Only other way I can explain what I saw was pain.
The way he moved. Like a predator sniffing for its pray. The way the slick, sticky arms of blackness dissolved him. The grin... Oh that grin. It haunts me to this day. I'm so scared to sleep at night, horrified to see that spiky, pointy, hazardous grin. But the thing that frightened me the most was the way he held that sword. He acted as if it was a flail. Holding with his hands, gripping the tip roughly after he swung it. I was sort of scared to see his hand rip open, but as if the sword was dull as a pencil, the sword never penetrated. Then, the way he would look to me. Only how a child looks to their mother for comfort after being scared. That soft eye glance, and the tear that fell exposed me to harsh sadness. He was alone, and I could tell.
Today was the day Morchane Nevhane would join the new school. He was a shy little boy bout the age of 14. He dressed in black attire. He had deep dark black hair that he was naturally born with. He had dark blue eye's that were covered by his bangs. Though he has never really like people, Morchane was hoping for a new beginning.
At Morchane's old school, he was bullied at school while beaten at home. Now living with his aunt and uncle, Morchane looked into music. It seemed to help him cope with his problems. But he mostly listened to the depressing music types, for he understood what they were trying to say to the listener.
Morchane was different and anybody that's everybody who has met him will know that. If you were to look in his room, he has a collection of Katanas. Short and long, thick and thin, he had all different types. Some from Japan and others from China. He cherished them. He had one special one in his collection though. One he had gained from his grandfather before his passing. This certain Katana was hand made, stainless steel, and wonderfully carved. The handle was made of an oak wood thousands of years old. This sword hangs in a glass case in his bedroom.
Walking in to the front gates of his new school, wearing a black silhouette. A long dress-like attire. Cuffs at the end of each sleeve, unbuckled. His collar was buttoned and neatly fixed on his shoulders. He walked swiftly as the breeze lifted his bangs softly, showing a dark liner around his eyes.
People stared at him and whispered to their friends. He watched as people jerked out of his way grunting and hissing to their piers. Morchane grinned evilly.
During his first and second classes the teachers asked him to announce himself to the class. He would slowly stand, bow and sit back in his seat. Once again, the children turned to the other person behind them and harshly whisper.
School ends, and a group of kids go up to confront Morchane.
"Hey you." Says a big fat kid that seemed to lead the group. Stepping in front of Morchane, the fat one say's, "What's your name?"
Morchane stared at him with an evil glare, And muttered, "Morchane Nevhane. Your problem?"
"Oh, so you think your a bad ass huh?" The fat one laughed.
"You don't look to tough Moooorrchanne. What kind of name is that?" The other kids in the group laughed and one piped up and yelled, "It's for freaks like you!" And they all started to laugh aloud once more.
Morchane stood there, growing more angry by the minute. He was sick of being bullied. And he wasn't going to take it from this fat ass.
The leader pushed Morchane's shoulder. "What you gonna do freak?" And with that the group laughed again.
'Morchane... Morchane... ' He twirked his head a bit to the right. 'Give up... let me take control...'
"No." He said out loud.
"What did you say you creep?" The fat one murmured.
"I said, NO!" And with that Morchane threw his fist into the fat kids face, rocketing the child backwards with a bloody nose.
Morchane Stood their in shock. So did everyone else. Finally after a minute, he took off running. Behind him you could hear screaming and yelling. Then you could hear foot steps, and running ones. Morchane ran as fast as he could.
The footsteps slowed and faded soon and Morchane stopped abruptly to take in a deep breath. He took a glance behind himself to check for the kids. No one. He started up walking again and staring at his fist. He clenched it, and slowly released. What is he feeling?
He finally got home and ran to his room without greeting his aunt and uncle. He slammed his door with a loud bang. He slid on the door by his back putting his head between his legs. Tears rushed down his face. He didn't know what was going on, why he punched that fat kid. He searched his room with his eyes looking for his MP3 player. There, sitting at the edge of his bed was a black cloaked creature. Looked just like Morchane. It sat there staring at him mumbling something.
