Jack Nichols - Tumblr Posts

~Ａｇｅ  Ｃｈａｒｔ~

Jeff the Killer: He’s two years older than his brother, and he was fifteen whenever he killed their father and took off with Liu, which makes him twenty-one now.

BEN Drowned: He’s fifteen, one of the youngest in Slender Manor.

Eyeless Jack: He’s immortal. He was only eighteen when he died, so technically he still is, at least in human form. 

Kagekao: He was cursed from the time he was born, though he only stopped physically aging when he turned twenty.

Hoody: He’s twenty-five; old enough to be mature and make responsible decisions, yet young enough to be physically fit, which is the main reason he was made head proxy.

Masky/Tim: Only one year older than Brian, Tim is twenty-six.

Sally: She’s still a child, and will always be a child. Physically, she’s eight, but because of all the trauma she’s been exposed to at such a young age, she isn’t ignorant to the world’s horrors, making her seem mentally older than she actually is at times. 

Ticci-Toby: He’s now twenty, which means he was seventeen when he was made a proxy.

X-Virus: Cody is sixteen. He was pretty young when he became a Creepypasta, being only twelve at the time.

Clockwork: Natalie is eighteen, even though she acts like she’s an angsty preteen.

Jane: Ironically, she’s the same age as Jeff, which she very much dislikes, because that means she can’t put up the argument that she’s older and therefore wiser. He can’t either, though.

Homicidal Liu: He was merely thirteen when Jeff snapped and they ran away from the law together, and that would make him nineteen now.

Sully: Since he’s a separate identity from Liu, he of course has his own age, origin, and appearance. He claims to be twenty-four years old.

Bloody Painter: He’s twenty-nine, though has the mindset of a very calm and sensible forty-year-old. 

Zero: Alice was thirteen when Zero took over, now she’s kinda-sorta immortal? She ages one year in every five years, so if she was still a normal human, she’d be in her thirties, but she’s only seventeen.

Smile Dog: He’s pretty old, and is also immortal, being about forty years old. He looks like a nearly-grown puppy, though, despite his terrifying size.

Grinny Cat: Same as Smile; he’s immortal, and around a hundred years old.

Slenderman: He’s been around since earth was created. He’s definitely the oldest Creep to ever live.

Incident (OLD)

Y\n: Walks into medical room Hey, Jack...?

EJ: Y\n? Do you need anything?

Y\n: Um... so I was hanging out with Jeff...

EJ: Shit, Y\n. Who died?

Y\n: I don’t think he’s... dead...

EJ: ... What happened?

Y\n: ...

EJ: Y\n.

Y\n: I... I pushed him off the balcony.

EJ: What was he doing?

Y\n: Being a smart ass.

EJ: So he deserved it?

Y\n: Hell yeah.

EJ: Sigh He’s still- he’s still moving though, right?

Y\n: I think so...

EJ: I’ll go see to him.

Y\n: ...

EJ: ... You might wanna go hide somewhere.

Y\n: Agreed.

EJ: And not in Masky’s room.

Y\n: What about your room?

EJ: Absolutely not.

Y\n: Pfft. What about...

EJ: Nobody’s room.

Y\n: Maybe if I stand completely still he’ll think I’m a statue!

EJ: Y\n, he’s stupid. But he’s not that stupid.

Y\n: Fine. I’ll climb on the roof.

EJ: Don’t do that, either.

Y\n: Why.

EJ: I don’t want you falling and breaking your neck.

Y\n: I’m running out of options here.

EJ: We’re in a mansion.

Y\n: Your point?

EJ: There is thousands of places to hide. 

Y\n: Looks around

EJ: What are you doing?

Y\n: Looking for a hiding spot.

Y\n: Ah, yes.

Y\n: Walks over to a medical bed

EJ: Raises eyebrow

Y\n: Crawls underneath

EJ: ...

EJ: I hope you’re joking.

Y\n: Just be quiet and go take care of the clown wannabe.

Favorite Christmas Quotes

Jeff: “Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal. Gunshot And a Happy New Year.”

Sally: “I am a cotton-headed ninny muggins!”

Zero: “You’ll shoot your eye out, kid.”

Brian: “When Santa squeezes his fat ass down that chimney tonight, he’s gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse.”

Tim: “I’m gonna deck your halls, bub.”

Cody: “Nobody sent me a Christmas card today. I almost wish there weren’t a holiday season. I know nobody likes me. Why do we have to have a holiday season to emphasize it?”

Liu: “You say you hate Washington’s Birthday or Thanksgiving, and nobody cares, but you say you hate Christmas, and people treat you like you’re a leper.” 

Sully: “I Have A Machine Gun. Ho Ho Ho.”

Toby: “It’s Christmas Eve. It’s the one night of the year when we all act a little nicer, we smile a little easier, we cheer a little more. For a couple of hours out of the whole year we are the people that we always hoped we would be.”

Jack: “I don’t know what to say, but it’s Christmas, and we’re all in misery.”

Natalie: “He’s an angry elf.”

Helen: “My balls are freezing. I never thought I’d say that with a smile on my face.”

Candy Pop: “Blast this Christmas music. It’s joyful and triumphant.” 

Jane: “I myself believe that when it comes to matters of the heart, the only sin is turning your back on love because of what other people think.” 

Kagekao: “If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart!”

BEN: “I’m going to buy them their Christmas turkey.” “Buy? Do you really mean ‘buy’?” “Yes, buy! In the Spirit of Christmas. The hard part’s going to be stealing the money to pay for it.”

Johnny: “You're skipping Christmas! Isn't that against the law?”

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Yayyy, the second chapter is done! Enjoy~

Chapter 2- Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

It's hard to make sense of anything around her. The static making itself ever-present in her mind is almost crippling. It blocks out all of her thoughts. Distant whispers erupt throughout the endless grays and blacks. It's like she's fallen into a void. Like she can't escape.

A breeze suddenly blows past her. It's burning hot but somehow icy-cold at the same time. It gives her a feeling of terror, utter, raw fear that grips at her heart and squeezes her lungs. She finds it hard to breathe. She looks around frantically. It's the same. Everything is the same. She can't even see a floor beneath her feet, but she knows it's there. It has to be there. What else would she be standing on?

The static grows stronger, louder, overwhelming her senses and making her grab at her head in a desperate effort to make it stop. The breeze billows and the voices become more distinct. But she still can't hear what they're saying. Are they even saying anything? Or are they just murmurs of agony riding the wind and reaching her ears?

"Y\n..."

That voice. Something about that voice sends shivers down her spine, makes her heart speed up to an unhealthy rate. Her gaze averts around, trying to find a source, but she ultimately fails.

"Child... come."

'Come'?  Come where? The static in her mind seems to thicken and still at the same time, greatly confusing her, and she furrows her eyebrows. A fog graces her feet as it rolls across the seemingly invisible ground, bringing a sensation of dread and impending doom with it. She backs away, though finds it does nothing, as the area surrounding her goes nowhere.

"Come to us..."

"Who are you?!" she yells, but immediately tenses. She can't hear herself. Her voice has been... muted. The static continues to get stronger, and she hits the side of her head, trying to stop it. It cancels out her thoughts, makes her feel helpless. All while a suffocating feeling settles in her chest and it becomes more and more difficult to collect oxygen.

"Join me... Come..."

***

Her grip on the sheets covering her torso tightens as she shoots up in bed, instantly being greeted by light from the morning sun shining in through the window and making her squint her eyes and turn her head. She takes deep breaths, savoring the air finally invading her lungs as she tries to calm her rapid heartbeat.

She has had a lot of weird dreams before, but none compare to the one she just woke up from. She stares at nothing, in particular, blinking away the tears that formed in her eyes and refusing to cry. Taking notice of the fluffy feline curled up on her thighs and looking up at her with startled eyes, clearly not happy about being woken up, she lets out a soft sigh and strokes his back, finally able to steady her nerves and focus on more positive things.

"Sorry I disturbed your precious beauty sleep," she mutters sarcastically, wiping her eyes to get herself awake. She tries to brush the dream off as nothing, just stress creeping its way into her head and giving her freaky thoughts. But something about it just... unnerves her. Like it is much more serious than what she wants herself to think.

Leaning her back against the wall of her bed, she runs her hands through her messy hair and releases a yawn, rubbing her eyes before grabbing her phone off of the stool that she had pushed up beside her bed the previous night and turning it on, curious to see if anybody sent her a message and wanting to get her mind off of the nightmare.

None. She drops her phone by her side and slumps down, disheartened. I guess nobody cares, anymore. Then again, who can blame them? I'm just an inconvenience, anyway.

She managed to catch a glimpse of the time in the top right corner of her phone before she turned it off, discovering it's around 9:40 in the morning. "Sorry, buddy. I've gotta get up," she says, looking down at the cat in her lap that just got settled and is now trying to go back to sleep. His ear twitches in recognition, and she runs her fingers through his thick fur before gently sliding him off of her and standing up.

When her bare feet touch the chilled, hard-wood floor, she flinches and jumps onto the fluffy rug in the room's center, trying to get used to the surface in her mind's still hazy state. She glances back at the bed, and her e\c orbs land on Marshmallow, who is looking at her in obvious distaste. She narrows her eyes.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. It's not like you can't sleep any other time of the day." He blinks and stands, stretching for a moment before turning away from her and lying back down. "Okay, fine, be that way. I bet you won't be mad when I give you some beef jerky later."

With that, she looks at the closet, then down at the floor, knowing what needs to be done and mentally preparing herself for it. C'mon Y\n, it's just a floor. A floor made of ice... but a floor, nonetheless. Quit being a pansy and go.

Sucking in a breath of encouragement, she steps onto the wood and lets out a squeak, her pace quickening the closer she gets to the closed door. "Right about now would be a good time to have slippers," she murmurs to herself, opening the door and stepping inside. She sifts through the different clothes, deciding what she wants to wear though not having to look for long.

She throws on some shorts and a t-shirt, socks, and a pair of tennis shoes before stepping back out and heading toward the bathroom, hoping that nobody else is occupying it at the moment. To her luck, once she's out of her room, she finds it empty and strolls inside, closing the door behind her and flicking the light switch up.

After flushing the toilet and washing her hands, she does everything in her morning routine before walking out into the hall and heading down the stairs, instantly catching the whiff of a pleasant scent wafting from the kitchen. Farrah takes notice of her granddaughter entering the doorway and sends her a welcoming smile as she takes a pan of biscuits out of the oven.

"Good morning, hun," she chirps, removing her oven mitts and turning to face her. "How did you sleep?" Y\n walks closer and shrugs, remembering the endless, dull scenery and the eerie voice whispering those words to her in her head.

"I mean... I had a pretty unsettling dream but, other than that, I slept fine." Farrah hums and tilts her head slightly. "What about you, Nana?"

"A lot more peacefully now that I know you're here under the same roof," she replies, giving her a brief hug, which Y\n gladly returns. "So, you hungry? I made breakfast!" Y\n glances over at the stovetop and nearly drools when she sees freshly-cooked bacon resting on a plate, scrambled eggs in a skillet, and the same pan of biscuits placed beside them. She can feel her stomach start to rumble the more she stares at it, so she just nods over-enthusiastically and goes to retrieve a plate and fork from where they were set on the island in preparation.

"This all looks delicious, Nana," she comments, scooping some eggs onto her plate after getting several pieces of fried pork. Her eyes meet Farrah's, and she sends her a grateful look. "Thanks for making it all."

"Oh, it was no trouble at all, just like you, my dear, are no trouble at all." She pats her affectionately on the head before sliding her hand down to cup her cheek and smiling. "Now go eat your food and enjoy it." Y\n nods, taking a step back and laying the plate full of food on the counter, aiming to get butter and jelly out of the fridge. She also grabs a spoon and butter knife afterward, using them to smear the two substances across the soft inside of her biscuits before grabbing her plate once again and strolling through the living area and into the dining room.

She pulls a chair out from under the table and takes her seat, anxious to get some food in her stomach and finally start her day. Farrah soon appears with her own platter of breakfast and sits beside her, the two chatting about various things as they eat, and time seems to fly by. At around 10:25, Y\n rises from the chair and heads back to the kitchen, feeling properly filled-up as she rinses her dishes.

Her gaze averts to the window behind the sink, being greeted by the bright morning sunlight and the colorful scenery that she doesn’t get the advantage of seeing in the city, where she, unfortunately, was born and raised. She spots her grandfather, sitting in an old chair out on the lawn and admiring nature at its finest, seemingly lost in thought.

Allowing a fond smile to stretch across her face, she dries her hands on a towel hanging from a rack before poking her head back into the living room. “Hey, Nana…”

“Yes, hun?” She twists her body around slightly to meet Y\n’s eyes in curiosity, and Y\n grips the door frame with her hand and leans forward, letting her arm keep her stabilized so she doesn’t fall over.

“I think I’m gonna go outside for a while if you don’t need me here for anything.” Farrah nods.

“That’s a good idea, Marshmallow needs to be let out, anyway.” As if on cue, the fluffy feline walks down the stairs, tail high in the air and head raised as he jumps to the floor and stops in front of the closed door, sitting down and looking at Y\n expectantly. “Where are you gonna go?”

“I dunno.” She shrugs, glancing down at Marshmallow and meeting his bright blue orbs. “I was just thinking about going on a walk, or something.”

“Yes, some fresh air will do you good after breathing all of that polluted city stuff.” She takes a sip of her coffee thoughtfully. "Just be careful and keep an eye out for bears. Or anything dangerous, for that matter."

"Yes, ma'am." She nods in understanding and steps over to the door, opening both it and the screen and allowing Marshmallow to prance through and onto the porch, likely eager to go about his daily hunt and roam. Following behind him and shutting the door behind her, a warm, familiar breeze hits her in the face as she does so, and she once again averts her eyes over to Phil. "Good morning, Pops." Her voice raises just enough to get his attention, and sure enough, his head turns her direction before the corner of his lips quirk upward in a cheery smile.

"Hey, hummingbird! Did you sleep okay?" She bites the inside of her cheek and leisurely makes her way down the stone path leading toward the gate. Thinking back to her eldritch dream, she stuffs her hands in her pockets and answers quietly.

"As well as I could, I guess..." Though when he doesn't seem to hear her, she rewords her sentence and speaks up. "I slept fine. What about you?"

"Ah, well. You know how it is with all these old joints and bones. They never give you a break."

"Sorry." She breathes a sympathetic laugh. "But I can't say I have any experience in that field." He releases a snort in response and leans back in the old patio chair, raising a thick, bushy eyebrow.

"Yeah, that's 'cause you're a spring chicken. Trust me darlin', the years'll catch up to you eventually. And then you'll look like me." He pats his rotund belly for emphasis, and she rolls her eyes playfully and can't stop the amused huff from exiting her lips.

"I'm sure I will, Pops."

"Where are ya going?" She unlatches the gate and glances at him before nodding her head in the direction of the opaque forest surrounding the quaint property.

"Walking. I thought I'd try to... get a better feel for this place, again." She notices his face seems to soften ever so slightly, and he briefly looks past the many tall trees, into the shaded woods, and lets a breath out of his nose before meeting her gaze once more.

"I'm sorry you haven't been here to visit, Y\n." Her chest constricts and she shifts her eyes down to the ground uncomfortably. "It's not right for your dad- your parents- to put themselves before you. They shouldn't treat you the way they do. I wish you'd let me do something about it." She only shrugs solemnly, her mood doing a one-eighty and dropping to the floor, though she tries to mask it and instead forces a smile on her face that she hopes is reassuring.

"It's isn't your fault. Dad's just... just a jerk and Mom is..." She sees it's difficult to find correct words to describe her mother, and after a moment to think, shakes her head dismissively. "They-they have issues. But yeah, don't be sorry, I'm okay. Two more years and I'll be outta there, anyway."

"Well... you're more than welcome to stay here, for as long as you need. It gets lonely around here without anyone visiting us." She brushes a strand of h\c hair out of her eyes and tilts her head curiously.

"Nobody visits you? Not even Aunt Darcy?" Her stomach does a concerned flip when she sees his facial expression turn from mildly sympathetic to alarmed in an instant, and her eyebrows furrow, questions zipping through her mind at lightning speed. His hands, she notices, clench the arms of the chair and his breathing seems to have quickened, if only slightly. "Pops...?"

"I-I, uh..." He lets an anxious breath flow out of his mouth as he runs his wrinkled fingers through his hair. "Yeah, no, your aunt doesn't come. She hasn't, not in a while..." Y\n can sense the tension in this conversation, and how strange Phil's sudden change in behavior is. Hesitantly, she speaks, her voice low.

"Wh-why? Did you guys fight or something?" Although she hasn't seen her aunt in over five years, she still remembers her clearly, and she knows that she wouldn't ever willingly avoid Phil and Farrah. Unlike Darcy's brother, she isn't a sour person and wouldn't let something as ridiculous as a disagreement get in the way of their relationship, especially since her son Wyatt always loved hanging around here.

"No." He shakes his head lightly and refuses to meet the e\c eyes of the girl as he collects his thoughts and puts them into words. "Look... we'll talk about it later, alright? You just go and enjoy your walk." He dismisses her with a wave of his hand, though she doesn't move, and instead stares at him with an obscure expression painted across her face.

"What's wrong, Pops? Did something bad happen?"

"It's fine, sweetheart," he reassures, his tone vagarious. "Be careful out there. Don't want to get mauled by a wild dog, do ya?"

"Gee, what a pleasant thought," she mutters sarcastically, but figures that he isn't going to give her the answers that she so desperately craves at this point. I'll try my luck with Nana when I get back, she thinks, letting out a dismayed sigh before stepping through the gate and locking it back. "No, sir. I'll be careful."

When she receives no response, she turns on her heel and heads toward where she remembers the old trail used to be, the previous subject heavy on her mind. That was weird. Has Darcy really not come to visit her parents at all? For how long? She supposes that she has been gone for a very prolonged amount of time and she's sure to have missed some things, but just how important are these things? Something obviously happened between her grandparents and her aunt. But what? Hopefully, she'll get a reasonable answer when she comes back.

She walks under the willow tree beside the cottage and is unable to stop herself from glancing down the road, where her mom and dad disappeared a mere day ago and left her behind with the parents that her father absolutely refuses to talk to, reconnect with in any way, all because of a petty argument.

Nah. She narrows her eyes in indignation. He's just always been selfish. And unfair. And a terrible person. That 'argument' was just what pushed him over the edge. What even was their argument about? She wracks her mind but can't seem to recall any moment where her dad actually explained what was going on, not to her, anyway. In fact, the only time he graced her with an answer at all was when she gathered up the courage to ask him why they haven't visited Nana and Pops in so long. She believes that she had just turned twelve a few weeks prior when she became curious about it and walked up to him one day in the living room.

"Hey, Dad?" He hadn't even looked up at her. Didn't give any attention to his only child. "Daddy?"

"What do you want." It came out as more of a demand than it was an actual question. Still, he didn't look up at her, and she had taken a seat beside him on the couch.

"Um, I was just wondering... we haven't seen Nana and Pops in a while-" She cut herself off when she was met with the sharp, threatening glare of her father, becoming instantly uncomfortable as she stared back uncertainly. It had taken her off-guard, as she had never seen her dad's eyes as cold as they were at that moment. Especially when they were looking at her.

"I don't want to hear anything about them." The way he had said that sentence made her heart drop in concern, and she flashed him a bewildered look.

"...What? Wh-why?"

"Don't ask questions. Just don't mention them." Puzzled would have been a good word for how Y\n was feeling at that moment. Thoughts were swarming her mind, and despite the hard, final tone of voice her father had, she continued.

"But... they're your parents? A-and I miss them. Don't you miss them, too? It's been almost a year-"

"What'd I say?" He snapped at her, his lips pressed together into a firm, angered line. "Don't. Mention. Them."

"Dad-"

"My God, you're more persistent than your mother." He shot her a disappointed look, though she only craned her neck to the side.

"What's wrong...?"

"Arguments, Y\n. Arguments about crap that doesn't concern you." She couldn't stop herself from flinching slightly at the harshness of his words.

"Dad..."

"Stop talking and go to your room." When she stayed still, looking at him with wide, questioning eyes, he released a huff of irritation. "Now."

Shaking her head disapprovingly at the distant memory, she eventually rediscovers the path that she traversed down so many times, back when she was merely a child, before she had so many problems in her life. It appears to have not been used in quite a while, as there are weeds growing up from the ground, low-hanging branches swooping down and entangling together, making a sort of archway. The grass is extremely overgrown, and just by looking at it, she would guess that each blade would have to be around three feet high.

She suddenly looks down at her bare legs, a little nervous about stepping through the tall grass likely housing ticks and traced with thorns. Maybe I should've worn jeans instead... Letting out a defeated sigh, she cautiously steps through the tall, twisty foliage, trying her best to avoid getting scratched by a brier or catching her foot in a weed and tripping.

She glances up and ahead of her, feeling relieved that the shrubbery thins out just a few feet down the path and should be easily manageable. She just has to get there in one piece. Carefully, she takes several slow steps forward, the grass tickling her legs each time she moves, though she brushes it off and focuses on making it through.

Should’ve brought some branch cutters or something. After a couple of minutes, she arrives in a less hazardous area, and instinctively reaches down to brush her legs and feet off, just in case there are some bugs that may have been taking refuge on them, though to her ease, finds none. She places her hands into her pockets and continues her stroll through the peaceful forest, savoring the natural sounds erupting from all around her.

The chirps of the birds and rustling of leaves create a relaxing cadence; a sound that she rarely ever gets the pleasure of hearing. She only just realizes how much she missed being here, able to roam around, enjoy the area without the interruption of her parents, city life, or just drama in general. Letting out a tranquil sigh, she wonders how long she can stay here. How long will her parents be gone? It isn't like they care about her absence anyway, that much is apparent. The only reason they'd come back is because of their work, their fancy jobs working for some billionaire company that Y\n could care less about. Sure, they make a pretty good living off of it, and it isn't the worst job in the world, but it takes up all of their life. At least when she was little they made time for her, but now? They don't even bat an eye in her direction.

