It was a cold winters afternoon, soft flurries of snow were gathering on the boys window sill, much of it piling in a clump on his timbered bedroom floor, unfortunately his window panes, which were designed to keep him from catching a flu, had been shattered. He wore a cheap-looking, dark blue hoodie, except, it wasn’t much of a ‘hoodie’ because the sleeves had been cut short fraying slightly at the ends, and the actual hood was absent, his mother had bought this for him from the second-hand store which explained alot. Gray tinted skinny jeans concealed his thin legs and dark navy blue colored sneakers covered his feet. The boy had hazel brown eyes, with the same shaded hair. “Almost done” he whispered to the small doll sitting patiently on his desk. He gave a long weary sigh, then delicately slid the tip of his sewing needle through its frayed fabric. The boy continued the careful motion, looping the thread in circles down its exposed side, watching as the fabric was forced together, holding all the stuffing perfectly in place. Tying a small knot completed his work, and he placed the doll down in-front of him. Next to the figure rested another, with long threads of brown silk for hair and an untidy grey dress. The one he’d finished had brown hair also, but more light as the boy had forgotten to restock on wool, it had a sewn black shirt on. Both of the small figurines had black button eyes, staring at him gratefully, they represented his parents. “Andy!” called the shrill demand of his father. “Get up here now!” Said boy obeyed, rising from his chair and making sure all of his belongings were in place before he left. Walking up the rasping stairs he met face to face with the drunk man. Andy glanced down at the floor, he disliked looking at his father, the large dark rings underneath his eyes, how his disgusting breath travelled across the dining room, his large unsteady hands and his brutal form were all unsettling, but the true reason was because he couldn’t stand to see what the man had become, what his mother or father had grown to be. As usual the man wore a grubby tank-top and matted, rugby shorts, the man wasn’t in shape nor was he fat, but the way he was heading he was soon going to be. “Go down to Thomas and get me some more” his father requested, but it was more of an order than anything. “And be quick this time” A large wad of money was driven into the boys stomach, Andy nodded, taking a breath and ignoring the pain he’d been inflicted, he took it in his hands and made for the door. His mother, Katherine, greeted him as he passed, her usually bright blue happy eyes tired and low, which wasn’t surprising, seeing that the women carried out every single one of her husbands drunk demands. She had her slimming gray dress on again, with long brown, leather boots. Katherine placed a hesitant kiss on her sons head and opened the door for him. “Here sweetheart” she smiled catching his attention before enveloping his neck in an orange and black striped scarf. “Keep warm, its cold, and stay safe” Andy nodded, he took one last glance at his father who fell onto their living-room couch, completely defiling the cushions. Unable to manage a farewell smile he just closed the door between him and his mother, there was no reason to smile anyway, if he had it would’ve been fake, like when he’d told her that his father wasn’t abusive and that the reasons for his anger fits were because of his hard days at work, but this was before Andy had found out that the man had been using Meth. Andy quivered, freshly falling shards of ice landing on his exposed face, he placed the money in his hoodie pocket, then arranged the scarf so that it was covering his nose down to his shoulders. The ground was blanketed in white, dead trees lined the streets, four month old christmas decorations swaying dauntingly in the light gusts of frigid wind, the young teenager sauntered right, trudging through the freezing snow. Andy could make out street lights flickering in the distance, a thick myst distancing his sight. Everything surrounding the boy gave away an eerie and sinister aura, like if he stopped twisting his head to check if anyone was following him he’d be jumped and killed, it had always been a superstition of his, the day he turned six was the day he developed that strange feeling. Suddenly, something dark loomed between his legs, interrupting his thoughts completely, Andy revolved around grabbing the first thing in his pocket for quick protection. “Fuck” he whispered under his breath, watching as a dark and belly red, sleek cat weaved between his ankles, paws deep in the snow. “Hello meow, you scared me” Andy stared at the weapon he’d managed to grab, scissor blades were tightly clutched in his palm, this would’ve been able to protect him, he must’ve been using them for stitching, he then returned them to his pocket. The feline looked up at him, eyes bright red and beady and a rather smug look on its features, its mouth was arched up in an almost distorted grin, that wasn’t normal. It must’ve been injured or abused and in result had suffered grim disfigurement. “What happened to you?” he commented, feeling an odd, alarming sensation from his neck to his collar bone. “Did you get in a fight? Or are you just adding to this creepy atmosphere?” The cats eyes beamed at him again, parts of its fur dark red which Andy conjectured was stained blood, the cat then sluggishly turned its head in the direction he’d been walking, ahead of Andrew rested the large, decaying black house he’d ventured to so many times before. He trudged forward, turning his head back as a farewell to the cat, but it’d disappeared. It was a relief to be able to set foot on something that wasn’t acres of deep snow, Andy pulled the scarf from around his neck, watching abnormally as a clump of gathered ice collapsed from around his shoulders and onto the un-renovated house’s splintering floors. The residence was empty of any fittings, no furniture but instead, piles of empty and mostly shattered vodka bottles scattered in piles over the floor, cigarettes were also chucked here and there, and in the corner of the room, a bong. Andy took a timid step forward, his heart jerked as the ground moaned beneath his footing, alerting anyone who would’ve been inside. As he’d expected, a gruff looking man with tattered clothing and wide wary eyes appeared at the top of the staircase not too far from the boy, the man’s face quirked up into a horrid grin, obviously recognizing him from past visits. “Look who’s back for more” the man regarded through his black teeth, striding down the stairs, slightly hunched over. This man, Thomas, was one of Andy’s dad’s close friends, the boy thought that he was more of an acquaintance though, Thomas had also been a drug addict and Andy assumed that he was the reason his father was obsessed and violent now. “Andrew, Andrew, Andrew” Thomas crooned, he held his arms out in a friendly greeting but the boy didn’t acknowledge it. “My names Andy” he corrected, placing his hand in his hoodie pocket, clasping the money. “My dad wants some more meth” “So, how HAS Ian been?” Thomas asked sneering, deciding to irk Andy more and continue the meaningless conversation. “More importantly, hows Katherine? The boys face tightened, and his lips clamped together in hidden frustration, but it was still obvious, the truth was that Andy was just in a hurry to flee back home to the safety of his cellar bedroom, his goal was to avoid as little injury as he could today. “Tired” he replied, leaning the money out in an indication he was hasty to leave. “Nice, does that mean she’s still