(no subject)
Ahhh! Feels good, getting ahead of the game! :D
~*Happy Halloween, y'all!!*~
Thanks to aliensouldream for plunking this here challenge down for us to dig into once again. :) I hope my contribution is enjoyed!
Title: The Nothing Empty Void
Pairing: C/Z
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Don't own!
Warning(s): A bit creepy (it's Halloween? Duh?), hints of ebul/dangerously-close!dub-con.
Author's Note: The perspective used is hopefully not gonna make everyone go "Huh? Wuh?" I almost wrote another idea, but with this one almost finished, I went with it. :P
Synopsis: Something supernatural wants to be more than just It's existence in the walls.
It encompasses the air, walls and floors, to the point where It can control every sense Zeke has. On days when It's not pleased with how the household is being run, the boy's favorite foods taste like dirt; the smell of drying blood fills every space; screaming that only Zeke can hear wakes him up in the middle of the night; a warm, comfortable shower turns into boiling-hot knives or a rain of ice; worst of all are the visions It can make for the young man.
It had taken years for It to be recognized, due to It's wanting to tease and confuse the occupant of It's house. Because that's what this place is: It's, and It's not going to leave any time soon. But on that one night, when It decided to watch Zeke from the corner of his bedroom thinking he was asleep... and he wasn't, It'd had been so angry It shook the house, straight down to the earth below.
Zeke had been scared, naturally-but defiant. Instead of running from the house, never to return, Zeke had taunted It. Just the name alone angered It to an immeasurable degree...
“I think I'll call you... Titty,” he'd said two years before after It had made the contents of the fridge spill out the moment Zeke had opened it. “Short for 'entity'. How d'ya like that, huh?”
It's answer came in the form of the kitchen sink's pipe bursting, sending water everywhere; all that made Zeke do was laugh. “Yea, yea, yea,” Zeke had said while getting his toolbox out. “Nice temper tantrum, Titty.”
For days afterward, It had kept on making everything from minor nuisances to major problems, It's biggest act being the beating and smashing of Zeke's bed into masses of splinters, springs and stuffing. Yet even then, Zeke barely flinched. Instead of Zeke valuing It as a friend, or family member-something he never had wandering the empty, quiet house-he'd rejected It with as much dissidence and snide remarks as he could muster.
It's taken years to learn and master certain behaviors. Most thought it simply 'happened', but those like It needed to mature, grow... never fester or sit in ever-present gloom. Many nights had been spent with It by Zeke's sleeping form, trying It's best to pull and tug blankets away. It could've done that easily enough, but It needed to do it Itself, not with mere energy it collected in the air. It envisioned a hand, over and over again, grabbing, tugging, shoving, hurting, until that one beautiful night It'd succeeded. The many practices had paid off, shown in the coverings being tossed aside. And that beautiful, slim, naked boy had jumped at the feel of that very hand It had somehow, miraculously developed running from his ankle to the crease of his groin, the highest It had ever seen.
Zeke spent more nights out after that, but It had It's fun during his many absences. Whether Zeke came home to a dozen dead mice scattered over the kitchen floor or every wall-hanging upside-down, It made sure he remembered who was the boss. That was, until, Zeke came home with a bundle of sprigs and lit them.
Whatever concoction it'd been, It had fled to the attic in horror and distaste. It's absence became noticeable to Zeke over the days, with triumphant shouts of, “Where are you, Titty?” or “C'mon out, don't you wanna play?” yelled up at It. When he'd leave, It would chance a venture down to the lower levels in search of the new, crippling weapon. Two of them had been found, one in the front room on the coffee table, the other in Zeke's bedroom on the bureau. It had gone to try and throw them away, but every time It got within a few feet, It recoiled in horror and fear. What was this awful thing? How could it ward something like It away? It tried to bash the walls, but the actions came too weak, It barely able to nudge a trinket from the bedside table an inch or two aside. The only place Zeke left to It was the attic-the dusty, dirty attic he never ventured into. Perhaps the boy saw it as a gift, his not kicking It out entirely; It saw it much differently.
