Dark.  The boy sat cross-legged, sullenly ignoring the surrounding darkness.  His Shadow peered over his shoulder anxiously, like a puppy seeking attention.  The boy ignored that, too.  Whether or not the Shadow was actually responsible for their current situation was debatable, but nevertheless, it was the last person he wanted to see at the moment.  (Not that it was particularly visible, mind - save for a pair of glinting emerald eyes, the Shadow had been all but swallowed up by the thundering dark.)  The boy continued to pout as he blindly fiddled with the smoldering grey tangle that sprouted from his head.  They'd taken his light away.  Kicking him out of the sky was one thing, but making his hair go out and leaving him in the dark was just mean.  He hadn't done anything wrong, had he?  Most baffling was the ease with which his own mother had agreed to send him away.  He sniffled to recall her warm, shining face, her celestial voice.  

This is an opportunity.  

That was what she had sung to him last.  (There were never words - only song - but he always understood.)  As much as he wanted to see the sky, to stand and voice his belated protests to the heavens, he could not help but wonder if perhaps she had acted with his own interests in mind, as mothers are often wont to do.  (Not that he cared to admit it.)  

I thought they liked us.  

His Shadow's wordless whisper hissed in his ear, echoing his mood.  The boy did not respond.  He was busy staring intently into the abyss before them.  Something new had entered their world.  It was an intrusive stench, both toxic and intoxicating.  

Fear.  It was a suffocating presence, a chill hanging in the heavy air, a foul taste.  He felt dizzy and confused, and the boy's featureless world seemed to twist about him.  He wasn't sure what this new thing was, but he sat rigidly upright, trying to find the source.  Any question of how or why he intended to do this was irrelevant.  He didn't even consider whether he wanted to.  It was not a desire; it was a need.  Something in that feeling called out, invoking reasons he couldn't fathom, recalling memories he did not have.  The disoriented boy tried to stand, but his head collided with a bedframe and he fell back down onto the hard, wooden floor, his world suddenly very cramped.  And dusty.  And confusing.  

***
Benjamin Williams sat upright in bed, covers pulled up to his chin.  The house could get remarkably dark, once the lamps had been dimmed for the night, even when the curtains were drawn back to allow dappled spots of moonlight to play across the floor.  Boys of his age were not supposed to be afraid of the dark, he reminded himself, but that did little to dull his certainty that something was there in the room with him.  He peered across the room, searching for signs of movement.  

Across the floor, something snuffled menacingly, and a pair of lazy red eyes opened to peer at him, then another.  And another, and another, all piled on top of one another, until more than a dozen eyes were staring at him from the shadows.  The thing moved, and Ben caught a glimpse of a long, scaly tail and a spidery leg.  
Trembling, Ben tried to locate anything that he might defend himself with, but only remotely weapon-like item in the room was the long hazel switching rod, hanging from a tack on the wall by a thin strip of leather, not two paces away from the creature itself.  It could raise a nasty welt, Ben knew, but it was well out of reach, and he was frozen in place.  

BAM.

The mattress jumped as something collided with the underside of the bed.  Ben heard a second creature scuffling about in the dark, and he sincerely hoped that, given the circumstances, it would be permissible for a sturdy young lad of ten to hide under the covers, squealing like a scared little rabbit.  

Then the strangest person Ben had ever seen tumbled out from under the bed.  He had thick grey hair, much wilder and longer than that of Grandfather Williams.  The stranger did not appear old, however - he looked to be about the same age as Ben's older brother Jim, who had turned twenty just last spring.  He wore a suit with long, trailing coattails.  It looked like something that a very rich man might wear to a wedding, except that it was a bright shade of yellow, and the tie green.  His feet were bare.  Ben held his breath, praying that this newcomer would not see him.  He didn't.  The man blinked, looking around him, and noticed the thing lurking in the corner.  

Do you think it's friendly?  

Cautious but unafraid, the man crept towards the creature.  It seemed rather displeased by this, and greeted him with a low, drawn out snarl.  The strange man stopped, holding his hands out in a placating gesture.  

The monster jumped forward and back, tearing a long, thin, strip of flesh from the man's outstretched right hand.  The man jerked back with a sharp intake of breath, followed immediately by a small noise of surprise.  Otherwise, he hardly reacted at all.  In fact, he seemed more curious than hurt - he stared at the wound as red dribbled down his fingers and onto the floor.  

