Pain. Pure, blinding pain. You lay limp on the floor, wishing you hadn't been so stupid earlier– lifting with your back instead of your legs like you've always been told. You're practically crippled, unable to move. And to make it worse you're all alone, phone nowhere near you, the walls of your house too thick for you to scream for help.

You're stuck, unable to move without it hurting like hell. Stuck in your thoughts, you don't hear the footsteps.

Thump, thump, thump.

Something creaks, the shriek of rusted metal filling the air. What?

Footsteps come closer, and from the direction of the hallway enters a man, a stranger, in a green veil.

You're going to die.

He watches silently as his Besessenheit tries to get up, a pained cry escaping. He tsk's, walking over. He grabs the painkillers from where you put them, kneeling, feeding you them.

“Here.” He says, managing to give you some water to help them go down. And you don't resist– why would you? Anything to escape the blinding pain.

As the pain eases, he watches you relax, only then rolling you onto your back and, carefully, picking you up. Dummer Liebling, he thinks, getting yourself hurt like this.

Carrying you bridal style, he carries you out into the hall, and for a moment, you stare into the gaping black abyss of the basement, the rusted doors open. The person who sold you this house assured you the basement was filled in, bricked off, that the door didn't lead anywhere.

He carries you upstairs before you can worry he'll take you down there to ravish you, taking you to your bedroom with familiarised steps. He lays you on your front before going to get the cream for muscle pains. He lifts your shirt only enough to rub it in, eyeing you through his veil.

"There, better?" He asks, wiping his hands clean. "Hm, Gut. Rest now, meine Besessenheit. You hurt yourself very bad." He says, sitting by your bed like he belongs, like he's not an invader, like he hasn't literally been living under your nose this entire time.