Anathema

sixteen - fear the night

"Tyler!"

Dark. Pressing dark, like hands squeezing his shoulders and his stomach and his throat. He was cold and wet and so, so scared. Utterly alone.

Someone squeezed his hand, their fingers ice against his clammy skin. He wanted to pull away, but he didn't. He just held on tighter and ran and ran and ran.

The moonlight was ghostly and pale. Lost. He was lost. What was he supposed to do when he was lost? His face was wet and he couldn't see. He rubbed his eyes. Oh. He was crying.

"Tyler!"

They were still following him. The person with the big bag and the shiny black car. He thought it was a man. He had a man's voice. Deep and gruff like a snake's nest.

"Tyler!"

No. Now it was light. Cinnamon hot chocolate. A soft bright golden trumpet voice. He could see him now. The white Christmas and July sunshine smile. The silver paper corners of his eyes.

Josh.

Tyler tightened his grip on Clancy's hand - it was Clancy's, wasn't it? He didn't have time to look. His breath was fire in his lungs. He couldn't see where he was running.

A flash of white. He tripped over a root and tumbled down a ditch. His ankle screamed in protest as it twisted, then snapped.

Run! his mind cried desperately. Run, run, run!

But he couldn't move. His arms were frozen and his legs hurt too bad. He could only scream in pain and terror.

"Momma! Momma!"

Tight fingers latched on to his shoulders, digging into his skin. Sharp and hot fingers. He was soaked now. Oh - was he bleeding? He was bleeding. He was bleeding.

"Tyler! Wake up! Wake up!"

Bleeding all down his back, all down his arms. He tried to grab on to Clancy, begging him to stay with him, hold him, comfort him, but he slipped through his bloody fingers. He could see the scarlet now. Deep cuts by his wrists. Some on his back, too. Wet and cold and sticky.

He choked on his air as he sucked in a massive breath, and let out a sobbing scream. Something was grabbing him. He thrashed in its grip, but it wrapped tightly around him, pinning his arms to his chest, and he couldn't break free.

"Let go!" he screamed. "Let go, let go, let go!" He kicked hard, but all he got in return was a bolt of pain; lightning through his leg.

The more he struggled, the harder it became to breathe. His face was smothered in something soft. Dizzy and lightheaded. Tiny little miners cracking into his skull with their tiny little picks.

"Tyler, wake up! Please, wake up!"

He cried for his mother again, his voice breaking under the strain. Hopeless. Hopeless. The softness against his face was wet and salty. Blood and sweat and tears and - please no - he couldn't breathe.

"Momma!"

Then he was falling. Falling so suddenly he forgot he was laying down in the first place. He tried to reach out for something to catch him, but he was tangled up in that thing, its claws ever digging into his skin. Down, down, down, down -

Tyler hit the floor with a thud and his eyes snapped open. He let out a choked scream, finally managing to shake the blanket out of his face. Why couldn't he move? What was going on? His head was in agony. It hurt to open his eyes, but he couldn't close them. Someone was crying - he was crying, and so was Clancy, who remained on the bed, hugging his knees to his chest. Why was the hall light on? He could see the golden light through the cracks under the door, and suddenly he was immensely grateful for the light to battle the darkness. Where was Nico? There - in the corner, suddenly looking as afraid as Tyler felt. Nico was never afraid.

The door suddenly burst open and his mother rushed in. He could only see her blurry outline through the tears and the agony, and he cried her name in relief.

"Tyler!" she cried. "Tyler, baby, what's wrong?" She knelt next to him and helped him untangle himself from the blankets. Her hands were freezing. He was still wet.

His heart jerked in pure panic and he clawed his shirt over his head, expecting to find it soaked in blood. He was drenched in sweat, but there was no blood. A stab of pain shot through his eyes like a rusted nail, and he dug his palms into his eyes to try and dull it. His gasping sobs shook his entire body, only making his migraine worse.

"It's okay, Tyler, I'm here," his mother whispered, gently gathering him up into her arms. He let himself rest against her warm body and lay his head over her heart, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to muffle his sobbing. "It wasn't real," she said, rocking back and forth and rubbing his back. He was shivering violently.

But it was real! he wanted to say. It was the forest again, it was that man again...

But it was Josh. Sweet, kind, beautiful Josh.

"You admit that you made up Josh. That he's not real."

"He's not made up," Tyler sobbed, his voice muffled by his mother's shirt. "He's real. He's real, Momma, he's real."

"I know, baby. I promise we'll fix this. Everything will be okay. Promise."

"It hurts so bad," he wailed, digging his fingernails into his temples. He wanted to bleed. Maybe if he bled, he'd finally know if this was real or not.

His mother gently pulled his arm down before he could hurt himself. "I know, Tyler, I know. It was just a nightmare. It's okay now. You're safe. I've got you."

She ran her fingers through his damp hair and he shivered as tingles shot down his spine. He was exhausted, but he was absolutely terrified of sleep. He couldn't see Josh again in place of that man. He couldn't relive what happened in the forest a long time ago.

He never should have gone in there. He never should have trusted Josh in the first place.

But now they had a place just for them. Peace among the nightmares. And he didn't want to lose what little they had.

"Momma, I'm scared," he whispered.

She held him closer to her chest, gently rubbing his back to calm him. "I'm here now. Nothing's going to hurt you anymore. Promise."