What did not show was his quiet amazement at what had just happened, at the sound that had just tickled his throat, at this solid body that could touch and be so easily hurt.  He had never felt farther from home.  His Shadow could still communicate normally - why not him?  Had his song really been replaced with such rough sounds?  How?  He swallowed and cleared his throat, feeling the vibration that spread from his chest to his mouth, and listening to the sound of his voice.  The sound of his voice.  

Astounding.  

As the man hummed faintly and stared at his hand, lost in thought, the monster took the opportunity to lunge for Ben.  This instantly proved to be a mistake.  Though the man hadn't even noticed Ben before, hearing the terrified child cry out broke him violently out of his reverie.  Something monstrous bubbled up deep within him, hideous and unending.  
Rage.  All questions and curiosities evaporated instantly, leaving a void much colder and more expansive than the dark place from which he had come.  There were no decisions, or even rational thoughts.  He did not tremble or fume.  He simply saw and he knew and he did.  

The man caught the creature mid-leap by its tail, and brought it crashing down to the floor.  Its many legs scrambled for a foothold as it turned on its assailant, eyes rolling, impeded by his vice-like grip on its tail.  The man swung the creature about, lifting it up and flinging it against the wall with a yell.  He ripped the hazel switch from where it hung and brought it down sharply across the monster's snout.  The creature tried to dart sideways, but the man simply caught it and delivered another blow.  And another.  

The creature shrieked furiously, and the stranger responded with an experimental yell, trying to match the sound.  In fact, now that the monster was away from Ben, the man was much more interested in the foreign sounds emerging from his own mouth, than he was in swatting at some monster with a stick he'd found.  

I think you can stop now.  This thing seems harmless enough.  

The man tried his hand at a thoughtful-sounding "hrmmm," and took a step back.  The monster, however, apparently did not agree with the Shadow's assessment.  With a snarl and a flash of jagged teeth, the creature sprang for the man, hitting him square in the chest and nearly knocking him to the floor.  He staggered back, suddenly finding himself amidst a tangle of legs, teeth, and tail.  The man stumbled blindly, trying to shake off the thing clawing at his face and arms without also losing his balance in the process.  (He did, however, cause a few odd pieces of furniture to lose their balance.)  

"Ey!  Stop!  Leave him alone!"

Ben's voice, shaky as it was, brought the scuffle to a momentary lull as it caught the attention of both combatants.  This turn of events was particularly baffling to poor Ben who, to the best of his knowledge, had moments ago been peering out beneath his blanket with no intention whatsoever of drawing any attention to himself.  Next thing he knew, he was standing on the bed in his nightshirt and shaking his fist at a monster that looked as though it could devour him whole - which, to be honest, was probably its original plan.  Ben squeaked.  

The creature vaulted towards the bed, but once again the stranger managed to catch its tail.  They both lost their footing this time, and the creature actually succeeded in dragging the man forward for a few feet before he could react.  The man then sank his pointed teeth into the tip of the monster's tail (it tasted horrible) and braced his hands against the floor.  His bloodied hand slipped, and the creature lurched forward another inch, but the man pushed himself up off the floor and braced himself with his feet as well, looking for all the world like a dog trying to jerk a piece of meat from out of someone's hands.  Once again, the creature rounded on him, and he let go long enough to scramble to his feat and deliver a swift kick to his opponent.  It jumped back a little ways, but he just stomped over and kicked it again.  By this point, they had reached Ben's side of the room.  Ben dropped to a crouch and prepared to either bolt or be eaten - possibly both - but the creature only darted under the bed, where it turned and bared its teeth with a threatening hiss.  Heedless, the stranger bent and fished around under the bed until he caught hold of a spindly leg, dragged the monster back out from under the bed, and threw it against the nearby window.  The large glass windowpane became a concave network of cracks and shards.  The creature lay stunned, though none of the glass had managed to pierce its thick hide.  Without a word, the strange man grabbed the creature and heaved it through the broken window.  It snarled and hissed all the way to the ground, where it escaped into the nearby trees.  Avoiding the broken glass, the victorious stranger leaned out the window to shout after it - something to the tune of, "you smell terrible and I would honestly prefer it if you never returned, thanks."  He stopped, however, when he saw the sky.

There were a few small clouds, yes, but not nearly enough to veil the thousands of stars.  They were just specks of dust, too far away for him to make out any of their faces.  He wanted very much to call out to them, but they were too far away, and his new voice was far too small.  He could only stare at them in silence, wondering what they were thinking.  