Do they even still love me? It's a question she's asked herself a multitude of times throughout the last few months, but the answer was always too painful to accept. They haven't said it since... since I was fourteen. She remembers it clearly. It was her fourteenth birthday, they had a cool party, her best friends came, back when she still had some, and her parents took a little time to make her feel special, which, even at that point, was a rare trait to exhibit. But they did it.

Her father had hugged her and told her that she's beautiful, her mother had stroked her hair, explaining to her how much she meant to her. That she loved her. It was the last wholesome moment they ever shared together, and thinking about that makes her chest ache with loneliness. Although she wants to think that she still holds a special place in their hearts, she knows that the odds aren't in her favor.

She allows a sad chuckle to exit her l\c lips as she shakes her head. Oh, well. A girl can dream, right?

___

The masked male walks swiftly through the dense forest, staying attentive as he listens to everything around him. The quiet tweets of blue jays, the rustling of leaves, the flow of a nearby stream- all normal. Which is good. That means nothing out-of-the-ordinary is lurking around, following him. At least, nothing that isn't remaining silent. But he's grown accustomed to his surroundings, and he's confident that he'd be able to recognize a threat, whatever form it may take, from wherever it may have been hiding at.

He feels his phone vibrate from within the confines of his pocket and inwardly rolls his eyes. That's the fifth time in the last three minutes that Ben has texted him. He's sure that he's still going on about how something is "urgent" and that he has to "get here ASAP". What does he think he's doing? Moving at a snail's pace? Ben's house is over half a mile away from his own, and he's only been walking for about five minutes. No matter how speedy and agile he can be, he still isn't Superman. Shouldn't Ben know that? Moving from one place to another takes time.

After around two more minutes, he finally sees the old cabin come into view, shrouded by vines, weeds, and various other greenery. To oblivious, inexperienced eyes, it's nearly undetectable, which is perfect. It doesn't draw attention, which is something that Hoody, among others, greatly prefer. Any poor soul that may wander this far into the woods and see it, or any of the others, will be taken care of. Immediately. They can't take a risk. It would be too dangerous.

By the time the phone buzzes a sixth time, Hoody is already coming to a stop in front of the rustic-looking door that's made of the same taupe ash wood as the rest of the house, with some minor improvements to better ensure safety. The whole place, whether one's standing from afar or looking at it close-up, seems like it would be very insubstantial and a hazard to be around, much less live in. But in all reality, it makes quite a good home for the two that take residence there, and it's most definitely safer than it may first appear to be, thanks to a few key individuals and their useful carpenter abilities.

He knocks quietly on the hard surface, stuffing his hands inside of his pockets and waiting patiently for Ben to stop hounding him with text messages, notice that he's right outside, and allow him in. Shouldn't he already know where he is? That's why he installed one hundred cameras around the area, right? To observe what's happening without having to leave the comfort of his chair? Or perhaps that's what he wants to see Hoody about; complain that his cameras are malfunctioning and ask for assistance. Though he doesn't know how much he'll be able to assist him because he doesn't have half the knowledge that Ben has regarding electronics. But he'll do what he can if it means getting one of their main lines of defense up and running again.

He's pulled out of his thoughts when yet another message comes through his phone and makes it vibrate against his leg, a feeling he's really beginning to get irritated by. Releasing a muffled sigh and deciding it would be better to just check whatever text he just received instead of ignoring it altogether, he pulls out the small device, and swipes down on the notification tab, seeing not six, but ten unread messages from the teenager himself, all of which consist of either "where are you?", "you gotta get here quickly", or "hurry your butt up, you depressed son of a cracker".

"Ah, screw you, too," he mutters to the screen, knowing full well that its target won't be able to hear him. Unless he has the audio turned on and is secretly listening to him talk. The little creep, he can't help but think before he finally reaches the last and most recent message.

Just come in, the door's unlocked

Obeying the message, he grips the knob of the door with his gloved hand and gives it one swift turn, pushing once he hears a small 'click' and entering the cozy-looking household while shoving his phone into the back pocket of his jeans where it rightfully belongs. The interior is nothing special; a kitchen with a small bar and plenty of counter space to spare to the right, a living room with an old, dingy-looking sofa, a couple of chairs, and a coffee table to the left, and a narrow hallway straight ahead, which has five different doors leading to five different places. Two of them lead to bedrooms, one a bathroom, one a laundry room, and the one at the very end is an entrance into the basement, also known as Ben's office.

Shutting the door behind him, he ventures farther into the familiar area, counting on the sunbeams currently shining through the dirty windows to light his path and take him to his destination. Where is his destination? Not able to see Ben nor his roommate anywhere, he assumes that either one or both have to be in the basement, so he begins his trek through the darkened hall until he reaches the closed door, once again wrapping his hand around the metal knob and giving it a firm twist before it creaks open, giving him access into the electronically-lit room below.

He can hear faint voices getting louder as he calmly walks down the staircase, one reasonably deep and the other about a pitch or so higher. He descends downward until reaching the ground, glancing to his left and being met with two easily-recognizable figures due to their odd features.

One of them is sat rather comfortably in a computer chair that he no doubt stole from Amazon, his blond hair swept to the side in a messy, boyish style. He sports a pair of converse, black skinny jeans, a dark green Halo 5 t-shirt, and a beanie. His appearance would be startlingly normal if he lacked the glowing, red eyes and the tears of blood that slowly cascade down his deathly pale cheeks.

Standing leaned against the wall next to him is someone nearly three feet taller, body clothed in all black save for the navy blue mask that covers his face and the strands of copper-brown hair sticking out from under his hood. His eyes are nothing but soulless, empty pits that replace where his once chestnut ones used to be, the sockets constantly leaking a thick black substance similar to that of tar and leaving sticky trails down his mask.

Both heads turn to look at Hoody when he appears behind them, and Ben instantly jumps up, his shorter-than-average height noticeable, especially when compared to taller people, like Hoody and Jack. "It's about time you get here, slowpoke!"

Ignoring the comment, the man clad in a mustard-yellow hoodie crosses his arms impatiently and eyes the one in the corner of the room for a moment before turning his attention back on the blond in front of him. "Now, what exactly was so important that it couldn't wait a couple of hours?" His voice is low and calm, but authoritative, and Ben glances at Jack anxiously.

"We think that egg head is going after someone else to make his slave." Hoody raises a brow beneath his ski mask and gazes down at the boy curiously.

"How do you know?"

"Cause Jack's been getting these-these, um, feelings? For a while. I don't know, wh-what kind of feelings, like-like bad kind of, weird and freaky feelings, maybe since a week or so ago, then he walked by somebody after, y'know, stocking up on his, uhm, diet... and he said they emitted a really strong, like, odor? Or something? And then-"

"Ben," Hoody speaks, cutting the boy off in the middle of his sentence and ultimately silencing him. "Just let Jack explain it." His lips part to say something, though he only lets out a quiet huff after a moment before plopping back down in front of the multiple monitors of different areas in the forest and leaning backward in a sulking manner. "Right." He sighs and signals for Jack to begin speaking, to which he nods and complies.

"I've been feeling... strange, lately," he starts, his voice deep and muffled though decipherable nonetheless. His hands are stuffed into his hoodie pockets as he lightly boosts himself off of the wall with his foot and stands at his full height. "A kind of... tingling, in my chest and mind, but not a good one. More of a... ominous kinda tingling, like something bad is about to happen, or someone's fixing to get hurt. But I don't know who."

Hoody processes this newly-received information and listens with keen ears, inquisitively waiting for the eyeless man to continue.

"But earlier today, after leaving a house, this feeling got a lot stronger. And it was really sudden, like, it just hit me. I couldn't figure out what was happening until after I looked around a bit and noticed someone walking down some grown-out path. And somehow, immediately after I saw her, I knew that she was in danger."

"Wait, wait, wait," Ben interrupts, holding out his hands in a silencing gesture. "It was a girl? You didn't tell me that."

"Because I was waiting to inform the more mature ones who actually focus on the situation rather than something as ridiculous as gender," he remarks, making Ben scoff. Hoody, ignoring Ben altogether, turns to completely face Jack in order to further question him about the somewhat surprising matter, neck craned to the side slightly.

"Okay, but why does this mean that it's connected somehow to him? Did she cough? Did you hear any static?" He merely shakes his head in the negative.

"No. I just know that something sinister is going on and that feeling I've been getting the past couple of days is definitely coming from her. Just an evil, dangerous aura surrounded her, which is why I'm sure that he's involved." Hoody rubs at his head, finding it hard to doubt a word that Jack's saying. He's never been one to lie, after all, and being a reincarnated version of his former self gives him certain... supernatural abilities, that others don't have. Not even the two ghosts of their group.

He stands there a moment, still and quiet as his mind swarms with questions, before looking at the navy blue mask but having to avoid direct eye-contact with the empty sockets in his face due to making him feel uncomfortable. Not that it can be seen, anyway. "Um... alright, well. What do you suggest we do about it?" He earns an unsure shrug in response.

"I guess we could just eliminate her. It would throw off whatever his plan is and get her out of the cycle before she inevitably gets hurt."

"Unless he brings her back," he points out. "Then she'd be more powerful and we'd have another one to fight against."

"That... does make sense. But we can't just leave her there to become a victim. Either she'll accept him or he kills her. Which would just be one more innocent wiped out by his hands."

"We could bring her back here!" Ben suddenly speaks up, once again rising out of his seat and painting a confident look across his ghostly features. "I mean, she wouldn't be in immediate danger and we could tell her what's going on so she knows what to do and what to avoid."

"But then she'd be endangering us." He shoves his hands back into his pockets and takes a step closer. “And what if she’s already under his influence, huh? We’d be leading him straight toward us and there’s no way we’re strong enough nor do we have the numbers to fight him and his group of freaks.”

“Yeah, but what if she’s not? I mean, we need the extra set of hands, anyway. She could be useful!”

“At what cost? The lives and freedom of everyone here? It would be stupid to bring her here, especially since we don’t know anything about her.”

“Jack!” Ben turns his attention to the tall, lanky man standing silent, hoping to get somewhere with him. “You’re the demon here, so is she dangerous?” He plants his masked face in the palm of his hand in the universal sign of ‘oh my God, you’re an idiot’ before answering, his voice low.

“I don’t know, Ben. She seemed totally normal, but I didn’t get a very good look.”

“There ya go, boomer.” His red pupils shift back up to look at Hoody, his eyebrows raised. “She’s not dangerous. We can bring her.”

“For the record, I’m only six years older than you,” he starts, attempting to bite down his exasperation with the teenager and speaking with a level tone, to which he receives an eye roll. “And Jack didn’t say she wasn’t dangerous, he just said she looked normal. They’re two totally different things.”

“Whatever.” He places his hands behind his head carelessly. “I still vote that we bring her here.”

“We’ll ask the others and get their opinions. Jack,” His head turns to look at the mentioned boy, “is there anything else I should know about these ‘feelings’ or the girl you saw?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay then. Ben, call everyone and tell them to meet up at my place within the next thirty minutes.” The tone of his voice leaves no room for argument, and without question, Ben whips out his, now slightly outdated, cellphone and begins to text each person in his contacts exactly what Hoody told him to say.

“Oh, by the way, I fixed your phone.” He pulls out a small flip-phone from his pocket and tosses it to Jack, and he effortlessly catches it and slides it into his pocket, muttering a ‘thanks’ while he does so. Hoody turns to leave, though before he starts climbing the stairs he speaks once more.

“You both need to come, too. We all need to discuss this and figure something out before tomorrow.” They nod in reply, and he disappears from their sight.

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Chapter 4 - Take Me Away, A Secret Place

———

The morning eventually comes, and it brings the bright, cheerful sunlight with it, much to Y\n's relief. The golden rays shine in through her window pane, forcing her to press a hand to her eyes and give herself a chance to adjust to the light invading her vision. She's kept herself awake for the whole rest of the night, starting from when she woke up from that horrific nightmare at around eleven-thirty and absolutely, under any circumstances, refused to go back to sleep.

Troubling subjects have been laying heavy on her mind for the past six hours, and no matter what she does to rid herself of them, it never works. At least, it hasn't yet. She's tried scrolling through the internet, watching YouTube videos, she even started another painting, though she only managed a few brush strokes before she scrapped it altogether and fell to the floor in a tired rage.

She isn't going to deny the fact that she's mentally exhausted, from both the lack of sleep and anxiety that's been creeping through her nerves the entire day thus far. After around two hours of laying in bed, she decided to get up and go downstairs for a glass of water. Then she decided against it, mainly due to the fact that she already had a perfectly good bottled water sitting right beside her bed. She considered wandering down to watch some TV, or eat some food, or virtually anything she could do to get her mind off of what had happened, but also blew off that idea fairly quickly.

She didn't want to be the reason for her grandparents waking up, especially because of a stupid little dream. Even though she, herself, knows that it wasn't just a 'stupid little dream'. Whether it has a deeper meaning or not, it terrified her, and that's all the convincing she needs to not want to have one like it, or one even worse. She just fears that she would be scolded for having such childish agitation over something that, in all reality, can't even physically hurt her.

Well... the things in her head can't hurt her. But what she saw... was that really in her head? Sure, one could blame paranoia, panicked delusions, a tired, frantic state that made her hallucinate something that wasn't really there. Like sleep paralysis, though she knows for a fact that she wasn't experiencing sleep paralysis.

So what was it? Maybe a strangely-shaped tree bent by the light in the right way to make it look scary? Some type of humanoid animal? Or perhaps it was just her imagination playing tricks on her, after all? She isn’t entirely sure, but she does know that whatever it was, it was unsettling and very out-of-place.

And then there’s the nightmare. That is the second time in barely three days that she’s had a nightmare like that. Sure, bad dreams are no stranger to her; she’s been experiencing them since she was a little kid, though they became more common after her life started to fall apart. But none of them were like that. Her mind had never been in such a gut-wrenching, sinister state before, and it deeply concerns her.

What would make her think up such a scenario? Her cousin, one of her very best childhood friends, being dead? Right before her very eyes? She’s thought, maybe it has something to do with the odd conversation that she shared with her grandfather just a day prior? But he didn’t say anything that should ever make her think anyone was murdered. Especially Wyatt.

Although it’s still a mystery to her, she knows that nothing like that could’ve happened during her long absence… right? If it had, someone would have called her dad to inform him, then he would have told her. He isn’t the best person or the best father by any stretch, but surely he wouldn’t keep her in the dark about something so horrific, right?

She’s tried to forget about it, even though she knows that it’s likely going to be something that sticks with her for quite a while, and she’s tried to calm herself down. It was just a dream. Nothing more. She hasn’t anything to worry about. It was just a startling vision that her mind created to scare her. It’s all the stress finally getting her, that’s all.

A feeling of dread and terror has settled inside of her stomach, and though it has faded considerably since she awoke, it’s still there and very present, plaguing her mind, repeating the nightmare over and over again in her head, making her miserable. As if it’s saying, “The worst has yet to come”.

She will ask Nana and Pops. She will get to the bottom of why her aunt, uncle, and Wyatt never, supposedly, come down to visit. Once she gets them to answer, finds out why her grandpa was acting so suspicious yesterday, gets it through her head that it isn’t as bad as she’s made herself think it is, then maybe, just maybe, she won’t be bombarded with such terrible thoughts each time she tries to sleep.

She blinks, adjusting to the bright, bulbous orb that slowly appears from behind the trees, and watching as the stars fade away, the moon following close behind them. The sky changes from a deep, royal blue to a vivid maya in the span of only a few minutes.

Her eyelids feel heavy, and even without checking the time she knows it has to be around six-thirty to seven in the morning based on the low place that the sun rests in the sky. She leans her back against the wall, letting out a soft, distressed sigh and allowing her eyes to shut for but a brief moment. Any more and she would drift back off to sleep, and she doesn’t want to do that. Not any time soon. Not until she’s been reassured that nothing like what her dream suggested actually happened.

Rubbing her eyes to rid herself of the drowsy feeling still messing with her senses, she sits up fully in her bed, finally able to convince herself that now would be a good time to go downstairs and start her day. Quietly, of course, so she doesn’t wake her grandparents.

Maybe she can make them breakfast like Nana has done for her so many times, recently and in the past. She’s never been a very skilled cooker, but she can make simple things like scrambled eggs, bacon, and French toast. What’s the worst that can happen? Okay, she can set the kitchen on fire, or make the stove explode, or overcook/undercook everything and give the residents of the household food poisoning, but she prefers not to think of those unlikely—but possible— outcomes.

With a small mental protest, she wearily rises out of bed, walking over to her closet to find some decent clothes for the day and changing into mentioned clothes before heading toward the bathroom, although somewhat cautiously. She’s still on-edge about the events that took place mere hours ago, and she figures that she probably will be until she can get another, more light-hearted subject on her mind. Like making breakfast for two people she loves. It sounds like a fool-proof plan to her, and she fully intends to stick to it.

She isn’t exactly sure what time they wake up, but her guess is somewhere between seven-thirty to eight, or even eight-twenty-five. The hall is still considerably dark, thanks to there being no windows around to light it up a bit, and it makes her nerves spike as she hurries to the targeted room.

Once there, she closes the door quietly and turns on the light, her eyes falling on the mirror straight in front of her, and she leans against the sink, studying her reflection with a blank mind. Her hair has most definitely seen better days, though that’s something easily fixable. Her eyes are the problem.

They look almost completely drained of energy, and the dark rings right beneath them make it clear that she didn’t rest well the night before. She dips her head down after turning on the faucet and splashes cool water against her face, hoping to get rid of some of that ‘I just woke up and I’m exhausted’ look that her reflection stares back at her with.

Her eyes get wider and already, she feels more alert and aware of her surroundings; the exact thing she was wanting to accomplish. She then does everything she deems necessary before she goes back out, snatching her phone from off of her bed and her Bluetooth wireless earbuds, and trekking down the stairs, taking joy in the fact that natural, bright light is shooting through the windows and illuminating the majority of the main floor.

She spots Marshmallow sitting atop a chair, seemingly content grooming himself and only sparing her a short, unphased glance as she appears at the bottom of the staircase. Smiling lightly, she makes her way over to him and squats to his level, currently not caring if she interrupts his self-given bath, stroking his head in greeting and giving him an affectionate kiss on his cheek.

“Hey, little buddy,” she says, her voice lowered as she gingerly scratches his chin. “You having a good morning?” His mouth latches around her finger, not hard enough to make her bleed but she’s certain his sharp teeth will leave indents for a few minutes once they’ve left. She pulls her hand back and rolls her eyes. “Yeah? Me, too.”

She stands back up and straightens her posture, catching a glimpse of the front door before she looks back down at him curiously.

“You ready to go out?” She points at the door, and he seems to get the gist of what she’s saying because he releases a meow of protest and stretches his body out. “Well, I know it’s early.” She crosses her arms. “That doesn’t mean you can’t go hunting or whatever.” Marshmallow jumps from his position on the chair and walks toward his empty food bowl, looking back at Y\n expectantly. “Oh, c’mon. You’re perfectly capable of going out and getting your own food.”

She’s met with a loud and, frankly impatient, meow, and she huffs but begins her small journey to the pantry nonetheless.

“Fine, fine. You win.” When she arrives, she gazes idly through the various cans of food, bags of flour, and boxes of cereal and rice and beans, trying to locate the bag of branded cat food she knows has to be in here. “Last time I was here, they kept it in this room…” She mutters to herself, bending down to look beneath the shelves. Her eyes land on a red and white bag, the top ripped open and a metal scoop resting inside.

Instantly recognizing it as her desired item thanks to the large cat head printed on the front, she takes the handle of the scoop and dips it farther into the brown pebbles of cat food, walking back out soon after and dumping it in Marshmallow's bowl. He lets out a satisfied meow and sticks his nose into it briefly, as if checking that it isn't fake, before seeming content enough and beginning to eat it.

Y\n pats him on the head and returns the scoop to its rightful place inside of the pantry, closing the door behind her and going to the kitchen. She turns on the overhead light, enabling her to see a lot better than she could previously, and grabs different ingredients from the fridge, including a carton of large eggs, cheese, water, vanilla extract, syrup, and a pack of bacon. Then she moves to collect salt and pepper, a loaf of Sunbeam bread, cooking oil, a whisk, a mixing bowl, three separate skillets, and three plates.

Happy that Nana has all of the stuff that she needs in order to create this easy and, hopefully, good-quality breakfast, she puts in her earbuds, turns on some music, and begins by mixing up the scrambled eggs and putting a few strips of bacon on a skillet. Not having made breakfast in quite a while, she's a bit rusty, and it takes a few moments to remember what exactly she's supposed to do, though she gets the hang of it pretty quickly, and in around thirty-five minutes, she has the food all ready to eat and is washing up the used dishes after dividing everything up and pouring them onto plates.

I wonder when they'll get up... she thinks, glancing at the food then at the staircase that leads up to their bedroom. Breakfast will get cold if they don't come down soon. As if on cue, she hears a set of heavy footsteps from upstairs as they stop by and go into what she assumes to be the bathroom. Drying her hands, she grabs two of the three plates, walking into the dining room and setting them on the rectangle table before going to get the third one. As she passes the door again, she sees Marshmallow sitting and pawing at its surface, not-so-subtly implying what he expects of her.

She inwardly sighs and looks down at him with a raised eyebrow, resting a hand on her hip. "Really? Now you want to go out?" She receives a 'meow' in response, and she rolls her eyes but unlocks the door nonetheless, Marshmallow standing and backing away to ensure he doesn't get hit by it swinging open and then waiting for her to push the screen open. On his way out, he rubs against her leg and lightly flicks his tail in her direction, a gesture she takes as appreciation before he jumps off the porch and disappears around the corner of the house.

Around that time, she hears a door on the second floor open and that same pair of footsteps walking closer to the staircase, and she turns her head to look behind her, seeing her grandpa cautiously making his way down, making sure to hold onto the wooden rail for support. She shuts the door and plasters a smile across her face, stepping forward to greet him once he reaches the floor, though he speaks before she can.