In the next few months, It kept trying to approach the offending items in an attempt to get rid of them once and for all. Perhaps, in a way, it was in Zeke's detriment to bring this new method into his home; much like a new strain of virus, It had started developing a resistance. It'd taken It much longer than It liked, but with It's growing strength, resolve and the season of autumn setting roots in deep-October, It's most invigorating and optimistic time of year, It was able to take one of the nasty bundles and toss it to the floor.
It knew It could do more-It just needed to wait. It'd noticed a small but obvious change in the boy's demeanor; instead of hacking his hair, he'd let it grow out and let someone else shape it for him. He wore odd scents, did more laundry, all of which It could ruin for him. But It began understanding why he was going through these rituals.
It knew Zeke cared about something out there in the world.
For a whole week, it'd been hard for It to keep quiet. Zeke needed to feel safe enough, think It was gone. When Zeke would leave, It practiced more tricks and skills. It needed not just hands, but a voice; not the random collection of noises It would make to spook the boy, but words, spoken by It in the clearest voice It could create. It doesn't remember where It came from, whether spirit or generic energy. No birth could be recalled, just that It was here for whatever reason. Perhaps the simple construction of the house on certain land had brought It to life; everything had a root and reason, including It. Zeke needed to accept that, and learn to live with It and everything It brought. Compromise. It would see to that.
It is in the middle of whispering random things when It hears him downstairs... or them. Zeke's brought someone home for the very first time. It can barely contain the strange, odd joy as It creeps down from the attic to the bottom floor and slips around every corner until It sees the new face, which to It, is a pretty, handsome sight.
“Keep the lights off, I don't want any idiot kids coming to the door,” Zeke tells the new boy, who chuckles and moves his hand from the light-switch.
“Fine, fine... what's that?”
It feels the uncomfortable heat rise as Zeke brings the little flame to the end of the front room's bundle. “Sage,” he replies. With a quirky, coy grin, he sets it down in the metal plate and tells his friend, “Keeps the ghosties and goblins away.”
The new boy has the nerve to laugh. “Don't tell me you actually buy that shit.”
“Mmm, in some ways, yea. Want something to eat?”
“Sure. I'll turn the TV on.”
It watches Zeke meander into the kitchen; It spreads Itself down the hall in a slide, bumping the painting by the doorway a little. Zeke doesn't even notice-too confident. Perfect, for It. The young man opens the fridge while whistling a disjointed tune, not a care in the world-that is, until It smooths Itself over the front door of the appliance, reaches in and pulls one of the drawers out with a violence.
It's pleased to see Zeke drop the bottle of juice on the floor, jump and whirl around in shock. For a few moments, It lets Zeke work on contemplating what the fuck just happened.
Thought... thought... It concentrates as It slips to the floorboards, slithers to Zeke's feet and rises up behind him. It's one of the most difficult things It has ever had to do, this suspension in dead-air instead of objects, but It's got a goal. Zeke needs to feel it.
Thought...
Thought... the rush of air goes in like fire and comes out by Zeke's ear: Thought It was gone.
Zeke's eyes widen and he whips around to the right side where It stands. His face is close, parted lips going dark with the rush of blood It can feel course through him. He's a very pretty boy himself, someone It both hates and admires. In a flash, Zeke rushes to the other side of the room, where a new, fresh bundle of sticks, sage as It now knows it, sits. He lights the end and holds it tight, eyes darting around the room.
The thing brings absolute revulsion to It, but the smell is no longer as effective. In a way perhaps, the supposed weapon is what's brought Zeke and It together... what's morphed It into becoming what It is. To show It's appreciation, It raises up even more and moves to stand directly in front of the boy. It concentrates all energy and purpose over the smoke rising to the ceiling and gives the bundle a nudge. Zeke feels the motion and gasps. “No... stop,” he murmurs.