looking as gorgeous as she normally does?” the man asked sleazily. “Kinda” “Still a man of few words I see” Thomas observed, running dirty fingers through his scratchy beard. “Here” Andy spurred, anxiety building. “I want to go home” With grubby hands the man snatched the money insolently, counting the notes and muttering under his breath grouchily, he paused once finished and looked down at the boy shaking his head solemnly. Andy prepared himself for the worst. “You’re fifty short Andrew” he explained, placing the money in his dirty coat pocket. “W-what? No I’m not, two hundred and fifty as always!” he exclaimed uneasily, his thighs had grown weak. “Since you come here all the time, I made a small exception” the man smirked shrugging simply. “The price is up another fifty” “N-no! You cant! You dont understand what he’s like at home, he’ll hurt me if I return without the meth!” Andy pleaded, his ribs pulsing from reminded pain. “And give me the money back!” “Your problem kid, not mine” Thomas dismissed, turning from the crushed boy. “And I think I’ll keep the rest of the money” Andy wasn’t sure how it happened, maybe it was fear, or anger, or an instinctual urge, but he lunged for the man. His scissors were seized from his pocket like before and held above his head threateningly, he clasped the man’s sleeve forcing him to turn in a stumbling mess. Thomas stared at the boy, bloodshot eyes wide and the slightest segment of terror crossing his face. He held the long blades to the man’s throat, breaths hitching in a distressed and despaired manner. Unfortunately, the moment of attack wore down, and Andy was left standing, confused with what he had done and what was to come next. Alarm overtook his murderous determination as the man’s eyes glazed with fury, his senses were screaming for him to run, but his legs were plastered still. “AHHH!!” He was forced aback, tearing flesh resonated through the house, his legs failed him as he collapsed to the ground, a searing, ceaseless, merciless pain penetrated his arm making its way slowly to his fingertips numbing his whole body. He writhed on the ground, screaming for the agony to end, tears fell down his face blinding him to his surroundings, he gasped, choking for air, as much was needed to remain sane, Andy arched his back again. “AHH!! STOP! M-MAKE IT STOP!!” the flailing boy begged. His fingers carded through the sticky blood caking his right shoulder, arm and chest, the wound was large, flesh parted gruesomely. Andy staggered, breathing heavily, watching fuzzily as the floor around him turned red, his scissors a few meters away from his view, he felt sick, throat gagging. Inhaling painfully his mouth suddenly filled with a thick liquid, he hacked, the substance emanating down from his lips, making it near impossible for him to breath. “Get out Andrew” Thomas commanded voice strident, without waiting for the boy to catch his breath he grabbed him by the collar of his tattered blue hoodie. Andy was dragged harshly across the splintered wooden floor, loosing its purity as the teens blood spilled from his injury, staining the floor-boards. The boy was a shrieking mess as the ground scraped against his exposed skin, making the pain even more intense. Gelid wind glided across his neck as the house door was opened, he was thrown, deep, icy snow enveloping him completely as he met with the ground, slush burying his figure. Andy’s scarf was tossed down at him, landing tenderly on top of the snow concealing his chest. By the time Andy managed too come to, his whole body was numb, was he dead? He parted his lips to take a tormenting breath, but the snow infiltrated his throat making him lurch forward spluttering and hacking. His clothes were wet and his body was trembling, lifting his arm up he examined the lacerated long tear across his right shoulder, blood still seeped from the gash, dripping endlessly onto the ground. Once managing to stand, he leaned down, picking up the scarf his mother had supplied him with, it was soiled with his blood, wet from being coated in snow and had been torn in two spots. Andy, uncaring of the state the material was in, wrapped it around his pale neck, making sure it covered his nose-down. The walk back to his house was slow and torturing, cold wind affected his open wound and the gathering sheets of snow only added to the agony, passing cars slowed to take a look at him, but none decided to help… pathetic humans. The boy whimpered, feeling the weight on his legs beginning to grow, by now he was staggering, finding extreme difficulty to manage the simple law of balance. Finally the dull house came into view, and he gave a wary sigh of relief, but the all to real prospect of still being beaten was frightening him. Without the meth, or money, he was going to be gravely punished, sure he’d thought about running away multiple times, but in this weather he’d freeze and what would become of his mother? If he left, it may destroy her, and the last thing he wanted was for her death to be reported in the local papers because of his absence. As long as she lived, he wasn’t leaving. The boy placed his former pure hands on the handle, twisting it enough to ease it open, all eyes set on Andy as he collapsed inside. A horrified shriek resonated through the living room, his mother offcourse, she rushed to his side arms held out over his shaking body unsure of what to do. “Fuck, what’d your son do now?!” Andy’s father demanded harshly. Many of his fathers friends, well, druggy’s, had gathered together and were sitting around the living room smoking unthinkable things, they must’ve visited once hearing he’d sent Andy out for more. He could hear the other men grumbling in disapproval when they spotted him in such a weakened state, it was sickening how ritious the group was. “He is your son as-well Ian!” his mother exclaimed, her tone not as dominating as she’d planned it to be. “Does he have the meth?” the man snorted, eyes greedy and wanting. Katherine leaned lower down to her son, tears forming in her desperate eyes, voice low so the others couldn’t hear. “Sweetheart?” she whimpered, a questioning plea. Andy’s head lifted, blood parting from his lips to the floor, he shook his head. At that moment his father lifted from his seating, rage blazing in his glazed eyes. The boy braced himself, unsure that he’d survive whatever attack his father was planning to inflict on him. He wanted to lift and fight back, but his scissors had been left at Thomas’s house, and his muscles weren’t strong enough to defend. Suddenly a slim body engulfed his, protecting his form from the brutal assault. Andy could feel his mother being forced up against him as she was coarsely throttled. She was gasping and wheezing, digging her nails hopelessly into her husbands bulky hands. “Ian, thats enough” a thin, despondent looking women from the group held out her quivering arm. Said man turned to the women, releasing his wife like a rag-doll and shrugged, paying no heed to her mild sobbing. Andy lurched forward, arm stinging, and hugged his mother, observing the finger marks meld into her pale skin. “I brought some just incase he didn’t manage” the women explained holding up the large packet. “You came prepared” Ian laughed heartily, leaving Andy and his mother in a pool of his sons blood. That night Andy had persuaded his demoralized mother to come down to his cellar room, he’d attempted talking to her about leaving the man, as there was no possible hope of retrieving the kind, loving side of him they’d lived their life with years back. But as usual, she refused, insisting that he was trying to