. “Fine. Back inside.” 

     He was herded back to the front door like a scared little lamb, the Visitor impatiently nudging him until he was standing in the hallway again. 

     “You are… strange. I don’t understand.” 

     There was genuine frustration in his voice, but through his haze, the homeowner didn’t take much notice, frozen where he stood. With an agonized huff, the Visitor pushed past him, pulling his lanky body back into the living room. From beyond the doorway, he could hear the Cat Lady snickering. 

     Several more worries had just made it onto his list. 

     So much for feeling safe. 

     He didn’t remember making it back to his bedroom, but he must have, because the next thing he knew, he was sitting on his mattress and staring at the wall. His legs had gone numb awhile ago, and judging by the way the moonlight fell, several hours had passed. 

     And still, he stared at the wall. 

     The vigilante was on the other side, a grotesque mural, a warning for anyone else thinking of knocking at his door. Forget other guests, other visitors. If they had any sense at all, they’d get as far away from this house as they could, running into the hills and never looking back. 

     If he had any sense, he might be doing the same. Maybe he was only prolonging the inevitable like this. 

     And yet still, the gesture almost… touched him. Almost. The gory visage of the vigilante tainted any good will the ‘present’ had, but the Visitor had saved him, after all. 

     The hallways were dark and quiet, no chatter to be listened to. He used to find the silence so comforting, but now, it just put him on edge. 

     As quietly as he could manage, he peered into the rooms, looking for the unfortunately familiar pale body. He found it in the kitchen, slumped over the table, elongated torso neatly folded over the well worn wood. Black, beetle-like eyes flickered over to him, curious, watching carefully as he stepped past the threshold. 

     For a moment, they simply stared at each other, each unsure of what the other was thinking. The homeowner suddenly felt absolutely ridiculous, his cheeks flushing. 

     “I… w-wanted to say thank you.” 

     The Visitor cocked an eyebrow, perking up in interest. 

     “Do you now?” His voice was still brittle, as if he’d just woken up. “...are you running a fever?” 

     “No.” The homeowner wiped his face with his hand. “I… I never said thank you. For… for the g-gift.” 

     The Visitor raised his head, interested. “Interesting… you mean it?” 

     The homeowner clenched his jaw. The bite mark on his side throbbed. 

     “Y-yes.” 

     He’d never seen him smile so wide, but it almost made him regret his words. The grin pulled at the sides of the Visitor’s mouth, rows of pearly teeth nearly blinding under the kitchen lights. 

     “Oh… that’s wonderful, truly wonderful.” 

     Thoroughly uncomfortable, the homeowner tried to slink out of the room, to no avail. 

     “May I ask you something?” 

     He turned, dread licking at the inside of his mouth. “Uh… okay.” 

     The Visitor stood as much as he could, nearly knocking his head on the ceiling, wringing his bony hands. 

     “The man,” he began, choosing the words carefully. “He was… using your mouth. Is that pleasurable?” 

     Oh, yep, this had been a mistake. The Cat Lady had broken him down, he’d almost forgotten what they really were. What the visitors were capable of. 

     What had happened. What had been done to him. 

     The look on his face must have said it all, because the Visitor hummed to himself, turning the idea around in his head. 

     “I meant what I said.” 

     The silence froze him in place, staring dumbly back at him like a lamb before the slaughter.

     “...about you liking it.” 

     That was enough. He ducked out of the room on legs made of jelly, heart hammering in his ribs. How could he have ever found comfort in these things? Who was he kidding? You couldn't ask a lion to be a housecat. You couldn’t be surprised when it bit. You couldn’t escape the inevitable. 

      “Homeowner.” 

     He didn’t even need to turn around, the shadow of the pale man looming over him stark against the wallpaper. Almost on instinct, he froze in place, hoping he wasn’t shaking as much as he thought he was. 

     “Look at me.”

     God, he wanted to do anything else, be anywhere else. Again, he shoved his own survival instincts to the side, and turned around. 

     The Visitor towered over him, skin practically illuminated by the kitchen lights. His head was cocked at that odd angle again, eyes studying him carefully. Almost nervously, the homeowner fiddled with his hands, every muscle in his body screaming for him to bolt. 

