SPIKE and Hatred
"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."
The man left the room, the glowing embers of crazed lust in his eyes and sick satisfaction running fresh through his veins, leaving the boy, Spike, lying in the bed that has witnessed more dark deeds then sin. They had become more frequent lately, these nightly visits from his uncle, Charles. Those nights when he prayed for sleep, not for relief of exhaustion, but so he could sleep through the staining actions that he preformed. But strangely this night offered him that retreat, which had unfortunately come later than needed, and as sleep over took his cold and trembling body he fell into dreaming.
He could hear scratching, scratching on the sickly white walls that surrounded him, and outlined the large room that he was in, his bare feet, chilled against the wet linoleum and the smell of wet earth hanging, almost physically thick in the air. His nearly naked body shook from the cold, not a cold that comes from a long winter but a cold that creeps into the body like black venom and even causes the soul to shrink into a pitiful heap. Despite the overwhelming fear and confusion that he was feeling, Spike stood up from crouching in the corner and treaded further into this room that seemed endless. The wet sounds of his feet against the floor echoing off the walls. As he walked further, he began to see a form take shape in the darkness, now driven by pure curiosity he moved closer, but as the form started to take on a more prominent shape and the details of it began to show, his pace began to slow and after a few more steps he drew to a trembling stop.
It was a mirror image of him but something was different. The muzzle was partially longer then his own along with the teeth, raven black hair covering its eyes replicating his own. His eyes trailed further down to the torso, just as skinny as his but the bones and ribs were more defined, long, clawed, skeletal hands hanging at the figures sides, completely naked, right down to its dog like feet.
Completely paralyzed, partially by fear, Spike said the only thing that came to mind: "Hello?"
The figure suddenly lowered its self into a twisted looking crouch, its voice a rusty blade against brass.
"Hello parum lupus."
Spike took a step backward. "What?, who are you?!" He asked with half of a tremble in his voice.
The creature let out a skin crawling chuckle.
"I have many names, but to you, I am: Hatred." It said twisting its head at an abnormal angle.
"Hatred? What the fuck are you?" Spikes body now visibly shaking.
"Oh now parum lupus, you of all people should know that. I am something that comes from you."
"Why yes!" The daemon murmured. Suddenly standing behind Spike and whispering into his ear. "I was conceived on the night that your dear uncle took your innocence and born the night we shared our first fun little conversation. You remember don't you? When you found that lovely board, you were a curious little bastard weren't you?"
Now shaking uncontrollably Spike turned his head to face the creature. "you're a daemon!" he said through clenched teeth.
"Clever boy." Hatred replied, playfully stroking Spikes hair."Seeing as you know this much let's see if you can remember who this is." Hatreds voice suddenly changed into that of his uncles. "Come closer son." He whispered putting a hand on Spikes thigh.
In a sudden feeling of fear and disgust he pulled free of Hatreds arms. "Get the fuck away from me!" He screamed falling to the damp floor but quickly recovering.
"Now, now, now parum lupus!" the daemon mocked, "If I was really your putrid uncle Charles I would have redone your face with my bare hands for what you just did, but luckily for you I show much more restraint." Like a snake, Hatred crawled across the floor then stood dead in front of Spike. "because fucking with you is just too much fun." The creature yelled with a crooked smile following a stomach turning cackle.
"Why? Why are you doing this to me?" the boy screamed, tears of sadness and desperation now filling his eyes.
"That is all you can ask isn't it. Why. Do you ask yourself that question a lot parum lupus? What lead your uncle to do the things he does, why it all started, when he crept into your room that night when you were so young, crawled on top of you and did what he did what little he could do, why your poor mother was so unfit to bring you into this world, why your father was so non reluctant to pull the trigger."
Spike crumpled to his knees, his hands covering his ears and tears somehow making their way out of his tightly shut eyes.
"Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!!" he cried
The daemon lifts its crooked muzzle to the air in a fit of laughter. "I find it amusing that you think I do this under motivation, I am, as you stated so astutely, a daemon. I do it because I enjoy watching you SUFFER!"
Hatred standing over him, laughing as saliva oozed from his gaping muzzle, relishing in every moment of the boys sorrow. Spike, now in a fettle position, the smallest he has ever been, and felt.
"That's right Spike, you are not worth love, and you were born to be beaten, abused and forgotten." Hatred whispered, kneeling down closer to Spike.
All Spike could think of now was how he was worthless, what a pitiful waste of life he was. He wasn't worth both his parents' life and he deserved what his uncle did to him, and more. But most of all, thought of how no one loved him, and no one would care to even care.
Then suddenly it happened. Like a random spark in the darkness that weaved its way through all of his other thoughts, he thought of something, someone, the one someone that did care, the someone that showed any signs of hope in his life.
Spike whispered: "Sam."
In order to comfort himself he began to think of his best friend, Sam's smile, his laugh, his voice.
Hatreds laughter was suddenly replaced with the sound of screaming, screaming that would stun the devil himself.
Spike looked up to the site of Hatred withering on the ground in some kind of epileptic fit. Scratching at his own body and face bloodying and beating himself, driving his head repeatedly against the floor, leaving bloody spider like marks on the ivory floor.
"AAAAAARGH!!, stop!!" the daemon screamed. "It SICKENS me, his INNOCENCE sickens me!! Hatred continued to scream.
Spike began to stand, he thought more of Sam. He thought of the day they met, the day they built the tree fort together, of sitting in his bedroom reading comics, of just being with Sam. Every thought seemed to physically stab the daemon.
And for that one second he thought, as brief as it might have been, like a single and instigations bloom of light in the shadows. He thought of hope.
Spike began to hear a voice, a voice that over powered the daemons screams, a voice that was familiar yet unfamiliar. He looked to where the voice was coming from and saw a light shining in the darkness at the far side of the room, a soothing celestial voice, cool and crisp. "Come back." it said "come back." A strong urge overcame him. He didn't know what the light was or where it was coming from but he knew he had to be near it. He began to walk towards it leaving the screaming daemon behind him, and with each step the light grew brighter and the voice grew louder.
"NO!" came a scream behind him. He suddenly felt cold arms latch around him, stopping him dead in his tracks, he had never felt anything this strong before, unable to move and barely breathe, he heard a malevolent whisper in his ear.
"NO!" the daemon screamed in his ear "I will not let you leave, you have strength in you parum lupus, I will grant you that. You will need all of your strength in the days to come. You will be free of me parum lupus, but not tonight, NOT TONIGHT!"
Like a camera flash, dream and reality collided, Spike found himself in his room. His pillow luckily muffled the choir of screams that he let lose upon waking relieving him of the danger of waking his uncle. He sat straight up in bed only to collapse back onto his back. His heart thrashing in his ribcage he tried to calm himself down, tried to control his breathing. He began to feel a slight ache in his neck and one of his arms. Upon examining them he found hand shaped bruises.
"It's a dream, it's a dream god damnit!" he said to himself, running both hands through his hair. He tossed and turned in his bed unable to find rest, after about half an hour he took a deep breath and lay flat on his back.
And for that one night before finally falling back to sleep, he thought of hope, he thought of Sam.