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The apocalypse had begun to drag on. The news, and the occasional radio report, assured him it might be a matter of days, but now weeks were passing. He had never been alone, and he began to miss it. The house was full of strange, unusual people. The madman was gone, but not the pale, tall man. He seemed to be having fun with him. Not bored at all.
Today, there was a strange emptiness. He appeared on his doorstep, his usual self, but he wasn't playing with him like he had been lately. It seemed perhaps he wanted to go inside, and sometimes he was strangely overexcited by their conversations, talking about death, murder, and triumph over the human race. This anticipation of normality was agony, a long-lasting pain.
The pain reverberated on both sides of him. The silence was unbearable, so he weakly grabbed the doorknob of the bedroom door and threw himself onto the bed, more exhausted than usual. His eyelids closed over his eyes before he could even look at the clock. It was already a new day, but one a.m. hadn't yet arrived. Sleep lulled his vigilance. A shadow appeared outside the window. A tall figure looked out at him with a wide smile.
The image was slightly blurry, but he could see the bedroom he'd been sleeping in. He felt strange. It was hard to describe, but it felt like he wasn't where he belonged. Was this actually reality, or had he already died? It was hard to close his eyes. He forced himself, but he didn't feel sleepy. Maybe it was just the comfort? He rolled over to lie on his back, look at the ceiling, and try again, but he had a strange premonition about that night. He quickly realized he was right as soon as he was startled and saw a tall figure standing in front of the bed. When he looked closely, only then did he recognize him. The man who tormented him, always coming to him and asking if he was alone and if any of them were home. The wide smile and pale skin were more terrifying now, somehow repulsive. Nothing could separate them now. No door.
He couldn't get off the bed. He couldn't escape. It was as if he were chained by an invisible force. This couldn't be sleep paralysis or some such nonsense. He decided not to move. Maybe that would get this weird guy out of here.
“You think that'll fix it, huh? That I'll just disappear from your sight? I'll forestall your question. It doesn't work on me,” the pale man laughed with that wide smile. It never works. People thought it did, but it was just their delusion. “But is there anything to worry about? I'm not going to kill you. At least not now. I'm just visiting you today. Like I always do.”
Whether it was a joke or not, he didn't laugh. Terror lodged in his throat, preventing him from groaning. He lacked the strength to escape. Something still held him in place. At the last moment, something unlocked.
“H-how did you get in here? It's impossible for you to—”
“Anything is possible for me,” the pale man interrupted, holding his right wrist with his left hand. In this case, he could enter without a problem. It was an interesting power to get inside someone's head like that. “Just like I can easily kill anyone in my path. Whether it's a group of stupid teenagers wandering around at night or armed FEMA agents. Nothing special.”
This Visitor's tone was often calm. He couldn't remember the last time he'd raised his voice in anger at him. He seemed to be a different kind of person most of the time. If he could even call him that.
“I went inside. I don't want to kill you, but I have completely different plans. I could say I'm missing something, or I need to fulfill something for someone like us. Or maybe it's something else entirely? It's not that important a thing to delay right now, but I've decided I want it now,” he stated vaguely, taking his first and second steps, then leaning toward him. The green-eyed man might or might not have guessed.
That strange force still held him captive. What was this thing to this pale monster? He was a murderer, but he didn't want to say it right away. He was part of that, too, but he had his reasons.
“What are you going to do? Why won't you leave me alone?” The homeowner asked desperately, ruffling the sheets. He had little strength to pull back, but the pale man managed to grab his face. Fingers dug gently into his skin, not enough to cut him, but enough to ground him in place. He had nowhere to escape anyway.
“You've long been too interesting to leave. I made my first move, and they feel the same way. Who knows what else they might want? A purpose is revealed when we're sure they'll listen and do it without a second thought. And now? Apparently, we don't want to reveal it, and we're more certain of it than before. I had no fear, so I forced my way in,” he directed the words with a wide, sparkling smile at the man, running his long fingers down the right side of his face. He liked the warmth. Panic, loneliness. The weakness through touch was more palpable and understandable.