What... What is his name, Zeke?
“S-Stop.”
Name.
With Zeke's lower lip trembling hard, he irks out, “C-Casey.”
He's beautiful do you love him?... Do you love him?
The disjointed nature of It's speech makes Zeke cringe and turn away. “Go away. Please,” he pleads, as if It is about to obey the order. It's obeyed this pathetic little creature enough.
You do.
Zeke closes his eyes and tries putting on a steely expression. “Yes. Leave him, us, alone. Please.”
Zeke's love for someone other than himself... it's It's gift, the one It's been waiting for. Mere objects, things? This boy couldn't care less. He replaced broken furniture, swept up discarded, dead animals with a joyful whistle and set pictures and paintings to rights. This boy, Casey, is not a 'thing'.
“Everything okay?”
It is alerted to Casey's arrival; Zeke jumps again but does his best to recover with a smile. “Yea. Yea, I dropped...” He motions to the juice bottle on the floor.
“Orange juice? C'mon... you promised me something harder,” Casey says.
“Well yea, I'd...” Zeke shivers when It makes a playful, smooth motion over his arm, emulating tickling fingers from wrist to shoulder. “...Was on my way to get it.”
It faces the new boy, who moves close to It without realizing; in doing so, It catches a very distinct scent. There's a purity to this Casey, an unbroken innocence. Did he know of Zeke's affection for him? If so, Zeke's been admirably restrained...
“More sage, huh?”
“Um, yea.”
“It kinda stinks, though. Can we put it out?”
Oh... It loves Casey, now. Looking reluctant and defeated, Zeke nods and pushes the smoking end of the sage into the metal ashtray to snuff it out. “No p-point, anyway,” he mumbles shakily.
“What's wrong?” Casey asks.
“Nothing. Go back to the living room, you-you want wine?”
“Ooh, sure.”
Silence fills the room as Casey leaves it. With the mumbling, flashing box chattering in the distance, Zeke narrows his eyes, steels his jaw and says in It's general direction, “Leave him alone.”
You... You haven't touched him yet.
“He's... not... like that,” Zeke haltingly, angrily replies in a whisper. “Don't.”
Virgin-that's what It had caught in the air around that boy. The delight this fact brings is overwhelming, and makes It accidentally knock over the empty bottle resting by the sink behind them. It rolls into the metal well, making a loud clang.
“You okay??”
“Yea, I'll-I'm coming-”
It wants to watch you It says in the clearest voice It's uttered yet. Zeke doesn't need to ask what It means, going by the widening eyes and dropping jaw.
“We're not... doing anything. Leave us alone,” he says in a hiss.
This... It moves over Zeke's hip to his groin; it's the one thing It is jealous of. This part of Zeke's body brings on explosions of white-hot pleasure. It understands the mechanics, what Zeke's prick is meant for; It has to take what It can get, however, and when Zeke's eyes well with tears and deep realization, the message is clear. Fuck. Him.
“Casey, I gotta go get something; I forgot, I... can you go to the car?”
“Huh?”
Oh no, no, no... unacceptable. It will hurt him It tells Zeke. Tell Casey, sit down. Now, Now.
Great emotional pain spreads over Zeke's features; he rubs his eyes and tries breathing before saying, “N-Never mind, I found it.”
“Hah, found what? What's going on?”
“Bottle opener,” Zeke says in a blurt as he rushes over to the drawer by the dishwasher. He opens it, reaches in and produces the tool. He next gets the promised bottle of wine out of the fridge then stands there, the cool air rushing out at his front. It knows what he's contemplating; there are ways to make this easier, one of those methods being held in Zeke's hand. Many times, It has seen Zeke drink the acidic, sharp liquid. He's always been more pliable and agreeable... much like the young man waiting for him could be made, tonight. Zeke shuts the door but stands still, quiet, until he says, “I can't.”
It wants you to
“Shut u-up,” Zeke replies in a low, angry croak. “I love him. Don't... do this.”