"Hey, hummingbird!" he says, glancing at the clock hung on the wall beside the door to check the time before meeting her gaze. "What are you doin' up? It's only seven-forty-eight." Her smile turns slightly timid and she holds back a yawn, instead opting to keep her response simple so she doesn't make him worried and shrug her shoulders.

"Uh, well... I just, thought I'd get up early. Make breakfast..." Then her eyes widen and she signals toward the dining table on the opposite side of the living room. "Oh yeah, I made breakfast! Is Nana gonna be up soon, too?" He shakes his head in the negative, giving Y\n a friendly pat on her shoulder and walking toward the table.

"Nah. She didn't sleep very well last night, she probably won't be up for a couple of hours yet." Y\n glances at the plate of food laying on the island in the center of the kitchen, feeling a pang of pity erupt throughout her chest. She grabs it and places a sheet of plastic wrap over it diligently and puts it on a shelf in the fridge, hoping that Nana will feel like eating when she does finally get up.

She fills two glasses with milk and brings them back into the dining room, giving one to Phil and the other she keeps, taking a seat in one of the four identical chairs placed around the table. "How come? Was she having bad dreams?" Part of her wonders whether or not her grandma is suffering the same symptoms as herself, though she seriously doubts it. But it never hurts to ask, she supposes.

"Heh, no." He takes a bite of eggs, taking his time to finish his reply, and she takes his silence as an opportunity to begin eating, as it seems like she won't have to be in any hurry to say anything for a few moments. She has to admit, she didn't do a bad job with making the food. The eggs could use a bit more salt, but other than that, she's quite proud of how it all turned out, especially since she hasn't made a proper meal in several months. "Just aching joints, mostly. That and stress."

She lifts her eyes curiously at this, and he continues looking down at his plate, taking steady bites and not seeming to acknowledge her questioning gaze, nor what he had said. After around thirty seconds of silence, she breaks it, wanting to know what would possibly be stressing her grandmother out so much that it interferes with her sleep. "What do you mean stress? Is there something wrong?"

Only now does he meet her eyes, his face morphing into one of realization, and he furrows his eyebrows. "Well, yeah..." His voice wavers ever-so-slightly, and it's so precise that even Y\n almost doesn't notice it. "I mean, w-with your parents, and everything."

"Why would my parents stress you guys out?" She can tell that at least part of his statement isn't 100% true, though she doesn't want to pressure him and instead be easy with it. After all, if he wants to tell her, he'll tell her. "They're my problem, not yours."

"Darlin', if your parents aren't treating you right, that makes them our problem, too. Especially your dad." Perhaps she just isn't used to people willingly getting involved in her personal life, but those two sentences sound so strange to her. They also sound touching, so much so it makes her heartbeat speed up. "We're not going to stand aside and let you be neglected and mistreated."

She swallows, trying to keep the tears threatening to spill out of her eyes at bay, and takes a shaky breath. "Well... thanks, Pops..." Her tone is soft and genuine, probably the most genuine it's been in quite a while, and she sends him a grateful smile. He briefly returns it, turning his attention back to his food and continuing to eat.

A couple of minutes pass, and silence is all that's heard as the two enjoy the meal, Y\n's mind swarming with thoughts. How could she have forgotten how pure her grandparents are? How has she gone nearly half of her life without their wholesome influence? How could her father just get rid of almost all connections with them and act like they don't even exist? It's a totally shameful thing to do, and that fact is only just now making itself apparent to her. How could he? After they raised him? After they gave him and Aunt Darcy all of their love? How could he just stop talking to them like that?

It's bad enough that he refuses to visit with them, but then he goes and forces her to do the same thing? How could her father be so utterly selfish that he abandons what should be two of the most important people in his life? It doesn't make any sense to her. Then again, her father hasn't really made much sense since all of this pointless drama started, so she guesses it won't get much more sensible from here on out.

At least her aunt still treats them like her parents. Or... she did the last time Y\n was here. It's unknown what she does, now, which makes the dream she had flash into her mind. Just what happened between her aunt and her grandparents? Taking a composing breath through her nose and biting the inside of her cheek somewhat nervously, she speaks, again. "Pops... can I ask you something?"

"Anything, Y\n. Ya don't have to be shy around me." She averts her gaze to a wall, gathering her thoughts and attempting to form a coherent sentence.

"Well... you said, yesterday when I asked about Aunt Darcy, that you'd tell me later." She tries to keep her voice raised enough so he can hear her well, as his ears aren't 'what they used to be', as he's told her. "And... well, it's later, so..."

She sees him stiffen and stare down as if trying to sort through his thoughts, and she waits patiently, if not anxiously, for his response. It's clearly a serious matter that he feels hesitant to discuss, but surely it can't be anything like what her dreams suggested, right? No, absolutely not. She would've been informed a long time ago if something like that had happened. They probably just lost touch. Maybe they moved far away from here and they feel sad talking about it.

"Y\n..." He catches her full attention when he starts, and he almost seems to crumble under her apprehensive gaze. "I think you should wait and talk about this with your grandmother. I'm afraid I'm not the best, uh..." He rubs the stubble on his chin and releases a humorless laugh. "I don't explain things very well."

"Please?" She really doesn't want to resort to begging, but she has to know. If her mind is going to be put to ease, it needs to know that her dream is nothing more than that; a dream. What she saw isn't real, and it will never be. So she can relax and enjoy the rest of her vacation with her grandparents. He opens his mouth like he's about to further argue his point, but she beats him to it. "I don't care if you're not good at explaining things. Just tell me? Please?"

He stares across the table at her for a good minute before finally letting out a defeated sigh and sliding his now-empty plate to the side in order to give him room to rest his arms comfortably across the wooden surface in front of him, muttering something about how 'she'd have to know eventually'.

"Look, Y\n..." He looks like he's currently straining himself for the correct words to say, and she doesn't take her eyes off of him. "...around a year and a half, two years ago..." He meets her e\c orbs, his own holding great pain and hesitation. She subconsciously squeezes the fork within her hand, her lips parting slightly in anticipation. What happened? Did they get into a fight? Did Aunt Darcy and Uncle Marvin get divorced? "...Wyatt disappeared. And... and Darcy and Marvin were murdered."

Her breath hitches as her mind tries to comprehend this newly-delivered information. No, no... that couldn't have happened. All of it was a dream, nothing more. Her mind didn't predict anything. It couldn't have. No, Pops has to be joking... but what if he isn't? She leans forward in shock, eyebrows raised and heart skipping a beat as she forces one single word out of her mouth. "Wh-what...?" It comes out as a whisper, and he runs his fingers through his white, thin hair.

"I-I really shouldn't be telling you this."

"How...?" She fights the tears in her eyes and gulps, nervous to hear his answer. He only shakes his head.

"That's too descriptive, I don't think you need to—"

"Were they stabbed? S-strangled? Shot?" She isn't sure why, but she wants to know. Despite how painful it will be. She tilts her head in distress and considers the way he stares at her, seeming to contemplate what she said. Her eyes are pleading, desperate, and her bottom lip quivers vaguely.

"They... they were stabbed. Probably by the javelin that Marvin kept in the living room, because it was missing, a-and the wounds were... messy, they said." She drops her fork and shoves her plate aside, resting her elbows on the table and burying her face in her hands as she comprehends all of this. How could this have happened? These are things that are only supposed to take place in movies, on crime shows, not in real life. It isn't supposed to happen to her family.

"And... and Wyatt?" Her voice is muffled and quiet as her stomach quickly becomes queasy.

"Nobody knows. He just... vanished." Her heart gets caught in her throat and she releases a small sound similar to a whimper. "There are theories that he... that he killed them and then took off to get away from the law." She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut and gripping strands of her hair.

"H-he wouldn't. He loves them..."

"I know. I think that's an absurd theory, myself." He rests a consoling hand on her arm in an effort to bring her comfort. She barely even registers the touch and focuses on the thoughts running rampant through her mind. How could her aunt and uncle be dead? How could her cousin be missing? How could anybody think he had anything to do with it? "I knew this would be a lot to handle, I'm sorry, darlin'."

"Wh-why didn't I know about this?" She lifts her head just enough to meet his eyes, her voice unsteady. "If it happened that long ago, why was I kept in the dark?"

"Trust me, we tried to tell you. We tried to tell your dad, your mom, but neither of them listened to us. They ignored our calls, wouldn't let us get on the phone with you. You deserved to know, and I'm sorry it's taken us this long to tell you." She can't stop her hands from shaking as a tear rolls down her cheek.

"Y-you mean Dad... Dad didn't care that his sister was dead?" Bitterness and a form of disbelief lace her voice as her eyes seem to bare holes into the table in front of her.

"He didn't want to believe it. I think he convinced himself it didn't actually happen and refused to acknowledge any of it." A rich, overwhelming fear washes over her and nearly makes her throw up as she bites her lip, so hard it almost draws blood, though she doesn't pay attention to the pain. Her eyes narrow in on Phil and she removes her hands from her face to get a better view of him, and so her voice wouldn't be indistinct.

"You... you're not joking, are you?" He shakes his head slowly, and goosebumps form along the skin of her arms.

"No... I'm so sorry. I know you were close with them..."

"I, uh..." She stands to her feet, grabbing her dishes and not having the stomach to finish her breakfast. "I'm gonna... go. Out, f-for a walk." As she walks around the table and past Phil, he lightly takes hold of her wrist to get her attention, and she glances down at him with glossy eyes.

"...I didn't want to scare you, or make you feel so bad, Y\n. I just... didn't want to lie to you."

"N-no, it's okay," she says, though her tone implies otherwise. "Thank you. I-I wanted to know." Before he can say anything else, she easily pulls away from his grasp and heads toward the kitchen, dumping her scraps in the large trash can before washing the dishes, putting them in the drainer to dry, pocketing her phone, and going toward the front door once again. "Um, if Nana wakes up  before I'm back, please tell her that there's food in the fridge."

Not waiting for a reply although not exactly expecting one, she exits the home, shutting the screen behind her and speed-walking toward the white gate. She finds herself in a hurry to get some privacy, be in solitude so she can express herself more clearly without fear of being judged. Though tears now stream freely down her cheeks, she tries to hold them back until she's concealed in the thick greenery of the forest, and she takes the very same path she did yesterday, and many times before, this time not paying attention to what she steps on and what she doesn't.

She stumbles several times over the thorny plants and uncut weeds until eventually making it to a tamer area of the trail, wrapping her arms around herself and letting out squeaky sobs. Is it just a terrible coincidence? Her dreaming about Wyatt dying then finding out his parents was murdered and he's missing? Or is there something deeper going on? She can't seem to think past the fact that her aunt and uncle are dead, or the fact that her cousin just seemingly vanished without a trace and has yet to return.

Since she's arrived here, her dreams have had a menacing, eerie atmosphere to them, though she assumed it was just the stress of everything manifesting itself into the form of something specifically created to put fear in her heart. She didn't think they meant anything more, not so much so that they invade her mind during the day, every day, without end. But... was she wrong?

How can they be gone? Just like that? Her eyebrows furrow and her eyes narrow in both incredulity and anger. And how could Dad know but not tell me? I'm his freaking daughter, for goodness sake! And they're his sister, his brother-in-law! His nephew! How could- how could he just act like nothing happened!?

A pathetic whimper escapes through her lips and she shakes her head, quickening her pace and keeping an eye out for a connecting path in particular that she and Wyatt used to take to get to the river. They used to take that path, together, when they were kids. That would never happen again. Because he's missing and probably won't ever come back.

Oh God... this means Nana and Pops are the only ones left... She sniffles and sucks in shallow, sharp breaths as she comes to this realization, slowing down absentmindedly. She was my only aunt, he was my only cousin, Marvin was my only uncle... they were my closest relatives that actually gives a crap about me.

Seeing as how her mother's parents disowned her when she was only seventeen because she got impregnated by a man who was, at the time, twenty-two, she never got to meet them and didn't hear too much about them, outside of insults and general hate. Her mom's sister, Giana, didn't visit a lot, and when she did she was always snobby and selfish, and it was apparent to Y\n that she didn't really care for her niece very much. She was clearly only after the money that Y\n's father and mom had at their grasp.

In other words, her mother's family left much to be desired. At least her dad's side of the family loves her, which is something she's beyond grateful for. But now part of them is gone. Only her grandparents remain. Does her father even care about that? Has he ever stopped and thought, 'ya know, maybe I should stop acting like a scumbag and spend time with my parents before it's too late', or 'I should be there for my sister's funeral'? Doubtful. If he did it was a mere idea that he quickly brushed aside and labeled as 'ridiculous'.

Y\n wouldn't be so angry with him had he at least let her still see them, at least a couple of times a year, maybe on holidays, but that simply isn't the case. If she had been allowed back here years ago, she would've been able to spend quality time with all of them before that horrible event occurred. But now it's too late. All thanks to her selfish jerk for a father.

She releases an infuriated scream and turns to kick the nearest tree, causing a bird that was sitting on a branch previously to fly away in alarm, likely thinking that it's under attack and wanting to get away before it gets hurt. She could care less about the winged creature at the moment though and continues to kick the tree a total of three more times before collapsing on her knees in a sobbing, shaking, and heartbroken heap.

Even if she tried, she'd be unable to keep her negative emotions to herself. But she doesn't want to. She wants to cry, cry until she can't anymore. Nobody's around, she's completely alone. What harm will it bring? Salty tears slide down her face and hit the ground with a tiny splash each time, and she leans forward and rests her forearms on the grass beneath her for some sort of stability.

She can hardly believe this information, no matter how many times it runs through her head. It seems surreal, almost like a dream. But this isn't a dream. Right? It would be amazing to wake up and find out that Marvin and Darcy were alive and well, and Wyatt was still here, living a happy life. But that scenario is very unlikely to be true. Still, she hopes. Maybe it's all in her mind. She pinches the skin on her arm and instantly winces, waiting to wake up in her bed. But she doesn't.

She crashes further to the ground and her pained wails become louder. Why them? Why some of the sweetest people in her life? Why did they have to go? Why couldn't it have been a bad person? Someone whose only goal in life is to make others suffer? Why couldn't it have been her own parents instead of Wyatt's? As terrible of a thought it sounds, she can't seem to make herself think any differently.

Who would do such a thing? Who would murder somebody with a family that they love, that loves them in return? Have they no empathy? No compassion, no remorse, whatsoever? Clearly not. A sudden snap of a twig draws her attention and she cranes her neck to the side, gazing through swollen, glassy eyes and trying to see past the trees and find whatever is the source of the noise. Seeing nothing and brushing it off as an animal or her imagination, she turns back toward the ground, attempting to gather her bearings to continue her walk in peace.

After a couple of minutes, she catches her breath, calms herself down enough to be somewhat aware of her surroundings, and leisurely rises to her feet, wiping the remainder of the tears away with the back of her arm and beginning to walk forward, once again.

She spots a familiar trail, shrouded by even more briars and thick plants, that she remembers to lead to her and Wyatt's old 'Hangout', as they used to call it, where the water is just clear enough to be considered 'clean', where a small mountain covered with boulders rests, where a large oak was planted beside the river many years ago and made the perfect place to sit and play cards, share stories, or just stare down below into the beautiful scenery and beyond.

That was the way it used to be, almost eight years ago, and that's the way she hopes it is, now. Maybe it will be just like a painting frozen in time. Maybe it hasn't changed at all. Guess I'll find out...

She struggles to swat away the plants and duck under branches, looking extra closely for low-hanging spiderwebs that happen to be in the direct path of her head. Her heart aches, there isn't a doubt about that. But below that aching, below the pain, there's anger. Pure vexation, all directed at her father. Yes, she knows he wasn't the one who killed them, but he's the one that kept her from seeing them. Perhaps she should focus all her negative energy around the actual person who caused their deaths. But she can't, not right now. The real villain, in her eyes, is the man whose self-centered personality, along with his total disregard for other peoples' feelings, made the last of her childhood and beginning and middle of her teenage years miserable.

Her mother isn't innocent in this either, with her cheating on her own husband, disacknowledging that her daughter even existed most days anymore, and overall disloyalty toward her family makes Y\n angry. Makes her strongly dislike her. But Y\n's mother had almost nothing to do with these family issues, no. Her father caused that all on his own. She's sure the only reason her mom didn't communicate with them is because he told her not to.

Y\n recalls turning to her mother for answers when she couldn't get anything out of her dad, and she only responded with, "You'll have to ask your father", or "I'm not the one you should be questioning about that". Every single time. So she stopped, after all, what's the point in asking about something if all you get is vague, useless answers in response?

She looks back when she gets the sudden feeling that she's being followed, and flinches in surprise when she meets the chestnut eyes of a fairly normal-looking boy, with messy brown hair and an innocent-looking face. He seems to be around her age, perhaps a couple of years older, and he puts his hands up in defense as if taken off-guard by her startled reaction.

He's taller than average, and she takes a cautious step back when he begins speaking. "O-oh, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to scare you." His voice is deep and has a mature sound to it, and she furrows her eyebrows in slight suspicion. Who is this guy? How long has he been there?

"Were you... following me?" Her tone holds wariness, and he sends her a friendly smile to show her he means well, though she gets the feeling that maybe it isn't as sincere as he makes it seem.

"Uh... yes? But—you don't have to get creeped out or anything, I'm not a stalker." She raises an eyebrow and takes another step back, trying to make as much distance between herself and this random person as she can in case he were to try and attack. "I just moved here and was exploring around, then I saw you walking around and figured I'd say 'hi'."

She considers his posture, his appearance, his upright demeanor, before meeting his eyes again, her muscles relaxing and deciding he seems genuine enough, though she won't let her guard down completely. She isn't extremely concerned about the way she must look to him, and he isn't commenting on it, much to her relief. "...Really? Where do you live?"

"About a mile north from here." He nods his head in that direction and sticks his hands into his hoodie pocket habitually. "My mom thought I should get out and get familiar with the area."

"And how do you like it?" She tilts her head, crossing her arms over her chest protectively. He shrugs.

"It's nice. Pretty quiet most of the time, but it's a good area to unwind, I guess." She nods in response, and he takes a step closer, something that doesn't go unnoticed by her. "What about you?"

"I'm here visiting some family while my parents are away on business." She said the term 'family' instead of 'grandparents' without even thinking about it, something that makes her chest tighten when she realizes that very thing.

"Cool. You been here before?"

"Not since I was a kid."

"How come?" She narrows her eyes up at him and her voice hardens slightly, not willing to give a stranger a lot of personal information about herself. Maybe it's the fact that she hasn't interacted much with anyone outside what was necessary for quite a while and it's making her feel overly-cautious about meeting new people, but something about this person seems strange. She can't quite put her finger on it, all she knows is that she feels weird around him.

"Family issues." There's a certain tension that begins to form between the two of them, and she shuffles on her feet uncomfortably, not sure if this guy wants to maintain some type of conversation with her. She was never the best at reading people and knowing what they were thinking. A few moments pass.

"So... where are you going?"

"Um..." She glances behind her, to the unconquered trail that she was taking before he appeared, and jabs her thumb backward to show him. "There's a river and a tree and stuff down there, I was just seeing if it's the same as I remember it being."

"I don't mean to be the annoying know-it-all, but..." He uses his eyes to signal around them in an obvious manner. "There are trees everywhere." A huff exits her nose and she rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, well. There is one tree there that's more special than the ones here." He chuckles lightly and nods.

"Fair enough. Mind if I tag along?" She presses her lips together after hearing this seemingly harmless request, thinking it over. "Hey, I know that face. Don't worry, I'm not gonna slaughter you or anything when we get there."

"Heh, no, I wasn't—" She runs her hand through her hair and grapples for words that won't make her seem paranoid or stupid.

"You were." He grins mischievously, walking closer to her, and she steps to the edge of the path in response, still not fully trusting of this evidently nice individual. "It's okay. Look, I'll even go first so I can't stab you in the back." She bites the inside of her cheek and watches as he passes her effortlessly and stops a few inches ahead. "You were following the trail, right?" She nods. "Then c'mon and we'll 'get familiar with the area' together."

"I'm already familiar with the area," she says, hesitantly following behind him when he starts walking.

"Okay, okay, then let me get familiar with the area and you will just... stay familiar with the area, I guess." She can't stop the amused smirk that etches itself across her face as she falls in place next to him, though keeps a fair distance between the two of them. As 'fair' as the distance can be, at least. She's content that she's found something that will hopefully distract her for a little while just so she won't have to think about the current horrors of her life. "So what's your name?"

"Y\n." She briefly meets his eyes and repeats his own inquiry. "What about you?"

"Nice to meet you, Y\n. I'm Jack."

Cooking

Can cook:

-Brian

-Jane

-Tim

-Zero

-Liu

-Kagekao

Can’t cook:

-Jonathan

-Candy Pop

-Sully

-Clockwork

-Jeff

-Ben

Doesn’t cook:

-Jack

-Sally

-Helen

-Toby

Can’t cook but tries to anyway:

-Cody

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Chapter 5- Shatter Me

————————————

"So you used to come here a lot, then?"

"All the time. I guess it was just the perfect place to... hang out, and not be disturbed." She shrugs, her feet dangling past the large tree branch as she gazes down idly into the wide body of water below the two of them. Its surface is glistening with sunlight, and she imagines schools of fish, small turtles, and fresh tadpoles to be swimming underneath. She had forgotten just how peaceful it was here, completely away from society, where it allows her to be alone with her thoughts.

"That's understandable. It is a nice area. Really quiet." He leans his back against the trunk of the tree, his eyes shifting up to the sky currently overcast by fluffy clouds and keeping half of his concentration directed at his task. "You liked solitude, then."

"What do you mean?" She glances at him curiously, and he meets her eyes for a short moment.

"You came here alone all the time, right? So you must've liked solitude."

"Oh, well, I mean—" She shakes her head, trying to collect her words and say them in a sensible manner. "No, I didn't come alone all the time. Mostly, I had Wyatt... with me..." Her voice lowers the more she talks, and she feels a wave of grief wash over her, once again. She knows she won't be able to successfully hide her emotions, so she turns her head away and tries to compose herself. There's a few seconds of silence before Jack speaks.

