Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

     “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.