He wasn't filling his own void. He didn't need it, and he often followed his own voice and killed. In a way, it calmed him, and he was doing something good. It wasn't for boredom or to exterminate humanity. It was their mistake to stand in his way.
This wasn't the time for killing. It wasn't a grand plan, and he certainly didn't need to fulfill anything, but sometimes he felt a strange feeling and longing enter his brain. What a shame.
“I want to wake up,” the man said apprehensively. He wanted to wake up and for the day to come. Apparently, he couldn't just wish for it.
“This will be difficult to do, because I don't have to let you.”
Holding his hands to himself again, with enough strength to control this dream but not enough to actually make anything happen, he decided not to play with words for so long, which couldn't change much for the man. He immediately immobilized the man's body on the bed. If he couldn't enter truly, he would do it through his head. There was no shortage of connected imagination, and from this position, he only saw his less detailed bedroom.
Long fingers crept under the man's thin sweater, feeling his chest, stomach, and collarbones. He lingered longer on his stomach. A better warmth radiated from there. Just the right amount of something he could love. The man's muscles quivered under his touch. He looked at him with a crooked smile, having to be a little further away to look at him. He was so short.
“L-leave me alone!” the man shouted, trying to get up, panicking as the monster he found terrifying clamped pale, sharp, and dirty nails on his skin. As if ready to tear him apart.
“That's cute, but it's not the time yet,” the pale man reassured, listening to his thoughts, taking his left hand from the skin and holding the other on the man's hip without pulling it out.
“Huh? What are you thinking?!” the dark-haired blond shuddered.
“You know exactly what I'm talking about, but right now, that's not the most important thing in the world,” the pale man said. “You're partly alone, and in this case, that doesn't bother me.”
“Wh-what are you—”
“What do I want? You'll see soon,” the pale Visitor laughed, returning his hand to his stomach, taking the other one as well. This time, he felt the material of the sweater, which he had ripped without any resistance from the man, who was impulsively clinging to the bed. He wouldn't be surprised if he didn't want to wake up anytime soon.
A long tongue stuck out, and he licked his lips. It was an unnatural movement for him. He aligned himself with the man's height, leaning toward him, at his eye level. His fingers studied every inch of the short man, and his left hand quickly and emotionlessly tugged at his hair, pulling his head back against the pillows. He bowed his head, kissing the man on the lips. He resisted the urge to explore his palate, but their mouths somehow fit together despite their different heights. He heard a moan from the man beneath him, but it didn't make him let go. He gripped his hair and his stomach to keep him from escaping his grasp.
A feeble struggle. The man's protesting movements were no obstacle. He was too weak to break free. Finally, his legs stopped kicking and tearing at the sheets, and his long tongue, with less ease, opened his lips and slipped inside, exploring his pleasant, warm inside. The scent was just as bearable, but not the worst. This man was his favorite person lately, someone who was good at protecting himself from him. When he came, he always had someone to defend him. He didn't have many like him.
He gave himself a short time to decide. He pulled his tongue from his palate.
“You're so sweet, warm, and bloody. I could have skipped a beat and invaded your dreams, your head, before.”
“You're sick,” the homeowner shuddered, feeling the lack of strong claws in his hair. His wrists were free, but his movements weren't that slow. His sweater was gone for good, but he felt no chill. What if he hadn't dreamed it?
“Is this an insult? Is this supposed to bother me? Oh, what a stupid mistake. This won't make me leave you alone. You'll be happier later. Less lonely,” the pale man whispered discreetly, with a terrifying smile.
“Wh-what?”
Was it worth letting him finish? No. This had gone on too long, and he'd long since agreed to that. He didn't consider himself that brutal. Except for killing, murdering people who bumped into him with his own hands. They'd warned about him on TV. It was their fault for not paying attention.
The man's body was slightly shapely, his stomach slim, but not as much as his own. Was he envious? Not at all, for he accepted his own form. He could also admit that he didn't like being human and that they were partly made in their image.
He moved his less warm fingers, tracing lines across the man's chest, stopping at his nipples. He gripped his barely visible ribs, making circular motions with his thumbs over the dark nipples, hearing his muffled moan beneath him. His smile twisted. Was this how one could hear moans and grunts of pleasure? He could honestly admit that he mostly heard moans of pain and screams. This was something else.