"...Wyatt?" There's a sense of recognition in his tone, and she curls her knees up and into her chest instinctively, holding back a tear. "Wyatt... Colson?" Her eyes dart to him, her expression molding into one of consternation.

"...How did you know that?" It doesn't cross her mind that murder and a disappearance draws attention from all places, and that word spreads fast. She also doesn't realize that he, among others, have been keeping tabs on mysterious and abrupt events such as that one, and he knows the names by heart.

"Uh, w-well," He replaces his startled expression with one of veracity and oblivion. "he was the guy that went missing, right? Heard it from... my mom." He seems unsure, and she furrows her eyebrows though doesn't comment on it. There are more important things to fret over.

"Yeah..." The word comes out as a mere whisper as her eyes avert down to her hands. "I guess... I guess he is."

"You were close?" he asks, leaning forward slightly. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Um, y-yeah, I mean... he was my cousin."

"Oh..." His gaze softens as he absentmindedly fiddles with a loose thread hanging from his hoodie, tilting his head to the side. "That's unfortunate... sorry." A forlorn sigh travels from between her lips before she can stop it, and she shakes her head lightly.

"Yeah, well... there's nothing you can do about it. Things happen."

"If it makes you feel any better, I lost my dad when I was just a kid." Her eyes move up to meet his curiously, and he glances down at his hands. "Car accident. It really crushed my mom, I don't think she ever got over it." Sympathy shines within her eyes, and she replies.

"Wow. I'm sorry."

"Eh, don't be. It was a long time ago, I hardly even remember the guy." Changing the subject, he leans toward her and asks another question. " Do you have any other family down here?"

"Besides my grandparents? No." A serene breath flows out of her nose as she watches the leaves in the trees rustle and feels the breeze glide through her hair, giving her an inkling of solace. "I used to have a couple of friends that I played with sometimes. Don't know where they went, though."

He nods in understanding, squinting his eyes as the sun's bright beam reflects off of the water and hits him straight in the face, screwing with his whacky sight. Perhaps this isn't the best place to be sitting at the moment. She turns her head to look at him once again, though parts her lips in concern and narrows her eyes. "Uh... you okay?" When she receives a slightly confused expression, she clarifies, growing perplexed. "Your nose? It's bleeding."

Only then does he feel the warm, sticky substance drip down slowly until it reaches his lip, and he lifts the back of his hand up to wipe it away, unintentionally smearing it across his skin. "Oh, yeah, um." He uses his sleeve to get the rest of it off his face, though it proves fruitless when even more of the liquid crimson continues to run out of his nose. "This is— I mean, it's normal."

She furrows her eyebrows suspiciously, taking notice of the sudden nervousness present in his voice. "Really? It looks kinda..."

"No, no, it's fine." He takes a Kleenex out of his pocket and presses it to his nostril in an effort to slow the bleeding as he considers the height of the tree the both of them are sat in. "But... I should get going, before my mom, uh... worries." He twists his body around until his foot is securely settled on a tree branch to his right, and he begins to climb down.

"Uh, yeah... okay." She watches him skillfully maneuver from tree branch to tree branch, never missing a beat and moving at a pace faster than she could ever dream of. She hadn't observed his actions when he first followed her up the tree, too busy focusing on not slipping and breaking her neck. Now that she's paying attention, she finds herself intrigued. "You're pretty good at that. Were there trees where you come from?" It's a bit of a strangely-worded question, though she figures it gets the point across well enough.

He jumps to the ground and looks up at her, shrugging and once again being pressured to wipe the blood away from his face. "There was a really nice one a while back, but lightning hit and destroyed it during a storm." She hums in response, realizing that he likely can't hear it from the ground due to the distance between the two of them. A faint buzzing sound erupts through her ears, and she swats at the air, her first guess being that a fly or bee found its way to her and decided to test her patience.

"You can find your way back, right?" She raises her voice, hoping that he's able to understand her. Thankfully, he nods in confirmation.

"Yeah, I'm good." The buzzing continuously grows louder, and as a result, she jerks her head from side to side, trying to get a look at whatever pesky insect decided to torment her and put a stop to it, but she fails to see anything. "Can you find your way back?" She runs a hand through her hair to see if there's something nestled inside, though to her relief, doesn't find anything.

"Nah, I came all the way out here without knowing where I was going." He releases a light chuckle, noticing her sudden change in behavior and craning his neck farther back to get a better look at her.

"Something wrong?" The buzzing only grows louder, and it becomes more difficult to hear what he's saying clearly, though she manages and presses a hand to her ear.

"I-I think it's just a bug or somethin'." As the obnoxious noise increases, a headache presents itself, and she taps her temple with the heel of her hand to get a handle on what she's hearing. At the same time, Jack's chest starts to tingle with a familiar ominous feeling and his gaze falls to the trees around him, searching for the source frantically as apprehension dawns on his face.

Thinking now would be an acceptable time to get out of the tree before she ends up falling into the water, she carefully scoots toward the trunk, hoping the sound will dissipate if she gets away from whatever's nest she mistakenly disturbed. She glances down at Jack, her vision becoming strained for unknown reasons, and lets out a startled gasp at what she sees.

His skin seems to have darkened to an unnatural tone, looking more like an ashen grey than the pale ivory that it was previously, and in place of his eyes are black, endless sockets with some type of thick substance that steadily leaks down his cheeks.

It's an alarming sight indeed, but before she can say anything about it, her vision becomes clearer and she notices that he looks just like himself, again. That was... weird. She grasps a branch, still attempting to clear the headache and unpleasant buzzing as she cautiously makes her own way down the tall tree. I must be going crazy.

Her sight is obscured once again, making her blink to try and rid herself of the blurriness. She shakes her head as the buzzing turns from bearable to unexplainably harsh, greatly disorienting her as a wave of dizziness strikes her body. Her grip tightens around the branches that are currently supporting her weight, and she leans into the tree, not willing to move and risk falling to the ground below.

"Jack... how many feet would you say I had to brave before I reach the bottom?" She only asks because she fears looking down would cause her to lose her balance. Through the thick droning, she hears only silence. Maybe he didn't hear me. "Jack?" She makes a point to speak louder to ensure that she's discerned, but still, he doesn't respond, and she bites her lip nervously. Don't tell me he left. "Jack?"

"Y-yeah, no, you're not far. Could probably jump if you wanted." Tension is released from her chest, and she wills her body to calm down. She doesn't catch how his voice wavers anxiously as he knots his eyebrows together, not looking away from the forest and what it may hold within.

She lets out a breath that she means to reassure her, though it only makes her hands shake as she every so slowly descends further down, her feet staying locked on whichever branches she blindly steps on to act as her support system. Hey, this isn't so bad. Just take it slow... and you'll be down in no time. It's a piece of cake.

But she thinks too soon, for not three seconds later, an invisible force latches itself around her shoulders, and before she can even react, she's being pushed away from the tree. Her fingers untangle themselves and her feet lose their place, shock traveling through her mind and making her briefly paralyzed. She feels her heart skip a beat as her breathing momentarily stops, eyes snapping shut and brain in a frenzy. All she can think about is hitting the ground. Smashing her head on a rock. Breaking her arm. Twisting her leg. A stick being stabbed through her back and impaling her.

The outcomes seem endless as gravity forces her body closer and closer to the ground, but instead of dying and going to heaven, she feels strong arms loop themselves under her own, not stopping her legs from colliding rather hard with the ground but cradling her torso and cushioning her head with a sturdy chest.

Her heart still runs what feels like a thousand beats per second, and the world around her slowly starts moving again. Her mind is able to comprehend what happened fairly quickly, and she cracks her eyes open, gaze moving up and landing on Jack's face, sunlight from above darkening the edges and making it seem as if he's glowing a bright yellow. She expects him to look startled, if not slightly amused, but is taken off-guard when she instead sees that a concerned, distraught expression is etched across his admittedly handsome features.

She feels something wet drip onto her cheek, just below her eye, and assumes it to be some of the blood from his nose, therefore doesn't make it her first priority to wipe it away for fear of seeming rude. His eyes nervously shift around the two of them as he hurriedly pulls her to her feet, keeping a hand on her shoulder until she's stable. Her hand grips the tree trunk as her body is hit by another overwhelming dizzy spell, content that the buzzing in her ears has stilled and mentally praying that the headache will go away.

"You okay?" She rubs the side of her head gently, trying to soothe the pain and nods.

"I think so. Thanks, Jack." With that same hand, she discreetly swipes it along her cheek, removing the blood that was oozing without much thought and glancing down at it. What she sees confuses her, and she brings her hand closer to her face to get a better look. What is now smeared across her skin is a rich, tar-like solidity, similar to what she 'saw' coming out of his eyes, or lack thereof. But that isn't possible. Maybe it's just such a deep scarlet that causes it to look unusually dark.

Feeling a bit disgusted but more so befuddled, she wipes it on the tree and gets the majority off of her hand. Who bleeds black blood? She knows for a fact that the liquid coming from his nose before looked thin and was a bright red, so what changed about it? Perhaps it's only her perception; after all, she isn't exactly in the best shape right now, mentally or physically. So she turns to ask him about that very thing, only to blink in surprise when she finds he isn't there.

She takes a couple of unsteady strides forward to see if he's hiding behind a tree, or somehow blending in incredibly well, though she isn't successful. "Jack?" She glances around, toward the trail they followed to get here, but again, she's unable to see him anywhere. "Jack!" A feeling of urgency fills her heart, urgency about what though, she hasn't a clue. He was about to leave, but she expected a goodbye of sorts, not a sudden disappearance. Besides, she would have heard him leave, right? He was just right behind her. Where could he have gone so quickly? "Jack, is this a prank?"

A brief cough exits her mouth, but she doesn't pay it any mind, too focused on finding the boy. She stumbles toward the path, bending over and rinsing the goop off of her hand in the river water beside her but being careful not to topple over into it. Another cough, this one more forced, and she clutches at her head to ease the pain each one brings. Looking down the length of the path, she sees nobody, which greatly confuses her.

"Jack! Seriously, are you hiding?" A moment later she presses her mouth into her arm to conceal the strained coughs that now steadily erupt from within and tries to catch her breath. "Jack—" This time she's cut off as another violent hack comes from her throat, leaving it scratchy and her desperate. She doubles over and shuts her eyes tightly, bearing the turmoil that her body is suddenly putting her through for unknown reasons.

Her stomach grows queasy and her head throbs, stressed tears brimming her eyes as the coughs only worsen after each second. Before she can even grasp what's happening, her legs collapse and she falls straight to the grassy terrain below, fighting for any breath of oxygen that she can possibly get only to come up empty every time. The tears now fall, streaming across the bridge of her nose all the way down to the tip before dropping.

Her fingers withdraw and clutch handfuls of dirt as her body shakes vigorously, though not from fear, merely from distress. Her mind is in a haze of agony, making her hyper-focus on one thing only; breathing. She feels as if her organs have become detached and are going to spew from her mouth any second, and a fierce burning sensation in her lungs makes her gag as stomach acid arises, dribbling down her lip. Her hacking is combined with pained sobbing, her condition only getting more gut-wrenching the longer it continues, all the while that same unpleasant buzzing never quiets and abuses her ears with its shrill pitch.

Her stomach convulses and sends half-digested food up through her body, and consequently, she retches and it gets spit right below her face. The discomfort fogging her mind begins to dissipate, and the hacking she was forced to suffer through comes to an abrupt stop, finally allowing her to suck in a deep breath of air that her body has been struggling to grasp. A few more light coughs come out of her mouth, and she rolls on her side, trying to recover as she gasps for much-needed oxygen.

Her muscles loosen themselves in relief, and she lets out a quiet cry, a mixture of both alleviation and affliction. She lays there for around five minutes, gathering her bearings and recuperating from the unforeseen exertion, before taking in a soft breath and fluttering her eyes open. The terrible droning, at once, fades away and gives her a chance to get her thoughts straight. She weakly pushes herself up, unable to stop from looking down at the pile of acid, regurgitated food, and blood laying on the grass that her body pushed out.

She gently places her hand on her sore, scratchy throat and massages it, hoping to soothe a bit of the pain, if not all of it, and trying not to have a panic attack over the fact that she nearly hacked her very own lungs out not seven minutes ago. Stray tears dribble down her warmed cheeks and she wipes saliva from her chin, finding the strength eventually to stand to her feet and begin her slow, thoughtful trek back to her grandparents' cottage.

___

His feet feel almost weightless as he runs at high speeds, far higher than what the average person could ever go, his body twisting whenever necessary to ensure he doesn’t accidentally slam into one of the hundreds of trees around him. His mask is now pushed back over his face and hiding the dark grey tone of his skin and the sharp rows of teeth in his mouth, though his empty sockets remain visible.

The tingling in his chest begins to lessen the farther away he gets from the river, but he doesn’t take it as a sign to slow down. Instead, he quickens his pace, avoiding the thick foliage, leaping over a fallen tree, and sliding down a small hill, in a hurry to make it back. He fears the worst could happen if he were to stop.

Easily navigating through the familiar forest and toward Hoody’s house, his lungs aren’t even starting to get tired and his legs aren’t yet begging for a break, only a few of the advantages of being a literal demon. Even in a rush, he still somehow manages to be stealthy, so much so that nobody could hear him unless they were listening extra closely. The area around him lacks most of its natural color through his perspective, and even a bit of its shape, but that only means his hearing, among other senses, are keener and are able to detect threats from far off.

He can see the scenery that surrounds him, though the details leave quite a bit to be desired. The black, slimy tears continuously cascade down his navy-blue mask and fall to the ground beneath his boots; it would be pointless trying to keep them at bay. He learned this long ago, and now it doesn’t even cross his mind.

Finally, the old cabin comes into view, camouflaged by weeds, low-hanging vines, and overgrown grass, making the perfect place to take residence in. He sprints until he’s at the front door, and knocks swiftly, clearly frantic and in need of attention. He knows that the man must be there, for he was the one who told Jack to report back to him when he was finished with the assigned task, and he’s been gone for several hours at this point, so he must be expecting him back soon.

To his relief, it only takes a minute before the door swings open, revealing the tall man— though shorter in comparison to Jack— clad in a mustard-brown hoodie and black and red ski mask standing in the entrance of his home sweet home. He tilts his head up at him, narrowing his eyes though it can’t be seen from behind the stretchy piece of cloth covering his face and any emotion he may otherwise show.

After a moment, he nods in silent greeting and steps to the side, giving Jack room to walk into the house as Hoody closes the door behind them. He turns to face him once again, leaning casually against the door frame and studying Jack’s body language. “What’d you find out?”

His sentence is short and straight-to-the-point, not surprising Jack in the least. Hoody was never one to stretch things out; he’d much rather just hear what needs to be said using as few words as possible. Jack allows his muscles to relax slightly, now eased by the knowledge that he’s currently in a safer area than he was previously, and quickly collects his thoughts.

“It’s worse than I thought,” he starts, voice muffled by the mask shrouding his face. “He wants her and he wants her soon. If we’re gonna do something about it we need to act quickly, otherwise, it’s a lost cause.” Hoody crosses his arms in understanding, processing the information that his trusted companion is delivering to him.

“Do you know where she lives?” Jack shakes his head.

“No, but she told me that she’s here visiting family. She’ll be leaving eventually, if she’s not gotten to, first.”

“What family?”

“Grandparents. You know that couple that got murdered a while back?” He receives a curt nod in response. “Apparently, they were her relatives. Aunt and uncle.”

“They had a kid.”

“Yeah, Wyatt Colson. Adopted. He was her cousin.” Jack shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, waiting through a brief silence before speaking again. “They were close, she and him.”

“Did you get her name?”

“Y\n L\n.” Hoody pulls his phone out of his jeans, focusing on the screen as he scrolls his contacts and looks for one labeled ‘Ben’, clicking on it and shooting him a quick text telling him the girl’s name and to research her immediately. He gets an effortless ‘yup’ soon after, and stuffs his phone back in his pocket, turning his attention back on Jack for more information.

“How old is she?”

“Young. Only sixteen.” Jack subconsciously bounces on the heels of his shoes, though the action is barely noticeable and disregarded by Hoody, who keeps his gaze locked onto the boy’s masked face. “She was nice. Something was definitely troubling her, though. I could feel it.”

“So she’s emotionally vulnerable. That makes her easy bait.”

“Maybe. He was messing with her head, but she was trying to resist it.” Jack remembers her odd behavior before he left, and he recalls feeling pressure in his mind as she gripped at her hair. She looked distraught, though he could sense that she wasn’t giving into the fog of thoughts her mind was likely being covered in at the time. Not easily.

“What do you think about it?” he asks, and Jack considers the question a short moment.

“I think she may stand a chance. From what she told me, she seems to come from a more or less broken family. All the more fire to fuel her hate. That could be a good or a bad thing.”

“We’ll see what Ben’s results are, then make a final decision.” Jack nods, not quite wanting to just forget about her and let her fall victim to the inevitable like so many others before her. He senses potential, something that isn’t very common for them. He would be less than content to just brush her aside as if she was simply meaningless to all of them, knowing they could have helped, possibly saved a soul from eternal torment and what could be referred to as slavery.

He is well aware that it would be a big risk, bringing another person to their base after so many years of isolation, and he knows it could easily result in catastrophe. But he isn’t very doubtful about this particular case; he saw no reason to be when he was speaking with her. She seemed innocent enough, then again, it’s always the ‘innocent’ ones that end up stabbing you in the back.

All he knows is that if they’re going to do something, they need to do it soon, because she’s in immediate danger, and he has a feeling she doesn’t even realize it. She won’t until it’s too late.

___

Her eyes drift up from the dirt to the familiar cottage that she’s grown acquainted with during the past few days, and she releases a shaky breath, the action itself causing her mild pain in the back of her throat. God, water sounds so refreshing right now. She walks closer, only noticing her grandfather sitting on the porch when she reaches the gateway and avoids direct eye contact. She knows that he’s going to try and speak to her, especially considering the conversation this morning, and she wants to dodge that until she feels a bit more like herself.

She’s still totally puzzled at what happened over an hour ago and has wracked her brain for answers, only to fail each time. Maybe she just caught the stomach flu? But stomach flues make you throw up, not cough until you feel like you’ll explode at any moment. Perhaps something got caught in her throat and triggered her gag reflex? Highly doubtful. Gag reflex doesn’t work like that.

She forces a fleeting smile across her face as she draws nearer, but drops the act once she sees that his eyes are closed, his lips are parted, and soft snores exit his mouth as his head is leaned comfortably against the wall behind him. Oh good. He’s asleep.

Hopefully, she can sneak in undetected by her grandmother, who is most likely up at this point in the day and well aware of her surroundings. She steps quietly onto the porch and grips the handle of the screen door, pulling it open and cringing when it makes a long, drawn-out squeak in response. She glances at Pops in concern, shoulders relaxing when she sees him still dozed off.

Her facial expression twists into one of agitation as she opens the second door, this time with less caution, and walks inside, knowing that her Nana had to have heard that obnoxious noise. Her hearing is relatively better than her husband’s, after all. Her gaze shifts toward the living room, biting the inside of her cheek when she catches a glimpse of her grandmother sitting on the recliner beside the couch, glasses on and attention directed at the book in her hands.

She doesn’t seem to have noticed Y\n come inside, much to her relief, and she looks at the staircase directly ahead of her, glancing in-between Nana and it as she silently closes the door and wonders if she can pull this off. It’s only a few feet away, but Nana would surely see her walking and be interested in a conversation. The very thing that Y\n desperately wants to avoid for the time being.

She swallows, inwardly wincing at the discomfort that radiates from the back of her throat, and carefully moves forward, hoping beyond hope that Nana won’t spot her. “Oh, hi, Y\n.” The girl freezes, turning her gaze back toward Farrah and meeting her eyes regretfully. “You were out a while, this time. Almost five hours.”

She nods, not wanting to speak unless absolutely necessary, at least not until she gets ahold of some pain relievers. The elderly woman tilts her head forward, setting the book in her lap and giving her granddaughter her full attention.

“I didn’t know you could cook.” Y\n’s eyebrows knit together in confusion before she pieces it together in her head and allows a knowing expression to form across her face. After hearing the silence, Nana speaks, again. “It was good, Y\n. Thank you.” She hums in reply, wanting to leave it at that, however, when she starts walking up the stairs, she hears her grandmother’s voice. “Are you alright?”

She nods once more, making her exit quick and shuffling up the staircase, stopping only when she reaches her room. She grabs her bag and digs through it, eventually grasping a plastic bag filled with various medicine that she thought was appropriate to bring along with her, just in case. She pulls out the bottle labeled ‘Tylenol’ and unscrews the cap, pouring two of the red, blue, and white capsules into her palm before putting their container back into the bag.

She grabs her water bottle and, after a moment of hesitation, swallows the medicine without much trouble, taking a sip of water afterward to subdue the pain a bit. She then sits on her bed, hands tangling themselves in her hair as she tries to hold the weight of stress on her shoulders. It still feels hard for her to fully process, everything does, really. She almost wants to cry again, but refrains, mainly because it would only cause her greater physical pain, and that’s one of the last things she wants right now.

The sun shining in through her window hits her back and warms her insides, bringing her a sense of consolation. It will be okay. It has to be, right? She will get through these trials. She can handle them. Can’t she?

A quiet whimper forces itself from her mouth, and she covers her face in an effort to compose herself. Why me? Why now? She hears her phone chime from her pocket, indicating she just received a text. That’s strange. Nobody ever cares enough to text her anymore. Growing curious and wanting to focus on anything other than her pathetically devastating situation, she slides it out and presses the sleep button, quickly typing out the password and going to her messages.

Unknown number? She blinks and wipes away a tear before it’s able to fall from her eye, looking down at the glowing screen and clicking on the contact. It reads, “Yo, is this Y\n?”

“What the…” She can’t help but mutter, ignoring the twinge of pain it causes and furrowing her eyebrows in bemusement. Is it somebody from school? Her thoughts then turn to Jack, though she shakes her head in disregard, deciding that it wouldn’t be possible. We never exchanged numbers.

