silas merchoff | ten | cb

"Let me in."

Silent Silas felt the fingernails of a most sinister evil clawing at the back of his neck. "You aren't real-" Ah, but he was real to Silas, wasn't he?

Pocket full of drugs, practically a sign labelled for sale hanging on his back; some people were made to be monsters, and others learned by example. They all apologized for the death of his brother, might as well have been a stranger. Silas could hardly remember Dane's face until he was reaped, lucky bastard. Anything to escape a life of—

" l  e  t      m  e      i  n — "

But when evil came knocking on the door of his dreams, it wore Dane's face.

"Go away!" He used to say, until finally one day, he stopped.

He opened the door, fingers shivering against the cool metal of the handle, teeth chattering of a harsh winter. Good boys did not deal their parents' drugs, or keep secrets of who killed who, or where the bodies were hidden. He never killed a man, but knowing how was just as bad.

"You're mine now," the evil said.