give up, and that they should’ve expected the brutal attacks, as if it were their fault they’d been abused. She just didn’t want to let go. “How did you get your injury?” she asked once dismissing the previous conversation. “Guess” he replied, glaring out the window. Katherine sighed, dispirited, she followed his gaze, watching the snow pile on his floor. Rubbing her neck guiltily she walked over sitting next to her son on his bed, giving him a comforting squeeze on the arm. “It was dad’s so-called-friends who broke my window” he justified, staring at his mother sadly. “It’ll all work out wonderfully” she explained, sniffling from the cold. “I promise, one day you’ll leave this house and find a place where you truly belong, far from this town, far from its people” “I dont think there are many like me” Andy replied, downcast. “But I dont mind dying alone” “Dont say that!” Katherine hissed, surprising Andy. “No matter where in the world, there’s always some people who understand!” She grabbed a patch of material from his desk, striding over to the damaged sink tap, washing it in warm water and then returning to him. “Here” she mumbled, gently placing it to his mouth, brushing the dried blood away. “Remember when I always used to cleanse your cuts like this, when you were little” “When I always used to get beat up?” he offered, she nodded miserably. “I still do” “They’re just jealous” his mother explained, shimmying around so she could do the same with his torn shoulder. It was a mothers law to say things like this, to try and convince their children that they were more special and different from the others, it seemed that since these words were spoken all the time, that their meaning passed and no longer meant anything. But Andy knew he was different, he just wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not yet. “Here’s your scarf back” he presented, guilty of the damage it’d had to withstand. “You keep it, it suits you” she explained, smiling. “Is it because of all the rips? I can stitch them up if you like, I’ll make it look brand new” Andy offered, gesturing over to his work-table. “I thought I told you how much I dislike you stitching” she grumbled, picking up a tattered bear from off of his bed. “And is this the teddy I found broken in the river that time?” “I like sewing them together again” Andy clarified, taking the bear in his arms and examining its button eyes. “Well, you know how much your father dislikes it dont you” she grumbled crossing her arms in disapproval. “I know, but he doesn’t care for them in general” he explained irritated. “Its just the ones that I make, isn’t it” Katherine stared at her son, in deep concentration, she bit her lip before tucking a stray strand of hair away behind her ear. Leaning in she placed a hand on his back. “It was just an incident that happened when you were six” she began. “With the babysitter, no one knows what happened, you and her were the only ones in the house, I think it was just a coincidence with how the girls death came to be and how the doll you made her seemed to mirror what happened” “So, like a voodoo doll?” Andy asked, smirking at the thought. “Dont smile Andy, it’s not a laughing matter” his mother warned. “Anyway, I’m sorry dear but we wont be having supper tonight” The boy nodded, understanding that his father had used all of their weekly pay to buy drugs and what not, but Thomas had taken it, and they’d been given nothing in return. His mother, after their chat, had left his room, returning to serve his father. That night while Andy was sleeping he couldn’t help but listen cautiously to the sounds and creaks around him, it was mostly just freshly fallen snow flying across his room, and shouts and wails from his mother and father fighting again, but around midnight, he heard something different, peculiar to the average sounds that often came by his cellar room. “What?” Andy leaned up from under his cold covers, heart speeding rapidly, he’d sworn someone had just whispered in his ear, he even had felt their cold breath linger across the side of his face. Around him swallowing darkness enveloped his frightened form, the quiet pit patter of the loose tap calmed his nerves a bit, but he couldn’t help staring wide eyed at the broken window across from him, the shadows surrounding his room seemed to stretch out from there. Dark figures loomed behind the shattered panes, whispering disembodied words. Andy’s breaths hitched quickly, gripping the covers around him and trying not to move, that feeling was back, the feeling which warned him danger was nearby, the feeling which makes his blood race and body twitch. A surprised gasp escaped from his mouth when a sleek form leaped onto his window sill, tail long and deranged and eyes red and luminesce. It was the cat again, the animals breathing was more hoarse and gruff, like it had something lodged deep in its throat. It meowed, loud, long and unusual. “Grinny!” a voice exclaimed, tone warning. As if this was a command, the animal silenced, flattening itself into the shadows casting across his dark room. Faint whispers surrounded him, some close to him, some further away. The rapid throbbing of his heart made it difficult to remain silent, and his breathing was becoming irregular, gasps for air hitching and arms shaking as he tried to see in the dark. Andy reached quietly and desperately over for the needle he always kept safely in reach but when he brushed his hand across the desk where it patiently sat, he couldn’t feel it, which was weird because he remembered laying eyes on it before settling down to sleep. Alarm tugging at his chest he hastily leaned out more, but froze, what felt like cold fingers started curling themselves slowly around his wrist, keeping him from further movement. “Got to sleep” came the scratchy whisper. Andy yawned, placing his frayed school bag down on the classroom floor, taking a seat in the farthest corner of the room. Back there in the darkness was where he wasn’t noticed, and he liked to keep it that way. “Good-morning class, I’m sorry I’m late! The snow was…well… unfriendly this morning, I had to defrost my tires and –” the tutor paused staring at the class abnormally, they just stared back, eyes half closed. “Thankyou for the enthusiasm” What had happened last night was a blur, he remembered what had occurred, but… after the ice cold hand grasping his and the raspy voice telling him to sleep, everything became black and the next thing he new, it was morning. He’d woken in cold sweat, his chest rising quicker than it normally would, and his legs quivering everytime he attempted standing, which was about ten times before he managed to calm down. Katherine had insisted he had the flu, but his father thought otherwise, and ordered him to go to school, since they couldn’t afford petrol, he had to walk through the snow to get to the college. When waking, the first thing he noticed was the bandage carefully bound around his shoulder, covering the wound fully, he had smiled, thinking it’d been his parents. But when Andy had consulted them about it, they’d shaken their heads explaining that they didn’t even have any emergency equipment, his father only snorted saying that even if they did have the supplies they wouldn’t have wasted it on him. Once returning to his bedroom he’d realized he’d missed a note sitting quietly on his folded school uniform, held down with the exact pin he’d been desperately searching for the night before, he had hesitated, curious to know if the ink the strangers had used was actually a red marker or… … he picked it up reading how they’d addressed his name. “To ‘Stitcher’, you may want to sew that wound up of yours, just an idea” Andy read for the third time that day once pulling it from his uniform pocket, he placed it back smiling slightly. He’d kept the card in his pocket all morning, it made him feel lighthearted, even if they were complete strangers, they seemed more kinder than his parents, if that were possible. Sewing class was a subject Andy had favored, it was his expertise, he’d sewn since he could handle a needle, but that hadn’t ever made him less of an outcast in the study group, for he was the only male attending. The teacher continued with her rambling, clarifying how they were going to continue the stitch patterns they’d started the week before, but since he’d finished the pattern on the first day he was planning to try out the strangers idea. “If you have finished you’re sewing design, I have another activity for you to begin” the tutor finished, much to Andy’s disappointment. He was hoping to be able to sew at free-will, not having to create a particular thing. The boy lifted his arm up, indicating he was finished with his previous project, although the teacher already had her eyes settled on him expectantly. “Right then, Andrew Collins, partner up with Sayuri Fuyu, I want you both to create any stitch pattern you want” she commanded, pointing to the girl sitting confidently at the front of the class. “Impress me and I may be able to lift your grades even more” It wasn’t surprising that he had been paired up with the girl, they were both at the top of their rank, except he was quiet and disliked attention and she was stubborn and liked to think of herself as more superior than others. Sayuri nodded politely, adjusting her glasses onto the brim of her stubby nose, then strutted over to the dark corner in which he was hiding. She had black short hair which she wore dead straight, and her uniform skirt commonly designed for knee hight was far from it, much shorter than how the others wore theirs, her black pulp shoes seemed to forever keep their shine which Andy thought would be due to how often she polished them. “Come on hurry up” she instructed rudely, rolling her eyes as she did. “Get your books out” “I’m doing something else” was Andy’s simple reply. “HEY! You’re not allowed to do that! The teacher said tha–!” “Well, what do you want to make?” he demanded. “I was going to get us to make a daisy patte-” “Exactly” Pulling the needle and thread from his pocket, she watched, confused and irked as he pulled up his uniform sleeves to reveal the blood-red bandage secured around his shoulder. “Eew!” she exclaimed, pulling a disgusted face. “Yuck, thats gross! Seriously, pull your sleeve back down!” Andy continued, watching her reactions as he began untying the material from his sore arm, she recoiled back, horror and disbelief flooding her posh face. He took satisfaction in doing this, how fun it was to irritate the teachers pet. “YUCK!! Dont! I dont want to see that shit!” the girl wailed shielding her eyes. Andy took a relieved sigh as air invaded the wound, it’d been hidden all night, and he longed for something to cool the inflammation down. The flesh was still torn and consorted, and dry blood had managed to cover his skin again. He looked around the classroom, smirking when realizing that no one was able to correctly see what he was doing as she was covering their view. Staring down at his arm he held the needle up to her, demonstrating what he was proposing, Sayuri just shook her head vigorously. Andy then slowly and carefully inserted the needle through a part of his exposed skin, smiling, imagining himself as one of the consorted dolls he always patched up when found. Suddenly the girl screamed surprising him, she dropped her school books and clutching her mouth in alarm, she sprinted to the teacher, all eyes turned to Andy. The classes mouths dropped in disturbance, and some fearful shrieks were heard throughout the table groups, it only added to the boys amusement. He only thought of it as a funny joke but the students obviously didn’t understand the concept and only continued screaming, he stared back, wide eyed and confused once realizing their faces weren’t changing, only terror reflected in their eyes. Was he that scary? Or was it the gruesome fact that the wound was so deep you could spot his bone? “ANDREW!” the teacher exclaimed. “This is not appropriate at all! Stop that, that technique is for a doctor to perform, not for a sewing class to witness!” “But Miss” he began, continuing the looping motion rather quickly. “I’m finished, see?” Andy lifted his arm up to show the class, he’d done it a bit messily but that was only because he wanted to finish the stitching to prove his point, at-least before he lost the will to continue explaining. The teacher just nodded vigorously, refusing to pay proper attention at the techniques he used that she herself had taught him, not caring for his effort but rather just insisting that he’d keep his handy-work hidden, what happened next however was something he hadn’t interpreted. Dark black fluid abruptly seeped down from the stitches, he observed, confused when he realized it wasn’t like any blood he’d ever seen, it was like ink, and it just kept flowing, gaining in speed and width, like spilt paint. More screams filled the room, startling Andy, he staggered aback, pressed against the wall, he watched as his arm was now covered in the black substance, spilling onto the carpet and around his quivering feet, he now shared the same fear as his classmates. “Help!” he exclaimed, sudden terror filling the pit of his stomach. “It wont stop!!” The students were now flooding out the doors, screaming their heads of, Andy took a painful breath and grabbed the stitching, deciding that it must be a result of the fabric combining with his exposed flesh, maybe he was allergic. Andy pulled on the string but only resulted in hissing in pain, he must’ve tied the knot to tight, and tugging on it trying to gain slight release only hurt him. “Dont leave me!” he yelled, watching the tutor flee from her desk and order the others to remain calm, he needed dire help. The boy was now alone in the room, he staggered across the carpet laying his quivering arm on the desk, and observing its horrific behavior, this wasn’t in any way normal, even an allergy wouldn’t cause this kind of paranormal reaction. A high pitched sound invaded his sensitive ears, he soon recognized it to be the fire-alarm, which was weird because there was no need for a big panic … right? The terrified boy wailed, everything to much for him to handle, gritting his teeth he ignored the black substance ceaselessly pouring from the stitches secured to his skin and ran for the door, but it was locked, he twisted and jerked it desperately, punching, kicking and thrashing at the wood. Nothing. Andy sat back against a desk, alarm beating at his heart. The loudspeaker, found in the corner of every classroom for emergency, started to activate, this was so that the principal or superior could speak to whoever was in the classroom. Anger was starting to feel anger form in his stomach, humans do unspeakable things when they are under deep distress, he knew this, and was trying not to lose his cool, as he lacked a long patience span. “Andrew Collins?” came the alarmed voice from the loudspeaker. “LET ME OUT!!” he screamed back, clawing the desk for peace and quiet. “Andrew, you’re going to have to trust me, this isn’t normal, tell me what you did to have this situation occur” the principal ordered. “Nothing! I just stitched my arm up!” Andy explicated, he was having difficulty