It had been a bad day. The tube had been packed, the weather foul and the people rude. Phil’s normally bright eyes are struggling to retain any light and a grey haze clouds his vision as he joins the crowd of people pushing forwards to get out of the gates. He pushes like everyone else. A lady stumbles as he passes but he doesn’t pause to say sorry. Like I said, it had been a bad day.

As he leaves the station it starts to drizzle. It’s not far to their apartment, but the rain is that soaking kind - the kind that seems barely substantial yet somehow seems to sink right down to your skin in a matter of seconds. He breaks into a run, his trainers splashing on the already damp pavement.

A flash of lightning illuminates the horizon and Phil jumps in surprise, dropping his bag into a puddle at the side of the kerb. He swears, snatching it out of the dirty water just as the thunder claps and cold rain hammers into the back of his neck making shiver. It’s still a bad day, and Phil is tired.

~

Their apartment block is tall and grey and Phil’s key sticks in the lock, forcing him to hop up and down on the spot to try and push the cold out of his toes. He is rewarded with a spray of water from the drain pipe above his head and finally the door swings open. He steps inside, shaking his hair out like a wet dog. With a sigh he squints trough the dim light to survey the damage to his bag. The fabric is soaked through and worse still the paperwork inside has been reduced to a sodden lump of white and black ink. Phil tries really hard not to swear. He calls the lift and waits impatiently, tapping his foot as the ancient machine whirs and clanks - trundling down to meet him. It stops with an audible thud, but the doors don’t open. Phil presses the button, once, twice, three times. Finally he slams a foot into the metal doors. They don’t budge.

He runs his fingers through his damp hair, cascading more water down onto the carpet, and turns towards the stairs with a sigh. It’s a long way up. Maybe Dan will take pity on him and make him hot chocolate.

He starts up the metal stairs, and by the second flight his wet feet are aching and his bag is slowly dissolving at the seams.

~

When he reaches their door he is red faced and sweating, his heart hammering in his mouth. The door opens into darkness and Phil blinks in surprise, he was expecting Dan to be home – especially as the door was unlocked.

“Dan?” He calls out cautiously.

There’s no answer. Phil can’t tell exactly why, but his skin is crawling. Maybe it’s the damp clothes. He takes a tentative step inside.

“Dan?” He calls again. “You home?”

“Just in here.” Comes the familiar reply, and Phil relaxes.

“Why are the lights out?” He asks, pulling the door shut behind him and fumbling for the switch.

“Power cut.” Comes Dan’s reply from the darkness.

“No it’s not, the lights in the hall are fine.” Phil frowns. He flicks the switch and the living room is flooded with yellow light. “They’re working fine you idiot.”

There’s no reply for a moment and Phil pokes his head through Dan’s bedroom door, squinting into the darkness.

“So they are.” Dan’s voice makes Phil jump. “That’s weird. They weren’t earlier.”

Dan is at Phil’s side, his feet silent on the carpet. His face is pale and his eyes drawn and tired. He reaches round to flick the light switch.  Nothing happens. He frowns, turning to Phil with a question in his eyes.

Phil shrugs. “Your bulb’s probably blown and it fused the whole apartment.”

“You try.” Dan says.

“Huh?”

“You try my light.” Dan insists.

Phil raises his eyebrows, but obliges. He reaches into the darkness and finds the switch with his fingertips. He pulls it down, and light fills the room with a brief flicker.

Dan’s eyes are wide. He bites his lip. “That’s weird.” He mutters.

Phil scratches his head, almost forgetting about his soaked skin.

“Oh crap.” He sighs. “I need a hot shower and to get out of these. I got completely soaked on the way home, all our documents for Sunday are ruined. Completely dead. We’re going to have to do so much work tonight, will you see if you can rescue any of it?” Phil dumps his bag in Dan’s arms.

Dan has opened his mouth to speak but Phil’s already halfway to the shower, pulling his jumper off over his head as he walks.

