Christmas; a cheery time of the year that we all love and look forward to. But, for Mark Fischbach, it's the worse time of the year. Every holiday, Mark's demon finds a new way to escape. Who is this demon, you ask? Well, his name is none other than Dark. Creative, right?
Now, Dark is practically the same as Scrooge. And we all think that he'll turn good in the end. Well, he won't. He's not going to change for the enjoyment of others. And he's not one for humiliation.
Dark is exactly what you would expect: an emo with thick, black eyeliner, an emo wearing a suit. Maybe you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. Maybe you should take the time to open its pages and read in-between the lines. Maybe Dark is just... misunderstood.
Underneath the tree were only a few, poorly wrapped boxes filled with presents. Most of them were for Chica, Mark's dog. You'd think Mark would visit his family for Christmas, but didn't have the time that he used to have. Mark sat on the sofa and pet Chica gingerly, whom was curled up on his lap. He stared at the tree—which was practically bent over itself—with disappointment. It was evergreen sprinkled in silver and red.
Suddenly, Mark was lifted off of the couch, but Chica didn't react. To her, it seemed as if he was still petting her. Mark struggled to get out of the grip of whatever was pulling him. "Let go of me!" He cried out into the darkness, grasping onto anything his fingers could catch onto, but as a result, the mysterious pulling became quicker. When the pulling came to an abrupt stop, Mark attempted to steady his breathing. He had been holding his breath, but was now inhaling sharply. His wrists were then gripped tightly, razor-sharp nails stinging his knuckles. He then winced and his knuckles began to ooze with thick, deep red blood. He struggled against the mysterious thing's grip.
"I'm afraid that you're not going anywhere, my dear Mark." The more intimidating male stated in an echoing and booming voice that could knock any powerful person down with fear. It was soon followed by a white-noise that seemed to only affect Mark.
"Wh-Who are you?" The slightly shorter boy asked unsurely as he slowly backed up into a wall; the wall of his living room.
"Oh, you know who I am, which makes it so we can cut straight to the point." The more intimidating male smirked disturbingly. Mark gulped, beginning to sweat nervously as he stared into Dark's black and soulless eyes. They were glossed over, begging for somebody to love them. Mark breathed warily, preparing for Dark to move at any moment.