containing the back liquid, as it wasn’t easing. How much of it could be inside his body anyway? “You’re lying Collins, tell me the trut-!” “I AM!” He launched from his place against the now sullied desk, the dark fluid descending over the carpet. He scampered towards the storage closet in a fit of anger, chucking inferior equipment behind him with ease, he finally found a hammer that’d most likely been used for nailing down material. The fearful boy grabbed the weapon hastily, and made for the door again, driving the end at full strength into the wooden door, cracks and ruptures echoed throughout the room, the fire-alarm ringing in his ears and the loudspeaker pleading for his co-operation. Andy watched satisfied as the door split, he then threw the small hammer to the desk next to him, walking back to the storage closet and finding a small, but functional pair of blue scissors, they were the only thing he could properly wield for protection, and he knew on that note that he’d need them. Storming down the hallways, they were completely empty, everyone would’ve evacuated the building, afraid that they might become infected with whatever Andy had caught. He wasn’t able to explain to himself what was going on, he couldn’t register what’d happened, he was afraid, not sure where to escape to but knowing that it had to be anywhere away from this school. Andy was terrified of the people around him, of himself as well, was he going to die? The boy was desperate for help but something deep in the pit of his stomach told him he wasn’t going to receive any here. Suddenly the exit from the hallway was opened, and two police officers, one tall and thin and the other chubby and round stepped inside, pausing when they saw Andy’s quivering form two meters away from them. Their arms rose as if trying to indicate they meant no harm, but he didn’t believe them, instead he backed away slowly, head spinning to look for a quick escape if needed. “Easy friend, it’s okay, we only want to help” the chubby officer explained trying to make himself look more welcoming. “Whats that stuff coming from his arm?” the taller asked, quirking an eyebrow, Andy could tell they weren’t trusting of him either. “I’m not sure, but it doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen, so when you catch him, be sure to avoid it” the rounded man advised, reaching into his pocket for a taser. Andy glared at them with hostile brown eyes, he held the blue scissor blades out in front of him motioning he was armed. The two men stared at him curiously, amusement dancing in their eyes when they realized his intentions, they obviously didn’t believe he was that hostile. “We dont want any trouble” the rounded police-officer explained, slowly gliding towards the boy cautiously. “Dont come near me!” Andy yelled, swinging the scissors out in-front of him, black liquid flying out from the motion in long lines. The tallest police-man made a move for him, thin fingers outstretched for the boys good arm, Andy quickly sliced the scissor blades through the air, watching amused as the man recoiled anxiously. A wild sensation grew from his chest, something he’d only felt once, and that was when he’d felt the urge to murder Thomas. Andy, heart immediately beating faster, took a shaking step forward, a sound reverberated up from deep in his throat, a low psychopathic laugh of which he’d never heard before, it made him want to continue. What was wrong with him? Following the murderous spur he lunged forward, carving the air around the two startled men. He yelped in rage as his bad arm was seized, the black substance still pouring onto the ground, seeped between the thinner mans bony fingers, making him stagger aback, holding his hand up nervously. Taking the chance for escape, Andy thrust forward, propelling the scissors fast into the police-mans chest. As expected a loud crack sounded around the three, the victim gasping for air, his mouth parted in terror as he fell back, arms shaking as his green eyes gazed at the small blades, rather red, sticking out in front of him, jammed sharply in his chest. “TERRY!” the other wailed, diving down to his ally. Andy, the realization he’d just murdered someone, had a sharp adrenalin in his stomach, muscles and heart, throbbing and rushing through his blood like a blazing fire. He lunged down, yanking the scissors from the mans chest with a satisfying splatter of shed blood across his school uniform. After that he took the chance of grievance to escape through the doors listening as the dead mans partner screamed vengeance after him. Oh how he wished he hadn’t enjoyed it. Trudging through the snow he couldn’t help but fear for his life, hoping desperately that the police sirens in the distance hadn’t caught his trail, the snow was up to his knees, it made it easy for the authorities to find him as the black fluid was still flowing with no hope of easing, if they followed it would lead them directly to him. So close, he repeated to himself, promising that if he managed to reach his house in time everything would be okay. Andy just had to hide, he needed time to think and calm down before he did something else rash. His hands were shaking, prompting how he’d killed the innocent man back at school, how he’d driven the small blades into his pulsing chest, when he took a terrified breath and collapsed to the ground staring at him in alarm and how the boy could see deaths icy hands slowly taking his life away. He gasped in bewilderment, watching as the black fluid started to end, the last few fresh drops fell from his arm defiling the snow, the whole side of his body and arm was still completely dark though, his school uniform soiled, but did he care? No, as far as he was concerned, school could go fuck itself. Andy fled towards the door of his house, yanking it open, stepping inside and pulling it shut again with a loud ‘slam’. He let free a relieved sigh, then turned, facing the horrified features of his father. “What are you doing Andy?!” he demanded, bringing a vodka bottle to his lips. Said boy kneeled, his throat stinging as he tried to catch his breath, his father just kept staring in puzzlement. Lifting himself from the carpet he fled for the cellar door, sprinting down the withered stairs. “KATHERINE! YOUR SONS BACK!” his father called from up in the living-room. “And he’s made a mess of himself as always” Once down, he crumbled to the timbered floors, torment and anguish to much for him to withstand, finally his breathing calmed though. Lifting himself from his cowering he searched for something to wipe the liquid from his throbbing arm, but what he saw, didn’t help his sanity one bit. “AAAAHHHHH!!” he screamed, startling anyone who would’ve been walking past their household. His room, the only place he could find solitude, was destroyed. Andy’s bed had been flipped, leaning against the wall on its side, snow had gathered all over his frayed covers. His work-desk was split, a long alarming crack down the middle, all his materials splayed across the ground, his chairs were tipped and broken as-well. “Where are they?!” Andy exclaimed, heart quickening when he couldn’t see his beloved stitched teddy bears anywhere. Falling onto his quivering knees, he began foraging through all his broken belongings, whimpering when he realized they were absent, he suddenly understood what’d occurred, his father had bought those vodka bottles with money off-course, but the family was completely broke so he must’ve sold something in the household of worth… or some’things’. “NO!” he exclaimed, clutching his head in sorrow, fingers gripping his flustered hair. In