     A bony hand gripped his shoulder in mock comfort. The eyes gleamed like polished rocks. 

     “I know when you lie,” he mused. “...and even though you aren’t, I know you are hesitant. You smell different when you’re scared.” 

     The homeowner didn’t move, as much as he wanted to cringe away from the freezing touch. The cold seeped through the fabric of his sweater, icy fingers playing with the collar of his turtleneck. 

     “But you needn’t be,” he purred, ducking closer. “Come. I know you haven’t forgiven me. Let me do something.” 

     “I-I don’t understand,” the homeowner managed, voice sticking in his throat. “Why… why do you care if I forgive you or not?” 

     The Visitor chuckled to himself, eyes fixing themselves on the ceiling. “Hm. That is… a good question. I don’t understand myself. If it is any consolation… I like you very much.” 

     “Y-you know… it’s no different what… what he did to me than what you did.” he whispered, half-under his breath. But the Visitor heard him just fine. 

     “Maybe,” he hummed, self-assured. “Maybe not.” 

     He knew better than to argue when the hand on his shoulder steered him forward, practically dragging him across the hardwood floor. In his wildest dreams, places far removed from reality, he would turn and sprint for the front door, ripping it open and taking off into the warm night air. He would take off across the deadened plains, away from this house, these houseguests, these memories. He’d leave it all behind, finding a nice ditch to burn in when the sun came up in the morning. And hopefully, that would be that. 

     The bedroom door creaked open, his usual safe space again twisted for the Visitor’s whims. He was shoved forward, and the clicking of the lock echoed in the quiet room. 

     This was going to be so much worse.

     “Do you prefer to sit or lie down?” 

     The question made his stomach curdle in dread, and he swallowed thickly. He saw through what the Visitor was really asking; how deep do you want to take it? 

     “I-I… don’t…” 

     “Standing would be difficult,” the Visitor supplied. “But if that is preferred…” It wasn’t. 

     The homeowner dragged himself to the bed, flopping onto the comforter exhaustedly. Better to do this lying down, if only for his own sanity. He knew this would be worse physically, but with any luck, he’d pass out from lack of oxygen relatively quickly, maybe even die. Getting on his knees for this fucking creature would be too much to bear, even if it would give him more control. Dignity was all he had these days, and it was slipping through his fingers faster than he wanted to admit. 

     He winced as the Visitor approached the bed, trying to focus his eyes on the ceiling again and telling himself to just ignore everything. Ignore the way the mattress dipped, or the feeling of spindly fingers digging into his thighs. Ignore the urges to gag or throw up already, even without anything in his mouth yet. Ignore the suffering that was surely to come. Ignore the fact that the Visitor was looking at him again, smiling as he fiddled with the homeowner’s zipper and- 

     Wait a minute. 

     Reflexively, his hands moved to push the Visitor’s away, much to his amusement. 

     “Ah, is this some game of yours?” he mused. “Do you like when I use force with you…?” 

     “W-what are you doing?” 

     The Visitor cocked an eyebrow. “I am doing what I said. How else am I to get access to you?” 

     The homeowner stared at him blankly. “B-but… I thought…” 

     They sat there in silence for a few minutes, the Visitor squinting at him quizzically before suddenly bursting into laughter. 

     “Oh! I see…” he chuckled, lifting one of the homeowner’s thighs to nuzzle into it. “No… no, I would not ask that of you. You nearly passed out, do you not remember…?” 

     His fly was opened, the cold breath of the Visitor fanning over sensitive skin, and he shivered. Oh, fuck. He wasn’t sure if the situation had gotten better or worse. 

     “Ah, no wonder you were so miserable…” he hummed calmly. “Relax. I’ll… try not to hurt you.” 

     That was comforting. He covered his face with his hands, hating how his cheeks were already flushing in despair. No, he’d made up his mind; this was worse. So much for dignity. How long would it take for the Visitor to get annoyed, if he couldn’t get it up? Would it make him angry? Frustrated? Would he get bored and simply try to fuck him again, the bedroom devolving into another nightmare of crying and screaming? He felt his stomach lurch again. 