"Just... stop... fighting... me..." Was what it tried to say.
Morchane Didn't know what to do, in shock, he started to stand. When he did so, the creature returned with coping his every move. He took a step closer, so did the figure. Until they were face to face. Morchane smelled a horrific stench. It filled his nostrils almost gagging him. The figure rose its hand to his face, and wiped the tear the rolled down away.
Morchane stood there, staring in the eye's of evil. Pain swiped him all over his body. And all he could see was blackness. Darkness surrounded him. The stench had left and all that was there was the figure. It slowly grew in a black musky fog and engulfed Morchane. He opened his eyes to a terrifying site. Tentacles of some sort were rapped around him. Sticky goo oozed off of them. He cringed and gagged. One arm like thing wrapped it's self around his arm. He stopped struggling and lay there allowing it to consume his body.
"Yes... let me in..." Said the figure. As it lay next to him, the tentacles pulled the figure on top of Morchane. And now, the creature was now sinking inside of him. Almost as if it was evolving in to his body.
"Morchane, hunny, you alright in there?" Called his aunt as she opened his door. Morchane stood there grinning uncontrollably.
"I'm perfectly fine." He hissed. His aunt scared, softly closed the door and backed away. Morchane stood there swaying. As if he was a predator.
"Uh... what... happened...?" Morchane woke on his bed. Pain struck his head like a bullet.
"Ugh..." He whined as he rubbed his head.
Slowly he gets up and off the bed. He takes a look around. Nothing seemed to be out of place. Normal. He looked at his grandfathers Katana. He got up and looked at it through the glass. He raised his fist to the glass and tapped it. Then pulled his fist fully back and slammed it on the glass shattering, cutting his hand open. He gripped the sword and kicked open his door.
"I'm going for a walk." He said to his Uncle.
"Okay, just be back before dark." His uncle calls.
"Fine." Morchane slams the front door open and walks swiftly out side. He walked down the street holding the sword gently as he took in his surroundings. No sooner then one hour had passed and he sees the group of kids walking up to him. The fat one with a bandage around his nose.
"Look! It's the bitch who broke your nose!" Screamed one of the littler kids.
Morchane looked up just in time to see a fist fly into his face. Rocketing backwards, Morchane falls to the hard concrete.
"Look bitch, you think you can break my nose and get away with it- Oh look you have a toy with you! Let me see it!" the fat one claimed as he reached over to take his sword.
Morchane pulled his sword back. "Don't touch my Katana." He murmured.
"What did you say to me, you little fag. Give me your toy!" He screamed and yanked toward his sword once more.
Morchane flipped backwards and got to his feet. Holding the sword with an unbreakable grip he smiled. The grin he had on his blood covered face was a spikey, deadly grin. He wiped his nose of blood and chuckled.
"Oh so fagget got some new moves, huh?" The group laughed.
Morchane, still smiling, stood tall and held the sword in front of him. In a fighting position. He took a deep breath, and charged.
"What the-" Muttered the group of children.
"RAAAHHH!!!" Screamed Morchane, as he held the sword above him running toward the group. Half of the kids ran as the big ones stayed to fight. Morchane brought down his sword on to the fat ones' arm. It slice so cleanly, such thoroughly. right through the bone. The fat child screamed bloody loud. Ear shattering cry of pain rang through the air.
Slowly, slid his right arm down to the ground. Blood sprayed in the air. Covering the pavement. The others stared in disbelief. Morchane stood there shoulders down, with the sword still in sliced position, panting heavily. The fat kid fell to the concrete, dying of blood loss.
Morchane started to laugh. Uncontrollably. Once again, darkness over flowed inside of him. The black tentacles crawled out of nowhere, and wrapped around him. The boy's took one look at Morchane and ran. The tentacles engulfed the body of the fat child, and Morchane stood there. Holding the Katana with a weak grip. Loosely, it fell to the floor.
To this day Morchane Nevhane is still out in the woods of Edmonton, Canada. Missing children are popping up in near by regions also. Be careful, for Morchane, just stopped fighting it.