a blind fit of rage he stormed for his curtains, tearing them down ferociously and screaming as he did. He needed to hurt something, crush something beneath his foot, rip the skin of an innocent bystander, he needed to kill. Andy ran for the sink, and with one swift kick, had it shattered and against the ground, water flowing everywhere from the disfigured pipe. He slammed his fists against the walls, watching amused as it cracked beneath his brutal force. The boy, eyes streaming with tears, dashed for his mirror. His fist was raised, itching to watch it fracture in-front of him, but what he saw made him pause. Andy’s reflection … was a monster, hair matted in untidy spikes, arm black and body shaking, red tears flowing down his cheeks, and teeth clenched together, and his eyes… his former brown eyes, red and luminesce. He shook, longing for the beast in-front of him to vanish, driving his knuckles into the glass he jumped aback as the fragments traveled around him, some carving his skin in long tears making even more blood pour down his face. Katherine was now heard at the entrance to his cellar bedroom, yelling out and demanding what was wrong, her tone worried and distraught. “IM ABSOLUTELY FINE MOTHER!” Andy’s deranged voice resonated up the staircase. “EVERY-THING’S BETTER THAN EVER!” With much force he grabbed his chair, holding it in the air with ease before driving it down and laughing with pained hitches of needed air as it was demolished before his eyes, his mother, was now rushing down into his room. The women’s beautiful brown hair swaying in the air as her blue eyes settled on the scene around her. “ANDREW!” she shrieked, slender hand cupping her mouth. “W-what have you done?!” The boy, livid as ever turned to his mother, hunched over and tears falling down his face, he looked at her in disbelief and held a hand to his sore heart, panting miserably. “Me?” he whispered in cynicism. “I didn’t do this! Your husband did this to me!” “Andy! He’s your father!” his mother exclaimed, taking no heed to the destruction the man had caused the boy, physically and mentally. “He wouldn’t do this!” Katherine shook her head vigorously, tears streaming down her petty cheeks, yet again she chose not to believe the truth about her horrid, husband, yet again she lied to herself and refused to agree he was a terrible human-being. “Andy, whats happened to you?!” said boy looked at her in anger, complete terror glazing her watery eyes. Body numb from complete and utter heartbreak he snatched the figurine of his father, that’d unfortunately been left behind with the doll of his mother, they stared at him in awe, smiling the same smile he’d stitched onto their happy faces the day they’d been created, the both of them were a lie. “This man, ISN’T my father!” Andy screamed waving the doll out in-front of her. “Yes he is Andy!” Katherine wailed, shaking hands trying to take the doll from him. The boy yanked the figure from her grasp, arranging his fingers so that he had his hands positioned around the creatures neck and body, prepared to rip it apart. “When will you understand mother?” Andy asked, blood rushing through his veins again, breathes hitching, and hands shaking. “He’s DEAD to me” “ANDY DONT!!” his mother screamed, lunging for him again. But it was too late, her son was now twisting and assassinating the helpless doll, and eventually the head ripped clean off, stuffing flying from its insides, and body falling limp. He then threw the limbs on the ground, staring at his mother, eyes ablaze. A sharp, high pitched, gruesome wail carried down the stairs from the living room, paralyzing Andy from head to toe, it was his father. The dreadful truth suddenly dawned on the boy, and his red eyes widened in terror. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE ANDY?!” Katherine screamed, sprinting up the stairs, he followed, hardly able to understand the weight of his actions. The scene that followed was horrifying, the living-room was caked in blood, staining the flower-patterned walls and the lampshade swinging endlessly, creating a spooky aura. “Oh god, what have you done?!” his mother cried, covering her eyes. “Ian! Ian I’m so, so sorry!!” Andy watched, all anger gone from his heart, instead, complete horror. His fathers head was missing, flesh splayed out in horrid positions and blood completely painting his body, intestines somehow splayed out over his neck, and in the corner of the room was his face, terror forever frozen on his features. The boy wished for his legs to move, to escape reality, but he couldn’t move, he asked for her to accept the truth, and she’d been handed it on a blood covered silver platter. Katherine was on her knees, weeping and shaking, he couldn’t leave her. The boy leaned his blackened hand out, placing it hesitantly on her shoulder, she flinched. The women swiftly whacked his arm away, much to her sons surprise, her face looked almost distorted with wrath. “Dont touch me!” she shrieked, eyes wide and watery. “YOU’RE A MONSTER!” “N-NO! I’m sorry! It was a mistake, I swear!” Andy begged, feeling his knees go weak. “It wasn’t my fault! I didn’t know tha–” “I should’ve killed you!” Katherine yelled, arms shaking, she cowered up into a ball. “He told me to but I wouldn’t listen!” He froze, gazing at his mother befuddled, had she just said she should’ve killed him? She did, she said she should’ve killed him! He frowned, heart starting to ache even more, the smallest acre of hope being demolished slowly as her wounding words entered his heart. “What are you talking about?” he asked, feeling his chest rise heavily, everything painful breath stinging his throat. “You were a mistake!” she screamed, finger pointing at him accusingly. “I only wanted a normal son! But what was I given? A paranormal freak!” “N-no, you loved me, you said I had a talent, you said it was okay for me to be different!!” he wailed, salty hot tears plummeting down his pale face. “YOU’RE LYING!” Katherine laughed pitifully, a face that he’d never seen his loving mother use before, she stood, walking towards the kitchen hastily, her normally calm stature and mood suddenly raging, her posture rigid, her limbs trembling endlessly. “I dont understand!” he screamed, finding difficulty in catching his breath, his heart was throbbing so painfully he reached up to hold it down. “When you were born everyone adored you, but then you started saying and doing things a normal child wouldn’t! It scared Ian, they said you were a bad omen, that no good would come from keeping you alive” Katherine began, slamming her fists down on the kitchen bench, clenching and gritting her teeth together. “But I loved you too much! So I refused, and raised you myself, without the help of your father! And everything started changing, just like they said” “Who’s they?!” Andy demanded, eyes blurred with tears and blood. “The prophetesses, they foretold your dangerous obsession with stitching! The abnormal talent you were soon to gain if you continued, and how much blood it would shed!” Katherine snarled, startling the boy staring at her with disbelief. “This is about my stitching?!” “Yes, the first time I realized this wasn’t right was when you were six, like I said before, you murdered your babysitter, in the exact same way your father!” his mother wailed, voice rising, the memory too much for her to handle. “That night your father tried to put an end to the terror, he tried to end your life, but it didn’t work” “Why didn’t you tell me?!” Andy demanded, sanity long gone. “It wouldn’t have made a difference, after that night, I new you weren’t my son anymore” the