Note: sorry if the  layouts a little bit weird, but the Word Processor on my laptop sucks. I'm trying to fix it, but you might just have to make do. Sorry...

Chapter 3

The hospital was quiet at night. through the shiny, clean corridors there was only the soft rustling sound of distant movements, of beds being moved and the far away rumble of a generator, all diffused through the thick doors. The air too, seemed softer. the cloying, acrid scent of disinfectant seeming less heavy than during the day.

On the top floor, in an unremarkable room, Jalas Leprous, or Declan Keller as the doctors knew him, was dying. He'd been dying for a while, but his body seemed unwilling to take the hint.

He lay on his bed, drifting in a place somewhere between dreams and the waking world. the morphine numbed him, and made him fell as though he were floating on nothingness. He could still feel the world around him, but it was as though it was through the third person, never quite real to him.

He lay, dozing, staring out at the darkness that seemed to swirl around him like a dark fog.

Something moved in the darkness.

a primal instinct, a will to survive that now seemed so bitterly ironic, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. a trickle of adrenalin crept into his blood, and dulled the morphine's saccharine numbness. He sat up, and stared.

At the end of the bed, a man stood.

He was tall, a little over six feet, and rangy. he looked, to Jalas, as unremarkable as the other thirty-something's he'd seen in the hospital. but for his eyes, his irises were blue, shot through with veins of black and silver, and seemed to shift and change as he watched, like stars in the night sky. They watched Jalas interestedly.

“Beautiful moon tonight, don’t you think.” Said the man, his voice like a cats purr.

“Who are you?” demanded Jalas, his once strong voice nothing but a pathetic whisper.

The man walked over to the chair in the corner and eased himself down,

“i am…”  he said, pausing to consider his answer, “an idea. A concept, if you like. Albeit, one that’s strong enough to be given a voice, and a face.”

“Why’re you here? I don’t know you.” Said Jalas, pushing himself up in the bed.

The man looked at Jalas curiously, “I’m here to help you, of course.”

Jalas laughed bitterly, “That’s rich. A whole building of doctors to help me, but none who can, and now you. You can’t help me. Let me be.”

The man smiled, “you’re a good actor. Did you put on the same sort of show for your family? Strong at the end, no regrets, that sort of thing?”

Jalas stared, unable to speak, as the man continued,

“I can only imagine that they’ll be so proud, when you eventually go. You were so brave, an example to us all, that’s how I want to go.” the man smiled again, it was the same sort of smile undertakers gave to big customers.

“Get out.” Said Jalas.

“No. I don’t think I want to. I don’t think you do either.”

“Leave me alone!” cried Jalas, grabbing his glass from the table by his bed. He threw it, and it smashed into the wall, but the man didn’t flinch. He just kept smiling.

“You’re scared.” He said, “Its ok, I understand. After all, nobody cares about the dead knight but the ravens.” 

“Go away…” sobbed Jalas, “leave me in peace…”

Jalas blinked, only for an instant, but when he looked again, the man wasn’t in the chair. He sat on the end of the bed, his eyes fixed on Jalas.

“But why? I told you, I’m here to help.”

Jalas felt tears in his eyes. He was afraid, and in pain. Everything seemed so trivial now, so pointless. “How? He sobbed, “How can you help me? All the doctors say I’m done for, what can you do?”

The man leaned in closer, “you were never powerful, Jalas,” he whispered, “but you were a sorcerer. The doctors don’t know, and the ones who do don’t know how to use that information, but I do”

“How…?”

The man laughed, a sound that felt good. “I’m something of a mage myself. But I’m a little more…imaginative than the ones you’re used to.”

Jalas sat up in the bed, “you’re a sorcerer?” he said cautiously.

“Not exactly. But does it matter? You don’t want to die, do you?”

Jalas shook his head, “n-no…sir.”

The man smiled again, “good. Now, listen to me…”

They talked, and as they talked, Jalas felt himself grow a little stronger, no much, but just enough to give him hope. All the while, he never saw the Nightmare.

Hello.
Unoriginal, I know, but I'm afraid that's your lot. For now.
A few formalities before we get started,
Firstly, I don't own Skulduggery Pleasant. Either the series, characters or indeed anything to do with Derek lady's intellectual property. Characters of my creation, I do own however. Be told.
Secondly, I just want to say thank you for taking to time to look at this, it means a lot.
Hope you enjoy, so please, read on.

The Dark Madrigal

Chapter 1

Fear.

That was all there was.

Pure, unadulterated terror and horror.

There was no reason for it, no rationale, only the trembling, and the tears, and the begging. Begging for it to stop, for it to end.

A thought.

A whisper.

Darkness.

Death.

The body fell forwards, it's face crunching into the cold tarmac of the street with the wet sound of shattered bone.

Far above, the nightmare lounged on a lamppost, chewing reflectively on a stalk of grass. He spat it out, and got to his feet, balancing like a cat.

The nightmare thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his black trousers. He considered making a smart comment, but decided against it. It wasn’t needed.

There was a cry for further down the street, and figures came running over to the body, their shopping bags bouncing up and down in a ludicrous counter to the seriousness of the corpse.  

The nightmare grinned in the darkness. He could see them, so small and confused. Frightened. They called the ambulance, and the police. Clinging to the system that formed their most precious shield against the truth.

The nightmare straightened up, and let out a long, slow breath. Far above them, the moon was full, a great silver orb in a sea of the deepest blue. The stars were just tiny pinpricks in the sky, their sharp lights blunted by the sickly yellow lights of the city. 

The nightmare glanced back down at the gathering crowd. Everyone loved a bit of drama.

He raised his gaze, and focused in on the hospital. A slim smile formed on his lips, and he vanished.