He'd hit the nail on the head. He repeated the thumbs motion several times, laughing hysterically, watching the man beneath him squirm, unable to look at him, only shaking his head back to avoid looking at him, barely suppressing the moans behind his teeth. This woke him up, and he couldn't be displeased. It hypnotized him for a moment, but he didn't stop there. He took his long fingers and grabbed the belt of the man's jeans. He didn't play around with anything but ripped the jeans apart just like he did before with the sweater. He wasn't thinking about being gentle, but he wanted to complete something, even satisfy his own curiosity, and perhaps something stronger from within.
The pants and underwear vanished in his claws like sand, like memories of many a miserable life on this earth. He knew what it all was. He knew about love and tenderness like everyone else, but he'd never experienced it. Today, something could probably change. He didn't care about the lack of struggle or the lack of feeling, but he longed for the feeling of being loved. Perhaps… that's why he wanted something to come of it? But in his sleep, he didn't seek it, and he didn't yearn for the love known to the people around him. He was conscious because he was, in part, like them.
What was shame? He didn't feel what the man was feeling now. He sensed shame and fear in him.
“You won't remember this. Shame and fear don't exist here,” the pale man said, looking the body up and down, unable to see the green eyes of his victim. His closed eyelids took in such a profound sight.
This was no stranger to him in any way. He spread his legs, slowly grasping the man's thighs, settling between his legs. A slight tremor left the man's body. He certainly wanted this to end quickly. He no longer struggled like he had at the beginning. He unbuttoned his own pants, only wearing that part of his clothes since he entered his dreams. He could have done it faster, but he was in no hurry. Naked, he returned to the man's body to better accommodate him. He spat saliva into his palm, cupping the man's erection in his right hand, revealing more of where he wanted to fill it. The man beneath him stopped writhing. As if paralyzed. Without waiting too long, he spat saliva onto his other hand, placing it on his cock, immediately teasing the man whose dream he had invaded, ready to fill him.
“N-no, please!” the homeowner shouted. He heard the scream break from the dream into reality, but it was too certain. No one would care.
“It doesn't have to hurt. You won't regret it or feel it if you don't fight,” the pale man said as if on command. As if he knew this would happen. He knew more than any man on this earth. Along with the madman who was looking for him and wanted to kill him. Funny.
Before the homeowner reached his shoulder or face to push him away, the pale man avoided the movement and, still grinning broadly, pinned his bent legs and entered his hole without warning. It was so quick that, surprisingly, the homeowner didn't feel it right away. The first thrust filled him. The pain grew with each thrust. The pale man filled him from the inside, stroking his cock with his hand, staring at him with the same terrifying, twisted smile that always greeted him at the door. Just like that particular knock.
The bedroom was filled with screams at the very beginning. In a short time, they turned into moans. He wasn't aware that the pale man showed any weakness in his voice, but he hadn't seen the concentration on his face for so long. He told himself that this wasn't real and that everything would return to normal. He surrendered to his own weakness, to this monster, to this pleasure. He focused on ending it quickly, but then a strange feeling grew within him. As if he didn't want to end.
“A-hh,” the homeowner moaned, unable to suppress it. In a way, this dream wouldn't let him be silent.
Ecstasy filled him. He felt something fill him, then release him. He could move again. The pale man's slightly forceful touch released him from every side. He saw the same smile again.
“Pleasant dreams, human,” the pale man wished, wrapping his long tongue around the fingers of his right hand.
But before he could groan or curse, the pale man vanished from his sight, and the grip released his body. He woke up with a scream. He looked down at himself. His clothes were in place, and nothing was torn or damaged. Even the bed was as he remembered it before he fell asleep from exhaustion. The shotgun was still beside him, untouched by anyone other than himself. Sweat dripped from his forehead. He glanced around nervously, feeling a strange ache in his body. He convinced himself it was because he had fallen asleep in the wrong position. A breath of peace escaped his lips. This had just been an unusual and truly strange nightmare.
It was another day. Time to check on each new person he had welcomed into his home. New tenants.