To say that it had been a difficult night would have been reductive. To say that Samuel had slept badly would have been, too. Nothing to do with the very comfortable sofa bed in the living room of course, nor with the storm raging outside the windows and the water pouring down in buckets on their roof. No, none of that. 'But then he had eyes of what color?‘ he had stared at him for so long, how was it possible for that color to escape him 'and yet I'm sure I saw it, maybe I was even surprised baby it'. Finally, he had managed to get to sleep. 

Silas pov

'those bastards, as soon as I get back I'll be sure to watch them suffer and die one by one before my very eyes' the storm at least calmed his raging soul. Or what of a soul remained. He was bored and still cursing himself for the unwise choice of name made a few nights before ‘what an idiot, I focused too much on the excuse of how I had ended up there’. He had not been in the hospital for quite a while, by then it had become difficult to dodge all questions regarding documents or family members. 'I wonder what that kid must be doing now,' and at the thought a grin naturally spread across his face. The rain poured down on him as he thought, he was marooned on a bench too short for his height; 'going to see him should make me laugh, I might moreover also understand how much has been taken from me.' In a moment he was on his feet, figuring out where little Sammy was should not have been too difficult a task, the town was small in size and the boy's scent was struggling to fade ‘at least I know I still have that’ Silas reflected bitterly.

In a little while he could see the boy fidgeting on the sofa from the balcony of the living room. 'Well, let's understand how much damage they did to me' he immediately closed his eyes: the goal was to create a space where he could interact with the victim undisturbed by any outside agent, and also avoid any kind of contact between the inside of this space and the outside. Easy right? 'Bullshit usually' he slowly reopened his now crimson-red, pupil-less eyes, as if the eyeball itself was drowning in blood, whereupon with the index finger of his left hand he went to slowly graze the palm of his right, and vice versa at the same time: to this very light touch corresponded a very fine thread of pure darkness, it was not simply black, it was made of the same material that oblivion is made of. 'Come on we're almost there honey don't let me down' he whispered through clenched teeth as he felt his scars open up again, his flesh being torn apart as his mouth let loose in a toothy smile, excited almost at seeing it all unfold according to plan. 'Yes let's go baby' the flaps of injured skin now distant from each other recoiled as the thread began to stitch them together, gradually closing the sea of dark veins beneath; the thread, as it passed through the skin first on one side then the other, left behind particles of itself, of a deep, inpotiating darkness. Now Silas felt it rushing through him, felt the power encompassing him with each passage of the thread. His hair thickened, lost its usual physicality, became dark and dense, his eyes dripping with dark blood and his mouth warped into an unhuman smile, his long, tapered tongue anticipating the moment. He was now his own master. He brought a hand to his mouth, made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, and blew into it (an entirely voluntary procedure, since any small gesture would have sufficed for the purpose), at the slight blow a circular burst of unexpected blinding light spread through the house and enveloped in itself the living room, which was trapped in this soft orangeish light.
'We enter the stage' and the first foot crossed this threshold, which seemed to mold itself to the boy's boot, almost like a physical membrane. Samuel was still asleep, semi peacefully.  'How sweet...hopefully he won't be too upset about this awakening' he turned his hands toward the figure in front of him, and as they rose, tongues of darkness moved with them, surrounding the victim and isolating it from the rest. 'Wakey wakey Sammy'  as that monstrous grimace enlarged even more, and in panic and fear Samuel pulled himself up from the couch, a scream dying in his throat, only to find himself confronted by what looked like a demon spat out of hell and all around a deafening darkness.

Samuel pov

'A nightmare this is just a nightmare' but the rising adrenaline and all the senses he had brought to full and amplified made this illusory belief of his falter. His nails were sunk into the blankets, so tight to them that they hurt and could bleed at any moment. What he was seeing could not be true. He had seen such things in movies or illustrations but realized that none of them had ever captured the horror of the real situation; 'no this is not real!' but the bloody, devilish demon was approaching, making its way through the dark nothingness, and the mass of blood he had stuck in his eye sockets was aimed at him. The brain raced as his body remained paralyzed, no amount of willpower could move it. His mind raced over the scars of the monster in front of him, which seemed to be bound together by a viscous, nullifying substance, those scars taking familiar positions... 'No it's not possible' he trembled entirely, his gaze was flickering and clouded, he wasn't sure what he was seeing ‘but...the white hair?’ and to his horror the demon's grin had widened at that thought of his: “I dyed it before I came here” the very voice of the being seemed encrusted with blood, the poor boy's heartbeats were out of control, Samuel was convinced his heart was bursting in his chest. His ears started ringing more than they already were when he sensed the couch lowering and the creepy figure trapping him on the couch by placing its butchered arms at his sides, resting on the cushions behind him. He now had that ‘face’ inches from his own. Vomit was rising from his stomach. “Don't tell me you don't like them now Sammy,” he whispered languidly to him with that tongue that seemed pitch black.
With his head tilted the being, or rather Silas, waited for an answer ‘no this can't be Silas, all this is not real’ chills danced down Samuel's entire spine as the figure licked his lips “you say?”

It was all too much, what he was seeing, what he was feeling on his skin could not happen, he felt his temperature rise, tears heavily veiled his eyes, he was not even breathing. How could this be real? He began to shake his head childishly as large drips scratched his cheeks “no no no no” a mantra said in a sigh as he stared at a demonic face that of the human had only a few reminiscences. He wanted to run, he wanted to run as long as his legs could hold him, and after that he would crawl on the ground as far away from this nightmare as he could.
Then that silly little perverse voice came forward out of nowhere, aproached the mind's moment of panic to make itself more frightening than ever: 'you're enjoying this.' The thought, which his conscious part could not in time reject into the depths of his soul, emerged so victorious. And so, Samuel was able to move. He blinked quickly to clear his vision of the last fearful tears, brought his hand up, cautiously held it in front of Silas as if to keep him at bay (as if that were possible), and stepped back a little. Of course the intruder interpreted this as a sign of terror, but Samuel knew the truth. He knew that the reason he was backing off was because he was enjoying it. And the fact that he was enjoying it petrified him with horror more than anything that had happened up to that point.