Ink Stains

 Mum and Dad let them all curl up on the couch with the rest of their breakfast to watch Open Lure, Stov promising to come by around noon with the floffie Neri had apparently finished fixing.

Dray picked at his brekk-cakes, half-listening to the running commentary from Atia and Erold. The bright colours bounced around, movement constantly twitching at him.

Everything... everything didn't... look right. There was something just off, in the shadows at the corners of his eyes, in every bouncing twitch as Atia chirped next to him, arguing with Erold. He couldn't help noticing all the veins just under the skin of her little neck, like it was paper-thin.

Swallowing hard, he tried not to choke on the brekk-cake he'd just forced down. Probably not a good idea to finish the rest. They tasted... strange, anyway. He forced that thought away, reaching over to butt Erold's head with a hand as he complained about dumb logic. "How about we dig out the old collection?"

Atia made a face. "But it's kinda scary."

"Not all of it." He levered himself off the couch, half-stumbling down to rifle through the cache of slip-discs and shaking off a wave of dizziness. "I know a good one. It's a fishing trip. With a mountain of 'lure' puns."

Unfolding the right one, he snicked it in and half-crawled/knee-shuffled back to his spot, flopping down and connecting his MIP to the monitor. "You'll love this one. Promise."

They didn't love it.

"Now I remember why I hated this one, too," Erold groaned, planting his head on the armrest. "How is it so niffing boring?"

"Yeah, it's kinda slow," 'Tia chirped. "The animation's old."

Dray gave both of them a flat look. "Children these days."

Erold snorted. "Old men these days."

"Yeah I'm so old." He collapsed over 'Tia and smushed them all together up on Erold's side of the couch. "Three whole celestial-wars older. I've got grey hair and creaky joints. What does that make you?"

"Really... niffing... squished," Erold grunted, shoving back and barely shifting him, 'Tia giggling between them. "Gerroff!"

He turned, planting his bare feet up on the armrest and leaning back. "Nope."

"Are you planning to squash... us?"

"Yep."

"Augh!" Could faintly feel him wiggling, trying to break free. "I'm trapped."

"Wow. So sad."

"I'm... suffocating."

Some kind of weird whistle-snort came out of his throat. He aggressively chose not to care. "May your grave have nice flowers."

"Dray."

He hit play and made himself comfortable, ignoring the complaints from Erold, 'Tia squished happily. If they wanted, they could get out anytime.

And besides, while they were occupied.... He took in a quiet breath and hit his family contacts. Uncle Ment's profile popped up immediately, the cover picture giving him a half-smile, ruffling the hair of some teenager Dray barely recognised as himself. Dad didn’t want to, but he had to. He had to know.

<Hey uncle.> He paused, his finger hovering over the send button. And tapped it before he could rethink.

Uncle Ment's indicator flicked on a moment later, the typing blinker coiling around his gut. It only took a second for <Hey, what's on?> to pop up.

Somehow he'd been expecting something more like: I know what you are, it's good you messaged me. How about you come down to HQ?

He huffed a half-laugh to himself. <Nothing. I just missed you yesterday. Mum and Dad said you came by.>

The typing indicator blinked for a little longer this time. <I did. I would have liked to talk to you too. I still would.>

And that was it. His throat tightened around the back of his tongue. <They told me what you said.>

<Have you considered it?>

He took a deep breath that didn't fill his lungs right. <What you said about the danger. Would it be?>

It took a while for Uncle Ment to start typing. <It could be dangerous, though that depends. How are you?>

<I—> Dray clenched his eyes shut <—don't know. Not right. Is there anything that could help?>

"...Are you messaging somebody?"

"Just Stov," he lied as he waited, Uncle Ment taking an eternity to type. Felt like he could feel his pulse in the tips of his ears if he pinched them, flexing his hand restlessly.

<The only thing we can do is what Jos told you. It's the only way I know that could help. It could give you more time.>

His fingernails dug into his palm briefly. <It won't give me more time with them.>

<No.>

Breathing in and out, he watched that word for a long moment. It snaked around his throat and sat heavily in his stomach, just a plain "no". No buts, no nothing. Just no.

Clenching his eyes shut, he swallowed against the tight lump in his throat. No matter what he did....