words the women was spilling hit the boy hard, and as if she’d physically damaged him, he tumbled back against the wall. “Thats not true! I am your son!” Andy exclaimed, hands clenching into shaking fists. “No, your lucifers son now” Katherine whispered smirking like a lunatic, beautiful blue eyes now dark and hard. “Just look at your blood, it isn’t human! Its black, showing you no longer have a soul!” The boy watched her as she slowly slithered over to the cutlery, his eyes widened comically as he understood her intentions, he quickly pulled the small blue scissor blades, dark red, from his school shorts. Katherine, a psychopathic smile plastered on her face, grabbed the sharpest kitchen blade then slowly toyed with it in her palm, digging the blade so deep it actually drew blood. “Dont!” the boy wailed, a pleading tone radiating from his former silent voice. “You dont have to do this!” “Your right” the women slowed her uneasy pace, staring at the knife clutched in her now bloody palm, Andy looked at her hopefully, nodding vigorously. “…I dont…” Wavering his scissors, the boy tried to calm himself, anxiety building in his slowly shattering heart. Katherine seemed to have a serene edge to her now, but Andy still refused to take any chances, as his eyes kept drifting to the sharp blade she had tightly positioned in her hand, noticing his mothers grip hadn’t loosened at all. Unfortunately his fathers smeared blood had travelled under his sons footing, and when Andy took an anxious step back, he found himself slipping and falling backwards with an ear-deafening shriek, his back collided in a pool of the mans insides and before he knew it, his lunatic mother was above him, knife clutched in hand. “Your right!” she repeated, laughing maniacally. “I dont have to! But I WANT to!” And with that the pointed blade was launched down at the boy, with no hope of slowing, Andy lunged at the knife with his scissor blades, striking the edge against the sides of his, redirecting the assault down, he leaped back avoiding his crotch from being horridly cut and met with his trembling back to the wall. Katherine screamed in rage, swinging her arm back and lunging at her son again. “AFTER EVERYTHING I’VE DONE!!” she shrieked slitting the air with the sharp knife, missing Andy by a second as he quickly ducked away. “AFTER EVERYTHING I’VE DONE FOR YOU!! WHY WONT YOU JUST DO YOURSELF A FAVOR AND DIE!!” Those words were enough to crush Andy, but as if they had, he couldn’t feel the aching in his heart anymore, instead his psychotic laugh filled his throat again, louder and stronger than before, as this time he wasn’t holding back. “Sorry mother” he whispered low enough for her to be unable to hear, since he was on his rear against the wall, his mothers legs were completely unguarded, he had one chance, he couldn’t mess this up. With all the strength he could muster, he threw his feet out, kicking her delicate shins hard. A crack was heard beneath his black shoes as he attacked the bone. Katherine screamed, dropping her knife weakly and collapsing to the blood covered floor, clasping her leg in agony. “I HATE YOU!” his mother wailed, her mascara decorating lines down her cheeks. “DO YOU HERE ME ANDREW?! NO ONE LOVES YOU!!” With flowing tears and dripping blood the boy grasped the knife across from her, kneeling over his mother and holding the knife in mid air, he threw it down, earning a tortured scream from the women. Andy had pinned her hand to the bloody floor beneath her, using the blade of the kitchen knife. With screams of protest he began striking her chest with the scissor blades, over and over and over. He was forced to listen to the desperate wails and pleas of the women who used to care for him, who used to repeat constantly that she would forever love him, who tended for his wounds when his father or the students at school decided to share their hatred for him, how she cradled him close as a child when he couldn’t sleep because of his fear, or when she held his hand at the most dire of times. Katherine was the reason Andy was alive, she was the reason he’d stayed, he’d loved her like no other … but now he just wanted her dead. With every hard strike to her still beating heart he wished for his loving mother back, he wished she would just return to her sane state and hold him in her arms, promising everything was going to be alright, he struck her chest again. Katherine, who’d been fighting her life, hopelessly pulling at the knife stuck in her right palm, tugged one last time as he struck her again, and her hand ripped free, now with a gaping hole. Andy watched in awe as she lunged for him, still underneath his pin, but raking her sharp nails down the sides of his face, the boy screamed. She repeated the motion, over and over, imitating the scissor blades lashing at her chest. The pain was intensifying, everything in his view was red, he could hardly see. Blood infiltrated his parted lips as he let out terrified screams, and unable to take her endless death any longer he struck her heart once more, but this time, pulling the blades through her body in a never-ending downward motion. “AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGKKK!!” his mother wailed gripping his face, Andy shrieked louder if possible, he could feel her sharp nails digging into his eye, and the agony was only increasing, and he was unable to stop and pull away. Soon something cracked though, the boy wasn’t sure if it’d been her or him, but the women’s body fell limp, her beautiful face forever consorted in terror like his father. Andy felt faint, staring at his mothers body he had a clear view of her intestines, her heart beating slower and slower as the seconds passed. Unable to stand due to the intense pain in his muscles and the lack of air he’d managed to gain, the boy just rolled off of his mother and leaned down on his knees, lips parting. A pool of blood left his throat and fell to the carpeted ground, he watched it mix in with his parents. “B-Black blood?” he whispered to himself, managing to gag up what seemed like a litre more. He looked down at his mothers bloody hands. In her palm was something round, something red, something to his horror … from his face. Andy, with a trembling hand, ran his fingers down the left side of his face, then the right, which is when he paused. “Oh god” he whispered, jaw falling agape, his fingers carding through an empty orifice. Finding strength in his legs he sprinted downstairs toward his cellar bedroom, hand still concealing the right side of his head, trying to contain the blood. He dodged the wreckage he’d caused, staring at his reflection in the shattered mirror, his left eye, beaming red, and the other, a dark hole where it formally was. Something fell to the ground from his pocket, catching his one red eye, the note he’d been left. Andy leaned down to gently pick it up in his sticky red and black fingers, the letter was faced to the back, and he noticed that all along there had been more of the message, how could he have missed that? How could he have been so naive? “To ‘Stitcher’ you may want to sew that wound up of yours, just an idea” Andy reread, then turned it over in his sticky palm. “Oh, and if you do decide to try out our little idea, it will be warned … that you will suffer side affects” Andy couldn’t help but smile again, letting it form slowly into a sneering grin. The boy let the note fall from his shaking fingers, he laughed. “Heheh… Hahahahah.. HAHAHAHAHAHA!!” he bellowed, that psychotic, murderous laugh finally escaping. Andy, still grinning, stared at his shattered reflection again, adoring