     His pants were eased off of his hips, a slimy appendage slapping wetly against him. He jolted, involuntarily squirming upwards as if he could escape the sensation. His lower body was pinned to the mattress, playful eyes catching his from where the Visitor crouched beside the bed. 

     He blushed. 

     Realizing what he’d done, he buried his face in the sheets, already white-knuckling the comforter. Laughter, even more sadistic than the vigilante’s, wormed its way into his head. 

     Look at yourself. 

     Fucking pathetic. 

     You don’t like it? Leave. 

     He grit his teeth. No, no, this wasn’t happening now. He had to keep the thoughts out, the voices quiet, his panic at bay. What was wrong with him? Nobody had flashbacks to their fucking father while getting their dick sucked. Not unless there was something seriously wrong with you. Blearily, he tried to focus on how his sweater was riding up to his chest, but that was quickly abandoned as the Visitor’s wormy tongue teased the base of his cock. 

     “Hhhh…” he sighed, mind momentarily going blank. He could feel the Visitor smiling against the inside of his thigh, legs hiked over freakishly broad shoulders. Daringly, he peered down the plane of his own abdomen, shuddering at the sight. 

     In the warm lighting of the bedside lamp, the Visitor suddenly seemed… almost palatable. Sure, his tongue still looked like it was out of an alien movie, and his bones stuck out every which way, but… he seemed a little less pale, eyes more lifelike as they focused on the in-betweens of his legs. His fingers were still cold where they held him, but… maybe that wasn’t so bad. He hadn’t been touched like this since… well, since her. 

     That thought hurt even more than his father’s words. How hard could it be to turn your brain off? He ought to take up meditation, or some shit like that. For a moment, it went blissfully blank as the Visitor wrapped his cock in coils of tongue, the tip teasing his slit in a way that made his hips buck. 

     Oh. Good to know something worked. 

     A part of him wanted to reach down, to gingerly touch the Visitor’s head. To run his hands over the rotting scalp, through stringy strands of black hair. The urge was fleeting, and he quickly thought better of it, but he gripped the sheets a little tighter, as if to keep himself from giving in. 

     It was getting easier now, his body relaxing despite the literal monster he was offering himself up to. His muscles still ached from their earlier encounter, insides twisting in ways he was pretty sure they couldn’t before. Every time he glanced down, the yellowed impressions of healing bruises seemed to stare back up at him. 

     Why am I doing this to myself? 

     Did it matter, though? It felt good. Things that felt good were few and far between; had been for years. When the Visitor tightened the already-tight channel of tongue wrapped around his dick, his back arched off the mattress, a pathetic whimper escaping his lips. 

     “Hmm…” the Visitor hummed approvingly. It sent shudders down his lower body, tickling his core. 

     Experimentally, he moved his tongue up and down, the tip swiping over his red, leaking head. Precum dribbled down the rolls of wormy muscle, seemingly egging the Visitor on. How the hell had he gotten so hard? 

    Yes, this might be a problem. He’d been so worried about not being able to perform, of being a disappointment yet again, that the idea of actually being into this never entered his head. 

     His eyes flew open with the realization. 

     Fuck. He was kind of into this. 

     Oh, he definitely needed to start meditating or some shit. What the fuck was wrong with him? 

     Suddenly uncomfortable, he squirmed, heat coiling in his guts. The Visitor’s grip tightened, pinning him in place, bony back bending to better loom over him. For one terrified moment, the homeowner met the Visitor’s gaze, wide eyes scared at how good this felt. 

     The Visitor held it for far too long. But before he could look away, the jaw with too many teeth unhinged, and thin lips closed around the base of his cock, swallowing him whole. 

     He came instantly.

     “F-fuck!” he squealed, voice ruined by the force of his orgasm. His thighs tried to snap together, but the Visitor didn’t seem to mind, continuing to pump his dick through each wave of cascading pleasure. Strong hands kept him from bucking his hips, and as the haze slowly cleared, his own hands drifted down to tap them. 

     “G-guh, t-that… that’s good, that’s good,” he weakly protested, attempting to twist his hips away from the Visitor’s mouth. But he was kept pinned in place, his softening cock still engulfed in the tight grip of an alien tongue. It didn’t stop moving. 