His Shadow said nothing.  There were plenty of other shadows to meet in this strange new place, but it was very likely that his host, the strange man, would never again encounter another star.  The air suddenly felt very cold and heavy.  They were truly lost.  

Ben sat huddled at the far end of his bed, watching the man in the suit carefully.  He felt he should offer some sort of thanks, but he wasn't entirely certain that the danger had passed.  His gaze fell upon the man's shadow, and he shuddered.  It had eyes.  Two pale green glowing eyes.  Even worse, the eerie shadow also sported a pair of pointed wings.  It looked more like the shadow of a demon than that of a man.  

Then again, the figure standing before him, staring transfixed out the window, did not resemble anything like the vivid images painted by the town pastor's weekly sermons, or from the frequent supplementary ones offered by his grandmother whenever the mood struck her.  (Grandmother Williams' late first husband had been a preacher.  She took great pride in this, and Ben supposed that being a preacher's wife was a life not easily forgotten.  She certainly seemed determined that no one else should ever forget about it.)

Perhaps it was all a trick, a guise to lure people into a false sense of security - or at least confusion - before stealing their souls.  It was possible, but if that was the case, then why hadn't the man asked anything in return for rescuing him?  Aside from saving his life, the stranger had yet to show any real interest in Ben - or his soul - whatsoever.  Still, Ben could not forget the terrible look that had been in the man's eyes earlier, or the hideous vocalizations that had escaped his throat.  He watched the man at the window for some clue as to what his true nature might be.  None came.  Ben sat perfectly still.  

"Please," Once again, Ben's mouth had opened without his permission, and before he knew it, the man had turned his gaze to him.  Ben stammered on, "don't take my soul or nothing, mister...uh, Sir."  

"I won't," the stranger finally spoke, then touched a hand to his throat and looked confused.  

"Where did you come from?"

The man pointed under the bed and shrugged, as though the answer should have been obvious.  Despite his fear, Ben managed to roll his eyes.  

"No, before that.  Where were you born?"  

The man simply pointed up.

"You live in the attic?"  

At this, the man sighed heavily.  

"No, the sky."  He swung his arm down so that he was pointing out the window instead.  

"You don't look much like an angel."  Ben could think of nothing else to say, but he immediately regretted it.  The stranger frowned, but instead of being offended, he only looked confused again.  (He did not say, or even think it, but he was grateful for the distraction.)  He brought his hands to his face and carefully ran his fingertips over its rounded features, furrowing his brow as though he had forgotten something important.  

The man took a step towards Ben, and turned away from the window, turned away from that rectangular piece of sky.  It was strange how the word to describe something so vast could be so very, very small.  A speck.  

"What do I look like?"

Ben wasn't certain how to answer.  Instead, he pointed to a chest of drawers standing against the wall a little ways away.  It was one of the few things left in the room that had not been overturned.  On top of it there was a small washing basin, and mounted on the wall over that was a smooth pool of silvery glass.  

"There's a mirror over there.  See for yourself."

From the way the strange man reacted to the mirror, you'd think that it had lunged at him with a blade at the ready.  
Perhaps it was the wild flailing of his arms as he flung himself backwards, or the startled "Yiip!" that leapt from his throat, or the look of utter bewilderment on his face as he landed on his backside with a soft thump, but Ben suddenly found that he was no longer afraid of his new acquaintance.  The stranger turned his wide eyes on Ben and pointed an unsteady hand at the mirror.  

"I look like that?"  He squeaked in disbelief, and Ben nodded, unable to contain his laughter.  The air of seriousness that had settled over the room a few moments ago was suddenly lifted.  With an agility normally reserved for cats and circus performers, the man hopped up and landed in a crouching position.  He inched towards the dresser and raised himself up just enough to peer cautiously at his reflection in the mirror, as though it still might decide to attack him at any moment.  He ran his fingers through the wild grey hair, pulling it back from his face, stuck out his tongue, and grimaced so that he could better examine his teeth.  Ben silently watched all of this from his bed.  Aside from the green-eyed shadow (whose movements had a tendency to not quite match up with those of the man who cast it), those teeth were the most unearthly thing about him.  Even in the dark room, Ben could tell that they were not the proper color, and the way they glinted in the moonlight reminded him of his mother's freshly polished silver.  Strangest of all, however, was the fact that the canines were abnormally long, and wickedly sharp - more like the fangs of a large wolf than anything a human should have.  As unthreatening as the man's presence was, Ben could not help but shudder at the sight of those gleaming teeth.  

