Avery had been having a hard time lately.
After all, he’d just lost d3rlord—Derek, as the knight would’ve wanted him to remember him as. The King in Yellow had taken the knight’s mind & entire being from him, & Avery hadn’t been taking it very well.
He hardly left his home nowadays. Certainly never for leisurely strolls or anything else like that. He kept all the windows shut, blinds drawn, cooped up in his bed like a bear hibernating—he really didn’t have the energy or will to do anything else nowadays.
So how the hell did he manage to get a stalker?
Yeah. A damn stalker. That was the only way he knew how to describe the thing.
He never managed to actually… see the stalker. Since Avery lived in the middle of nowhere, this only made him all the more vulnerable to attacks like these. He’d always believed that stalkers always attacked people whenever the time was right, or whenever the person they were stalking was vulnerable, but that couldn’t really be the case.
The worst thing that he noticed happening around his house after the stalker’s visit was his bread being missing. He didn’t really care about that, either. He didn’t find himself eating anything much nowadays.
The Knocker was usually ruthless.
That’s who the stalker was.
He terrorised his victims. Stalked their house day & night, & didn’t ever let them sleep. Scratched at their doors during the night & hovered nearby during the day. He was feared, the sole cause of terror for most of the people he came after…
Yet, this man? This slime-fleshed boy?
He’d seen it all before.
The Knocker didn’t know his exact past. However, he’d heard distinct muttering as Avery spoke to himself in his house, whilst the Knocker was lurking outside. He heard about some Derek guy—& how Avery missed him so. About some dastardly Hastur taking Derek away from him.
The Knocker didn’t quite know what to do. He couldn’t terrorise this man. He’d been through it all before. &, also, for once in his stalking career, he actually felt…
Bad.
Bad for this man who’d lost everything he loved. Bad for this man who’d fought everything & lost the only thing that cared for him.
The Knocker came into Avery’s house that night.
Not to steal bread again. No. He’d long since noticed that Avery never ate anything himself. Instead, he ventured right for Avery’s room—he’d learnt the location of it in the house through many nights spent of peering in the window.
Avery was there, curled up on his bed, back turned to the doorway as the Knocker came in. The blanket was crumpled on the floor, where Avery hadn’t had enough strength to pull it back up over him.
The Knocker crept forward.
For once in its life, not to strike, but to instead just pick up that blanket—a hand gripping on each corner—& to carefully drape it back over Avery, where he lay on the bed.