the blood alined along his horrific face and body, he ran a finger around his empty eye socket once more. “You know what” he whispered quietly, repeating the grim motion. “I think I’ll try your little idea once more …” And with that, the boy grabbed his needle and thread, smiling as he entered the tip through the exposed skin around his eye … and pulled. Thomas laughed heartily to himself, taking another large swig of his alcohol, life was good for the man. Snow battered against his window panes outside, demanding entrance, but unable to gain it. A blizzard had begun once more, the man was surprised that his house hadn’t been trapped in the wretched stuff. He flicked his lighter, holding the flame up to his lips where he had a cigarette waiting, once done, he placed it back in his pocket breathing in the calming smoke and exhaling it back out through his nose. He tossed the empty vodka bottle across the timbered floors of his house, watching it roll over and pile up with the many others. “Where is that kid?” the grubby man snorted, puffing the smoke from his nose once more. “Probably bankrupt them! And he left his pathetic scissors here, the stupid shit, he’s probably crying to mommy about how unfair I was yesterday” He’d enjoyed putting the kid in his place, after the attack from the man, he’d used the money to go buy himself more drugs and booze, which he’d already gone through in a night. So in other words, he needed the boy to come soon, the family was his most treasured customers. As if on cue, the splintered wooden door was forced open, snow infiltrating his residence. Thomas smirked, amused that even through the cold blizzard, Ian had forced his son to come forth and wither their money away, the boys orange and black scarf waved to him from outside. “HAH! I knew you’d be back Andrew!” Thomas mused, pulling the cigar from his dirty lips. “I knew your old man wouldn’t be able to stay away! Well dont you worry, the price is the same as last time” Andrew stepped into the man’s house, not in his uniform as he’d usually be, instead, in the same clothes he’d worn yesterday which intrigued Thomas. Andy also had dark belts, two around the top of each arm, which he could see secured sewing supplies. There was also something uneasy about the rigid figure slowly walking towards him, but the man couldn’t put his finger on it. “Andrew mate, have a goddamn shower, your face is all bloody and shit!” the man observed, chucking his cigarette to the side. “And your fringe is over your eye! I can hardly see you, you’ve gone emo” Once close enough, the boys posture straightened, he seemed almost bigger than the night before. Thomas was correct about the blood too, it was covering his face in long lines, his outfit beneath him had been affected as-well. If it wasn’t for how much of a coward Andrew had been the night before he would’ve actually frightened the man a bit. “Is this better?” Andy asked in a low, almost daunting tone, and he lifted his fringe. “OH DEAR FUCKING GOD!!” Thomas shrieked, jumping aback in terror. The boys right eye was missing, which a long, bloody stitch line concealing the side of his face, it travelled around his features in smaller lines, like he’d been in a horrible fight and in result had been horrifically mutilated. Andy then pulled down the scarf covering his mouth to reveal a terrifying grin. “W-WHAT–?! ANDREW, WHAT THE FUCK!!” Thomas wailed, staggering aback so much that he lost his balance, flailing and falling to the ground. Andy then began walking towards the man, slowly, like a cat teasing its prey. “You have something of mine” he whispered, the mans eyes widened and he desperately reached into his coat pocket grasping the scissors. “HERE! J-just take them and get out Andrew!!” The boys fingers clenched into quivering fists, and he kneeled down so he was facing the terrified man, ripping the big, orange scissor blades from the mans grasp. “That is not my name Thomas” Andy warned, his one red eye boring into the man. “I-I MEAN ANDY!” he corrected, beads of sweat alining his forehead. “Wrong again” “W-wha-?” “Its Stitcher” once said, the boys grin widened into an even scarier, terrifying sneer. The murderer, formally known as Andy, watched as the man whimpered and scampered to his feet pulling out the exact same blade he’d used to injure him the night before, Stitcher chuckled hungrily. “I was hoping you’d do this” he explained, pulling the scarf back over his mouth and walking towards the man. “Get away!” Thomas exclaimed, fear biting at his chest, he abandoned the fight immediately, turning and running for the stairs. Stitcher grinned underneath the material enveloping his face, the man was chubby so he was like a wounded deer when running up the steps to safety, he was the Stitchers mouse. “Peek-a-boo” Stitcher whispered, pacing quietly after the terrified man. “I-stitch-you” The cat awaited the boys return from the drug dealers building, tail swaying back and fourth in obvious impatience. Finally he appeared at the doorstep, closing the entrance to the residence politely and walking down the snow covered path towards him. The animal recognized the fresh stench of hot blood, and as the boy came closer it became visible all over his clothes. He spotted the cat, and smiled beneath his scarf, reaching out to stroke the creatures matted fur. “Hello Grinny” he greeted. “Greetings Stitcher” he replied, beam widening when realizing the boy used his name. Grinny then climbed upon Stitchers shoulder, nuzzling his snout into the psychopaths pale but warm neck, and settled down in a slumber. “Didn’t you hear? It was all over the local papers!” a man, tall and bold stood next to his friend in the cafe, vest confident and mustache long and impressive. He tossed his mate the paper he had clutched under his arm and pointed with a promising finger to the head titles, his friend cleared his throat. “Three adults in their thirty’s were found murdered in their residence last night, around six thirty in the morning were their bodies discovered by a bystander coming home from her early morning shopping” he began, eyebrows arched in curiosity. “She said that the house smelt horrible and that flies kept swooning around the windows, which she found odd, as it was in the middle of winter” “Keep reading chap!” the man urged, taking a large gulp of his coffee. “The murder scene was gory and gruesome, both the married couples heads were found sewn together with red string, the couples necks had been stitched onto the body of a headless man, known from dealing and selling drugs. The three adults were recognized as Ian and Katherine Collins and their friend Thomas Anderson” he finished, handing the paper back to his friend with a look of disgust on his face. “And thats not all! They believe a local boy did it! Ran into the night he did, no one has seen him either, apparently only fifteen years old too” the man added, shaking his head despondently. Well dear reader, that is the story of the murderous boy, Stitcher. What do you think happened to him? Many believe he died in the snow, froze to death, others reckon he was so distressed he committed suicide off of the local bridge. None of their theory’s are correct though, how do I know you ask? Well… I know because … I’m his cat, Grinny. I’d better go now though, as I suggest the same for you, he doesn’t like it when people find out about his past, he says that they wouldn’t understand. Is that true? Anyway, goodbye for now, Stitcher is calling me. Somewhere in this world, there’s an empty gaping hole, and the only way to fix it … is to Stitch. It. Up.
Original Author: Darkesthour