He cared; even if he hadn't said the words, It knew already. It caught that scent in the air, too. That doesn't matter... much. It doesn't know empathy, sympathy or affection, but has seen the emotional turmoil through Zeke, many, many times. Prodding was needed, and It could give that...
It will leave if you let It watch
That definitely creates a spark in Zeke's beautiful brown eyes. A flicker of recognition, want even, makes his cheek twitch a little. “You're a fuckin' liar. You ain't leaving. Ever.”
It stays by Zeke but sends a trail of Itself to the other room. It can extend anywhere It likes; what feels like would be a smile should It have a face spreads over It as It reaches to Casey.
“OW! What.. the fuck...” the pretty boy yelps; Zeke's breath hitches and his eyes are set on the doorway. “Christ, something bit me, ah... god, that hurt!”
Let It watch It says, leaving off the promise It'd given-one It'd planned on breaking.
The turmoil and fear was easy to see in Zeke's face; he cringes and makes a choking noise as he keeps staring in the direction of the living room. After a few flinches, he sets off to do as he'd been told.
It sinks back into the structure of the house, a strange calm settling in. It wasn't often It felt ease, felt ANY-thing, but things were different at the moment. It finally has that impertinent little jackass where It wanted him. It swirls into the walls and ventures to the room where the boys are. Zeke's popping the wine open while Casey watches on with a grin on his lips, even if he's still rubbing the 'bite' he'd gotten on his hip.
“That'll make me feel allll better,” he says. Zeke nods quick.
“Yea.”
“Seriously, you got spiders or something in this place?”
It feels a child-like joy when Zeke sniffs and pauses in pouring. “I guess.”
They're soon holding a glass and sitting back together on the couch. It feels impatience, but knows It needs to wait; watching the scene unfold would offer enough satisfaction, It figures. When the deep red in Zeke's glass disappears, he pours another one immediately. He looks to Casey's hand. “Here,” he says, making Casey's serving go from half-full to burgeoning.
“Trying to get to second base tonight, huh?” Casey's already giggly and looking pink.
Like a snake, It slithers through the floor to the wall behind them. Zeke's shoulders move up close to his ears and his arms go goose-fleshed, as if sensing It is right there with them. Somehow, he manages a smile. “Maaaybe,” Zeke drawls playfully. It makes It proud, having instigated this night's events.
Casey smiles wide and takes a few large, long sips. Enough has gone down in him to make him move in close and snuggle up to Zeke. “A whole night,” he says. The hiccup he makes is like music. “Jes' you 'n me.”
“Mmm,” Zeke hums, but his eyes jerk in It's general direction. It almost laughs; just the two of them, the boy thinks... Zeke sighs, kicks his feet up on the coffee table and pulls his boy in close. “'Bout time your Mom let you outta the dungeon.”
“Right??” Casey's laughing so deep, the couch trembles a little. He quiets down to a long sigh and starts running a hand over Zeke's stomach. “I'm glad. Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Mmm... I dunno. Being... nice.”
“I try.”
They sit in silence a while, each one taking more and more of the drink into their bodies. The stink of alcohol reaches It... It can actually smell and feel things like this now, and understands how nice it must be to have the escape they do through mere liquids. Things are too still, however; It creeps onto the edge of the couch by Zeke's shoulder. No words are needed, just the rise of fabric nudging against him. Zeke feels it, stiffens and turns his head to Casey.
“Casey?” he says.
“Mmm?”
The young man's lips part and he reaches a hand to Casey's cheek. He turns his face up to his, making their mouths an inch apart. When Zeke closes that small distance and gives Casey a soft, warm kiss, a delightful noise rings in the boy's throat. The sweet sight is almost enough to sate It's curiosity, but It needs more... much more. Zeke starts to give that 'more' in his sliding his hand down from Casey's cheek to his chest; his fingers spread over the swell of flesh, his thumb concentrating on the visible peak showing through the thin white fabric of the boy's t-shirt. The touch makes Casey tremble and coo louder, panting breaths coming from his flaring nostrils as their heads turn together. When Zeke moves away with a suck and slides his mouth down Casey's chin to his neck, Casey gasps, swallows and fists the collar of Zeke's shirt.