     “Hhh-hey, h-hah… hey,” he tried again, a little more insistently. “P-please, that’s enough, I need… I c-can’t…” 

     The black, pearly eyes narrow, the previous warmth gone. They stared at him, analytical and cold, a horrifically playful smile crossing the Visitor’s face. This must be what swimmers saw, right before being eaten by a shark. 

     That primal, irrepressible fear licked at the inside of his chest again. Shaking hands closed over bony fingers, the burn of overstimulation beginning to set in. Again, he tried to squirm away, the tip of a tongue pressing against his slit again. 

     A tortured groan slipped through his teeth. His fingers slipped down to encircle a thin wrist, and this seemed to satiate his torturer. 

     “...interesting,” he hummed, shrugging the homeowner’s legs from his shoulders. “Very interesting. You have such… odd mating behaviors, did you know that?” 

     The cold hands slipped up to catch at his waist, and through half-lidded eyes, he stared up at the Visitor’s grin. “I… I-I guess.” 

     The smile somehow split wider. “Well, I suppose you are odd, too…” his voice had a sense of triumph to it, like he’d won something valuable. “I am surprised you enjoyed that so easily. I expected you to need… ah, coaxing.” 

     Shame boiled in the back of his throat, and he turned away, trying to pretend the words weren't true. 

     But they were, weren’t they? He was fucked. Fucked up beyond belief. Sharing his bed with a literal demon, reaping the pain and the pleasure both. Maybe if this hadn’t been so nice, he wouldn’t feel so guilty. If it had hurt, it would have just added to the long, long list of things that did. But it hadn’t. 

     He’d felt good. 

     He would burn in hell alongside his father. 

     Tears were slipping down his face before he even realized he was crying, the sleeve of his sweater already wet. The Visitor’s grin seemed a little confused, head cocked at that strange angle again. Like a terrible, oversized dog. 

     “...ah, is this typical?” 

     He didn’t grace that with an answer, chest shuddering with the weight of his sobs. The Visitor’s hands were running up and down his sides, tracing each bump of his ribs and the ugly flabs on his hips. 

     “Is crying a part of sex, too?” God, he didn’t know when to shut up. He wanted to yell at him, but knew it wouldn’t solve anything. “Or is that simply a reaction to me?” 

     Again, no answer. His face felt hot, but he curled into the safety of the sheets all the same. He said the only thing he could think of. 

     “J-just… just leave me alone.” 

     “Ohh,” the Visitor cooed, sounding genuinely disappointed. “Don’t be insolent… can we lay together in the bed? You will need to sleep soon, after all.” 

     “N-no. You’ll watch me again.” 

     “Well, naturally. But don’t judge… you seemed to enjoy watching me, too…” he nosed at him, pressing his cool face into the bite mark on his side. “You are strange for your kind. But I am as well.” 

     “...could be weirder,” the homeowner muttered. “You could have a cat.” 

     The Visitor laughed, and strangely enough, it was almost relaxing. 

     Almost. 

…

     The nights began to drip by like warm honey; thick and viscous, but faster than they should have been. 

     The homeowner was organizing the food stores, placing some newly-obtained canned goods in his cabinets. The Cat Lady had recently stumbled upon an abandoned grocery store a few miles away, and could easily be convinced to grab a few select items alongside the usual haul of cat food. The Visitor did not join her on these outings as often, electing instead to laze about on the couch or sometimes in the homeowner’s bed when he was in one of his worse moods. 

     The violence never went away. Not completely. 

     At least once, maybe twice a week, he needed to walk on eggshells whenever that cold, empty look came over the Visitor’s face. It almost never helped, the days breaking with new bruises and injuries needing to be tended to. Injuries he tended to alone.

     But such was the price of life. Despite the guilt and shame gnawing at his insides, he found himself often willing to pay it. 

     More often than he’d like to admit.

     It never got easier. It never got less painful. But it also never worsened; and who was he to complain about a messy homelife? What the fuck did he know about normal relationships? Nothing, unless you counted her. And he didn’t want anything like that anyways, not until he could have it with her again. An idea nestled within the hazy thoughts of dying. 