After staring at her phone for two minutes straight, she sends a message back, almost certain that somebody from her school somehow got her number from one of her friends. Or, well, ‘acquaintances’, at this stage in her life. “Yes… with whom am I speaking?”

She waits for a response, tapping her finger against her leg absentmindedly and gazing through the window. Her e\c eyes land on the treeline, halfway expecting to see something standing outside. It reminds her of when she awoke last night and saw that mysterious, eerie figure posing at the edge of the forest, its creepy white mask standing out in the dark of the night.

Even after several minutes, she doesn't get a response, and she comes to the conclusion that it's likely a prank, no matter how strange and abrupt it is, and tosses her phone on her bed, choosing to forget about it. A movement in the doorway draws her awareness, and she turns her head in that direction, raising her eyebrows when she sees Nana standing there with a commiserate expression painted across her wrinkled features.

"Sweetheart..." Y\n cranes her neck to the side and parts her lips, beginning to feel the Tylenol take effect and lessen the aching in her throat.

"Nana?" Farrah rubs the back of her neck, almost nervously, as she walks farther into the room. "Is... something wrong?"

"Your grandpa told me what happened this morning... I'm sorry, baby." She makes her way beside Y\n, sitting on the bed and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Y\n's posture slumps as she realizes what she's referring to, and her gaze shifts down to her lap. She twiddles her fingers, sensing the tension in the air between the two of them. "Are you gonna be okay?"

She waits a moment, thinking over her reply. She doesn't want to worry her, besides, she's positive this has been extremely hard on Nana and Pops, much harder than it could have ever been on her. That was their daughter, their grandchild. And that, on top of already having lost their son to ridiculous family disagreements? And not having the emotional support of anybody but themselves? It makes her feel terrible for them.

"Yeah..." She clears her throat, looking anywhere in the room but Nana, and fighting the tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks. "Y-yeah, I'll be fine. It's... fine." Her voice cracks, and she feels Farrah's fingers ghost through her hair to calm her down, console her in some way.

"Hun, if you need to talk, or anything else, you can come to me. I know it's a lot of... hard information to process, and so suddenly, too." She only nods wistfully, not even trying to mask the hurt on her face, anymore. Nana notices and gives her a quick hug before standing to her feet and exiting the room, leaving the girl sitting alone once again, with a heavy heart and an uncanny suspicion that things are about to get even more dreadful from here on out.

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Chapter 7 - I’m On My Way

With fatigue, she leans on the wall for support and stands, weakly stumbling to the sink, refusing to look at her reflection in the mirror as she bends over and turns the faucet on. She gets soap from the dispenser on her palm and rubs both of her hands together before holding them under the water to rinse them, and immediately after that, sticks her face underneath, hoping to rid herself of the foul taste still very present in her mouth. 

She spits minuscule pieces of undigested food into the sink, letting the cool water run over and wash them down the drain without another thought. The sickening stench of bile sitting in the porcelain bowl almost has her gagging once more, so she reaches over, pushes on the little silver lever, and flushes it down into the sewer pipes, never to be seen again. 

Only then does she look at herself in the reflecting glass hung over the sink, not surprised when she sees dark bags under her eyes and unnaturally pale skin, no doubt results from lack of sleep and getting hit by an extreme wave of nausea so suddenly. Her lip trembles from the exertion, her eyes distant, stressed wrinkles creasing her forehead. What is happening? Why is it happening? Why are such terrifying thoughts invading her subconscious each time she goes to sleep?

Perhaps she can blame this one on the news she received yesterday, but that doesn’t explain the strange symbol. Why would she draw such a thing? What does it even mean? And what about the buzzing noise? It’s accompanied each dream she’s had down here thus far, and it made itself apparent before and during she was heaving her lungs out yesterday. It also started when she saw that figure in the woods earlier. Is it connected to something?

She rubs at her eyes listlessly and pushes herself away from the sink at once, switching the light to the bathroom off and wandering back into the living room at a pace much slower than normal. Her eyes trail up from the floor to Marshmallow, who sits on the arm of the couch, eyes narrowed as he stares at her with dilated pupils. Maybe this should worry her; after all, animals can sense things that humans can’t. But she can’t bring herself to care very much. She just wants it all to stop. She doesn’t want to be sick 24\7, or have nightmares far worse than what’s considered healthy, or be on the look-out constantly for something that’s possibly hunting her down. 

She flops onto the couch rather sluggishly and runs her hands through her messy hair, gaining sight of the large symbol that she seemingly sketched onto the paper for unknown reasons. Come to think of it, her hand is beginning to cramp due to how tightly she had been holding that pencil after she woke up, and who-knows-how-long before then. Does she have an illness? Is there medication to cure it? Should she go to a doctor and explain her symptoms? She’d prefer to wait and get medical attention, if it is necessary, once she returns home, so she won’t burden her grandparents with her problems and cause them to worry. 

She knows for a fact that her parents wouldn’t give it much thought if she told them she needed to go to the doctor, nor would they be very concerned. If she told them the reason, having hallucinations, nightmares, irrational and paranoid thoughts, insomnia, they’d probably call her behavior ridiculous and refuse to allow her to make an appointment. Or would they? She is still their daughter— surely they couldn’t just brush aside something like that, right? 

Then again, her father did it with the murder of his sister and the disappearance of his nephew, so she can’t ever be sure. But what about her mother? Isn’t the whole maternal instinct thing still there with her? If her child was hurt or scared, isn’t it natural to be worried? 

She glances over at her phone, still sat on the coffee table charging, unable to rid herself of the sudden thought that creeps into her mind. Somebody to talk to would be nice. But would she actually listen?

Sure, her grandparents are just upstairs, but not only does she not feel like making that trek all the way to the second floor, but both her Nana and Pops are likely fast asleep. They've done more than enough for her already, and they have enough stress on their shoulders as it is. She wants to avoid troubling them with anything else and make them unnecessarily frantic about her health, both physical and mental.

Reaching out a hesitant, mildly trembling hand, she unplugs her phone and unlocks it, scrolling to contacts and swiping her thumb along the screen until she sees 'Mom'. Should she really? What if she disturbs her? Or wakes her up? Even if she did, that shouldn't be an issue once she hears about her daughter possibly having some mental illness that needs to be fixed.

Mental illness is a strong way to word it. She shakes her head, continuing to stare at the call icon that pops up once she clicks her mother's contact. It's just... stressed hallucinations. Or... or strange coincidences. Yeah, that's all.

Letting out a soft sigh, she presses the green button and brings the small device to her ear, hearing it ring several times as the anticipation in her heart grows. Is this a mistake? Should she back out? Maybe she's making a big deal over nothing.

"Hello?" She sucks in a sudden breath, heart rate increasing as the familiar voice meets her ear. How should she start this?

"Um... hi, Mom." Clear anxiety is present in her tone, though she hopes that it isn't as noticeable as she thinks. 

"Y\n? What is it?" There's a hint of irritation hidden in that sentence, but the girl tries to ignore it and instead focuses on the reason she called her in the first place.

"Y-yeah, uh... I need to talk to you."

"About what? You know I'm busy. If it's more questions about your father, you know I—"

"No, Mom, it isn't about Dad." She's silent a moment as she hears her mother's soft breaths over the line, trying to collect her thoughts and put them into words. "It's... it's about me."

"...Well? Did you make another painting or something?"

She shakes her head, though she knows it can't be seen. "It's... weird things that have been happening to me. I-I don't know what's going on but it's really getting to me, and I feel sick and tired and stressed out. I don't know what to do."

"What exactly has been 'happening' to you, Y\n?" Her hand tightens slightly around her phone and she lets out an inaudible sigh. 

"It started out with bad dreams... really bad dreams. Of people being dead, or freaky voices, or strange markings in a tree. A-and I've been seeing things in the middle of the night, or even in the day. I can't sleep because it's so scary and I'm afraid that when I go to sleep I'll have another nightmare..."

"Y\n," An exasperated sigh erupts from the other end. "aren't you a little too old to be scared of bad dreams or the boogeyman?" It's as if a knife is shoved into her chest from the harsh words of her mother, and she fights the tears stinging her eyes, attempting to keep her voice steady. 

"Mom, it... i-it isn't like that."

"You used to complain to me all the time about bad dreams when you were a kid. You aren't a kid anymore, Y\n. You're almost seventeen."

"It's more serious than just dreams, Mom—"

"Grow up. You're a teenager, Y\n. Act like it." The girl swallows hard and lands her hard gaze on the floor, unable to stop the tears from slowly rolling down her cheeks. 

"You're not even listening to me!" She keeps her voice in a whisper but raises it slightly to make sure she gets the older woman's attention. "This isn't some stupid childhood fear. It's something bad, and it's really affecting me..."

"I don't have time for this. I have about a weeks' worth of papers stacked up on my desk and I have to do them. You'll get over yourself eventually and stop being so childish. Goodbye, Y\n." Before she can say anything else, a beep is heard before the line goes dead, signifying that her mother hung up. What else was she expecting? Sympathy? Concern? Reassurance? She should've known better. 

"Fine," she snaps, slamming her phone down on the couch beside her and releasing a huff, "who needs you anyway?" She plants her face into the palms of her hands to stifle the quiet whimpers emanating from between her lips. "I have myself and that's all I need. You're just a... a useless, irresponsible, incompetent piece of crap for a mom." Her fingers run through her h\c locks and she shakes her head, trying to compose herself. "Why are you even a mom..."

Of course her mother would blow her off. Her very own flesh and blood, brush her aside as if she means nothing to her. It's what she's been doing for years now, so why would she expect any different? I'm stupid. I'm stupid for assuming she would be worried. She doesn't care about me. She just doesn't care. She never does.

Soon, her shoulders are shaking as sobs wrack her body. She has to go through this alone, doesn't she? Her parents won't help her, her grandparents don't need that kind of pressure. None of her friends, if she can even call them that anymore, can help her. And they wouldn't. She's the one that left them behind, and they owe her nothing.

She shakily stands to her feet, wiping away the tears with the back of her hands in order to clear up her vision so she doesn't trip over anything, and begins her ascent up the stairs, not caring to bring her phone and instead only turns off the lamp as she passes it by. She walks warily up the staircase, doing her best to avoid looking anywhere but the ground for fear of seeing something lurking in the darkness until she reaches her bedroom, thankful that the light was left on previously.

She's unsure if Marshmallow will even follow her this time and bring her some kind of company, though, considering the aggressive way he was acting just minutes ago, she highly doubts it. Her gaze falls onto her bed, then onto the window that it's attached to, unable to quell the rush of anxiety that goes through her chest. The last time she was in here, she saw... something. What was it? A trick of the light? No, surely not. It was too... strange to be a trick of the light. Not to even mention the droning that formed in her mind while she looked at it. The same kind of droning that was present in her dreams, and at the river with Jack.

Is this normal? If it was, you'd think there would be more talk about it. In blogs, on the news, in books. But she's seen no such thing. Shaking her head in dismay, she steps farther inside, edging her way toward the window and anticipating what may be standing on the other side of the glass. She takes in a deep breath, hoping to calm her nerves a bit and brace herself before peering around the corner, over past her bed, and straight through to the dark woods across from the cottage. 

She scans the treeline, her heart rate slowing down when she doesn't find anything out-of-the-ordinary and releases a puff of air she didn't know she was holding in, her muscles relaxing slightly. Nothing. There's nothing, so maybe, she can actually go to sleep without having to worry about anything creeping around. She doesn't want to sleep, but she doesn't want to get sick, again, either. Although that may happen anyway if she has another unexplainably terrifying dream. She can only hope that she'll get lucky and her mind will give her a break, at least for the rest of the night.

She doesn't know what time it is, and she can't gather up the energy to check. It doesn't even matter, does it? She glances over at her lamp, silently debating on whether she should turn it off to both save electricity and hopefully hide her position to anything that may be waiting outside, or if she should leave it on to give her peace of mind. She hasn't really liked sleeping with the light on, not since she was a small child, but recently it's sounded a lot more comforting than being surrounded by pitch blackness, save for the moonbeams shining in through the window and spilling out onto the floor. 

What's better, hiding or feeling safer? Maybe there's a way she can compromise and do both. Her eyes avert around the room, eventually landing on the closet across from where she's facing. Could she do that...? Wouldn't that corner her? But it would be safer than sleeping in front of a window where some cryptic being can plainly see me. She remembers seeing a couple of spare blankets folded up on a shelf, and she could use her pillows as both a headrest and a weak attempt at a barrier. As unappealing as it sounds, staying in clear view of whatever is currently trying to get into her head sounds even less so. Closet it is.

She steps over and opens the door, switching on the light and glimpsing around for a good, somewhat comfortable spot to take shelter in. Under the clothes? No, too tight. In the little cabinet of old, stored things belonging to her aunt? Again, too tight. She decides on the opposite end of the closet, in-between a shelf and the wall, not too cramped but not too open either. And she'd be able to see the door clearly. That'll work. 

She grabs the two pillows from off of her bed, plus an oversized teddy bear that had been originally sitting in the corner of the room, untouched, and goes back into the walk-in storage room, placing all three items in her self-proclaimed area of safety, before also taking a folded-up blanket from the small stack and tossing it onto the pillows. She releases a yawn, blinking slowly afterward and shutting the door behind her prior to double-checking the room for anything else she may need, only finding her water bottle, and switches off the lamp. 

She sets it on the floor and shifts around everything until it meets her intentions, dimming the overhead light on the lowest setting, then walks back over and sits down, wrapping the blanket around her b\t frame, leaning against the wall, and tucking the large stuffed bear into her side. This is good. She feels secure here. There is nothing that can get in here without her knowing about it first... unless it's a hallucination. Then she can't escape. "I guess that's where you come in, Fuzzy," she mutters, hugging the bear half her size to earn some type of reassurance and consolation she had failed to get from her mother.

She stares ahead of her, at the closed door, waiting to hear something. Waiting to hear the creak of floorboards or the stamp of footsteps, or see the knob to the door slowly twist as it swings open. But one minute passes, then two, then five, then eight. Nothing of the sort happens. She just stays there, her breathing leveling out the more time passes, and she finds herself becoming relaxed. Maybe she should sleep in a closet more often...

She snuggles into the soft, though mildly dusty, coat of the bear, inhaling its old, washed-out scent of vanilla and allowing her eyes to droop. "Protect me if the 'boogeyman' comes in here, alright?" Her voice comes out as no more than a whisper, indirectly mocking her mother's previous choice of words to describe her state before fluttering her eyes closed and drifting off into a surprising, though thankfully peaceful, sleep.

___

His footsteps are almost inaudible as he walks through the darkened forest, his senses heightened due to the gloom around him. He's always more active at night, and it's been that way since... well, since the incident took place, all that long ago. Or was it even that long ago? He supposes it feels longer than what it actually is, probably because off of everything that's happened the past few years. But in reality, it's only been, what... eight, nine years ago? He was only seventeen at the time, and physically, he always will be. If he had been able to fulfill his career choice and live a normal life without meeting her, then he would be around twenty-six. 

Maybe he'd have a girlfriend, heck, maybe he'd have a wife, although becoming a doctor takes years of dedication so he doubts that he would have the time to put that much commitment into a relationship. Either way, he would be happy. He wouldn't have to worry about being hunted by some otherworldly entity, or stocking up on the less-than-desirable diet his body has unfortunately given him. He wishes he could have something normal for a change... like pizza. He would just about kill for some pizza, preferably supreme, but pepperoni would work, too. 

He shakes his head in disregard at his own thoughts, knowing more than anyone that pizza wouldn't ever happen, just like enchiladas wouldn't happen, or cheese sticks, or even something simple like cereal. It isn't possible, and though he accepted that long ago, he still gets certain cravings for things he used to enjoy. If he even tried eating them, now, he'd be sick for a week. One of the many disadvantages of being him. If only, right?

He checks the map on his phone that Ben had sent him about two hours prior, the direction he was supposed to go marked with bright red ink and making it pretty hard to miss. Let's see, he already passed the river, and he knows she took a certain trail to get to it. Just which trail did she take? He would follow footsteps but there's too much grass obscuring the actual dirt beneath, and even though he can see to a point, his vision has still been drastically altered, so he can't make out any pristine details. 

He makes a turn and comes across an overgrown area of the trail he's been sticking with, though it looks like it's already been walked through several times. Up ahead a few feet is what looks to be a dirt road and past that sits a quaint property with a white picket fence, a garden, and a gate. This is the place he's been searching for, right? Guess there's only one way to find out.

Will great stealth, he slinks out from behind the trees, creeping across the natural driveway and up to the house, where he hopes his target is currently resting inside. If she's awake, it would make his job quite a bit harder, and he doesn't want to take any lives if it's unnecessary. Once he's directly in front, he scans possible entry points that wouldn't draw attention. A window? Sure, if the front door isn't locked. He quietly jiggles the knob after opening the screen, only to find that yes, the door is locked. Just his luck, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't expecting it. 

He peers in through the first window he sees on the bottom floor, quickly realizing that it leads to the living room. All of the lights are off, and it doesn't look like anybody is currently active. Releasing a silent breath from his nose, though instantly being hit with a familiar bout of hot air thanks to his mask, he slips his fingers beneath the rim, briefly tugging upward and being grateful when the window slides up without much struggle. 

There's a table placed in front of it, but he can easily maneuver over that. Conquering obstacles is something that he's mastered over the years of breaking and entering other peoples' households, so one measly table shouldn't halt his process too much. With one hand, he holds the strap of his satchel that's been thrown over his shoulder in order to anchor it to his side to make sure it doesn't make any noise, and with the other, he grips the side of the wall, skillfully propping himself up and slipping through the now-open space lacking so much as a thud. 

Once his feet hit the carpet beneath them, he does a quick one-eighty of the room, wanting to make sure he isn't disturbing anything by making his appearance, and closing the window when he deems the coast clear. She never mentioned anything about having a dog, or any other kind of pet when he talked to her, then again he didn't exactly ask her about it, either. Maybe he got lucky this time.

Thought too soon, Jack, he thinks as he finally notices the fluffy white feline perching on the back of the couch, ears folded back as it quietly growls at him. Of course it's a cat. It couldn't have been a bunny, a gerbil, or even a ferret, no. It had to be a freaking cat. When he was still human, he was never particularly fond of them, but now he hates them with a passion. They get under his feet when he's trying to work and trips him, they scratch and bite him, they latch on and it takes a lot of force to get them off. Granted, he can and does get rid of them pretty easily, but they're still obnoxious little creatures.

But he has to admit, as bad as cats are, dogs are even worse in these types of situations. At least cats stay quiet. Dogs, however, he can't get dogs to shut up. Especially little ones, like Chihuahuas and Pomeranians. God, those things love barking. How could anyone want to put up with something that isn't even cute barking constantly? He isn't Smile's biggest fan, but he puts his barking to use. And he never gets in his way. At least he can respect bigger dogs for that very reason because they actually protect rather than just yap all the time.

He huffs, brushing the insignificant thoughts aside and walking farther into the living room, ignoring the growls of protest from the cat attempting to defend its territory and making it very clear to Jack who this place belongs to. Not that he cares, he just wants to get in and back out without much trouble. As he passes the couch, something catches his attention. Not only is there a phone lying discarded on the cushion, but there also seems to be a pencil, and beside it is a sketchbook. 

He leans down a bit to get a better look, seeing and instantly recognizing the large symbol drawn—or more like scribbled— on the piece of paper, completely overriding the original picture beneath it. Not much care seems to have been taken while it was being created, which is normal if it was made during the frantic state that he imagines it to have been made in. It's been apparent to him that Y\n was being greatly affected by him, but now she's to the point of drawing his symbol, his mark? That isn't good. His stomach does an uncomfortable flip, and he spins around, going up the staircase of the house after making sure there are no bedrooms down here with him. 

The hallway on the second floor likely leads to various rooms, his only problem is looking discreetly into each one and identifying his target. He chooses to check the first door on the left, the door inexplicably wide open, only to find a nicer than average girly room. He assumes this to be where Y\n is sleeping, but to his slight surprise, he doesn't see her in the bed. Well... maybe she's staying elsewhere? But why would there be bags on the floor if there was nobody staying inside? Is this someone else's room?

He peeks back out into the hallway, seeing what he recognizes as a bathroom unoccupied right beside a closed door, likely one leading to another bedroom. And at the very end of the corridor is a door also closed. Which one of these rooms leads to her grandparents? Is he even in the right house? He has to be. Unless he's just conveniently landed himself in the home of another individual that's being mentally tormented by the ominous creature, which is highly doubtful. They would know about it.

He hears the sudden squeak of a door as it opens, and just barely catches a glimpse of a masculine figure stepping out into the hallway before he darts back into the previous bedroom, ducking for cover inside of what he assumes is a closet. He closes the door softly behind him, being careful not to make any sound whatsoever, and takes a step back, only just starting to notice the dim lighting around him. He tilts his head up, seeing a light bulb attached to the ceiling, and confirming that it's the source of the light. The question is, why would the closet light be on when virtually every other light in the house is turned off?

Looking back and into the small walk-in closet, he sees a figure curled up in the corner, bundled up in a blanket and hidden behind the clothes hanging in front of her. She's holding tightly onto what looks like a large teddy bear, her eyes are closed, and her breathing is mellow and steady. She's asleep. Good. 

He's been getting to her. She must've thought the closet was safer than anywhere else. He eases closer to her, squatting down in front and making sure to not wake her up. Getting a better look at her face, he can tell that she most certainly is the girl he's been trying to find, and quietly opens his satchel, sticking his hand inside and pulling out a needle and a small, clear bottle of a powerful anesthetic. It isn't his go-to method, usually, he would use Midazolam or even Chloroform, but then again, he isn't currently trying to sedate one of his victims, he just wants to knock her out long enough to bring her back, all without harming her in the process.