Dan chews his lip, and a thin trickle of blood falls down his chin.

~

Phil’s singing is the only sound that echoes around the small flat. He has bubbles through his hair and stinging his eyes, but the warmth is welcome and the softness calming. Some of the strains of the day wash slowly down the drain with soap suds and shower gel, and Phil begins to smile again.

He rinses, allowing himself a few more moments of luxury, before turning off the hot flow and reaching for a towel. The light flickers suddenly and he jumps, narrowly regaining his balance on the slippery tiles. He wraps the towel around his shivering shoulders and slowly relaxes into the warmth. He wants to find Dan, to cuddle up with his boyfriend and finally have that hot chocolate – maybe over an episode of Deathnote.

He slips into his pyjamas and into the living room. Dan is on the sofa with his legs curled up under him and Phil falls down beside him with a smile. Dan registers his arrival, but he doesn’t smile back. He’s staring at the TV but for the first time Phil notices that the screen is black.

“Aren’t you watching anything?” He asks.

“I can’t make it work.” Dan says quietly.

“Honestly, you’re hopeless.” Phil shakes his head, reaching for the remote. If Phil notices the edge to Dan’s voice, he doesn’t show it.

The TV jars into life with a crackle and a flash of static. Phil frowns.

“The storm must be messing with the signal.” He mutters. “Can we watch Deathnote?”

Dan nods, his eyes never leaving the screen. Phil bites his lip.

“Are you feeling okay? You look a bit ill.”

“I’m not... sure. I feel a bit off, you know? Maybe I’m coming down with something. I feel weird.” Dan’s voice is definitely strange now and Phil can’t ignore it, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

“Do you want a tea or something? I can make you some food if you want?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Do you want some paracetamol? Are you cold? I can get you a hot water bottle?”

“I’m a little cold, actually.”

“I’ll get a blanket – we can cuddle up and just have a movie night or something.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea I – you don’t want to catch it. If you could just get me a blanket I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be silly.” Phil’s eyes are wide with worry. “I’m going to look after you.”

Dan’s face his downcast, his eyes unhappy. Phil takes his silence as an affirmative and hurries off in search of a duvet, resigned to the fact that he’ll have to wait a little longer for that hot chocolate.

~

Dan is cold. Phil can tell by his pale skin and the way he curls in on himself. He settles himself down on the sofa despite Dan’s protests and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. Dan jerks away as if he’s been burnt. The hurt in Phil’s eyes immediately makes way for concern as he sees the expression on Dan’s face.

“Wha-?” Phil gasps.

Dan’s eyes are wide and horrified, frozen in Phil’s as though electrified.

“I’m scared Phil.” He whispers.

“What are you scared of? Dan? Talk to me?” Phil reaches for Dan’s hands but Dan shrinks away, pulling the blanket tight around his shoulders.

“I don’t know. Something’s wrong with me Phil. I can’t make electrical things work. I feel really cold and empty and my fingers are tingling and – when you kissed me – it burnt.”

Worry lines crease between Phil’s brows. “Are you sure it wasn’t just a static shock? That’s what I felt and that’s like perfectly normal, you should be fine now.”

Dan shakes his head. “I haven’t done anything all day. Why would I be all charged up? I’m scared Phil – I don’t want to pass it to you.”

Phil frowns. “You haven’t been watching horror movies all day have you?”

“Only the Halloween stuff on telly.” Dan says defensively. “I’m serious Phil. I think there might be something wrong with me, you know I don’t believe in all that paranormal stuff. At least, not really. It’s the only thing that scares me and now I’m fucking scared okay.”

Phil bites his lip as he stares into Dan’s sorrowful eyes. Somewhere in the distance a car alarm wails.

“Look I’ll, I’ll make you some hot chocolate okay?” He says desperately.

Dan’s eyes fall forlorn into his lap and Phil heads into the kitchen. While he waits for the kettle to boil, he paces.

