Quietly, Quiggly stepped into the darkness as he stealthily approached and steeled himself, trying to steady his breath. His feet whispered over the rocks as he moved. His keen eyes kept up a constant vigil, scouring the night, not for the first time, thankful his friend never joined him on this patrol. Not if he was to have a chance at living through the rest of the night. Cautiously he moved through the craggy maze, eyes scanning left and right, head turned fully back over his shoulder to make sure he hadn't been followed. He tried to block out the sounds of dripping water in the rocks around him, tried not to listen to the noises of the night, tried not to make noise, tried not to breathe or sweat. He shivered at the damp, chilly air on his neck. Quiggly felt an involuntary shiver race through his spine. He'd grown up on the coast, but it was summer, damn it. The night air was warm enough. He should have been warm enough. In his heart he felt guilty for being afraid. There was no reason to be afraid, but his nerves still betrayed him. In the short month since he'd been allowed out into the real world, his feelings had come forth in a new and terrifying way. He wished he could stand in the sunlight and bask in its glow. That would make him feel better. He wished it would soothe his worries away, make him forget his troubles for a while. He wished he could feel the warmth of those summer rays like he had when he was a child. He wished the nightmares would leave him for a while and all would be peaceful. _Wish on and you'll be dead in a fortnight_ , his mother told him. Despite the warmth of the evening air, Quiggly continued to shiver, his teeth chattering as though he had a fever. He didn't. His whole body was reacting like some strange new appendage to his brain, an organ that somehow got left behind in the transfer. He couldn't quite explain it, but he couldn't quite stop it either. Perhaps it was because he'd grown to love nighttime so much; it was where he'd spent so much of his life that it now felt more natural to him than the daytime. Or maybe it was just because he was afraid. He forced himself to remain calm, to try to get his breathing back to normal, to try to calm the anxiety that continued to simmer in his heart, to try to put the thoughts of his father, of his death, out of his mind. He'd lost his father, his father had died. That was the end of the story. Nothing more to be done about it now. How could he tell his father that he was afraid to go out? What could he possibly say to him? Could he even see him again? Could they speak about his fears? Could he explain to his father that he was only scared? He wasn't afraid of anything. That was the problem. What could he say to his father? _Go out. I will be with you_ , his father told him. _I will not allow anything to harm you. You are more precious to me than life itself._ Quiggly couldn't even say goodbye. Couldn't write a note. How was he to say it? What could he possibly say to his father that would make any sense to him? _Father, be careful. Be patient. There's danger out there. I know there is danger. I cannot go with you. I can't run from the dark, but there's something in the dark that is even more dangerous than nightmares. Watch over me, Father. Let me do my duty. Please, don't die too soon._ What would his father say? Quiggly's breathing didn't seem as regular as it should have been. How was he to keep this up much longer? The words were not coming easily at all. It was getting harder to think clearly. Why had he always assumed his brain was simply going to carry on like it did before? _It's alright. Be afraid. I understand._ Quiggly shook his head, clearing the cobwebs away. He was beginning to understand why it was so hard for some to talk to their ghosts. He should have known they couldn't. He should have known they wouldn't. If he could hear his father, then he should be able to see him too. There was no good reason for his father to be saying such things. He couldn't see him. He couldn't hear him. He couldn't hear his own thoughts. He didn't know what he was thinking until he acted out his thoughts. It was a little late for Quiggly to be thinking about any of this. He'd come so far. He couldn't turn back now. But the night was getting darker. Perhaps his luck would run out before his journey even began. _They won't harm you. Be brave, son. Keep going. I have faith in you._ Wasn't there a chance he'd walk out of the darkness of the caves and onto the side of a cliff face? "They won't harm you, son. Keep going. I have faith in you." What if he took a wrong turn and became stuck in a cave, or fell into the sea? What if he fell into a patch of blackness that had been created by his own mind? What if he could not find his way back out again? If he didn't find a way back he would probably find himself on his belly, crawling through the damp mud and dripping with sea spray, trying not to move, trying not to breathe, trying not to sweat. He tried to stand still. Even though he didn't want to stand still, he tried. But his feet wouldn't stop twitching. He needed to think. He needed to think of something else. He wasn't in danger right now, but he still needed to do something to keep himself from being in trouble. He needed to think. At that moment, without any sort of warning, Quiggly fell. Like an invisible net, he fell to the ground, face first. It was the dirt he'd just been crawling on. He was standing in his own dirt. This was no longer his thoughts, this was now his thoughts. He was seeing a flashback of his fall in his mind, and what he was seeing made him fall again. _Quiggly? Oh my, Quiggly?_ It took him a few moments to realize that it was his own voice that was calling to him. Why had he called to him? Had he really seen that happen or was he now imagining it? Perhaps he was imagining it, only his body seemed to be frozen for a moment, and the voice was heard. He'd never heard a voice like that before. He couldn't remember ever hearing a voice in his head before. Was it a part of his imagination, or was he really hearing voices? "No, no, no, no," Quiggly whispered to himself. He tried to pull himself out of it, to try to stop, but he couldn't. The words kept ringing in his head and then in his head was silence and then his mind was still again. It was a beautiful place he found himself in; a pleasant and peaceful place, but Quiggly was a little disoriented. What was he thinking about? His thoughts were a little sluggish now. He wasn't sure, but he thought he'd dreamed of a place he'd been before. There were a few people in it that he was really surprised to see. He was sure he saw a little girl, but she looked so angry. In his heart he felt sorry for the girl. No one had ever looked at him like that. She didn't understand who he was. He didn't understand who she was. He wondered if she would ever learn to understand his kind. A dark horse wandered into the field he was in. No matter where he went, no matter how much he tried to keep to the edge, he kept wandering toward the dark horse and becoming distracted by the horse's wandering. His thoughts were becoming more and more fragmented. He was sure he'd heard voices. They didn't sound like his kind at all. It didn't make any sense. Who would be speaking like that? Not like he was, at least. He knew what they meant and what they wanted him to do. They seemed to be leading him somewhere. It was hard to hear their voices. He kept thinking that the voices must be coming from inside his own head. He kept trying to quiet them. Just as he did, he could feel a hand on his head. He looked up to see if he could hear any words that were going on, but he couldn't hear anything. He wondered if he'd really heard something or if he'd just imagined it. He kept listening, but he couldn't make anything out. As he fell into the dirt again, everything went black. # Chapter Ten Quiggly's fear grew and grew. It kept him from thinking clearly, kept him from being able to do anything about it. He lost track of his surroundings, forgot what he was doing. How long he was down he had no idea. He knew he was in some sort of tunnel, but he didn't know what that meant for him. He didn