Crimson

Hallows' Eve 1939

The clown seemed to arrive at a decision, his features distorted with grim delight. He nodded to Bel.

"Since you can't speak, I guess you don't need that filthy tongue of yours."

The others laughed amongst themselves, some wide eyed.

"Why would I want to speak to you?" Bel said.

The other boys looked at each other as the cruellest one stepped forward, his arms folded.

"So it can talk," he said, a smile stretching across his face. Bel stepped back carefully as he advanced, far too close to do anything but run. He didn't.

"In that case," the boy said, watching Bel sink to the ground as his fist met his gut, "tell your mother she's a dirty tramp."

Bel lay on the cold dirt clutching his stomach in pain as the boy walked back to his friends with a triumphant smirk, receiving high fives from all sides and adamant praise, before a rock struck the back of his head, knocking him to the ground, cold.

The boys stared at their friend on the ground, slowly lifting their gaze to the masked child in front of them.

"Holy hell," one blurted, finally trying to get their friend up. "I think he's seeing stars."

Turning him over they saw the impressive wound at the back of his head. In the darkness there was next to no difference between the blood and the black triangles on the clown's face, except for its wet shine.

In that instant, the remaining boys directed their predatorial stares to Bel

and he ran.

The blonde could only make out blue leaves and branches blurring past his field of vision as he ran as fast as he could. The boy was fast. He always had been. But night was cruel, and his mask crueller, because when Bel finally thought he was in the clear, his little lungs pumping to sustain his flight to safety- he landed hard and cold on the forest floor.

Frantically from side to side up and over, Belmont looked for which boy would catch him first.

He pushed himself off the ground with mud caked hands, faint cries in the distance. As he wiped the dirt on his overalls, an irrefutable sensation arose atop his right shoulder, where long fingers gripped firmly.

Bel screamed, staggering to turn around.

But all he could see was forest. And then he knew where he was.

His mother had warned him not to go into the woods late at night. But Hallows' Eve was even more dangerous.

"I'm not going to hurt you." A faint voice startled Bel. The child clutched his pillow case in fear, turning to the source of the echo.

A long blue tail, transparent and much like an upside down flame, danced a foot off the ground. Atop the tail lived the torso of a man, draped in a similarly transparent hooded cloak, small bells draped across his neck.

Bel's green eyes grew to saucers.

"What- who are you?" He stifled. "Why don't you....."

The boy tried to make sense of everything he was seeing, but most frightful of all was perhaps the faceless void half hidden by hood.

The creature pointed at Bel and then at themselves.

"You look a spirit too." They said. Bel felt their voice coming from all directions, near and far, although they were right in front of him.

"Is that what you are?" Bel asked.

The spirit nodded, bells jingling like thousands of tiny hummingbirds beating incandescent wings.