He tries to think things through logically.

If Dan was really static then maybe that’s why the electric things weren’t working for him? Was that even how physics worked? It had been a long time since Phil had taken his science GCSE. He walks to the window, pulling the blind up at one corner to stare out at the rain.

That’s funny.

The rain has stopped even though he distinctly heard the pitter patter just seconds ago. Outside the window, all is dry. There are no puddles left on the pavement. The grass bank is dry and parched even, not a trace of mud in sight. A shiver runs down Phil’s spine. He turns his head to where his bag lies dripping on the table, sodden paperwork in a messy pulp where Dan had tried to separate it.

He feels his jacket. It’s still wet too.

The kitchen light flickers, and dies.

Phil swears under his breath and quietly pulls open the door to let more light in and check on Dan without alerting him to the darkness – he doesn’t want to scare him anymore than he already is.

Dan’s still cocooned in his blanket, the mound of fabric outlined against the light of the TV.

Phil breathes out slowly. He can’t let himself panic, he has to be there for Dan. As he heads back into the kitchen he casts his eyes back out the window and jumps in shock, clattering into the worktop and knocking a tray of cutlery to the floor.

“You okay?” Dan calls from the living room.

“Yeah I’m fine. Just clumsy.” Phil replies, massaging his hip.

Cautiously and with a growing sense of dread in his stomach, Phil casts his eyes back to the window.

He let’s out a low breath of relief. There’s nothing there. For a moment he thought he saw...

“Why are the lights out?” Dan’s voice by his shoulder makes Phil jump again.

“Dan!” He yelps. “Stop creeping up on me!”

“Why are the lights out?” Dan insists.

For the first time Phil notices that it’s not just the kitchen in darkness now, it’s the whole house.

“Power cut?” Phil mumbles again, trying to keep the dread from his voice.

“The TV’s still working fine.” Dan says calmly.

Phil tries to speak but in the darkness all he can see is the outline of Dan’s tall, slender frame and suddenly he’s struggling to find anything to say.

He’s saved by the whistle of the kettle coming to the boil.

“Never mind then, probably that fuse.” He says faux-cheerfully. “Why don’t you go lie down and focus on feeling better? I’ll make your hot chocolate.”

“I don’t want to be on my own Phil, I’m scared.” Dan says.

Phil chews his lip and turns away without a sound. He pulls two mugs down from the cupboard, acutely aware of Dan’s presence just behind his shoulder. He heads towards the kettle – listening to the pad of Dan’s feet on the tiles a step behind him. He shifts two teaspoons of hot chocolate powder into each mud as Dan’s breath falls cold against his neck. He pours the water and stirs.

“Something’s wrong.” He mutters.

“What?” Dan asks.

Phil is silent for a moment. “The water’s cold.”

“But we heard the kettle whistle.”

“I know.”

“Phil?”

“Yes?”

“I’m scared.”

“Me too, Dan.”

Dan’s breathing is heavy.

“Let’s just – let’s go sit down for a bit and wait for the lights to come back on okay?” Phil says desperately after a moment’s silence.

They sit.

Outside, the light is fading fast – draping the room in veils of grey shadow. Phil is acutely aware of the distance Dan has put between them on the sofa and it’s only after several minutes of sitting in silence that he realises that the TV’s gone black; bursts of static flying across the screen erratically.

The clock ticks on the mantelpiece – suddenly all too loud. Phil shifts uncomfortably on the sofa and squints into the darkness; his already poor vision struggling to make out the blurred outlines of dark shapes. Beside him Dan is deathly still.

Phil counts 233 ticks before Dan breaks the silence by jerking suddenly. It’s too dark to see his expression and Phil is instantly on edge, his heart hammering on his chest.

“What?!” He hisses.

“I thought I heard footsteps!” Dan whispers.

“Where?”

“Above us. Oh God Phil I’m scared.”

Suddenly Dan’s arms are around Phil’s waist, his head burrowing into his chest.

