The Milkman

Prologue

"I have one good characteristic: I'm a pessimist, so I always imagine the worst - always. To me, the future is a black hole."

...

There was an inevitable feeling of dread for Hank Jr. on his first night without a nightlight in his room. He was seven, short, still chubby in the cheeks, and deathly afraid of the dark. What he saw in the dark would scare the most hardened people, at least that is the conclusion Hank came to, for every noise that came from the dark, he imagined a monster to make the noises more terrifying. He was petrified by his thoughts, and no amount of friendly reassurance from his parents could make this better. Only seeing what was ahead could make him feel safe.

Hank's stepdad was a classic hardened military man, one who believed in the way he grew up was the best way to grow up. He was much older than his young mom, who was easy going until her second marriage. Hank never knew his real dad, and never asked about it. Neither were mean to him, so he had no reason to wonder.

It was Hank's stepdad's idea to take away Hank's lamp, saying that he would never grow up with a silly fear like that, and after a short argument Hank's lamp was gone. Set on a high shelf that Hank could never reach.

He had tried to fall asleep when there was still light outside, but wasn't able to, leading to the anguish and anticipation that came with a scary new event. It went beyond that when the sun set, and darkness took over the room. The feeling went from anguish to pure terror, and as he heard his parents shut their door he knew he was alone. From that point forward there was no escape, and he was forced to face his fear. As the sounds of the night filled the room Hank tried to close his eyes, trying to avoid every little scrape on the glass and every single bump in the night. It became unbearable to the point where Hank just opened his eyes and looked straight ahead. He plugged his ears and stared harder into the dark, trying to tell himself that nothing was there. That nothing would get him. He unplugged his ears and the sounds went away, all except for one small burst of scratching, though he heard this he forced himself to sleep. For once he knew he was safe in the dark. As he drifted into sleep, he sensed something, but he ignored it. Leaving himself to his dreams.

There was a moment of peace in his dream, one where it was bright and safe. Then he heard the bump, one that too loud to ignore. It made him awake in a cold sweat. He scrambled out of his bed and onto the ground, he landed with a thump and he scrambled to the light switch in hopes of seeing what made the noise. He tried to flick the switch, but the light wouldn't work. He tried to open the door, but it was stuck closed. He tried to scream but no sound came out of his mouth. He was pushed down onto the ground, and the light flashed on and off, with an amount of light that burned his eyes. g, he stumbled to his bed, and the lights stayed on. A warm trickle of piss ran down his leg, he turned to see nothing, his mouth felt forced shut and a bitter taste filled his mouth. Some force pushed him down into his bed, and in front of him he saw a man of pure white, with inky eyes. His limbs contorted into ways that were impossible, and he grew. He had a sinister smile on his face, and a milky liquid dripped out of his open grin. Each finger on his hands formed into blade, and he crawled up onto the bed. Hank cried, though no one could hear him.

The strange white man cut into Hank's soft belly, leaving Hank limp, and bloodless. The blood absorbed into the man's finger, and he took Hank's insides, and his soul, which he placed on a belt he summoned into existence on whim. He exited the room and disappeared into the night.

His feast had only just started...

...

To say the very least his funeral was not open casket, and to the family's dismay the body was taken away. They had to bury an empty casket, for a kid they weren't even able to say goodbye to. It was gruesome, but true, his body was taken soon after examination by a large convey of jeeps and men in fatigues. As summer rolled into autumn, and autumn into winter deaths stacked up faster and more frequently than was ever seen in the small town's history. It seemed like the cold bitter wind was ushered in by the death of Hank, summer ran cold after that point, taking the warm days and leaves with it. Sorrow and fear choked all who lived there, in the small town in Oregon, the deaths each like a rotten tooth in the mouth of Silverton.

This was when he came, and the milkman felt it, and everyone did for that matter. The days warmed for a short bit, and no one went missing. He might of known it too, or saw it in his dreams. He was The Kid, the demon-slayer, and the savior. He was the last hope, but he didn't know it.