The mood shifts from sweet and calm to urgent when Zeke reaches up to grab the hair at the back of Casey's head to stretch him back. “Ah... Z-Zeke,” Casey says as he's brought to his back on the couch. Whether he'd spoken in protest or want isn't clear, but It doesn't care... neither does Zeke, who moves to hover over the pretty thing, huffing out shaky breaths. His elbows lock and his shoulders go tense. He's stopped everything to stare down at his lover; he's rethinking. It doesn't like the conflict It's seeing in his eyes.
“What?” Casey says in a breath. “Are you o-”
“I fuckin' love you,” Zeke blurts. “I don't... want... to hurt you.”
Casey's brow creases into a soft frown. “Hurt me?” he says. When Zeke shuts his eyes tight and makes a small, choking sob, Casey blinks furiously and moves up onto his elbows. He presses his lips into the corner of Zeke's, which releases a gasp. “You can't do that; never have.”
“'Bet I could.”
It knows... the stage was set, Zeke's arms clenching tight as if readying himself for the kill. Soon enough, he's going to pounce, pin and take whatever he wants, whatever It wants. Screaming and cries of, 'Wait, no!' will go ignored and It might, just might, leave Zeke alone for a small while. Let it sink in. Acclimate the boy to how things were going to happen from now on. But when Casey licks his lips, pushes up further and begins kissing Zeke again, it's different.
Instead of Zeke towering over Casey and making him take it, it's Zeke who's sent back to an awkward sit with the way Casey rises up, not breaking the kiss for a moment. It goes still in It's spot as roles reverse; Casey's closed eyes open a moment in turning his head for another angle, revealing the haunting, deep blue of his irises which seem darker than before. Soon enough, Zeke's back is on the couch, Casey taking Zeke's previous position of 'on top'.
It feels confused. Casey moves a hand to Zeke's belt and dips his fingers down, low enough to rest near the root of Zeke's cock. The kissing stops, but Casey keeps their faces close with their foreheads pressed together. “I love you, too,” he tells Zeke, who can only stutter out breaths. Casey slides his legs open to straddle Zeke's thighs and settles in, their groins close. Warm... It can feel the heat growing between them, and it's not the kind It'd hoped for. This doesn't feel right to It. It was It in charge of Zeke, how much power the boy had or DIDN'T have, not this tiny mass of muscles and bones.
It's never heard this sound before, this moan Zeke makes when Casey opens his hand wide and rubs over the ridge growing between the young man's legs. Zeke's knees jerk up and down a little, his toes curl, eyes going into slits to stare up at the boy who's taken control of his body. “C-Casey...” he finally mutters. “Casey, look at me.”
“Hmm?”
“Look at me.”
Casey does, frowning a little again as he stops every motion below. Zeke swallows hard as he takes the boy's face in his hands and stares, deep and hard, into the blue, blue eyes. It knows what Zeke's looking for, and It curses Itself for not having fucking thought of the option. Zeke's breathing stops coming out in nervous gasps and he smooths a thumb over Casey's lower lip. “You're so fucking gorgeous,” he says.
“Hmm.” Casey's smile goes wide and he cocks an eyebrow. “Shooting for home, huh?”