Tentatively, Phil wraps his arms around Dan’s shaking frame.

“It’s okay. It’s just the guy in the flat upstairs wandering around. It’s okay.”

Dan doesn’t say anything, he just trembles. As the trembles make way to shudders the static on the screen intensifies. Convulsions run down Dan’s spine and the TV throws blinding white light in Phil’s face. Only there are words in the light, and Phil is frozen to the spot in terror.

 “Those who are dead are not dead they’re just living in my head.” Dan’s voice is hollow and empty.

Phil turns to him with dread in his eyes.

“What does it mean?” He whispers.

“I don’t know.” Dan replies, his teeth still chattering from the shudders. “But I’m scared Phil. I’m really scared now.”

“Me too.”

They stare at each other, the clock still ticking out its steady rhythm – echoing off the darkened walls.

~

Time passes in silence. Phil’s not sure how much time; he lost count at about 2000 ticks. It’s pitch black in their living room and Phil’s starting to wish they’d chosen a bedroom instead – closer walls, only two entrances: the door and the window. Here there were dark archways and doors cast into shadow on every wall. The room was just too big. There are too many places to hide.

Dan is quiet in Phil’s arms. Phil is listening to his breathing. It’s shallow and irregular; grating at times, hitched. Twice Phil opens his mouth to suggest they go out for a bit, at least till the electricity comes back on. But he doesn’t; because that short, black walk to the door is telling him he’s a hell of a lot safer here with Dan on his lap.

It’s quiet and it’s cold.

~

A phone shatters the silence in a sudden burst of shrill noise. They both jump, Dan’s arm shooting through reflex to his pocket but he fumbles - the phone slipping through his fingers and clattering onto the floor. Phil stoops to retrieve it, heart in his mouth.

“Unknown number.” He mumbles.

“You answer it. It’ll probably combust if I touch it.” Dan shudders.

Hesitantly, Phil presses answer.

A noise erupts from the slim metal. Crackling and static, heavy breathing in the background and thuds that vibrate the whole phone.

Phil’s just about to hang up in terror when a voice speaks, only it’s not like any voice he’s ever heard before. It’s deep and rasping, grating against the small speakers and sending ice down Phil’s spine.

“I’m coming.” The voice gasps and growls. “I’m on your street.”

The phone goes dead.

Dan lets out a small whimper.

“What was that?” He whispers.

“I don’t know.” Phil mutters. He’s shaking too now, suddenly freezing.

They stare at the blank phone screen in silence till Phil jerks himself away, thrusting it into his own pocket with a shudder.

“Doesn’t matter anyway. Wrong number. Prank or something, it is Halloween after all.” Phil mutters.

Dan doesn’t even pretend to agree. His eyes are still fixed apprehensively on Phil’s pocket.

Phil tries not to notice, just watching Dan is making him nervous. It’s the way he’s chewing his lip. The trembles that have been running down his spine so long he seems to have forgotten about them.

Phil pulls his eyes away and stares up at where the ceiling would be if he could see it. The light from the streetlamps outside the window is pale and flickering, casting only the faintest of shadows through the dusty glass. The clock is ticking on the mantelpiece. Phil counts again, wondering how many hollow tocks it will take for the lights to come back on and the car alarm to stop crying in the distance. He wonders how long after that it will be until Dan feels better.

Subconsciously, he his fingers trail patterns across Dan’s shoulder blade as he gazes. The trapezium muscle is tense and quivering against his fingertips and Phil frowns, looking down at the black outline of his boyfriend. He strains his mind for plausible explanations; but none materialize. Because he’s just as scared as Dan, and now the streetlight has gone out.

Neither say a word; but they feel each other freeze as they are plunged into complete and utter darkness.

The phone in Phil’s back pocket vibrates.

He lets it ring for a moment, listening to the sound of his heart hammering in his chest, and then he answers.

