A GROWN WEAK MAN.

Chapter: 7.

“Happy birthday to you!!!" Voices rang and hands joined together in claps of excitement as the little crowd sang to the boy who sat with a paper hat seated atop his head. A smile so bright it lit up every face that smiled back at him. It was just past midnight on October 20th, but his parents had managed to hold a party with the help of some friends and relatives who were more than happy to help out with the cake, balloons, and lights strung around the room. They were all having fun, laughing, and having a great time singing the birthday song. When his father, a well-known local celebrity, walked through the door holding a small parcel in his hand, he walked to stand beside his wife and joined them in singing for the boy.

His father used to be a well-known Educator in the big city before he was born, and after his birth, his mother had suffered some sort of mental illness which resulted in her nearly drowning her son in his bathwater when the boy was six months old. His father was forced into sending her off to an institution where she spent two years and at that time he had to give up work to care for his son when the first Caregiver he employed to look after the baby was careless enough to not pay attention to the little boy who nearly crawled himself into the oven.

A ball of mischief his father often called him. He said when he was little it was as if he was often looking for means to off himself from this world. If it wasn't the oven, it would be the pool, if it wasn't the pool then it was the fireplace, they were often trying to rescue him from sudden death. By the time his mother returned, he was nearly three years old, but she loved him a great deal and together both couples tried their hardest to provide for him and take good care of him, then his Father got into an accident shortly after his mother's return and after that, they moved away from the City and found themselves in the little town of Maybu in rural Hillburn. It was there they raised their son in relative peace. Forsaking all life in the big city but little Logan wanted to grow up and become a cop in the big city. Inspired by his uncle Jack who died when he was five. He loved the idea of holding guns and saving good people from bad people. He wanted to make the world a better place.

It was his greatest dream.

They didn't have much after all that had happened with the family, but his parents seemed to go out of their way to make him happy, not that he ever requested that they do so. He understood their condition, he knew they weren't rich and he was happy with whatever they could afford for him, as long as they were all happy and together, that was all that truly mattered to the young eight-year-old boy. That's why he loved them so much. It made him feel safe. He felt loved.

And he knew no matter what happened in the future, he had a family who loved him. He would be fine. He took off his hat and held onto it for support as he rose from the chair where he'd been sitting next to his mother, she had offered him a cup of hot chocolate and he'd gladly taken it, feeling the heat seep into his skin through the fabric and warming his insides, smiling as they sang the last bits of the song. "...Happy birthday to you!!!" They all began to clap quickly, and the boy snorted with laughter, his hot chocolate nearly rolling out from his nostrils.

He put down his mug and blew out his candles in one swift motion. His mother smiled warmly when she saw her baby boy blowing out the last flame, a small pout gracing the little boy's cherubic face as he sighed, then without wasting any further time took the plastic knife and cut himself the first slice, shoving it all into his mouth, another round of laughter and clapping erupted, filling the room and making his ear to ring, and as he smiled up from stuffing his face full with cake, his eyes bulged and mouth gaped open. The cakes still lodged into his mouth began to slowly slide down his chin with a thick white film coating the top of his teeth, his tongue moving to brush against them while tears pricked at the edges of his eyes. He began to choke as he tried to spit the dessert out of his mouth, only succeeding in coughing it up and causing his chest to constrict even more.

Deep flaming red eyes had appeared on the wall before him, they frightened him to the core, scared the crap out of him. He pressed his legs together, feeling the wetness soaked into his pants. The little boy had pissed himself. He looked over at his parents, wide-eyed and shaking, as he felt himself fall backward, landing heavily on his butt. His mother was beside him in seconds, she wrapped an arm around him in an attempt to comfort the boy while his father rushed forward, kneeling in front of his child who shook his head furiously. His face screwed up in terror and he struggled to get away from his parents who hadn't been quick enough to catch him when his body slammed into the ground, knocking the wind out of him for the second time. With a loud grunt, he sat up rubbing at the back of his neck, looking around in panic.

"No! No please, don't come near me," he shouted as he backed himself against the wall as far as he possibly could, the wall behind him suddenly became a solid barrier. His parents froze in place. He looked back toward them. His face is now pale. They wondered if it was them he was afraid of, or anyone else present in the room, but that wouldn't have made sense since nobody, besides the faces he knew from childhood, was present.

"Please, please... don't come near me." He said fearfully. His voice quivered in fear and sadness, he sounded frail and afraid. The sound sent a chill throughout them.

"Baby-" his mother reached out toward him, he pushed his trembling arms further into the wall. She drew back, her heart hurting in her chest, she looked down at him sadly.