He sticks the end of the needle into the lid of the glass container after properly sanitizing it, draws the correct amount needed for the injection, and puts the bottle back into the bag. He snaps his fingers in front of her face in order to test how deep of a sleep she's in. It would be hazardous if she woke up as the mediation was being given to her, it would also be mildly frustrating and make his job even more strenuous. Thankfully, her eyes don't even flutter, giving him the leeway he needs to lightly take her arm, twist it around, stretch it, and stick the end of the needle through her skin. 

He notices when she flinches, but only slightly, and he begins to inject the sedative into her system. He had no trouble locating a blood vein, as he could hear the blood coursing through her arm from several feet away; yet another ability he possesses that makes people fear him. Most could compare him to a vampire, what, with his unnaturally sharp teeth and his constant craving for human blood. It isn't his fault, it never has been. But he's learned to accept it, no matter how disgusting it may be to others.

His intention is that it will keep her knocked out for around two hours, preferably four or five, in case he runs into any delays. This particular bottle of medicine is the only one he has that causes longer-lasting unconsciousness without any life-threatening symptoms, and he got it by mixing Propofol with another mild, over-the-counter drug with lengthy repercussions. Perhaps not the best thing to use, but oh well, it's all he has at his grasp. He isn't actually a doctor, no matter how much he may be treated like one. 

He slides the needle out of her arm, places it into a Ziplock bag, and puts the bag into his satchel, looking down at her when he senses movement. She rubs the area that the drug was injected through, eyes only half-way open as she brings her arm up to her chest, likely wondering where the small twinge of pain came from so abruptly. He stays still, waiting to see if she'll notice his presence or just go back to sleep. It won't be too much of an inconvenience, either way, considering the medicine should be taking effect in the next couple of minutes.

She blinks slowly, shifting around in her position to get more comfortable, and landing her bleary gaze on the startling figure squatting directly in front of her. Letting out a strangled gasp, she tries to crawl backward, though the wall pressed up against her back prevents that and gives him the opportunity to reach out and force his hand against her mouth, muffling her yelps of protest. He can almost swear that her skin gets pale as she takes in his unusual features; a reaction he isn't phased by at all. He's a monster, right? It's only natural to fear him. 

She grabs at his wrists, attempting to push him away and twisting her legs out of the blanket covering her body to try and get a good kick in. Only when she frees her legs does he lunge forward and straddle her, stopping any attempts she may have made to harm him, and looks directly into her wide, panicked eyes with his black, tar-dripping sockets. 

"Calm down," he instructs in a quiet, yet authoritative voice, putting more of his weight on top of her as her striving to escape gradually increases. She thrashes, pulls at his arms, punches his chest, though he makes sure to keep his neck craned back to avoid getting hit in the face. Even with his mask on, offering a layer of protection, it wouldn't exactly feel good. He knows this from experience.

She tries screaming and yanking her head out of his strong grip, though fails, and can't stop her eyes from watering from the utter terror that rushes through her.

"You're okay, just calm down." He keeps his tone gentle, knowing the thoughts that must be racing through her mind at lightening speed and wanting to make this easier on himself. The faster the drug works, the quicker he can get out of here and go back to the base. She doesn't listen to him, either that, or she's physically incapable of listening with the erratic beating of her heart thumping in her ears and briefly deafening her. 

They both sit there for another couple of minutes, her struggling getting weaker the groggier she gets until eventually, her eyes hesitantly close and her body goes limp. Before he does anything, he needs to make sure that one guy—probably her grandfather— went back to bed after using the restroom. Jack knows he was, indeed, in the bathroom because he heard the toilet flush from the other side of the wall, though he didn't hear any footsteps. 

Stealthily, he stands to his feet, walks out of the closet, and looks out into the hall just in time to see the bedroom door close softly. Perfect. Now hopefully it will all continue going as smoothly as it has been so far. He returns to the closet, taking her hands and pulling her motionless body up, and wrapping his arms around her torso before she can fall back down. Making sure he has a firm hold on her waist, he bends down, allows her body to drop over his shoulder and across his back, before standing back up, tightening his grip around her and quickly adjusting to the extra body weight as he turns and steps out of the closet. 

Hoody never told him to grab any of her things, so he assumes that he'll take care of that himself, even though he's not sure how. Is he going to sneak into her house to take them, or just get one of the girls to pick up a whole new wardrobe? Those questions are meaningless right now, he supposes, and he doesn't let it take up too much of his time before dismissing them altogether and making his way cautiously down the staircase, the girl slung over his shoulder making it a little more difficult than it normally would be. 

His hand slides down to her thighs as he comes up in front of the door, and he uses his other one to soundlessly unlock it, not willing to go back through the window with the unconscious girl and take a chance on alerting the other members residing in the household of his presence, drop her, or both, so he opts to go harmlessly through the door. Twisting the knob, he eases the door open, then the screen, inwardly wincing when it lets out a rather loud and obnoxious squeak. 

Not wanting to stick around and take any chances on being heard, he hurries out onto the porch, softly shutting the door and screen behind him, and quickens his pace once he's out of the yard and through the gate. He scans the treeline, making sure there's nothing insidious waiting for him inside, before taking his original path and pulling out his phone. He clicks on Hoody's contact and presses the phone to his ear, waiting for the ringing to stop.

"Did you do it?"

"Yeah, I got her. I'm coming back now."

Headcanon (OLD)

There are only a handful of Creeps that actually feel remorse for what they do and are empathetic with their victims, unless they deserve it, of course. These include Brian, Tim (not to be mistaken for Masky), Toby, Jane, Liu, and Jack. 

The others either are incapable of feeling empathy, like Jeff for example, some just don’t think about it, like Helen and Cody, and others just don’t care, like Zero and Kagekao. Slenderman is just a bitch and couldn’t give less of a crap about it though.

The...

The stealthiest: Jack, Hoody, Liu, Jane

The quickest: Kagekao, Zero, Toby

The best at physical battles: Masky, Sully, Jeff, Clockwork

The best manipulators: Candy Pop, Jonathan, Sally, Grinny, Slenderman, Helen

The best at psychological damage: Cody, Ben Smile

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Chapter 9 - All My Friends Are Heathens, Take It Slow

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It isn't long before the house that Y\n ran away from only fifteen minutes ago comes into full view, the girl only beginning to notice the shrubbery that the entire exterior of the building is covered in. Almost like it's meant to be difficult to see, as if to make it inconspicuous. There's no doubt that these people are wanted criminals if they're crazy enough to kidnap people from their bedrooms in the middle of the night, so what else are they capable of? Murder? This permanently-smiling man still in front of her has to own a knife for a reason, right? Do they actually... kill people? Is that what they're going to do to her?

Jack told her that they meant no harm, but then again, how is she supposed to trust the very guy who abducted her while she was asleep? She limps onto the porch, behind the raven-haired male, and waits in uncomfortable anticipation as he knocks on the door. Smile sits down beside her legs, looking up at her with scarlet eyes and releasing a growl from deep within his throat, making her take a small, almost unnoticeable step away. This dog is freaky. This man is freaky, the guy that took her in the first place is freaky. People like this are supposed to be in movies, not reality. Then again, she's been seeing things lately that should make her question both herself and reality.

The door opens, and she instinctively glances up, instantly regretting it when she meets the soulless pits where she assumes Jack's eyes used to be. Or did he even have eyes? He did, she saw them. They were a nice, chestnut color, so what happened? Was it just a disguise? A trick of the mind? Is he even human? Maybe he somehow made her see him in a different way than what he actually is. "Jeff," Jack starts, voice low with a suspicious tone to it, "I hope you didn't do anything stupid."

So that's his name. Jeff.

"Psh, why must you immediately make such an assumption about me?"

"Because you do stupid things," he answers plainly, stepping aside and allowing who she now knows as Jeff to enter the small household. Y\n follows, warily glancing at the mask-wearing male and staying as far away from him as possible. "What happened to her ankle?"

"How else was I supposed to catch her? She was bolting so fast even Smile had some trouble." He stands there a moment, staring at Jeff with an emotion that she can't quite identify. Though it's quite possibly irritation. 

"So what you're saying is, Brian tells us not to hurt her, and you hear, 'sic Smile on the runaway'?" 

"Hey man, I caught her, didn't I? You just better be happy she didn't get a leg ripped off or something." She crosses her arms and shoots a glare at Jeff, putting her weight on her right leg to relieve herself from as much pain as she can. Jack sighs, shaking his head and walking farther into the living room, closer to Jeff. 

"Just... just get outta here. And take your dog with you."

"With pleasure," he replies, sending Y\n what she assumes to be a smirk from behind his makeshift mask before stepping outside, snapping his fingers while he does so. "C'mon Smile. Let's go somewhere far away from these bozos." Smile wags his tail excitedly and stands from his sitting position, looking up at Jeff. "And I'll have you know, demon boy," He looks back at Jack, his eyebrows raised, "if you let her get away again I'm not the one responsible for catching her."

"Get lost, Jeff," he responds, pointing outside and facing the icy-eyed teen with clear annoyance. Jeff leaves without another word, and Jack closes the door behind him before turning back to the injured girl standing timidly in his living room. "...Are you okay?"

She narrows her eyes and releases an indignant huff from her nose. "I've just been bitten by a dog, met some psycho with a smile carved into his face, and been taken back to my kidnapper's house against my will." She furrows her eyebrows. "What do you think?"

"I think that you could be doing better," he says, taking a small step forward and making her move back slightly to keep some distance. "Look, Y\n... I know you're scared. If you'll just sit down and let me bandage your ankle, I'll explain it to you." His tone is negotiative, and she raises an eyebrow suspiciously.

"You want to bandage my ankle?"

"Yes. Unless you want to walk around with a hole in your leg and wait for an infection to get into it first." She stares at him, glancing at the couch she stands in front of and contemplating her options. It isn't like she can take off again and expect to get anywhere. Maybe she shouldn't push her luck—after all, he doesn't seem too mad at her, if he is at all. And if he wanted to hurt her, he likely would have said something threatening. But he hasn't.

Slowly, she steps toward the couch, not taking her eyes off of Jack as she eases down on the cushion farthest away from him. He seems to take this as a positive sign and his muscles loosen up, nodding in response to her silent agreement and beginning to walk down the hall.

"Make this easier on yourself though and don't try to get out again, okay?" She doesn't answer, though she figures that he doesn't really expect her to. She watches him disappear into the hallway and open a door, she isn't sure which one, before flicking her gaze around the room that she's currently occupying. If she's going to let him 'bandage' her ankle, then she doesn't want to be unprepared while he does so. What if he tries something? There's no way to know what's going on in his mind and what he's planning on doing with her, but according to Jack, he'll explain it all.

How is she supposed to believe that he is actually the Jack she met on her way to the river? They look almost totally different. How could he change his whole appearance like that? He went from fair skin and copper eyes to grey skin and no eyes. How is that possible? 

But... he looks familiar. She knows already that he's the one that she saw in her 'dream' that turned out to be an actual event that occurred, but she can't help but feel that maybe she's seen him before then. When? In a nightmare? No. During one of her severe hallucinations? When she was having an episode? Now that she thinks about it... she has seen him before. It was when she was at the river, right before she began to climb down the tree. She saw Jack, but... it wasn't Jack. It was him. The man that brought her here. Except he wasn't wearing a mask.

And then, in an instant, he looked normal, again. What if he isn't lying? What if he somehow tricked her into seeing what he wanted her to see? She trusted Jack, at least to a point, but if he actually lied to and kidnapped her, she can't trust him. Not until she sees for a fact that he isn't going to hurt her. Not until she finds out that her grandparents are fine. Not until she's allowed to go back home.

By the great lengths that Jeff guy went to already to make sure she didn't escape, it's evident that he, Jack, and whoever else was involved with this stuff don't want her to leave, at least not yet. Even after sweeping her gaze over every inch of the living room, she fails to find anything that could be used as a potential weapon, much to her displeasure. Would a TV remote be heavy enough to throw at his head?

If worst comes to worst she supposes that she can kick him, but it won't do much if she uses her left leg for one reason in particular. She notices a doorway to her far right, with only a swinging door to block the interior. She sees what looks like a fridge and the beginning of a counter, and is instantly tempted to journey inside. That has got to be the kitchen. Kitchens have knives, right? A knife would be an amazing weapon.

But before she can even start to stand, Jack reappears and turns his head in her direction, black pits searing through her eyes, grabbing at her stomach and squeezing. Why does he have to be so creepy? In his hands is a bottle of what looks like Peroxide, a roll of gauze, cotton balls, and some kind of wipes. Probably to clean her wound. As long as she doesn't see anything sharp like a scalpel or a knife, then she won't cause too much trouble. 

He draws closer at a slow pace, likely in an attempt to make sure he doesn't alarm her any more than she already is, and sets everything but the wipes on the coffee table before dropping to his knees. Y\n shuffles in her seat uncomfortably, scooting another inch away from him but seeing the sudden difference in position and height as an advantage and mentally prepping herself should she need to use it. 

"I'm just gonna clean the bite, okay?" he says cautiously, tilting his neck upward to better face her and not missing the skeptical look etched across her features. "Don't... don't kick me. My intention is to help you, not hurt you." 

"And you couldn't have told your friend that before his dog or whatever did this to me?" She motions toward her leg, her nerves jumping. Everything about this situation seems out-of-place and wrong, and there's no way she going to let her guard down for even the shortest of moments.

It takes a few seconds for him to respond as if he isn't sure what to say. "Jeff... isn't one to follow orders very well. He pretty much just does what he wants when he wants to do it. The only one he really listens to is Liu, and even that's scarce."

"Who's Liu?" she more or less demands, her eyes narrowed down at him in suspicion. She might as well be informed of every person that she can, because if they're associated with Jack, it will come in handy, especially in a police report. It'll make them easier to track down. 

"Jeff's brother." He reaches out toward her leg, silently asking for permission, and after a moment of hesitation, she lets him take it. "This process will be quicker and more comfortable if you shift around this way a little bit."

"I'm not going to be 'comfortable' either way." But she does as told nonetheless, her right leg now propped onto the couch and her left one dangling slightly. She studies his actions as he peels away her dirt-covered, bloody sock, and rolls the material of her pants up, revealing the small puncture wounds littering her ankle as they leisurely seep crimson. He presses one of the soggy wipes against her skin, making her flinch from both the wave of cold it brings and the mild stinging sensation. 

He rubs it gently around her injury, putting pressure on certain areas, and it isn't long before she notices that the blood leaking down her ankle is getting significantly thinner and less noticeable as the piece of cloth collects it all. Unable to handle the tense silence between the two and yearning for answers, she speaks.

"Why am I here?" He continues his process of swiping away the blood for several more seconds before tossing the wipe in a nearby trash can, opening the plastic bottle of Peroxide, and pouring it skillfully over a cotton ball. She waits in dwindling patience as he takes hold of her leg and brings it closer to him, once again. 

"This is liable to hurt a bit."

"I don't care," she snaps, lips pressing together into a firm line. "Tell me why I'm here. Tell me why you kidnapped me." She internally winces when the medication meets her minor wound, focusing directly on Jack and glaring daggers into his head. She avoids looking at his empty sockets to make everything a bit more bearable. 

"You're in danger, Y\n." Sensing the judging e\c gaze of the girl sitting on the couch, he better clarifies. "Something bad wants you, and it wants you now. I only brought you here this soon because, if I hadn't, it would have gotten to you first. And you would be suffering. It would make you its...slave, I guess one could say."

She raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying what Jack has to deliver. "What do you mean 'something bad'?"

"It... er, he, I guess, is... well, he's not human. He's not even from this world, he came from somewhere different. Somewhere evil, and dark, and filled to the brim with things, creatures that he created to reign chaos upon the earth." He pauses a moment to gather his words. "We don't know a lot about him because sightings of him are so rare, but... there are a few key individuals that live around here that have had very personal, up-close encounters with him. Everyone knows that he's dangerous, though."

Geez, that's a lot of information to process. She takes in a short breath, fighting the fear threatening to creep into her chest and forcing a coherent sentence out of her mouth. "So why is he dangerous? What did he do?"

"He's bad. And I'm not talking about robbing a store or stealing ice cream from a baby 'bad', I'm talking about messing with peoples' psyche, making them go insane and murder others 'bad'." She blinks, quickly becoming invested in his words, much to her resentment. "He gets in your head, makes you see things that aren't there, makes you dream terrifying things that often involve your greatest fears. It's a slow process, and it usually takes months if not years to complete, but... he's taken a strong liking to you for some reason. I don't know if it's because you're really stressed or just because you have a weak mind, but either way it means you're in immediate danger."

He takes away the fluffy ball of cotton and throws it, too, in the nearby trash bin, grabbing the gauze wrap and slowly twisting it around her ankle, making sure to cover the entire wound before slapping a piece of medical tape on it and setting it on the table. She doesn't realize that the speed of her breathing is increasing, nor does she notice the erratic beating of her heart as it thumps against her rib cage. Seeing things that aren't there? Having horror-inducing nightmares? That sounds extremely familiar, and she isn't sure whether or not that's a good connection to make. 

"It sounds crazy, and I know you probably don't believe me. But haven't you been experiencing freaky, unexplainable things lately?" She watches as he stands and sits on the other end of the couch, making her instinctively draw her legs toward her in order to create as much distance between the two as possible. "I mean... when I went into your room that night, you weren't even in your bed, you were in the closet. There must be a reason for that."

She releases an unsettled huff, biting the inside of her cheek nervously and staring at his navy-blue mask with a contemplative expression. Surely he can't be telling the truth, right? "I was just..." She wracks her brain for a reply, desperately wanting to think that this is another one of her wild dreams that she'll wake up from again soon. "...just a little scared."

"Because you had a bad feeling. Y\n, I saw that symbol that was drawn on the sketchpad. Did you do it?" She shoots him a half-hearted glare, subconsciously clenching her hands into loose fists. 

"Yes." Her tone is sharp and defensive, eyes holding a mixture of fright, anger, and disbelief. "What does some stupid symbol have to do with anything, anyway?"

"That symbol is a side effect of having Operator Sickness, which means that he's in one of the last stages of recruiting you." He stuffs his hands into his hoodie pocket and shifts around a little. "Did you draw it willingly?"

"What do you mean?"

"Were you conscious while you were doing it? Or did you not realize until it was finished?" She narrows her eyes, refusing to take them off of the brown-haired boy sitting only two and a half feet away from her.

"I was... I was doing it in my sleep."

"See what I mean? He's been trying to control your life. It only would've gotten worse had I not taken you here." She attempts to wrap her mind around this new information, though not willing to just accept them as straight facts. It is, indeed, freaky how almost everything he just mentioned has happened to her within the past few days. How would he know that? Has he been watching her? But how would he know what she's been dreaming about?

"And how exactly is you bringing me here, wherever 'here' is, gonna help me?" She scoots backward and furrows her eyebrows at him. "For all I know, you could be the bad one and just be lying to gain my trust. It wouldn't be the first time." Her words have a blunt edge, eyes brimming with emotions that she isn't allowing to fly out of her mouth. He sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"This place is like a base, I guess. There are lookouts on duty at all times in order to ensure nothing creeps up on us, there are cameras hidden in the trees around the area with a sharp eye watching them, and multiple...beings, live here that can protect things better and more efficiently than normal people."

"So you're telling me that you brought me to a prison with a bunch of freaks." She doesn't miss how his shoulders tense after those words leave her lips, though she doesn't think on it too long, focusing solely on her current, certainly unfortunate, situation. 

"I, uh... I wouldn't call it a 'prison'. A lot of individuals take shelter here because it's the safest place to be. And it has been for a while. We wouldn't have to have such drastic measures if we hadn't all been attacked before. We're at risk all the time, so we have to take precautions."

"Cut the crap, dude," she suddenly barks, twisting around and putting her feet back on the floor. There's no way this is all true, right? He has to be trying to get a reaction out of her. Trick her, manipulate her. And she won't stand for it, even if she does have the disadvantage. "Just let me go. I don't want to be here."

"I'm not lying."

"Oh, yeah?" She rises to her feet, becoming exasperated and refusing to believe the information she was just given. "Are you really expecting me to believe that there's some other-worldly creature trying to get me, that it's been controlling what I dream and what I see, and that there's a secret base somewhere in the woods that houses multiple 'beings' that protect it?" Her voice raises, a natural occurrence thanks to her incredulous state, and she holds back frantic tears. 

Jack stands as well, easily towering over her with his taller frame and striking her unintentionally as intimidating. "It's the only way to explain what you've been experiencing. I promise you, I'm not lying." She scoffs, crossing her arms and taking a step back, ignoring the pain it causes. 

"So then why do you care?"

He tilts his head in mild confusion. "What?"

"If I'm really being hunted by this thing, why do you care? I can't do anything for you, I can't even help myself at this point. So why'd you bring me here? Don't you have better things to do than help some random, troubled girl?" He rubs the back of his neck, his voice lowering slightly.

"It wasn't my idea, but I agreed with it. If he were to get his way and you became his...his worker, then you'd be against us. We don't need anyone else to fight." Her gaze flickers down briefly, staring at the floor and trying to decide whether or not she should take what this person says to heart. He's made some pretty valid points so far, and he obviously isn't trying to hurt her. Why else would he doctor her ankle for her? He sounds very passionate about this, so even if it isn't true, she can tell that he's either just convinced himself that it is true, or he's a really good liar. Something that wouldn't be too big of a surprise...

After a long silence, she lands her gaze on the black pits in his head that leak the same thick, tar-like liquid that she's seen since she woke up and first laid her eyes on him, and breathes an almost inaudible sigh. "...You're not going to let me leave, are you?"

He doesn't comment on her sudden change in demeanor and instead shakes his head slowly. "It's too risky. Besides, I'm sure you don't want to be mind-controlled by some faceless guy in a suit."

"W-wait, faceless what?" That sentence sends her mind into a frenzy, and she subconsciously leans toward him in anticipation. Did she really just hear him say that?

"Faceless guy in a suit. That's what he looks like." He steps closer to her curiously. "He's also really tall. Did you see him?"