“It’s me.” It’s the same voice, jolted and jarred. “I’m nearly there. And I’m bleeding.”

The phone goes dead.

This time Dan doesn’t stay still. He leaps to his feet with a cry, pulling Phil up behind him, and drags him by the hand into their bedroom. Phil holds the phone out in front of him like a torch; the small white screen casting tall shadows on the walls that twist and contort as the phone moves. Dan takes a running jump into the bed and Phil follows without a moments thought. Dan is whimpering and Phil pulls him into his arms with a shiver, thinking that it’s almost humorous how pathetic they both are. Two grown men hiding under the duvets because they’re scared of the dark.

“Turn my phone off.” Dan whispers. “It just makes it worse. The shadows...”

And Phil has to agree. At least in darkness they won’t be able to see it coming.

~

It’s been a while. Dan doesn’t have a clock in here (at least not one that makes any noise) so Phil can’t even count the ticks. He can count Dan’s breathing though. And if he listens really closely, he can almost hear his heartbeat. At least he thinks he can. He can feel it against his arms. They’re both fully clothed under the duvets but for some reason Phil’s still cold, and judging by his shivers Dan is too.

Phil’s hearing phantom footsteps in every small noise. Or maybe some of them are real, belonging the tenants upstairs or below them. There are two car alarms going off outside now, just slightly off key with each other to create a truly mournful wail that penetrates right through the walls. Phil’s not sure when the second started up. Now they cry in melancholy harmony until Phil’s ears are ringing and his head pounding.

Dan’s phone buzzes.

Phil doesn’t hesitate this time he just presses answer and holds his breath.

“I’m outside your building.” The voice rasps. “I’m coming in.”

“Who are you?” Phil whispers at last.

“I’m the bleeding man.” The voice replies.

The phone goes dead.

Dan lets out a low moan, his nails dibbing into Phil’s arm.

Phil doesn’t even register the pain, he just holds Dan close and starts to rock.

A cool calm has washed over him. Logically and methodically, he starts to consider their options.

They could wait; here in the dark; and if they were to die a horrible death at least they could do it in the comfort of each other’s arms and the warmth of their bed. The man wouldn’t be able to get in the front door without a key let alone the door to their flat. Someone probably had the wrong number. There was no reason to overreact. The voice hadn’t specifically stated it wanted to brutally murder them with a sledgehammer, they were just paranoid and jumpy because it was Halloween and they hadn’t slept well.

At least, that was what Phil was trying to tell himself.

On the other hand they could be about to get murdered by some ghost/monster in their own bed because they were too scared to get up and run away. It was like the people in the horror movies that didn’t just get the hell out of the haunted house when the creepy stuff started happening.

Phil muses.

“Dan.” He mumbles. “We’re adult, mature men.  Why haven’t we lit any candles? Got the torches out and turned on all the battery lamps? We’re literally pathetic. We are hiding under the duvets just waiting to be murdered. I’m scared, you’re scared but this is just stupid – we can get the whole apartment lit and arm ourselves with meat cleavers and kitchen knives before anyone could make it up those stairs; the lift’s broken! Come on Dan. I don’t wanna die crying in your bed. We can do this, there’s only one person.”

Dan’s eyes are wide and shocked under the bright glare of the torch on Phil’s phone that had been scared right out of his mind. For a moment he is stunned into stillness.

“Okay.” He says simply.

He clings to Phil as they tiptoe slowly to the door, feeling their way along the walls and placing each foot with care. Phil’s trying to seem confident but really the looming black space isn’t doing wanders for his impending heart attack.

They’ve found their way into the kitchen and now Phil’s fumbling for the bottom draw, thanking his mum a million times over for making him buy candles ‘just in case’. The candles fall the floor with a clatter as Dan’s phone rings a third time.

“I’m inside and I’m coming up.”

The phone goes dead.

Dan collapses at the knees and falls to the floor, clutching the hem of Phil’s pyjamas.

“How did he get in?” He whispers.