Tears streamed down his cheeks some more, he covered his mouth as his bottom lip quivered, he looked terrified and confused, yet somehow more afraid. "Go! Go away...please, go away...." He cried out once more as he cowered against the wall, the fear written clearly across his face. His breathing became uneven, with his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

He fainted at some point, and when he woke up the next day, his birthday was over and he was lying in a hospital bed with both his parents sitting on either side of his bed.

It was the first time the eyes appeared to him.

********

Logan jolted awake and nearly fell off his bed from that unforgiving dream. His brain seemed broken as each time he fell asleep they would drive him into memory lanes he would rather wish to forget. He looked around the room, realizing he was back home, another wave of fear washed over him as he noticed the space by the window was now occupied by a large, black, looming figure, silhouetted by the moonlight shining in from outside. "Oh shit." He cursed under his breath, turning to look at the clock next to his bed, the glowing red numbers reading 3:32 a.m. "Shit," He mumbled again as he crawled back underneath the covers and buried his face into the pillow hoping the nightmare would leave. He closed his eyes to try and push the haunting images out of his head, but even he knew how useless that was.

It never leaves, never goes away.

"It's just your imagination," he began to mumble slowly into the pillow. "Just your imagination," he repeated softly. "You'll be alright, it's just a nightmare. You'll get through it. It's a bad dream.. it's... just a nightmare.'' It was his mantra. But deep within his subconscious mind, something stirred. An unsettling feeling had settled deep inside of him, like a sickness that ate away at him from the inside out. Like poison spreading through him like blood through a wound, slowly poisoning him with its many venoms until he lost all sense of control and sanity, his mind drifting and his thoughts losing focus, his hands balled into fists and his eyes hurting from clenching them shut too tightly.

He could feel his throat constricting from anxiety, fear, the urge to throw up, from all the emotions that had accumulated over the past few hours that now came crashing down on him, forcing him into a deeper and darker pit of despair that he had never known he could experience.

He curled himself up into a tight ball, pressing himself firmly between the edge of the bed, hugging his knees to his chest in a feeble effort to hold onto something. Anything. He lay there in the darkness trying to convince himself. As the minutes passed. He remained unmoving, listening to nothing but silence.

He was a grown man... A grown fucking man cowering away from the nightmares that had haunted him since he was a boy.

Pathetic.

A voice whispered in the back of his mind. It was cold, harsh, and hateful.

The voice of his own conscience.

He ignored it.

Or at least tried to.

Weak.

He laughed bitterly, it didn't matter. The nightmares wouldn't stop. And yes, he was afraid of them, no stretch that... he is utterly terrified of the creature of darkness made of abomination which has plagued him for so many years.

And where the fuck was Steven when you needed him? Hadn't he stayed behind as instructed, and now it would appear that he was alone.

"Fuck," he breathed quietly, burying his head further into his knees and wrapping his arms tightly around his legs, wishing he didn't feel anything at all. For a moment or two, he lay there and waited... for what? He did not know.

Maybe he was hoping the monster would finally do it. Kill him, and end his miserable existence. After all, it never was this consistent with its visits, but now it comes nearly every time and wherever he looked he would find those eyes. That morning was no different, right after the thunder and Lightning incident, they thought they had all died when they ran into a pool, but it turned out it wasn't a pool after all, it was a balloon decoration, but at the time it didn't seem like it.

The doors burst open and Steven barged into the room armed, and waving his pistol about ready to fire, panting like he had been chased by a wild animal. The sound of the door crashing against the walls and of Steven's loud breathing had Logan pushing the blanket away from his head, their eyes met and immediately he bolted from the room and didn't stop until he was way out of the house entirely. Steven wasn't far behind.

Both men stood far from the building, and both stared at one place. The window of Logan's bedroom, but where Logan saw those red eyes staring back, Steven saw nothing.

"Are you alright, Sir?" Steven panted out of breath. "Someone bashed my head up against a wall and knocked me out, I only woke up seconds ago and came rushing into your bedroom, and by the looks of things. I think you saw who did this, who was it?" He demanded and when Logan turned to get a better look at the older man, he noticed the amount of blood gushing down his face from an open wound on his forehead.

A gasp fell off Logan's lips and before he could speak, Steven dropped to the ground. "Shit!" he muttered, voice shaky with a repressed sob. He went on his knee beside the fallen man, shaking him to no avail. He searched for a phone but found none, then began to scream for help at the top of his lungs.

Or so he thought.