     But tonight, everything actually seemed to be alright. Tonight, the Cat Lady was dozing at the kitchen table, the ugly Persian curling around his leg as he sorted the last of the cans. The Visitor had left some time ago; essentially telling the Cat lady to babysit him as he… well, probably took his instincts out on some other poor house, or maybe he’d even ventured into the city. He never asked any questions; didn’t want the answers that might come with them, anyway. 

     In his heart, he knew. 

     But leaving it unsaid made it all seem a little less real. 

     The front door creaked open. Whipping around, he stared at the Cat Lady, but when she didn’t budge, he relaxed again. If she wasn’t worried, he wasn’t, either. Soft footsteps stalked their way through his house, echoing in darkness. 

     “I have a gift.” 

     The Visitor’s voice broke through the oppressive silence, goosebumps still crawling up his spine at the sound. The pale, familiar face loomed out of the void of the hallway, a toothy smile gleaming in the low light. If he had any sense or dignity left in him, he’d be scared. Luckily, or potentially even scarier, he found himself getting used to it. 

     God, what a horrifying thought. 

     He turned around calmly, shutting the cabinet doors. This could either go mildly weird or extremely badly. 

     “A… g-gift?” 

     The Visitor nodded enthusiastically. He ducked beneath the door frame, towering to his full height. The Cat Lady stirred, blinking up at him with pinched, groggy eyes. 

     “Oh. This again. Big idiot.” 

     “Shut up!” the Visitor snapped, clearly hiding something behind his back. “Yes. A gift.” 

     The homeowner squinted at him, attempting to peer around his bony sides, but he shifted so that he could not see. 

     “...what is it?” If it was a body again, he was gonna be pissed. His skin itched with anxiety. Even if it was, what could he do? 

     The Visitor’s head tilted to the side. 

     “Come here, I’ll show you.”

     He bit the inside of his cheek. He’d been lucky in the past few days; the number of freaky things happening had stayed relatively low. Maybe he ought to start keeping a counter. As if that would discourage anything. 

     Against his better judgement, he stepped closer. The Cat Lady groaned, dragging her lanky body out of the room, the cat trailing dutifully after her. 

     “Closer,” the Visitor coaxed. 

     He obeyed. 

     The Visitor looked almost giddy, eyes sparkling under the fluorescent lighting. He towered over the homeowner, expectant face alight with excitement. 

     “I want to try something first.” 

     The homeowner frowned. “...try something?”

     “In return.” 

     The weird shit counter was officially back to zero. He stepped back a little. At least he was being asked this time. 

     “W-what… what does that mean?” 

     “I want you to kiss me.” 

     The words actually took him aback, and he struggled with what to say next. What could he say, anyways? No? He wasn’t that much fo a fucking moron. Not yet, anyway. 

     He stared up at the disfigured, pale face with a pinched expression. Honestly, at this point, it was probably the only thing they hadn’t done together, which struck him as… odd. Everything about everything was just so backwards. Opposite day all the time. 

     He resisted the urge to step back or wince, but it was difficult. This was different, discomfort worming its way through his guts. 

     The Visitor looked back at him expectantly. 

     Fuck. This was different. For the first time, he was being asked to actually do something. To initiate. He couldn’t pretend that this weird… arrangement was being forced on him anymore. This was something he was a part of. 

     Something he was willing to engage in.

     “Kiss me, and I’ll give it to you. The present.” 

     Fuck, okay. It felt like his muscles were protesting against every movement, stiff legs struggling to take the next step forward. He was distinctly aware of the Visitor’s stare, fixing him in place, and even more aware of the small space between their bodies. He swallowed thickly. Did he actually give a shit about whatever the Visitor was hiding? No, not really. But it didn’t matter. 

    He was almost flush with the Visitor’s chest, a shaky hand wandering up to gingerly cup the Visitor’s cheek. The pale face ducked down slightly, forcing the creature to hunch over, cold breath fanning across the homeowner’s lips. He shivered. 