For the first time since It's 'surprise' in the kitchen, Zeke smiles-It's only seen this smile once before. It remembers that one other time he'd glowed as he is now, during It's infancy, Zeke's infancy. The glow in Zeke's face starts to darken It's world. It grows colder with every notch of rising heat; It wants to lash out, throw the couch into the wall with them in it, twist Casey's neck-BOTH their necks until they snap, shatter and fall limp and dead. Yet just the idea of blowing dust from the side table feels exhausting, especially when Casey takes the hem of Zeke's shirt, lifts it up and over Zeke's head and tosses it carelessly to the floor. The action is repeated with Casey's, revealing pale, milky flesh that almost glows in the low-light of the room. Zeke's hands running over it makes a clear contrast of cream and light caramel, nipples like rosebuds getting teased into hardness. Casey smiles drowsily and leans down to peck kisses on Zeke's cheek, then ears.
“Touch me... more.”
The whispered words cut through It's world even more. Zeke's body is a furnace now, waves of hot-lust pulsing out as he reaches down, fumbles at Casey's button and zip until the waist of the boy's jeans are open enough to allow Zeke's hands to reach down behind Casey to each side of his ass. The groping is rough, and Casey loves it, going by the grunts, groans and hands gripping Zeke's shoulders. Zeke purposefully drags the clothing down, both jeans and briefs, sliding over the smooth, unblemished slopes of Casey's ass. In return-or reaction, Casey opens his mouth and lowers it to Zeke's chest, latching onto a nipple and sucking hard.
It can only watch as the boys make quick work of their clothing, both sets of jeans, underwear and Casey's shirt removed in a haste. Everything comes in three dimensions now; the shape of their cries put into the air are clearly visible, naked skin on naked skin growing moist, the scent of mutual want piercing It over and over again is all one collective reminder that It can do whatever It wants, but It will never have this. It isn't nothing, It's nothingness altogether.
The most distinct parts of themselves jut below, grown harder, longer and darker with every pass upon each other. All they have to do is kiss, touch, fondle, caress and whisper in each other's ears for their want to show through hardening flesh. Until now, It had been satisfied, even pleased at how It could move about as if nothing was in It's way. Yet in seeing the boys' bodies and how they'd glow with low-light and sweat, a yearning filled It. Nothingness. Emptiness. Void.
Perhaps, however, It DID come to know some form of emotion after all, or what it may have felt like should It have ever owned a heart. Something breaks and shatters into countless pieces when Casey moves back to sit on his heels, taking Zeke with him-he keeps moving until his back rests on the cushions, legs spread wide open to let Zeke put their bodies together tight.
That looks so nice.
Zeke's head jerks up toward It a moment; he looks confused. It realizes It'd spoken, and however sad and feeble a whisper it'd been, Zeke had heard It. The boy swallows, nods quick then turns back to Casey, returning to their wild kisses full of everything It wants. A few moments pass before their mouths come apart; with his forehead resting on Casey's, a breath of chuckles escapes Zeke's lips. “Didn't know this... was gonna happen tonight,” he says.
“I did,” Casey replies coyly.
“Hah, yea? Then you brought lube and Trojans, right?”
Casey blinks profusely. “Oh.”
“Aw, babe...”
“Well, uh-we can-I dunno, do you wanna go out for some?”
The way Zeke snorts and laughs cuts. “Um, no-not really. Not when we're both stark-the-fuck-naked already,” he jovially replies.
“Then... just spit,” Casey murmurs.
“Case, seriously. You're a virgin, I ain't...”
“I've had experience. Not with real cock, but... well, y'know.”
Sweet secrets. It can feel even MORE warmth from Zeke's body as the boy squirms his hips over Casey's. “Oh, yea? Like what? Go on... do tell,” Zeke prods.
“Let's just say-my parents never saw the UPS box that came in last month,” Casey says with all the suggestion one could muster in their voice. This seems to thrill Zeke enough into spitting in his hand, reaching down between Casey's legs and resume kissing as he fondles. Casey makes throaty, closed-off moans into Zeke's mouth while his hips undulate to accommodate the experience. It feels a shudder, as if It's stuck outside in a snowstorm...
Stop. Stop it now. It pleads. It swears It hears Zeke chuckle-It can see the movements below grow faster and deeper. It needs to leave-It will die, staying here. It knows that.
