Hunter & Belos (Flash Fiction ‐ "The Thing In My Skin") (The Owl House)

                                    

                                          
WARNING: body horror, toxic mindsets. 
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The floorboards creaked underfoot as you slunk through the corridor like a mouse in search of cheese, taking care to walk on your tippy-toes and allow long pauses to fall between each step.
It was as if someone had dumped salt down your throat, for it had burned ever since you awoke from a dream of deer and rabbits with eyes aglow.
The door to the basement hung open in the soft pull of the air conditioning. The steady hum of the machine tucked away in a corner did little to muffle the whispers and grumbles that carried on the breeze.
You approached the kitchen on the promise of gathering a nice glass of tap water to wash the dryness out of your mouth.
As soon as you were near the entryway, the rancid stench of decay went up your nose. It was mixed with the earthy scents of moss and wet dirt, like a carcass rotting in the moors. It churned your stomach and singed your nostrils.
Your final steps to the kitchen were halted by a footfall, an abrupt sound that evolved into someone pacing across the tile floors.
The silvery glow of the moon shone through the window overlooking the sink, and it cast its light upon the blond head of Hunter. The curtains lapped the air around him and fluttered in the wind billowing into the home.
A gaunt shadow loomed at his side no matter how far he walked, whispering sentiments into his ear that clouded his mind. It had blue eyes like a will-'o-the-wisp drifting deep in the forest and a voice like velvet. "You wish they were as alone as you are."
"You want it so badly that you can hardly contain yourself," Belos spoke with the inviting tone that Hunter would have flocked to in his younger days.
The palms of his hands collided with the corners of the sink. His stomach swam in circles, and the tightness in his throat teased the rise of bile.
"But you're afraid of what the others will think."
Belos allowed a moment of silence to pass, and he turned his head towards Hunter with the slowness of someone who revelled in the effect his words had. "Then again, you wish there weren't any others, don't you?"
Hunter dunked his hands in the stream of tap water and splashed his face until it became a waterfall in front of his eyes. The liquid was meant to cleanse the dark energy squeezing his heart as if to make the organ burst, but it merely inflamed his eyes and trickled into his mouth.
Streaks of water cascaded down his cheeks, framing the tears that were threatening to spill. "I'm not like you," rasped Hunter, his teeth clenching while his fingers dug into the corners of the sink until they vibrated and his knuckles turned white.
The gangly figure of Belos hunched over him. "That's all you are, Hunter."
Hunter had shut his eyes and balled his fists, but this made his eyes fly open and his fingers splay. His breathing was quickening by the second, exploding out of him as if every breath was torn from his lungs.
The babble of the tap water hitting the sink drew his attention to the water accumulating around the plugged drain. He saw his reflection-the glowing eyes and viny antlers sprouting from atop his head-on the surface of the liquid and recoiled.