"I... I think so." She thinks back to that night she slept in the closet after she woke up from that daunting dream, so horrific that it made her awaken violently ill. When she glanced out of the window, she saw something. Something tall, starch white, but she couldn't make out any other detail besides the fact that it seemed to be dressed in formal wear. Maybe that's because it didn't have any other details. "Do you mean... that wasn't a hallucination?" Her tone is uncharacteristically soft as she comes to the realization that if that wasn't a hallucination, how many other things has she saw that also weren't hallucinations?

"No... probably not." Another silence settles between the two, and she steps backward until stumbling over the armchair sat beside the couch, causing her to fall into it and land with a startled huff. Not that she's complaining, in fact, she hardly even comprehends it as she tries grasping everything she was just told.

One of the first thoughts that enter her consciousness is her grandparents. What happened to them? Are they okay? "My grandparents." She shifts her gaze back onto Jack, expression quickly turning aggressive. "What did you do them?"

He's quick to put his hands up in self-defense and shake his head. "I didn't touch your grandparents." She sends him a look that makes it obvious that she doesn't believe him. "I'm serious. I went in, got you, then left. They didn't even know I was there."

"Prove it," she spits, glaring up at him with distrust. His posture tells her that he's becoming a bit irritated, but she could care less at the moment.

"You want proof? Fine. Brian's going to take you back in a few days to get your stuff, so you'll see then."

"Who's Brian?"

"He's who you're staying with." She opens her mouth to object, but he cuts her off. "No, he won't hurt you, but I suggest you don't push his buttons. He has a low tolerance level."

"I can't believe you expect me to willingly stay here," she says through gritted teeth, devising a way to escape Jack, escape this place. All of this is a little too much to comprehend at one time. She just wants to go home. Nana and Pops are probably worried sick about her. 

"Well, you don't have another choice." He collects the medical supplies from off of the coffee table, screwing the lid back on the Peroxide bottle and heading toward the hallway, likely to put them back where they were originally. Her stomach twists into a stressed, scared knot as she glares daggers at his retreating frame. "Let me put it this way; if you go back to that house and start living normally again, not only will you end up either dead or a slave, but you'll be putting them in danger, too. I know you don't want that."

He leaves her with that sentence, letting her repeat it over and over in her mind. How would, she returning home, put them in danger? Would that make them targets? Would Jack and his group of misfits go after them as a form of revenge? It's unknown to her, and it will remain that way until she gets more answers out of Jack. She will not stand aside and let him threaten her family like that.

She twirls a strand of hair around her finger anxiously and considers everything. How did she get tied up into this? She's never done anything that could be deemed as 'satanic', like playing a Ouiji board. Is this... thing, if it does even exist, a demon of some kind? Is it the devil himself? Why does he want her? What makes her so special that he'd want to...mind-control her, according to Jack? She's just an average girl with trash for a family, at least for the most part. All of these questions and more send a streak of fear through her chest, and she can't shake the feeling that maybe it is all true. Maybe Jack was telling the truth. Maybe she is in danger. If that is the case, what then?

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Chapter 10 - Tag, You’re It

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Jack doesn't return for several minutes, though she can hear the sound of muffled talking from the confines of another room nearby. The words are incoherent and muffled, but considering that there's nobody else in this house that she knows of, she guesses that he's on the phone, mostly based on the fact that the only voice she can hear is Jack's. She ponders what he said to her and tucks her knees into her chest, trying to tame the steadily rising fear that's making itself more and more apparent in her chest.

She knew from the beginning of all this chaos that there had to be a deeper meaning buried beneath the surface, even though she didn't want to acknowledge it and instead opted to come up with valid explanations for everything that happened, reasons that wouldn't make her seem crazy. But now? Now, it doesn't look like she has another option but to accept it. She has to admit, Jack made some pretty reasonable points, even if the points in question take a great suspension of disbelief. How else is she supposed to explain the things that have taken place over the past several days? She didn't have a clue about what was happening and why it was happening, and now she does. But is it the honest-to-God truth?

Being stalked by some supernatural being is definitely hard to believe, but so is mentally predicting the death of one's aunt and uncle, being kidnapped by someone without eyes, and subconsciously drawing some kind of freaky symbol. She hasn't another explanation for all of the eerie occurrences lately, what else is she supposed to think? At least she's been provided with an answer—whether that answer is correct or not has yet to be solved—but it's still an answer. It's more information than she could ever get out of her grandparents or anyone else. A therapist probably wouldn't even know what's going on with her. This way, she has a theory to go off of, something to build around until she finds something more... realistic. More believable.

Her eyes flick up to Jack as he re-enters the room, being ultimately pulled from her deep thoughts and watching him stuff, what she identifies as a phone, into his pocket. He turns her direction, his uncanny oozing gaze sending goosebumps up the length of her arms. "There will be someone over here in a bit to pick you up and take you to Brian's house. She's bringing a pair of shoes with her, too."

Oh, it's a girl. Maybe I can find some common ground and convince her to let me go. Unless she's trapped here too... She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and sits more naturally in the chair, her feet meeting the hardwood floor and her posture straightening to come across as more intimidating. Granted, she knows she isn't going to intimidate this monster of a man, but it makes her feel a little safer anyway.

"Who is she?" Her words are sharp and straight-to-the-point as she stares up at his tall frame in an attempt to seem, for the most part, fearless.

"Wisteria. Don't get your hopes up, she's almost as bad as Jeff." Releasing a huff, she rolls her eyes though chooses not to respond. "Do you want a glass—no, sorry—do you want a cup of water?" He puts great emphasis on the word 'cup', indirectly reminding her of the way she launched the glass at his head in an attempt to escape previously. It did work out in the end, she supposes, and she would have actually gotten out of this place had Jeff's hellhound for a dog not taken it upon himself to chomp down on her ankle and keep her firmly planted where she laid in the dirt until someone came to retrieve her. That 'someone' being Jeff.

"What, so you can poison me?" She mutters, crossing her arms stubbornly. "I think I'll pass."

"Did you not hear anything I just told you a few minutes ago?" He sighs, running gloved fingers through his copper-brown hair. "If I wanted to hurt you I would have done it by now." Ignoring the dryness in her throat, no doubt from lack of water, she only stares up at him with an obstinate expression, refusing to take anything that he has to offer. After a couple of moments, he too crosses his arms. "Ya know, it won't do you much good if you dehydrate and end up dying anyway."

"I'd rather dehydrate than trust you with anything." They continue to stare at each other for what feels like minutes when in reality it's only around ten seconds before Jack shakes his head in defeat.

"Fine. Suit yourself." He takes a seat on the couch, being mindful to keep a fair amount of distance between himself and Y\n, and leans back to get more comfortable. "I know this is a lot to process, but you're gonna have to get used to the fact that you can't go back home. You can't see your family again, it would be too dangerous for both yourself and them."

"Is that a threat?"

"No. It's a warning. You go back home, try to live a normal life, and you eventually snap. You'd be compelled to go to the very thing you've been trying to avoid and kill whoever got in your way. Even if that includes your family." She leers at him through skeptical e\c eyes, comprehending what he's telling her and trying to brush away the feeling of trepidation that rises within her stomach. "It's happened before. I've seen it, too many times to be proud of. It isn't a nice process."

"You're crazy if you actually think I'd kill someone, much less my own family." It's true that she has less-than-desirable parents, but there's no way that she'd ever lose herself enough to physically harm them or take their lives. She isn't a bad enough kid to do something like that, not even under the direst of circumstances. Especially if it involves her grandparents. They've shown her nothing but kindness and support, why on earth would she ever murder them? The very thought sends shivers down her spine.

"Denial is something most people express at first. But it would happen, whether you wanted it to or not." She shakes her head, furrowing her eyebrows together in objection.

"I would never."

"You say that, but you don't know what he's capable of. You don't know how much power he possesses." She averts her gaze to the ground, hugging her torso insecurely and listening to the slightly muffled words that leave Jack's mouth. "He drives you mad. It may start off subtle, maybe you'll have some bad dreams, or minor coughing fits, nothing too concerning. But it will get worse, and worse, and soon you'll be seeing things that aren't there, becoming paranoid because at every turn you feel like something's watching you, but you don't know where or by what. You'll isolate yourself, refuse to talk to anyone, become distant from your friends, your family, society as a whole. And it will continue getting worse, and worse, and worse until you're at your breaking point. You'll just want it all to stop, you'll just want it to be over. You'll be desperate. So you'll listen to him, obey his commands. He'll take you to your breaking point, all without lifting a finger."

The words leave his mouth slowly, making the situation all the more unnerving. There's a sinister kind of truth to what he says that makes an eerie fog blanket her mind in a sense of dread and impending doom. He's right. She knows he's right. There isn't definite proof, but the very tone of his voice and his serious posture tells her right then. He isn't lying. This is real. This is all real, no matter how much she may try to deny it.

Letting out a shaky sigh, she rubs her face with her hands and attempts to slow the rapid beating of her heart. One question floats to the top of all of her thoughts, and she picks it up and analyzes it for a few moments before speaking. "...Why me?" She sees him tilt his head to the side a bit, silently questioning her inquiry and asking for clarification. She happily delivers. "Why, out of seven billion people, does it want me?" She scrapes a hand through her hair in an effort to compose herself, her voice trembling. "What did I do to attract it? I'm just...I'm just a normal person. Why would it want me to do...whatever?"

He takes a few seconds to respond, stringing the words together in his head and coming up with the best possible answer. "I...I don't know." He shrugs lightly, craning his neck toward the couch beneath him. "You told me you had some family issues. He preys on the weak and vulnerable. If you've been going through stressful things, that's likely to be a big contributor to the reason he chose you."

"So you're telling me that I'm being hunted by a paranormal entity because I have garbage for parents?" She chokes down the bile threatening to rise in her throat. "How is that my fault?"

"It doesn't have to be," he simply says, shifting in his seat to better face her. "He's attracted to whoever is at a bad time in life and isn't handling it very well. If you've been stressed, he'll try to get you. It isn't always the victim's fault." Thoughts swarm her mind, though they zip by so quickly she barely has time to process each one before the next one takes its place. But one question manages to stand out above the rest, and she stares at the floor intently.

"But... but I've been going through stuff for years and I haven't had any problems like what's been happening recently until I got here." Her eyes shift up to his featureless, navy-blue mask curiously. "If it wanted me, why didn't it start before?"

"It's difficult to stalk someone and drive them insane when they're in the middle of a city," he says after a moment. "He probably knew about you before, at least to a point, but he couldn't really get to you until you were closer to where he resides." She gulps, eyes glistening with unfallen tears of dismay. "He wanted you more isolated. He can affect you easier that way."

"He's only after me, right?" Worry blooms in her chest and she leans forward absentmindedly. "My... my grandparents aren't a target, too? It's just me?"

"I doubt he'd have anything to do with two people like that, unless..." He pauses, and she presses her lips together in an anxious line.

"Unless?" Her voice holds a sense of distress. "Unless what?"

"Unless..." She can tell he's hesitant to finish his thought, though if it concerns the well-being of Nana and Pops, she won't stand for any unanswered questions. "...well, unless he wanted to use them. To manipulate you."

"How would he do that?" Now fully invested in the conversation, she tries to stabilize her breathing as she stares impatiently at Jack, desperate to get a response.

"He has different tactics. It'd be hard to say which one he'd use on you." Releasing a tremulous breath and trying to ease the nervous pit in her stomach, she clenches her fists.

"Would he hurt them?" For now, she's going to assume both of them are still alive and well, though utterly frantic over her sudden disappearance. Jack hasn't given any proof that he didn't harm them in any way, but she'd rather think about the possibility of life over the possibility of death.

"I don't know. He might."

"Well, then I have to get back to them!" She shoots up from her sitting position, causing a wave of dizziness to wash over her and nearly make her stumble to the floor, but she manages to keep her balance before that can happen. "So let me go."

"Y\n, being irrational isn't going to get you anywhere."

"I'm not being irrational!" She shoots a glare at where he still sits on the couch, starting to limp her way to the front door. "I'm being a good granddaughter. I'm not letting them get hurt." He sighs, a sound that's really beginning to get on her nerves, and slowly stands. She backs away warily in response.

"Your grandparents are fine. He likely won't even do anything that involves them because they're so far away from you now." Just how far away from them is she really?

"Where did you bring me then??"

"I can't tell you. Not yet." He eases closer to her, and she eyes the door. She isn't getting anywhere with her ankle being the way it is, and she knows it. But it's worth another try, right? She darts across the rest of the living room, but before she can even get close to grabbing the knob, a pair of strong arms wrap around her torso and pull her back. Despite her attempts at freedom, his hold doesn't even loosen.

"Let me go, Jack!"

"You already know that isn't going to happen." She lets out an exasperated groan, trying not to put pressure on her injury as she struggles fruitlessly against the tall male currently holding her back and succeeding, much to her displeasure. "You need to calm down."

"How am I supposed to 'calm down'? The only two people who actually give a crap about me are in danger!" She growls, attempting to kick him in the leg or elbow him in the gut, though he skillfully dodges each time and locks onto her tighter, remaining unphased by her actions.

"And you'll be putting them in even more danger if you go back. You heard what I said. Do you really want to hurt your own family?"

"Just shut up! I'd never do something like that. Not if my life depended on it."

"Well, it would. Y\n, you don't understand." He effortlessly spins her around to face him, her neck having to bend upward due to the large height difference between the two of them. She watches the tar-like substance as it leisurely drips from his empty sockets and down his mask before having to glance away. "Once you get to that point, he controls you. He owns you. He can make you do whatever he deems necessary to please him, and you can't stop it." She huffs, biting her bottom lip and holding back distressed tears. "Do you really want that to happen to you?"

She brings both her hands up and pushes harshly against his chest to create some kind of space between them before crossing her arms and sending him a glare, gathering the nerve to look directly into the vacant pits in his head. "I don't want any of this to happen to me," she mumbles, taking deep breaths just to stop herself from crying. "I just want to go home and be with people I love." The words leave her lips as a harsh whisper, voice cracking in the process.

"That can't happen." His tone changes from mildly irritated to sympathetic in an instant, and he takes a small step back in an effort to make her feel more comfortable. "I'm sorry."

She uses the back of her arm to wipe away a stray tear that had begun rolling down her cheek as her gaze lingers toward the hallway. She doesn't want to be anywhere near Jack, or anybody besides her grandparents. She wants out of this mess. At least she knows it isn't her fault, not completely anyway. Not that the thought soothes her very much, but it's something. "...Where's the bathroom?" It comes out as a half-hearted demand, and he answers immediately.

"First door to the right." She nods in silent gratitude and starts walking that way, ignoring the bit of pain that erupts through the bottom half of her leg as she does so. Once inside the desired room, she shuts the door behind her, flicks on the light, and tries to calm her fast, unsteady breathing and erratic heart rate. What is she supposed to do? Take Jack's word for it and stay here? Escape and try to find the way to a police station? Neither option sounds too appealing at the moment. She doesn't forget the words Jeff used before he ever so kindly walked her back to her kidnapper's house.

"Cops don't scare me. I've dealt with way, way worse than guns and tasers."

It sounded like a threat, and given the brief, though memorable, interaction with Jeff she had, it's very probable that's exactly what it was. A threat. Like he was telling her if she managed to break free and get the police involved, he'd hunt her down and wipe out everyone within his path. And it wouldn't bother him a bit. Of course it wouldn't, if he's crazy enough to supposedly carve a smile into his face, then he's crazy enough not to care in the least as he straight-up murders people.

How could somebody be so... twisted? Is it the doing of that thing, the one Jack informed her about? Or is it something totally different? Well, if she's going to be here a while, as she assumes she will be whether she likes it or not, then she'll be sure to gather as many details about the ones that live around here as she can. Maybe she can ask that girl that's supposed to be coming by with shoes, according to Jack. What's her name? Wendy? Whitney? Wanda?

No, dummy, it was a flower. She's named after a flower... Petunia? Lily? She shakes her head in disregard. That isn't even close. The bathroom is small, with a sink counter to her right, a toilet to the side of that, a tub to her left, and a slender cabinet ahead of her, right beside a window. The thought only crosses her mind briefly to use the window to escape; not only is it too high for her to properly reach without some kind of boost, but it's too small for her to even begin trying to squeeze through.

Nausea bubbles in her stomach as she thinks more and more about her hopeless situation. How does she handle this? Her whole existence just got flipped upside-down in the matter of a few hours. She doesn't know where she is, the people around her seem completely off their rocker, and her grandparents are at risk of being hurt, or possibly even killed by some other-worldly creature that she's seen a grand total of once, and that sighting was vague. What about that one time she saw that figure in the woods? The one with the white mask? Was that a hallucination, or was it real too?

She has no way of knowing for sure, and that thought alone makes her want to collapse and cry until she can't anymore about her misfortune. But she won't, not right now. Instead, she throws herself at the sink, desperate to rid herself of the foul taste filling her mouth and swallowing the vomit creeping up her throat. She turns on the faucet and welcomes the cool water that spills out, pressing her lips against it and gulping it down. She savors the pristine liquid as it slips down her throat, bringing an end to the dryness she felt in it prior and relieving her of the discomfort.

Letting out a strangled cough, she turns the faucet off and looks up, only now noticing the large piece of cloth—presumably an old sheet or blanket—covering the area where a mirror usually is placed. She lifts the corner of it up, only to find that there is, indeed, a mirror underneath, but finding herself a bit perplexed. Why would there be a sheet blocking the mirror? Did Jack do it? Does he not like to look at himself?

How would he see himself if he doesn't have eyes? She knits her eyebrows together, sniffling and licking some residual water away from her lips to stop it from dribbling down her chin. But he seems to move around just fine as if he can see where he's going. She's already established that he isn't normal, but just how not-normal is he? How does one see without eyes? Does he have some kind of sixth sense that allows him to somehow know his surroundings? If the whole 'no eyes' thing is only part of his mask, it's definitely fooled her. It looks so... so real. Just like every other aspect of him.

If he's like that, and Jeff is like that, then what do the other ones look like? She knows that there have to be others, Jack made that blatantly obvious by mentioning someone named Brian and the other named...Daisy? No, that's not it either. How much freakier is it going to get for her? Just how many more psychos has she yet to come across? She isn't too eager to find out. Jack's bad enough, and though he hasn't given her any more reason to hate him, the fact still stands that he took her from her house. Not only that, but he drugged her to do so, and before that, tricked her. Lied, right to her face, all to make her think he was trustworthy. Which he clearly is not.

She isn't sure whether to feel mad, betrayed, or a mixture of both. No, the two weren't friends, but they had talked for quite a while and she had told him things about herself that she certainly wouldn't tell some grey-skinned, eyeless thing. Is he even human? He doesn't look like one. She thought that there was a sort of bond that had sparked between the two of them during their encounter, though now she knows it was just a big, dirty trick.

She sighs through her nose, rubbing her eyes and leaning against the counter. Should she have just stayed home? Sure, she didn't really have a choice but to go to her grandparents' house while her mom and dad went wherever their work lead them, but she knows for a fact that her father in particular would have much preferred to keep her away from them. For some reason though, he had still hauled her off to a place she hasn't visited since she was eleven years old. It may have had something to do with Y\n refusing, under any circumstances, to stay at the penthouse with their absolute snob of a nanny, all alone, for God-knows how many weeks on end.

And seeing as how her mother's parents weren't an option, it was either her father's or summer camp. The last time she was at summer camp, she didn't have a very good experience, and pair that with all of the people in a hurry to make fun of her just because they're jealous of her parents' money, yeah, her grandparents were the better option by a long shot. But... if she would have just stayed home, would this have happened? Would Nana and Pops still be safe? Would she still be leading a generally boring, miserable life? Jack said himself that the creature chasing after her wouldn't be able to reach her in a populated area, like a city, and that's why he only now started attacking her. Because she was easy bait.

Is this actually her fault? Could she have avoided all of this had she just stopped being stubborn and stayed put in her home? What if Nana and Pops get killed if they aren't already? All because of her want to reach out to and see family that actually still care about her? Throwing around blame isn't going to help anything. Though that's what she tells herself, she can't help but think about it and feel guilty.

If I'm dreaming, now would be a good time to wake up. It all feels a bit too realistic to be a dream at this point, but she still clings to that little sliver of hope that this whole charade has been something her mind created while she's unconscious, and that soon she'll awake, perfectly healthy in her bed, with no giant noodle man to worry about, or crazy weirdos with masks, or strange dreams, unexplained dizzy spells and coughing fits. No whacky symbols. That would be incredible, even though she knows that really, she's never that lucky. It's all actually happening, and there's no way to escape it.

She doesn't even try to stop the tears that softly slip down her cheeks and make tiny little drip noises when they land in the porcelain bowl beneath her, only huffing in agitation and dipping her head to collect her bearings. And I thought I had a screwed-up life before...

After a few minutes, she's able to compose herself and gather enough courage to step back outside into the hallway, glancing toward the living room and catching sight of Jack on the couch, book in hand, and head craned down as if reading the words on the pages. Now how does that work? She steps forward, and at the sound of another presence nearing, he tilts his head up and meets her eyes with his soulless black pits.

She pauses under his gaze, nerves jumping with unease at his attention before she continues walking, stopping to idly lean against the wall farthest from him. "You okay?" His voice makes her flinch slightly, having not expected him to speak and break the tense silence that had built between them, though she's able to blow it off and act as if nothing happened.

"No," she says, tone harsh as she crosses her arms and drops her gaze down to the floor. "Why would I be 'okay'? This isn't exactly an everyday occurrence."

"I know, I know." He folds his book over and rests it in his lap, slanting forward slightly. "I'm not expecting you to be alright with this. Not for a while, at least." She narrows her eyes at him and presses her lips together. "I just need you to understand that this is your best option. It ensures both your safety and your family's safety."

"You just told me that my family could be used to manipulate me." Her tone is taut and her eyebrows furrow together, peering at him through resentful e\c orbs. "That doesn't sound very 'safe' to me."

"Yes, and then I said he probably won't feel the need to use them at all because you're so far away from where they live." He straightens his posture and tilts his head. "Trust me, going back would be more dangerous."