Even from the attic, It feels life drip away in just hearing the moans, cries and shouted, Fuck, I love you!s made in that living room... not enough to kill It, but that doesn't matter. It wants to die at this point, but doesn't know how.
~*~
Footsteps creak up the stairs. It wouldn't have noticed, but it's been a long time since It's heard them. Zeke doesn't ever come up to visit It, and It doesn't go downstairs anymore, either.
“Titty?”
It is sitting in a vacant spot in the corner close to the ceiling window, the only warmth It can gather coming from the bright sunlight streaming in. Even if It's given no 'sign of life' since the demands It'd put on Zeke, only to have them backfire, Zeke seems to still sense It's presence. He wouldn't be up here if he didn't.
“I know you're here,” Zeke says. He's calm, blank-faced as he lets his eyes wander the area. “I wanted you to know that... I'm leaving soon.”
Leaving? It's blurred sense of sight tries focusing on the boy-no, the man, who's now moving to the boxes lining the other side of the attic. “Casey's going to upstate New York for school, and I'm going with him. I just called a realtor; they're coming down in an hour to give the house a look-over. I'm telling you this... because...” Zeke halts a bit, as if trying to collect his thoughts. “...Because it's either you stay and be quiet, not bother anyone who might buy this place, or I burn the house down with you in it. I can take the loss.”
A small stir of what felt like anger swells up in It, hearing this. Conditions? Threats?
“I'd ask you to come along, so you wouldn't be lonely... but I know you can't. You're tied to this place. You wouldn't have bothered me like you have over the years if you could move along to someone you were really able to scare,” Zeke says, distracted as he looks through a box. “So. You can stay quiet, or you can be a hostage. Your choice, okay?”
Zeke doesn't stay long, and It doesn't reply in any which way. That gives It's answer enough, it seems. That afternoon, there's babble downstairs about what a great house Zeke has, and how well it'd do on the market. A mere week later, there's a family visiting; mother, father, two kids with the promise of two cats should they buy the place. Two weeks later, everything Zeke owns is in boxes and being loaded into a giant moving truck. It watches everything from the window overlooking the drive.
Before he's gone, Zeke takes one last venture upstairs. Nothing's there for him to grab; It knows this is their goodbye. Zeke saunters slowly over to the other side under the ceiling window and bobs up and down on his heels a moment before sighing and murmuring, “Thanks. Be good, 'k, Titty?”
It's still too tired, listless and empty to do more than blow some dust around, so that's what It does. A few motes are moved to Zeke's feet, cascading down over his bootlaces. The young man smiles, looks directly at It and turns away. Nothing else is said.
A month later, Hailey, the youngest of the family at six-years old, catches It trying to move the sugar bowl across the table in an attempt to regain strength-to make a comeback. It feels some satisfaction when Hailey gasps and stares at the bowl as it moves, but everything shifts when the little girl covers her mouth with her hands and giggles.
“Hi!” she says in a hiss, eyes turned to It completely.
Everyone finds it amusing that little Hailey has an imaginary friend, one she's named 'Timmy'; one she plays with night after night, when her parents think she's gone to sleep. After school, she comes home and rushes upstairs. She reads Golden Books aloud, or sets up a tea party with her dolls... always leaving a seat for It. At first, It is quiet, barely ever joining her or letting her know It's listening. But after so many, “Good night, Timmy,”s and giggles and handshake lessons It will never be able to actually perform, It realizes that the girl's friendship is the closest to human It'll ever get to taste.
On her thirteenth birthday, she still has a seat for It, even with all of her friends crowding around the table full of sweet treats an presents. She stills talks to It every night after that. That's what makes It real... makes It a real, honest and alive secret someone holds dear. There's no blackmail, no screaming for attention. Just something It thought It'd never have.
By the time she's fourteen, the boy who'd lived here before couldn't be remembered. There was no face, never mind a name. It feels, deep down, that It was better off-that perhaps that boy, whoever he was, was better off, as well.