By the time Ben finally decided to interrupt, the stranger had moved on to quietly making random vowel sounds, observing and exaggerating the movements of his lips and tongue as they formed each new sound.  

"Mister...Fang-ey man?"  Grinning like a playful child, the odd man scooted over to Ben and sat on his knees, resting his forearms on the edge of the mattress as casually someone leaning over a fence to chat with a neighbor.  Now that they were face to face, Ben was startled to discover that there were no pupils in those smiling green eyes - just two bright circles of color swimming in seas of white.  Needless to say, it made eye contact a bit unnerving.  There were a hundred questions burning in Ben's mind, and it felt like they were all trying to tumble out at once.  He decided to start simple.

"Um, what's yer name?"

At this, the young man's grin died, and his look turned sour.  He hated his name more than anything.  As far as he was concerned, it was the most hideous thing in all of existence.  And he had seen a lot of things.  He was about to answer, when his Shadow whispered something in his ear.

You don't have to tell him your real name, you know.  

That gave him a brilliant idea.  The man perked up instantly and responded with a mischievous smirk.

"Guess!"

"...What?"

"You have to guess!"

Ben personally despised guessing games; he had no patience for them.  But this man was grinning at him so expectantly, bouncing in place, that he felt compelled to comply.  

"Satan?"  It was the first thing that popped into Ben's mind, and it came out before he could stop himself.  The man just rolled his eyes.  

"No, it's not 'Satan,' Dummy.  Guess again."

"Is it...Angus?"

The man made a face and a rude noise.

"Gabriel?"

"Ugh, no."

"Can I have a hint?"

The man paused to think for a moment.

"It's a really great name!  One that suits me well - Ooh! - And it makes me sound sorta tough, maybe."

Ben racked his brain for the toughest-sounding names he could think of.  Something that would describe a guy capable of beating up a monster and throwing it out a window.  

"Bruiser?"

"Nah."

"Killer?"

The man turned his head and pretended to vomit.  

"Hunter?"

He paused for a moment, then shook his head, grinning.  His teeth caught another sliver of moonlight, and it seemed to explode across their uneven reflective surfaces.  Ben inched forward cautiously and peered closer.  They really were made of some kind of metal.

"Steel!"

"Still not it."

"Fang?"

The man tilted his head, letting the word roll around in his thoughts for a bit.  He found himself liking it, even though it wasn't a very graceful word.  It wasn't perfect, but it was a name.  It was a good start.  

***

"Ya know, you really oughta be a knight."

Fang shook his head vehemently, his mad grey hair whipping about.  Ben had spent the last few moments learning all about Fang and his Shadow (which really could talk, Fang assured him).  As curious as Ben was about his new friend, most of the answers to his endless stream of questions were vague or uncertain enough that their discourse had actually faded into aimless, conversational chatter rather quickly.  

"I'd much rather be one of the stars than the night itself.  It's too dark.  That's really a job for a shade or a shadow."  He gestured at his own Shadow, who nodded in agreement.  

Ben yawned and rolled his eyes.  

"Not that kind, silly.  I mean the ones from stories - y'know, like they've got in England.  They ride around fighting bad guys with swords an' stuff."  Ben sat with his legs dangling off the edge of his bed, and waved his hand for emphasis, swinging an imaginary sword.  

Fang, who had been lying on the floor with his feet against the side of the bedframe, inspecting his toes, immediately leapt up.  Grabbing the switch from the floor, he proceeded to gallop about the room, whipping and jabbing at invisible foes.  His bare feet hardly made a noise against the hard wood floor.  Ben had never met such a peculiar adult in his life - nor one quite so entertaining.  

"Except you gotta have a fancy title," said Ben, after some thought.  "That's how it works."

Fang looked at him and made an inquisitive noise.

"Has to be something impressive y'see, like 'Sir Fangalot' or "Lord Fangwick Von...Something.""  

The man mulled it over.

"Can I be 'Sir Fangwick'?"

Ben shrugged.

"Sure, that works.  But you got to be knighted, first.  Here, hand me that."

The boy took the hazel switch from the man, who knelt as directed before him, trying very hard to look solemn and knightly.  Feeling only slightly foolish, Ben tapped the branch lightly on one shoulder, then the other.

"I dub thee, Sir Fangwick, the Brave, Slayer of the Dreaded Dragon-Beast of...Whatever."

