I laid him on the kitchen floor to avoid staining the carpet with blood. At least I could clean the hardwood better than the carpet. By the time I returned to the house, Mom still had not come home and it was nearing seven o'clock, cloaking outside in a darker shadow. I had considered calling her, asking her to come home immediately to help me, but the boy would not allow a single moment wasted.

Not because he was complaining, no, it was because he collapsed again. He complained to be choking on blood and unable to breathe, clawing at the ground desperately to find water. He was becoming delirious, nothing like he was before. I also wanted to call 911, but he would not have it. He screamed at me not to call for "medics" and begged to keep his presence unknown for the time being. In those words.

Appalled by the way he spoke, being so young in the first place, I somehow kept my mouth shut. So I quickly got to work, using the methods my mom taught me just in case of an emergency. Meaning if someone wandered out from the forest, past the fence, and into our yard. I began to wonder the same thing about the boy since he told me several times that it was him in the back door window. I quickly checked to see if the handprint was still there and it was. Blood dripping from the print, sliding down the glass and almost frozen now.

I grabbed the first aid kit, trying to ask him the basic questions, struggling to understand what he felt. As he laid limply on his side, his eyes drooping with exhaustion, he vaguely explained that he was choking on something-probably blood-and felt extremely dizzy. He was freezing cold which was obvious due to his choice in clothes. I had to drag his ratty black coat off him, though he desperately fought to keep it on.

But it was soaked in blood and was filled with holes; he really needed new clothes. Under his coat, I realized why he was so cold and so adamant about keeping the coat on. He wears an air-thin long sleeve shirt that buttoned down the center, a couple sizes too big for his tiny body. Blood is smeared crimson on the white shirt letting me see his dark scars under the thin cloth. He wears thin black pants that seem too baggy and held up by his quivering fingers.

He wears black boots that seem to resemble combat boots, but also too big for him. His ink black hair is matted from the blood, tangled to the point where it seems painful to brush. His eyes wild as I looked him over for any injuries, worried he may not know he's injured. But I didn't find any. He started to yell at me, scolding me for taking his coat from him, his voice found again.

Then I scolded him for being an idiot, no longer caring for his young age and treating him like a spoiled teenager. Then I told him to stop complaining and let me help him or else I could just call the police and have them deal with him. He stared at me for a second, completely clueless for a couple seconds. Then his eyes widened in horror and quickly asked me to help him.

Satisfied with that, I once again set off to work.

I started a warm bath for him to wash the blood off his body. I returned to the kitchen to find him crawling towards the back sliding door leaving a trail of bloody handprints and smudges. His head lifted as he tried to drag himself towards it, his eyes wide with hope. I stared for a moment, before sighing, alerting him of my presence. He jumped as if I had scared him and glanced back at me, almost worried.

I asked what he was doing. But he dropped his head in shame unable to look me in the eyes. So I slowly moved onto the next topic, still wary of this little boy covered in blood and scars. I couldn't just send him away. I had to help him. So I asked if I could check him for wounds again before the bath.

Then his eyes widened in horror for a moment, then asked why he was getting a bath. I gave him an incredulous look, my hands almost going to my hips but I remember they are covered in blood because I carried him. I obviously explained he was covered in blood and said he couldn't walk around like that for any longer, he was also making a huge mess. Mom will freak out about when she comes home.

The little boy nodded slowly, still wary and tried to stand up again. I rushed to his side making sure he doesn't collapsed again and helped him towards the hallway. His tiny feet stumbling rather than walking while his face seemed to become paler, which didn't seem possible before. Rather than arguing again, he clung to my arm using me as his crutch and allowed me to led him to the bathroom.

The bathroom was simple white with faded blue shower curtains, but I had thrown them up around the pole to avoid getting them bloody. The rushing of the water echoed off the walls and the hot steam was already fogging up the mirror. I quickly tested the water, burning my hand in the scolding water and immediately turned up the cold water to counteract it. The boy stared at the tub for a moment, seeming distant for the time being. I enjoyed his silence knowing it won't last long and he'll snap at me again.

"Okay, you can just take off your shoes and shirt," I instructed as I shoved away the bathroom rug. He gazed up at me once again seeming confused and lost again. His ever-changing emotions was beginning to stress me out. But he nodded and began to sink to the floor. I let him kneel on the ground and backed up to give him some space. Slowly, he began to slip off his shirt and revealed the true cruelty of his scars.

Laced up his arms and slashed across his tiny chest, the pale scars marred his pale skin. Blood smeared messily all over his body still, but the scars are easily seen. I couldn't help but stare, wondering what kind of pain he had gone through. The scars were old and faded meaning they weren't the cause for the blood. Despite what he told me, I still believed that the blood was his. Who else could it have been?