A ping dragged his eyes open.

<Dray, I know you're scared. I don't know anyone who wouldn't be. But this is what we have to work with. If you trust me, I can make sure things are at least better.>

He let out a silent, shaky breath. <Can you promise that?>

<I can promise that I'll do my best.>

That wasn't a guarantee.

His hand slowly curled into a fist. It was just like Stov said. They tried to entice him in, saying if he went, everything would be okay. Everything would be fine.

But it wouldn't.

He snapped his MIP shut, closing his eyes and curling into the couch cushions, breathing deep. Dark, dripping tunnels stretched behind his eyelids, the chill of the underground creeping across his skin in spite of the warmth seeping into his back. It was like he'd never left, always barely just one step ahead of the living shadow breathing down his neck, waiting to drag him in....

A knock on the front door startled him out of a doze he couldn't remember slipping into, and he hissed as a throb shot through his shoulder. How long had he been asleep? Must be Stov.

Gritting his teeth, Dray dragged himself up, the other two stirring like they'd been asleep, too.

"Muh?"

"'Ll get it." He stood, stumbling as his head whirled sickeningly, fighting to catch his balance on the end of the couch. Vertigo? "Ngh."

"...'ray?"

"Fine." Trying to shake it off, he reeled into the entranceway, collecting himself at the door and yanking it open. "Took you...."

An unfamiliar face stared back at him, eyes glinting. Some woman with dark hair cut shorter, pasty flesh falling in rolls down her neck.

He froze, hand twitching away from the door. "Uh. Hi."

"Oh, so you are home, Draykan." Did... did he know her? Couldn't... read her face, her skin jiggling as her lips flapped and stretched, eyes boring into him, flicking to his neck. To the side of his neck.

His hand gripped it, covering the bandage, a hard swallow sticking in his throat. "I... yeah. Um. Good... to see you."

"Are you quite alright?" She leaned in, and he stepped back, his heart thudding. The smell of sweat and some sour perfume rolled off her, her breath like stale ferment-sard. And something deeper... something— "You seem a bit off-colo—"

Dray stumbled away, slapping a desperate hand for the wall as his head whirled. Something— thick flesh like putty, like meaty dough—

"Dad! Someone's at the door!"

Heard Erold's voice dimly under the buzzing wave of nausea sweeping through him. Sounded alarmed. Couldn't deal with that while trying desperately not to gag.

"Uh, Mum? Dad?" Atia's voice rose. "I think Dray's feeling sick—"

"'M— 'm okay," he gasped out around the fist pressed to his teeth, despite being dead convinced he'd double-over and hurl all over the floor any second. The whine of a canid shuddered from somewhere. Not from him. Please not from him.

"Ah, sorry Perway-deme—"

Dad's voice fuzzed in and out of his ears. Perway? She was one of the neighbours: alright, liked to drop baking and poke her nose in everywhere, but she wasn't— that wasn't her—

"He looks really green...."

A gentle hand touched his shoulder. "Sweet? Here, sit down for a moment. Are you feeling sick or is it something else?"

"...heard your poor children were sick. By the by, there were some very strange noises up here last night, too, I might add...."

His throat twisted tighter. Did she know? Eyes glinted past Dad's shoulder, watching him crouched on the corner, prickling across his skin. They'd heard him last night, peering in the windows, staring eyes crammed into the walls—

"—some officers on the street. They say it could be in Dury, right in our very neighbourhood!"

"Alright, Perway-dem, thank you for your time. We'll appreciate the cakes, but unfortunately I can't speak with you—"

"Hey, lady. Out of the way."

Someone new cut in past the static creeping into his ears, sharp, familiar. Stov?

Perway's sickening voice huffed. "Well, I'll be by later, then. I hope Draykan feels better by then. He truly does look terribly sick."

"Yeah yeah, move your fat butt," Stov grunted, drawing a gasp and an apology he barely heard.

It. Some monster in Dury, officers on the street, and eyes drilling between his shoulderblades, whispering shadows looming over him.

As soon as the door clicked shut, a whimper squeezed into his hand. It didn't sound like Draykan Mellcorner. It didn't sound like anything human.

"Yeah." Stov's quiet hiss broke in. "It's not safe here anymore."