Sir Fangwick clapped his hands together once and beamed in delight.  Were he better at arithmetic, Ben could have counted every last one of those shining silver teeth.  

***

Some time later, in the same instant that the first crack of sunlight threatened to peer over the eastern horizon, Sir Fang bolted upright and announced that it was time for him to leave.  Nothing Ben said could convince Fang otherwise, nor could he coax out an accurate explanation as to how he had come to this conclusion.  He simply knew that he had to go - and soon.  

"But how?"  Ben asked for the thirty-second time.  "How are you s'posed to 'un-appear?' It makes no sense."  

"Like I said before, I'll just try going back the way I came."

"But how?"

After a few more rounds of this, Ben finally relented, and wished his new friend a safe journey - wherever it was that he was journeying to, and no matter how exactly he intended to journey there.  They shook hands, and at last said their goodbyes.  The imminent dawn was poised and ready to burst free as Sir Fangwick finally ducked under the bed and out of sight.  Ben listened for any sounds of movement.  

Silence.  

He peered over the edge of the mattress.

"Hello?  Are you still there?"  There was no reply.  "Did it work?"

Fang thrust the hazel stick in Ben's face, waving it about from his hiding place with an emphatic "Yaarrrr!"  Ben leapt about a foot in the air, and they both had a good laugh.  All too soon, their laughter died down, and Fang retreated back under the bed, taking the switch with him.  Ben sat perfectly still and peered over the side of his bed, half-expecting another prank.  None came.  A few moments later, sunlight began to fill the room.  

***

Sir Fang landed softly in the dark, his souvenir still clutched in his hand.  He took a step forward, and stumbled over something that he had not noticed before.  It clattered faintly.  He picked it up, and found that it was a mask the color of dried blood.  He could tell this much because there was a forked crack over the mask's right eyehole - it glowed a faint yellow, and lent the whole thing a somewhat luminous quality.  Strange.  Fang had no idea why this object felt so familiar, but there was no doubt in his mind that the mask was his.  It  even looked a bit like him, though its rounded features were set in a rather grim expression.  Oh well.  There would be time enough later to figure out where it had come from.  He had all the time in the world.  

Are you mad at me?  

Fang set the mask aside and looked up to see his Shadow's eyes glinting cautiously at him.  

"No," he said, "I'm glad you're here, too.  I think I'd hate this place if I were all alone."  

I saved something for you.  

Fangwick watched as his Shadow's eyes twitched, displaying some level of discomfort.  This was odd, as shadows are generally not known for being able to feel much at all.  Suddenly, the Shadow split open, just long enough for something small and bright to fall out, with a soft clink.  The Shadow immediately vanished, reappearing behind Fang, shaking a little and looking rather ill.  Fang stared at the thing before him in awe.  

Light.  A tiny sphere of light was contained within two criss-crossing rings of silver wire, which were attached to an exquisite silver chain.  The glow was pure and warm.  It was starlight.  His starlight - or at least a tiny part of it, and right now, a part was more than enough.  Elated, Sir Fang scooped up the ball of light and held it to his face.  

"How- I thought it all went out!  Thank you!"  

I only managed to save that much.  I wasn't even sure it would work.  

"Thank you."  

The two talked about the night's events, sometimes solemn, sometimes laughing.  True, they were lost, and still without any real indication as to why, but nothing is entirely hopeless.  They had light.  They had each other's company.  They had a safe place to hide, and a world to explore.  All things considered, it really wasn't too bad, for a start.

***

It was a decidedly unexpected scene that greeted the rest of the Williams household the next morning.  His mother entered his room to see why young Ben had not come to breakfast, suspecting him ill, and found the boy standing there in his nightclothes, amid the chaos that was now his room, very calmly examining a few scattered droplets of blood that stained the floor.  Her cry of alarm had quickly summoned his father and siblings.  When his father, surveying the area, noticed that the switch was missing from the wall, Ben was certain that certain that he was about to be killed on the spot - much more so than he had ever been last night.  However, his grandmother swept in - just as Ben was frantically trying to relate the night's events to his skeptical parents - declared loudly that her grandson had been witness to a holy battle (just like the Good Book said!), and subsequently began lamenting the loss of her Dearest John, taken from her before his time.  The entire family then spent the rest of the morning in fervent bible study, and Ben, still amazed that he had survived the past several hours with his hide intact, vowed on the spot never to fall asleep during Grandmother's lectures ever again.