He noticed my staring and shot me a dark look. I blinked and averted my eyes elsewhere. I tested the water once again and it was finally at the right temperature. I turned off the water and gestured it to him, "Do you think you can-"

"Of course I can," he rudely snapped, "honestly, it's like you think I-" He stood up and glanced at the mirror, his words faltered when he stared into his eyes. I saw something flicker in his eyes, something like fear. He gaped at his own reflection, unmoving for the moment. I watched him worried resisting the urge to reach out to him. He has made it perfectly clear he doesn't want my help.

His obsidian black eyes widened as he took a cautious step back. His trembling hand reached for his face before pausing an inch away. I glanced at his reflection, then to him again.

"Is something wrong?" I asked cautiously.

It was then when something switched in him. I wasn't sure what it was, but something changed. When his hand finally touched his chin and traced down to his scarred neck, then to the golden chain. His eyes suddenly filled with tears, his breath shaky, and he broke.

〰✷〰

He gasps for a moment before bursting into tears. He immediately shields his face, lowering his head trying to hide from me. He starts to cry into his trembling hands, his shoulders shaking as if his cries were too much for his small body to handle. My heart breaks at the sight of him crying. An innocent boy like him shouldn't have to feel this way. But a nagging feeling keeps me from fully believing he's so innocent.

"D-Don't look at me," he pleads softly between his cries, "please just go."

"What's wrong?" I ask instead, not moving from my spot.

He inhales deeply before looking me dead in the eyes. His dark eyes seem like abandoned wells where all has been forgotten at the bottom. His cheeks flushed with wet trails of tears staining them. His lip quivers for a moment before he bites it to keep it still. "N-Nothing," he lies.

My eyes narrow for a moment showing him I'm unconvinced.

He just sighs already starting to calm down from his brief breakdown. He lowers his head and begins to shove off his oversized shoes.

A moment of silence passes between us. He lightly kicks his shoe to the side before turning to the bath. He sniffles softly before starting to edge towards the bath, still as weak as before.

"I can't help you until you tell me what's going on," I plead gently, trying to show him that I'm on his side. I reach out slowly, "I don't even know your name... where you came from, where your parents are, I can help you but I can't do that until you give me some answers."

He stops, staring down at the clear water. Then he looks up at me slowly, "My name is Shilohre-," his voice catches before he shakes his head, "uh, Shiloh."

I let out a relieved sigh, glad I finally know something about this mysterious boy. I smile kindly at him holding my hand out. "I like that name. Mine is Eve."

He just nods. His night filled eyes trained on me not wanting to let me out of his sight. More silence fills the space between us if you don't count his soft sniffles as he fully calms down. I drop my hand and glance down at the bath. It's obvious he's not going to talk more, but I have hope he will soon.

"Alright let's get you in the bath."

〰✷〰

He sits in the bath with his knees pressed against his chest, as if he were trying to hide his scars. He doesn't make eye contact with me anymore. Instead he stares at the yellow rubber duckie that fell off the side of the bath currently floats around him. The water turned crimson red with copper brown areas because of the blood thickness. Blood drips off of his skin though there is no injury or open wound to have caused so much blood.

It's time for some answers.

I sit on the toilet seat as I watch him sit in the bath. His thick hair matted with blood and still untouched, but at least the rest of him is semi-clean. I lean on my knees as I study him further noticing his eyelashes are long enough to be curled naturally. He looks angelic despite his demon-like entrance. Something is wrong with this boy and it's more than the blood. How did he move so fast around the house? How did he come out of the forest? Where are his parents?

The questions continue to chant in my brain, screaming to get out. But I'm not exactly sure how to ask. For all I know, he could have been the survivor of one of the many missing families. That blood could be his family's. Maybe the trauma turned him cold and rude as he tries to cope with what happened. I decide to continue being gentle and kind, just until I know what happened.

"So... where are you from?" I ask after making sure that's appropriate to ask.

He just stares at the water. Silent as the grave.

My stomach drops for a moment with a fleeting panic. Is he some kind of ghost? But then why could I carry him? Why is the blood coming off if it's permanent for a ghost? Another crazy and wild theory comes to mind shortly after, taking the theme of the dark supernatural. A child vampire wandered out of his forest home right after a meal? That would explain how fast he moved before... and why he's so pale and beautiful... and why he talks so strangely and adult-like... Lord help me if he's a vampire.

Actually, that theory doesn't seem all that far off. He may be the reason everyone who goes missing ends up in ripped up, bloody messes with human teeth... OH.

"Not here."

I look up at the sound of his voice. He's finally looking at me again. But now it's unsettling. Now that I think he's a vampire and all. It's not the worst theory in the world, considering that he came from the forest of death and mystery. People say that there are werewolves in those woods and honestly believe it, so I'm not taking any chances. But then I remember he was breathing and not ice-cold which numbs my theory a bit. But maybe we don't have all the facts right... or there's no such thing as vampires and you're a paranoid crazy girl.

"Okay... so were you on vacation?" I lean forward trying to get some real answers.

He just shrugs.

