Patrick:
You ran through the bushes, tree branches scratching your exposed skin.
"She went that way!" A voice yelled. 9 year old you could feel your heart pound in your chest. Why did they always pick on you? You kept running until you tripped over an exposed tree root. You cut your knee on a rock and gasped from the pain. Tears came to your eyes as you sobbed quietly. You just wanted everything to be okay. You wanted your mom to be happy and work less, you wanted to have friends, and you just wanted to be happy.
"Are you okay?" A smooth voice asked. You looked up and saw a man with a fedora on his head and a sympathetic smile.
"My knee is bleeding." You whimpered. The voices of your tormentors got quieter until they ceased all together. The man kneeled down in front of you and placed his hand over your cut. You gasped and moved away.
He was cold.
"I wish I could help. Can you walk home?" The man asked.
"Mmhm." You replied. You stood up on shaky legs and leaned up against a tree.
"You don't look too good. Maybe I should walk with you." The man worried.
"I'm not supposed to go anywhere with strangers." You said hesitantly.
"Well my names Patrick. What's yours?"
"...(Y/N)."
"Now we're not strangers anymore." You narrowed your eyes at the seemingly harmless man and nodded.
"Alright then." You accepted. You managed to hobble through the trees, making your way to your house.
"So how old are you?" Patrick asked, awkwardly trying to make conversation.
"9." You said simply.
"Good age. I bet you and your friends have a lot of fun." You faltered slightly in your step before continuing on.
"I...I don't have friends." You replied.
"What do you mean?" Patrick frowned.
"Everyone thinks I'm weird and they don't want to talk to me."
"...I'd talk to you." You smiled slightly and looked up at Patrick. His face held a warm smile.
"You're very nice Patrick." You stated.
"I just learned, in life it's better to show kindness while have the chance." Patrick shrugged.
"Good lesson." Soon your house came into view and your mother was standing on the front step, worried.
"(Y/N)!" She gasped. She ran to meet you and took in your battered appearance.
"What happened?" Your mom asked.
"Just some kids were chasing me. I fell and cut my knee." You explained.
"How'd you get home?"
"Patrick walked with me!" You turned to point to Patrick who was standing nervously behind you.
"(Y/N), stop playing around. There's no one there...hmm maybe you hit your head. Come inside with me so I can patch you up." You mom said. You looked back at Patrick one last time who smiled, shrugged, and disappeared.
Joe:
Your apartment was haunted. It had to be! You'd leave and come back to find the place a mess. There was no other way to explain the paranormal activity taking place in your home. The tv would be on, your CD's and records would be messed with, and even weirder, your underwear drawer was always opened and messed with. One day you came home and almost fainted at the sight before you. A man sat on your couch, legs propped on you coffee table laughing at American Dad on your television.