     Before he could talk himself out of it, he pressed himself against a weirdly wet mouth, the tang of iron enough to make him shudder. It was chaste, and only lasted for a couple of seconds, but it was still far longer than he wanted it to, shoving down the instinct to jerk backwards. He pulled away, searching for some sign of approval or satisfaction. 

     The Visitor tilted his head. 

     “Hmm. Again.” 

     He made no effort to hide his disgust this time, leaning back ever so slightly. “N-no. I did what you asked.”

     “Of course you did,” the Visitor purred. “You always do. And so I am asking again.” 

     A single, pale hand drifted down to grasp his jaw, the grip firm but not painful. It shook him playfully, toying with him like a mouse between a cat’s paws. 

     “People do this all the time…” the Visitor hummed, dragging him closer. Closer. Their breaths mingled in the space between their mouths. The homeowner didn’t even try to pull away; was it because of the futility, or something else? 

     “...but not you,” the Visitor mused against his lips. “And I don’t, either. Think we are still people?” 

     “You d-definitely aren’t…” 

     “Hmm… whatever helps you sleep…” 

     Again, the odd feeling of kissing a raw chicken flooded his senses, his face scrunching in utter disgust. The hand gripping his jaw pried his mouth open ever so slightly, just enough for their teeth to click together. The sound reverberated in the homeowner’s head, startling him, and when he tried to pull away again the grip only tightened. Something probed at the side of his lip. 

     Oh, fuck no. 

     “Still, still…” the Visitor hissed into his mouth, fingers digging a gap between his jaws. His hands panickedly came up to grab the Visitor’s wrist, the other pushing at a broad, clammy chest. 

     The tongue was every bit as squirmy and meaty as he feared it would be, the intrusion forcing its way deeper and deeper. In vain, he tried pushing it out with his tongue, teeth closing ever so slightly as he began to choke. 

     The Visitor’s chest huffed in laughter. 

     His eyes watered, body jerking as he tried again to pull away. Instead, he was crowded against the refrigerator, handle digging into his back, hands shoving desperately against the Visitor. The wormy tongue coiled inside of his mouth, cold spit dripping between their lips, and he swore he could feel him grin through the kiss. 

     And then, it was over. 

     He gasped for breath, steadying himself on the counter, staring up at the Visitor with wet eyes. His head was cocked to the side, tongue licking his teeth as he smiled down at him, blotting out the light. 

     “Here,” he hummed. “For you.” 

     His other spindly hand revealed the gift, and the homeowner blinked in both shock and utter confusion. 

     There, in the clammy grip, was a rifle, looking almost like a toy in large, oversized palms. Almost the same model as his father’s. 

     “Take it.” 

     He trembled, feeling the weight of the wood and metal heavy in his arms. He checked the chamber; loaded. He frowned. 

     “Why… why would you…” 

     “As I said,” the Visitor shrugged cheekily. “An apology. For many things. You understand.” 

     He didn’t, but that hardly seemed to matter. He opened and closed his mouth like a dying fish, a single question settling in his stomach as if he’d just eaten lead. 

     “Once again, our lives are interesting,” he continued, a clammy palm pressing on the tent in his pants. He yelped, crossing his legs. “More interesting than I bargained for… you are full of surprises, full of surprises…” 

     Shockingly, he left it at that, turning to exit the tiny kitchen, leaving the homeowner to shiver where he stood. 

     “But I think I can expect a few more,” he grinned over his shoulder, bony back popping as he ducked beneath the doorframe. “Then again, I suppose that’s up to you now, isn’t it?” 

     The metal barrel glinted in the fluorescent lighting, winking up at the homeowner flirtatiously. 

     Indeed, everything had just gotten much, much more interesting. 

 

Notes:

We've made it to the end! Thank you so much for reading this fic all the way through, and if you've been leaving comments, thank you doubly <3 I've loved reading them as always, so glad that you all enjoy my work. So glad I got to weasel a kiss scene in there haha I wasn't sure if I'd be able to make it make sense for the characters lol

Notes:

One chapter of a few I plan to have... this one is clean, but the next will have smut, I pinkie promise... just you wait! Leave a comment if you enjoyed please, it helps motivate me to ignore my paperwork and write this stuff instead