Rarely is Pitch Black's presence a gentle thing for a child. Oh, his voice may be soft, his words may even be doting, but the feeling was the same- hairs rising on the back of the neck, a sickly feeling in the stomach, the fluttering of a frightened heart. Normally, when Pitch was present, it was him causing that feeling, because the child lacked the fear they needed to stay safe.
He'd never arrived to a child already frightened. He'd never slipped out of the shadows only to find his space under the bed occupied by the very one he'd come for. He was still hidden, luckily, ponderously watching the shaking little boy, wrapped up with his blanket over his head like a shield while he hid.
A heavy fist pounded on the bedroom door, and all at once, Pitch knew. He knew exactly why this child was afraid, and he knew exactly what he was going to do about it.
He was going to make this alright in a more... Heavy handed manner.
When the lock gave in and the door slammed open, Pitch was ready, but he waited. He waited until the large, angry man was storming towards the bed, and he surged up to meet him, atop a whinnying, rearing nightmare. The cacophonous sound of a very unhappy mare was accompanied by Pitch's angry his, and the crack of a hoof against the man's skull.
Pitch might not be believed in by the adult, but he was able to influence physical reality just enough for that little blow, though it hit less hard than a "real" hoof would have, and the man went down with a yell. Pitch was visible to him now, as irrational paranoia set in, and he snarled, gripping his reigns and leaning over to loom over the man. Wisely, the man scrambled to his feet and ran, the door slamming shut and bouncing back open behind him. Pitch sat still upon his steed, staring intensely after him, until he was out of the house and on the way down the street. Only then did Pitch slowly pull his gaze away to instead focus on the child.