My patience running thin, I decide to use another method. I slip out my phone with my washed hand and notice his panicked look. I just shrug looking as indifferent as he did, "I should probably call the police now..." I draw out sounding bored.

Suddenly his arms shoot out and he's leaning on the bathtub edge. "Wait, wait, wait!" he shouts waving his hands around, "Stop! Don't do that!" he pleads sounding desperate.

I raise an eyebrow at him, "Why not?"

His eyes seem to reel back. I can see the truth retreating as he bites his lip, glancing down at the bathtub edge. "I... I don't..." he trails off as he sinks back into the bath.

"Answer my questions and I won't call them," I suggest still holding my phone close, just in case he may try grabbing it. I tilt my head to the side, "But why? They would help you-"

"They can't help me," he snaps giving me an incredulous glare. "They'll just-," he stops and looks up at the ceiling for a moment, "just... not do it right."

"Not do it right?" I repeat deadpanned.

He just nods again.

"Alright, so can I help you?" I ask slipping my phone back into my pocket. I look up to find him poking the rubber duckie interestedly. His onyx eyes wide with curiosity as it floats around in the bloody water. I should drain it and then put new water in it... I smile warmly at him realizing there is some child-like innocence in him. Then he slowly looks up at me with wonder-filled eyes. He points at it, "I-Is this..." he looks at the duck again, "uh, duckie? Um, duckie something..." he trails off, lost in thought as he tries to think of the correct name.

I laugh a little, "Rubber duckie."

He brightens, "Yes!" Then he smiles down at it, "I remember this..." he trails off with some distant memory playing in his eyes. I watch him interestedly wondering what he could be referring to. And why does he sound so old when he's so young. He pokes it again, nudging it to face him. "I have friends who would love something like this..."

Adorable. Absolutely adorable. He doesn't even seem real. But his rudeness snaps me out of it, which is probably a good thing.

"What are their names?" I ask trying to make some comfortable conversation.

His eyes distracted by the duckie, he finally answers, "Gideon and Adrien."

"Oh? And what are they like?" I ask gently, hoping I can ease into this and get some real answers.

Then he smirks seeming smug about something. He snickers softly and shakes his head. "They..." he laughs louder but it's more of a giggle, "Gideon's crazy."

I laugh too, playing along, "Yeah? How crazy?"

He just laughs a little louder. "He'd love this duckie," is all he says.

I smile awkwardly, "I bet he would..."

Then his light expression fades but his eyes trained on the bright yellow duck. It spins around and begins floating the other way, bobbing with the gentle waves. Then his eyes slightly widen with something like horror. "Oh," he chokes out, starting to back away from the duck.

I panic and begin to stand up, "Shiloh?"

Then he pales and covers his mouth like he's going to be sick. He backs up further and presses against the wall. He grimaces as he holds his mouth with his hand, "I-I..." He quickly shakes his head seeming scared of something.

"What is it?" I ask quickly, worried about him. I kneel down next to the bath, scared something triggered a painful memory. Or that he's going to throw up. Then I'm going to have to deal with blood and puke. Where on earth is Mom?

Suddenly, a loud smack is heard from the other side of the house. Like something hit the glass sliding doors. I quickly jerk my head to the side, my eyes wide with panic. Shiloh looks over warily and begins to curl up in the back of the tub.

My heart starts pounding but I remind myself to stay calm. I don't want to scare Shiloh, not after the possible trauma he had with the blood. Or at least I hope it was some kind of trauma and not a supernatural feasting. "Don't worry, it's probably a bird," I reassure him gently, and flash him smile.

But he still looks nervous.

I stand up and nod at him, "I'm just going to check, okay? Stay here until I get back." I pause briefly and then nod once again as I walk towards the door. "I'll grab some new clothes for you too."

He just nods distantly as he stares at the door.

I let out a soft sigh and walk out into the dark hallway. The night sky from outside seems to cast unsettling shadows. I walk on the hardwood floor with a soft creak trying to convince myself it's nothing. We are safe here, it's probably just a confused squirrel looking for warmth in the dead of winter. I take a deep breath trying to calm myself down but all I can think of is finding a dead body outside or a serial killer. I creep down the hall of darkness letting my eyes adjust.

All the lights turned off causing me to feel more unease. I flick on the lights as fast as possible unable to stare blindly into the darkness for a second longer. Light floods through the open dining room and kitchen letting me see the mess of blood Shiloh left behind. I grimace at the smears knowing Mom will freak when she comes home. I really need to clean that up before it stains the wood...

I speed walk towards the glass door where the bloody handprint remains frozen. It could be anything. Anything at all. It could simply be a bird who hit the window... or a gruesome monster from the depths of the forest. I swallow feeling my stomach weigh down from an invisible pressure building up. With every step, I begin to feel my own hands trembling as my mind spins with paranoia.

I gaze out the frosty sliding glass door, holding my breath as I lean forward.

Then I see it.