Children of the Night

Part 3- Skin and Bones

Phil's POV

I don't know why I followed him. But I felt a powerful urge to chase after the dark figure running through the unmerciful sleet. My legs were moving almost involuntarily, following behind the hooded figure as he turned another sharp corner and stopped at door number 9.

I watched him as he pushed open the unlocked door and slammed it closed behind him. Indifferently I sighed, closed my eyes and glided through the old wooden door; the familiar tingling sensation coursing through my nerves. It was a nice home, house number 9. It seemed like any other house, the walls hung with family pictures and vases of fake flowers decorating every clear surface. 

I wasn't fooled by the facade of the normal home masking the secrets of this place though. It felt… too perfect. Too normal. There was something behind it all.

I'm brought back to reality by the sounds of an old, slightly out-of-tune piano echoing through the house. I follow the sounds upstairs into a darker, smaller room. 

There was the boy I followed sitting in front of a beautiful, chestnut piano. He had taken his hood off, revealing dark brown locks of straightened hair. I move closer, lifting my hand slowly to touch his soft waves, but my hand goes straight through him. 

Of course. How could I forget?

I close my eyes and let the warm melody of the song wash over me. I know this song, I heard it many times before. 

I hear the boy in front of me humming the beautiful prechorus. 

I go through the lyrics in my head and when the familiar chorus hits my deep voice fills the room, mixing with his singing, creating beautiful harmonies, melodies, stories untold. 

My eyes flutter open as his voice fades but I keep on singing, smiling at the sad beauty. I remember singing this back when I was alive, alone in my room.

I watch his slender, tan fingers press down the aged keys as he plays the last chords closing his eyes for a second, savouring the moment. He turns around slowly, his chocolate brown eyes sparking, full of hope and expectance as he scans the room. Confused, I look around. What was he looking for?

Disappointment replacing the look of hope, the spark in his eyes fading, he turns around bowing his head down. 

Wait... He couldn't have been looking for me could he? It was impossible! It was one of death's unspoken rules that no human alive could hear or see me! 

I want to say something, anything to make his eyes sparkle again but I can't. 

Suddenly he jumps up, frustration obvious on his handsome features as he rushes to the bathroom attached to his bedroom. 

Practically throwing himself onto the cold tiles, he starts forcing three fingers down his throat. Gagging he jolts forward, coughing up bile. Horrified, I watch through the open bathroom door as he rams his fingers down his throat once more, emptying the contents of his stomach into the white bowl. 

Panting, he flops down onto the hard, familiar ground, tears trailing down his cheeks. 

My breath hitching in my throat I step into the dimly lit bathroom, the smell of vomit wafting into my nostrils. 

Nausea hitting me, I stoop down next to him, watching the boy in front of me cry soundless tears. His eyes are unfocused, his body limp. It is then that I notice how skinny he is. The black hood baggy, the 'My Chemical Romance' shirt hanging loosely from his skinny frame, clinging where he was sweating. 

His eyes snapping back into focus he scrambles to his feet, swaying slightly. 

Ripping open a small cupboard next to the sink he grabs a small, black box. Slumping down onto the ground again he fumbles a thin, silver object between his fingers. In a heartbeat the sleeve of his black hoodie is rolled up to his elbow and the blade pushed into his deeply scared skin.

I force my eyes to look away. The scene was all too familiar. The blood, the vomit. The broken boy on the cold bathroom floor. 

The only difference was this boy didn't deserve it. This boy didn't need to do this. 

He was skinny and breathtakingly beautiful, other than me. I am nothing, no matter alive or dead. 

Unloved. 

Worthless. 

I don't know what this boys reasons are, in fact I don't even know his name, but looks really aren't his problem. 

I turn around, refusing to open my eyes, and leave the room. This is private. 

It's not like I can do anything. It will only bring back painful memories.

I glide through the front door, flinching slightly as the discomforting tingling sensation returns once more. It's still raining , even if the sky has turned pitch black, the dull gray clouds blocking out even the stars. Returning to my usual spot on the roof I sit down, hugging my knees.

I run my fingers through my hair. You see, water simply falls through me, so I don't really mind the rain.

Staring into space I think through tonights events. How similar that boy was to me. And how different.

The cuts, the vomiting. It was me. But why did he feel the need to do this? 

I sigh, resting my chin on my knees. I couldn't have done anything. People can't see or hear me.

That brings me back to that situation earlier. Why did he scan the room so expectantly? He couldn't have heard me. 

He simply couldn't have.