“I don’t know.” Phil murmurs. “Maybe he’s somewhere completely different and he’s got a wrong number.”

Phil shivers, and then pulls Dan to his feet.

“He’s got like a billion flights of stairs to walk up. Stop being such a drama queen. Torches and knives first, candles if we have time.”

“I want the meat cleaver.” Dan mutters.

Phil rolls his eyes. “That won’t really be a lot of use, it’s not big enough to actually hack off any limbs and it can’t do any stabbing. You’d be better off trying to knock him out with a tripod or something.”

“That’s a good idea actually.” Dan says darkly.

“Come on. We need to figure something out - there’s two of us we can do this.”

“This is surreal.” Dan shakes his head. “I can’t believe we’re actually lining the hall with candles and hiding behind the sofa with fucking kitchen knives.”

“Have you got a better idea?” Phil mutters.

“My legs are kinda jelly right now Phil I’m just struggling to stay upright and trying to just block it all out and think about cheese. Tell me what to do but don’t expect me to be of any use if an axe wielding maniac bursts through those doors. I’ll probably just cry.”

Dan’s teeth are chattering and Phil wants nothing more than to hug him, but he’s holding a 12 inch knife and meat cleaver so instead he just follows Dan to the door.

“I reckon this is as good a place as any.” Dan mumbles. “We can sort of hide I guess. But you know, if this guy can go through locked doors and shit these knives probably aren’t gonna be much use.”

“Yeah I’m trying not to think about that.” Phil blanches.

There’s a silence for a moment as they crouch in the small space between the sofa and the wall, two pairs of eyes locked firmly on the front door lit only by the flicker of tiny candles.

“And now we wait.” Dan murmurs.

“Now we wait.”

~

The silence is deafening, in the literal sense of the word. It fills Phil’s ears and smothers his head until it pounds. It’s utterly consuming. Phil’s gripping the handle of the knife so hard that the tendons in the back of his hand are bulging and the veins blue and popping. Slowly, he loosens his grip one finger at a time and places the knife in his lap.

He turns to Dan, skin unusually pale and illuminated in the flickering light, and offers his now free hand.

“There’ll be time to grab a knife and get up if he comes in. Anyway, if we’re gonna go I’d rather go holding your hand than the handle of a knife. It’s more me, you know?”

Dan just nods. Their hands are clasped together and it feels like the warmest point in their bodies.

The phone only has time to ring once before Phil answers.

“I’m the bleeding man, and I’m at the top of your stairs.”

The phone goes dead.

Dan and Phil are both holding their breath.

It’s only then, in that moment, with Dan’s hand clenched tight against his own and the blood pounding in his neck, that Phil realises the clock on the mantelpiece has stopped ticking.

~

They both hear it at the same time. Phil can tell by the squeeze from Dan’s hands. Footsteps. Soft at first, getting steadily louder.

Thud

Thud

Thud.

Phil squeezes his eyes shut. Beside him, Dan is trembling.

The phone rings.

“I’m the bleeding man, and I’m knocking on your door.”

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Silence, for three booming heartbeats.

“I’m the bleeding man, and I’m coming in.”

The door clicks, and swings slowly open with a creak. The draft blows all the candles out in an instant and the room is plunged into darkness.

There is a pause.

Phil’s not sure how long he’s been holding his breath but now he feels sick and dizzy. He is listening so hard he thinks he can hear his own blood flowing through his veins. The knives are abandoned on the floor and Dan and Phil are clinging to each other with all their might. Phil is shaking and Dan is weeping silently, the wetness seeping through Phil’s shirt.

The figure in the doorway shuffles. A sound like skin brushing the wall.

The light switch flicks and the room is flooded with light.

Dan screams.

PJ Ligouri is illuminated in the doorway, red in the face and panting for breath.

“I’m bleeding.” He gasps, clutching his sides and brandishing a finger glistening with red. “Can I have a plaster?”