Chapter Text
The first time it started happening, Basil was four.
He'd accidentally spilled mommy's wine, and she'd gotten very mad at him. Basil had been scared, because mommy was yelling at him, and it wasn't like mommy never yelled, but it was usually at daddy, not at him. She mostly just ignored him. But this time she noticed him. In a bad way.
She'd started hitting him. And it hurt. It hurt so much, and he begged her to stop, but she wouldn't listen.
"Get up"
He tried to get up, but his chubby arms wouldn't hold his weight.
"I said get up!" she screamed.
Basil couldn't.
"Stop crying, brat, or I'll give you something to really cry about!"
Basil lifted his eyes up, uncomprehending, to his mommy's face. It was contorted in rage. He was scared. This wasn't...mommy wasn't supposed to act like this. She was acting like the monsters in his story books.
She...she was...
....
She wasn't mommy, was she?
No.
She was a monster.
And monsters...
They were evil.
It was the first time her outline began to darken and fade, and it didn't stop since then.
.
.
.
The second time it happened, it happened with dad.
Seven year old Basil's life was a monotone one, and he was always on edge when mom was around, but it was fine, because the monster only came when she was mad, so Basil kept her content as much as he could.
He never could.
He made her meals, and he cleaned the house. He brought some plants to make the place look prettier for her. He didn't know how the flowers were called, but he was quickly getting the hang of gardening, and it made his days less lonely.
Along with dad.
Dad wasn't around much, but when he was, he would play with Basil, and tell him stories, and hug him lots. Basil liked dad. He was nice to him, even if he yelled at mom too.
But as time passed, dad began to leave more and more, and Basil saw him less.
Dad liked flowers, and liked stories, and liked Basil, but he didn't like mom, he knew. So he left. But he always came back, and when Basil cried one night and begged him not to go, not to leave him, he knelt to his level and promised he would find a way to get Basil out of there.
Out of the house. Away from mom. Permanently.
Basil was ecstatic. He would finally be safe from the monster!
Especially since it had been appearing more and more, and his mom less and less, and eventually it was just a mass of darkness and eyes that made him want to vomit.
So, next time dad left, Basil waited.
And waited.
And waited.
But dad never came back, and mom was angrier than ever.
Basil never saw him again, until one day.
He had been running some errands on the supermarket, scarf tightly wrapped around his neck. It would be a week before Christmas arrived. Not that it meant anything. His house would be dark and Basil would be trapped with that thing–who was the monster again?– and it would probably end badly for him. The scarf was to hide the bruises, as were the long sleeves of his coat, but it did nothing to hide the ones on his pale face. Basil knew it didn't matter though. Aside from some pitying and uncomfortable looks, people–distorted, shadowy, but still people– wouldn't bother him. They never did.
They never did anything.
Basil had been inspecting some cabbage in his hand with an expert eye, before something caught his attention. Or rather, someone.
His dad was here.
Basil opened his eyes wide, and took a tentative step forward. Had–had dad come back for him at last? Would he take him away from that house like he said? He...he took a long time, such a long time, but he finally came back, right? Basil went to run to him, maybe hug him, God knew he hadn't had a hug in months, but something made him stop.
A pretty short haired woman, coming close to dad–his dad–and pressing a kiss to his cheek.
She had a baby in her arms.
The baby cooed happily, and dad smiled and lifted her up and kissed her head.
Basil stood there, frozen, as a piece of his heart darkened. Weirdly enough, he didn't cry.
He'd known all along, hadn't he?
The longer he stared, the longer the darkness spread over them all. The woman's neck stretched impossibly long, the baby's mouth opened wide, pointy teeth breaking her face in half, and dad–
Dad–
Dad was a horrible thing with many arms and legs, like a spider, with eyes dripping pus and blood. It was horrifying. He was horrifying.
...
Fine.
Fine.
So he'd been a monster all along. It didn't matter. Basil was used to monsters. He knew how they behaved. He knew they hurt, so when the thing turned to look at him, and its many eyes widened, Basil turned around and left, heart beating wildly against his chest. He was afraid. He was betrayed, heartbroken, angry. But monsters were like that, evil, so he should have expected it. It was Basil's fault.
Was he not enough? Was he too weak? Was he too clingy? Why did he leave, was Basil that bad–?
It was Basil's fault for being so naive, so trusting. He should have known.
After all, monsters often lied.
.
.
.
Day after day, more people were swallowed by darkness.
Day after day, the monsters were more.
When that kid pushed Basil at lunch.
When that woman looked at him with pity.
When the employee asked him if he was okay.
All of them, monsters. Monsters, monsters, he couldn't look at them in the eye, couldn't talk to them, so their voices warped and twisted until they were static and screeching in his ears. Basil couldn't deal with this. He couldn't deal with this, he couldn't live with these...things.
The monster in his house still hurt him.
The monster at lunch still pushed him.
The monster still looked at him with hatred.
The monster still roared at him at the store.
They were out to get him. They wanted to hurt him. Why? Basil hadn't done anything, but that never mattered. He was always wrong somehow.
Because–
Because Basil was human.
Yeah.
His skin was white and soft and his two eyes and four limbs must irk them somehow so they hated him, right? Right? It made no sense otherwise. He would go crazy otherwise.
So he accepted it, his new reality.
But one day the thing–the–the something that lived with him, it went too far. Basil was on the floor and its tentacles were slashing at him and he couldn't move and his vision was steadily darkening and his throat felt like it was on fire from all his screaming.
Things were a blur after that, but he knew something burst into his house, and something was touching him with icy cold, spiked limbs and he flinched. Something was making noises above him, but he couldn't focus. He wanted to fade away. He wanted to pass out.
He wanted to die.
So he closed his eyes.