"And what if he does decide to 'use' them, huh? What then?" It takes a few infuriating moments for him to respond, and she shuffles around on her feet a bit to give him a well-aimed glare. He either doesn't notice or chooses to ignore it.

"We'll have to cross that bridge if we come to it." She opens her mouth to complain, to say something along the lines of, 'no freaking way am I standing aside and letting my grandparents become targets for some freak of nature,' but before she can there are three firm raps on the door, coming from the outside. It startles her, and she cautiously averts her gaze to the source of the sudden noise.

Jack moves the curtain to the side and glances out through the window placed directly behind the couch, seemingly checking for who could possibly be at the door. "Relax, it's alright." He stands to his feet and heads toward the wooden portal. She sends him a questioning look, and he motions outside. "Wisteria's here."

This is so wholesome...

Poor Jack <3

Do you remember how EJ is scared of storms on his personality chart? Can you write something where the reader is comforting him through one?

If there was one thing Jack really hated about his instincts, it was how they made him react to storms. Jack likes rain, he absolutely loves it, loves sitting outside in it and just breathing in the fresh scent. However, Jack HATES storms, in fact, he's downright terrified of them. One small boom of thunder or one crack of lightning is enough to have him curling into a ball and absolutely shaking.

It's during severe storms that things get really bad and he really needs you by him to comfort him. He'll go to his little hiding area on the lowest floor of the mansion, and curl up in there with you beside him to try and block out the noise but his senses make it so difficult because even if as a human you can't hear it, his body is making him sense the storm loud and clear. It's the one time you'll see Jack absolutely lose his stoic outer shell, shaking and trembling and panting, gasping for air, and sobbing out in fear because of the storms raging overhead.

It's very common for him to go into panic attacks, but with you there he finds it easier to try and calm down. Go through breathing exercises with him, pet his hair and scratch behind his big ol' kitty ears, stroke his tail and his back, pull him close to you. Just keep reinforcing that it's okay, that you're there, that everything is going to be alright. If it's a lucky day, he'll usually end up falling asleep from your comfort, wrapping himself tightly around you and snuggling into you for the comfort he seeks. If he stays awake, just keep soothing him with sweet kisses and affection, and tough out the storm with him. He always repays you for your kindness ten fold, and he loves you so desperately for it, for the love and acceptance you give to him.

Hi, i totally don't do this often so please don't judge😅 umm can this be romantic fluff but mainly comforting fluff? I'd like HCs for EJ and his dead (but not really, like a ghost but not actually one) s/o lying in an asphodel meadow stargazing. Keyword: asphodel. Yeah you can search the symbolization of asphodels (essentially extra ig). Thanks!

This was a unique one to write - thanks for giving my mind a bit of a challenge! Although you had me confused with the "dead (but not really, like a ghost but not actually one)" description, I hope this meets your expectations!

Don't worry, there's no room for judgment here <3

Eyeless Jack with a ghostly S\O

The silence is nice.

When it's just him, you, and nature, all Jack feels is peace; an emotion that unfortunately, has become quite rare for him.

Every time he feels lonely or solemn, he comes here. To observe the stars. To meet with you.

Tender interactions, minimal words, sweet kisses, and a view that could warm anyone's heart - that's what keeps Jack sane nowadays. That is the only thing he holds onto; the only thing that gives him hope for a better future.

You lay your head on his shoulder, eyes gazing up into the night sky as it glimmers with thousands of stars. You can feel his fingers wrap around your hand, and he releases a blissful yet mournful sigh.

"I miss you, Y\n." His voice touches the air as a mere whisper, and you allow the corners of your mouth to tilt upward in a sad smile.

"I know."

"Don't you wish you could come back?" You stay quiet for a moment, and he waits patiently for your reply.

"If just to be with you again...yes." You squeeze his hand slightly. "But otherwise, I love it here. It's so tranquil and alluring... I wish you could join me."

"Me too." Silence trickles back in the place of your voices, and you snuggle into Jack's side, relishing in the comfort and calmness that he emits.

A streak of white flies across the atmosphere above and both of you observe in awe. "A shooting star." You turn to look at him. "You know what this means?"

He merely smiles softly at you and nods.

"Someone up there will grant our dearest desire...if only we ask them."

"So what is yours?" You stare into the black, tar-dripping sockets where his eyes should be and give him a serene look.

"I wish I could see you every day... That we could be together, stay together, and that I could live my perfect life with you. Forever."

He wraps his arms around your frame and holds you close as if you'd fade away if he ever dared let go. "Let's just enjoy what we have now."

You hum in response and lean into him, storing his touch, the tone of his voice, his scent, his very presence, away in your mind, so you'll have something to look back on until you could meet again. "I love you, Jack."

He kisses the top of your head. "And I love you, Y\n."

In that meadow, neither wants to let go, even though they know their time together is drawing to a close. Soon Jack would have to leave and choose to remember her fondly. What it's like to touch her, hug her, hold her, kiss her, lay with her, love her. He couldn't ever forget that; he had to cherish it. If only in his memory.

Eyeless Jack Headcanons

I have no idea how I’ve had this blog for a whole freakin’ year and I have yet to write any headcanons exclusively for Jack, aka one of my favorite Creepypastas.

Let me change that now~

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ 

Jack is no doubt a tragic character, though for much different reasons than the others.

He’s isn’t open and emotionally vulnerable with anyone, like at all. After all, him trusting people was what ultimately turned him into what he is now.

He tends to hang around in his infirmary most of the time, and when he isn’t he’s being sent on missions or out gathering food.

I think you know what I mean when I say “food”.

He isn’t happy with himself, he hates what he was forced to become, and he hates his entire situation. But there’s simply nothing that he can do about it. 

He sees himself as a monster. It makes him feel terrible when he goes into somebody’s home and they look up at him with absolute horror. If he still has a heart, it’s been shattered to kingdom come.

He doesn’t want to scare anyone, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. It may sound surprising because he’s a cannibalistic demon, but really, he’s just an insecure, broken guy pushed into awful circumstances. 

Because of this, he tries to make his “collection” process as simple and painless as possible. When he sneaks into someone’s house, he’s sure to knock them out with drugs, take a kidney from each person, sew them up, then leave them behind. He couldn’t handle killing them.

He stays far away from children. When he was a normal person, he loved kids, especially since he had a little sister that he always took care of when his mom wasn’t around to do so. He would take whatever punishment Slenderman gave him before he’d ever lay a finger on a child.

He doesn’t bond with anyone in the Manor. He’s friendly with certain people, but he doesn’t consider anyone his “friend”. Not even Sally.

He just sticks to himself, and only speaks when the moment calls for it. He doesn’t get annoyed very easily, but obnoxious people like Jeff, Ben, and Kagekao absolutely drive him crazy.

When he was human, he was 5′10″, but when he got reincarnated, he gained quite a bit of height. At 6′4″, he’s one of the tallest ones living in the Manor.

Despite being quite slim, he’s abnormally strong - a side effect of being an otherworldly entity. It does come in handy at times, but it doesn’t mean that he enjoys having it. 

When he was in college, he was studying to become a pediatrician, or more specifically, a hematologist/oncologist. He wanted to make a difference in young peoples’ lives, be their hero, work hard to save them, since he couldn’t save his own sister. 

Of course, that plan got flipped upside-down when Jenny and her idiotic cult decided to use Jack as their human sacrifice.

Jack cannot eat anything but organs, no matter how much he may try. He can’t go more than two weeks without eating anything, and if he tries to consume normal food, he’ll be so sick he can’t even walk properly, and this could last for days. 

This makes him very miserable, because the thought of eating literal pieces of people is just so repulsive. He can eat animal organs, but they aren’t nearly as filling. 

However, when he starts eating, a darker, more animalistic side of him surfaces. He blacks out for a time and can’t seem to remember anything about it. The only thing he knows when he comes to is that his mask is lying across the room, his stomach is full, and his clothes, hands, and face is slathered in blood and other bodily fluids.

Thankfully, nobody ever sees him in this state because he does it in secret, inside of a room found in the basement, that only he and Brian have the keys to. 

If anyone were to disturb him during his feasting, there would not be good consequences. He’s very aggressive when his demonic instincts kick in, so if somebody showed their faces, they might just end up six feet under.

Even though Jack doesn’t have his eyes anymore, he can still see. Sure, it’s mostly a colorless world with vague shapes, but it makes his job as a whole easier, as he can rely on his sight and not just his other senses.

He’s a very quiet individual, and he’s good at creeping others out, even if it’s unintentionally. This is due to the fact that he remains eerily silent and just stares. Because of his unblinking gaze, it isn’t received well. Ever.

If he’s feeling particularly distressed, lonely, or sad, he likes to lock himself inside of a dark closet, tuck his knees into his chest, and listen to calm, relaxing music until he settles down. The other residents of the household can go hours without seeing a single trace of him, and then he’ll just randomly reappear and get back to work as if nothing happened.

Since he’s so mysterious and secretive, they have no clue as to where he vanished to and they can’t even begin to imagine what he was doing during that period of time.

He wants more than anything to be able to go back to a normal life with his friends and family, but he knows that’s impossible. Even if he somehow escaped Slenderman’s evil grasp, he wouldn’t be accepted into society. People would be scared of him. They would see him as a threat, a monster.

In a way, he knows they would be right.

𝒜 𝐻𝒶𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝐸𝓃𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

5 — 𝒮𝒽𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝑀𝑒

"So you used to come here a lot, then?"

"All the time. I guess it was just the perfect place to...hang out, and not be disturbed." She shrugs, her feet dangling past the large tree branch as she gazes down idly into the wide body of water below the two of them. Its surface is glistening with sunlight, and she imagines schools of fish, small turtles, and fresh tadpoles to be swimming underneath. She had forgotten just how peaceful it was here, completely away from society, where it allows her to be alone with her thoughts. 

"That's understandable. It is a nice area. Really quiet." He leans his back against the trunk of the tree, his eyes shifting up to the sky currently overcast by fluffy clouds and keeping half of his concentration directed at his task. "You liked solitude, then."

"What do you mean?" She glances at him curiously, and he meets her eyes for a short moment.

"You came here alone all the time, right? So you must've liked solitude."

"Oh, well, I mean—" She shakes her head, trying to collect her words and say them in a sensible manner. "No, I didn't come alone all the time. Mostly, I had Wyatt...with me..." Her voice lowers the more she talks, and she feels a wave of grief wash over her, once again. She knows she won't be able to successfully hide her emotions, so she turns her head and tries to compose herself. There's a few seconds of silence before Jack speaks.

"...Wyatt?" There's a sense of recognition in his tone, and she curls her knees up and into her chest instinctively, holding back a tear. "Wyatt...Colson?" Her eyes dart to him, her expression molding into one of consternation. 

"...How did you know that?" It doesn't cross her mind that murder and a teen's disappearance draw attention from all places, and that word spreads fast. She also doesn't realize that he, among others, keeps tabs on mysterious and abrupt events such as that one, and he knows the names by heart.

"Uh, w-well," He replaces his startled expression with one of veracity and oblivion, "he was the guy that went missing, right? Heard it from...my mom." He seems unsure, and she furrows her eyebrows though doesn't comment on it. There are more important things to fret over. 

"Yeah..." The word comes out as a mere whisper as her eyes avert down to her hands. "I guess...I guess he is."

"You were close?" he asks, leaning forward slightly. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Um, y-yeah, I mean...he was my cousin."

"Oh..." His gaze softens as he absentmindedly fiddles with a loose thread hanging from his hoodie, tilting his head to the side. "That's unfortunate... Sorry." A forlorn sigh travels from between her lips before she can stop it, and she shakes her head lightly. 

"Yeah, well...there's nothing you can do about it. Things happen."

"If it makes you feel any better, I lost my dad when I was just a kid." Her eyes move up to meet his curiously, and he glances down at his hands. "Car accident. It really crushed my mom, I don't think she ever got over it." Sympathy shines within her eyes, and she replies.

"Wow. I'm sorry."

"Eh, don't be. It was a long time ago, I hardly even remember the guy." Changing the subject, he leans toward her and asks another question. "Do you have any other family down here?"

"Besides my grandparents? No." A serene breath flows out of her nose as she watches the leaves in the trees rustle and feels the breeze glide through her hair, giving her an inkling of solace. "I used to have a couple of friends that I played with sometimes. Don't know where they went, though."

He nods in understanding, squinting his eyes as the sun's bright beam reflects off of the water and hits him straight in the face, screwing with his impaired sight. Perhaps this isn't the best place to be sitting at the moment. She turns her head to look at him once again, though parts her lips in concern and narrows her eyes. "Uh...you okay?" When she receives a slightly confused expression, she clarifies, growing perplexed. "Your nose? It's bleeding."

Only then does he feel the warm, sticky substance drip down slowly until it reaches his lip, and he lifts the back of his hand up to wipe it away, unintentionally smearing it across his skin. "Oh, yeah, um." He uses his sleeve to get the rest of it off his face, though it proves fruitless when even more of the liquid crimson continues to run out of his nose. "This is— I mean, it's normal." 

She furrows her eyebrows suspiciously, taking notice of the sudden nervousness present in his voice. "Really? It looks kinda..."

"No, no, it's fine." He takes a Kleenex out of his pocket and presses it to his nostril in an effort to slow the bleeding as he considers the height of the tree the both of them are sitting in. "But...I should get going, before my mom, uh...worries." He twists his body around until his foot is securely settled on a tree branch to his right, and he begins to climb down. 

"Uh, yeah... Okay." She watches him skillfully maneuver from tree branch to tree branch, never missing a beat and moving at a pace faster than she could ever dream of. She hadn't observed his actions when he first followed her up the tree, too busy focusing on not slipping and breaking her neck. Now that she's paying attention, she finds herself intrigued. "You're pretty good at that. Were there trees where you come from?" It's a bit of a strangely-worded question, though she figures it gets the point across well enough.

He jumps to the ground and looks up at her, shrugging and once again being pressured to wipe the blood away from his face. "There was a really nice one a while back, but lightning hit and destroyed it during a storm." She hums in response, realizing that he likely can't hear it from the ground due to the distance between the two of them. A faint buzzing sound erupts through her ears, and she swats at the air, her first guess being that a fly or bee found its way to her and decided to test her patience.

"You can find your way back, right?" She raises her voice, hoping that he's able to understand her. Thankfully, he nods in confirmation. 

"Yeah, I'm good." The buzzing continuously grows louder, and as a result, she jerks her head from side to side, trying to get a look at whatever pesky insect decided to torment her and put a stop to it, but she fails to see anything. "Can you find your way back?" She runs a hand through her hair to see if there's something nestled inside, though to her relief, doesn't find anything.

"Nah, I came all the way out here without knowing where I was going." He releases a light chuckle, noticing her sudden change in behavior and craning his neck farther back to get a better look at her.

"Something wrong?" The buzzing only grows louder and it becomes more difficult to hear what he's saying clearly, though she manages and presses a hand to her ear.

"I-I think it's just a bug or somethin'." As the obnoxious noise increases, a headache presents itself, and she taps her temple with the heel of her hand to get a handle on what she's hearing. At the same time, Jack's chest starts to tingle with a familiar ominous feeling and his gaze falls to the trees around him, searching for the source frantically as apprehension dawns on his face. 

Thinking now would be an acceptable time to get out of the tree before she ends up falling into the water, she carefully scoots toward the trunk, hoping the sound will dissipate if she gets away from whatever's nest she mistakenly disturbed. She glances down at Jack, her vision becoming strained for unknown reasons, and lets out a startled gasp at what she sees.

His skin seems to have darkened to an unnatural tone, looking more like an ashen grey than the pale ivory that it was previously, and in place of his eyes are black, endless sockets with some type of thick substance that steadily leaks down his cheeks. 

It's an alarming sight indeed, but before she can say anything about it, her vision becomes clearer and she notices that he looks just like himself, again. That was...weird. She grasps a branch, still attempting to clear the headache and unpleasant buzzing as she cautiously makes her own way down the tall tree. I must be going crazy.

Her sight is obscured once again, making her blink to try and rid herself of the blurriness. She shakes her head as the buzzing turns from bearable to inexplicably harsh, greatly disorienting her as a wave of dizziness strikes her body. Her grip tightens around the branches that are currently supporting her weight, and she leans into the tree, not willing to move and risk falling to the ground below.

"Jack...how many feet would you say I had to brave before I reach the bottom?" She only asks because she fears looking down would cause her to lose her balance. Through the thick droning, she hears only silence. Maybe he didn't hear me. "Jack?" She makes a point to speak louder to ensure that she's discerned, but still, he doesn't respond, and she bites her lip nervously. Don't tell me he left. "Jack?"

"Y-yeah, no, you're not far. Could probably jump if you wanted." Tension is released from her chest, and she wills her body to calm down. She doesn't catch how his voice wavers anxiously as he knots his eyebrows together, not looking away from the forest and what it may hold within. 

She lets out a breath that she means to reassure her, though it only makes her hands shake as she ever so slowly descends further down, her feet staying locked on whichever branches she blindly steps on to act as her support system. Hey, this isn't so bad. Just take it slow...and you'll be down in no time. It's a piece of cake.

But she thinks too soon, for not three seconds later, an invisible force latches itself around her shoulders, and before she can even react, she's being pushed away from the tree. Her fingers untangle themselves and her feet lose their place, shock traveling through her mind and making her briefly paralyzed. She feels her heart skip a beat as her breathing momentarily stops, eyes snapping shut and brain in a frenzy. All she can think about is hitting the ground. Smashing her head on a rock. Breaking her arm. Twisting her leg. Being impaled.

The outcomes seem endless as gravity forces her body closer and closer to the ground, but instead of dying and drifting off into the afterlife, she feels strong arms loop themselves under her own, not stopping her legs from colliding rather hard with the ground but cradling her torso and cushioning her head with a sturdy chest. 

Her heart still runs what feels like a thousand beats per second, and the world around her slowly starts moving again. Her mind is able to comprehend what happened fairly quickly, and she cracks her eyes open, gaze moving up and landing on Jack's face, sunlight from above darkening the edges and making it seem as if he's glowing a bright yellow. She expects him to look startled, if not amused, but is taken off-guard when she instead sees that a concerned, distraught expression is etched across his admittedly handsome features.

She feels something wet drip onto her cheek, just below her eye, and assumes it to be some of the blood from his nose, therefore doesn't make it her first priority to wipe it away for fear of seeming rude. His eyes nervously shift around the two of them as he hurriedly pulls her to her feet, keeping a hand on her shoulder until she's stable. Her hand grips the tree trunk as her body is hit by another overwhelming dizzy spell, content that the buzzing in her ears has stilled and mentally praying that the headache will go away.

"You okay?" She rubs the side of her head gently, trying to soothe the pain, and nods.

"I think so. Thanks, Jack." With that same hand, she discreetly swipes it along her cheek, removing the blood that was oozing without much thought and glancing down at it. What she sees confuses her, and she brings her hand closer to her face to get a better look. What is now smeared across her skin is a rich, tar-like solidity, similar to what she "saw" coming out of his eyes, or lack thereof. But that isn't possible. Maybe it's just such a deep scarlet that causes it to look unusually dark. 

Feeling a bit disgusted but more so befuddled, she wipes it on the tree and gets the majority off of her hand. Who bleeds black blood? She knows for a fact that the liquid coming from his nose before looked thin and was a bright red, so what changed about it? Perhaps it's only her perception; after all, she isn't exactly in the best shape right now, mentally or physically. So she turns to ask him about that very thing, only to blink in surprise when she finds he isn't there. 

She takes a couple of unsteady strides forward to see if he's hiding behind a tree, or somehow blending in incredibly well, though she isn't successful. "Jack?" She glances around, toward the trail they followed to get here, but again, she's unable to see him anywhere. "Jack!" A feeling of urgency fills her heart, urgency about what though, she hasn't a clue. He was about to leave, but she expected a goodbye of sorts, not a sudden disappearance. Besides, she would have heard him leave, right? He was just right behind her. Where could he have gone so quickly? "Jack, is this a prank?"

A brief cough exits her mouth, but she doesn't pay it any mind, too focused on finding the boy. She stumbles toward the path, bending over and rinsing the goop off of her hand in the river water beside her but being careful not to topple over into it. Another cough, this one more forced, and she clutches at her head to ease the pain each one brings. Looking down the length of the path, she sees nobody, which greatly confuses her.

"Jack! Seriously, are you hiding?" A moment later she presses her mouth into her arm to conceal the strained coughs that now steadily erupt from within and tries to catch her breath. "Jack—" This time she's cut off as another violent hack comes from her throat, leaving it scratchy and her desperate. She doubles over and shuts her eyes tightly, bearing the turmoil that her body is suddenly putting her through for unknown reasons.

Her stomach grows queasy and her head throbs, stressed tears brimming her eyes as the coughs only worsen after each second. Before she can even grasp what's happening, her legs collapse and she falls straight to the grassy terrain below, fighting for any breath of oxygen that she can possibly get only to come up empty every time. The tears now fall, streaming across the bridge of her nose all the way down to the tip before dropping.

Her fingers withdraw and clutch handfuls of dirt as her body shakes vigorously, though not from fear, merely from distress. Her mind is in a haze of agony, making her hyper-focus on one thing only; breathing. She feels as if her organs have become detached and are going to spew from her mouth any second, and a fierce burning sensation in her lungs makes her gag as stomach acid arises, dribbling down her lip. Her hacking is combined with pained sobbing, her condition only getting more gut-wrenching the longer it continues, all the while that same unpleasant buzzing never quiets and abuses her ears with its shrill pitch.

Her stomach convulses and sends half-digested food up through her body, and consequently, she retches and spits it right below her face. The discomfort fogging her mind begins to dissipate, and the hacking she was forced to suffer through comes to an abrupt stop, finally allowing her to suck in a deep breath of air that her body has been struggling to grasp. A few more light coughs come out of her mouth, and she rolls on her side, trying to recover as she gasps for much-needed oxygen. 

Her muscles loosen themselves in relief, and she lets out a quiet cry, a mixture of both alleviation and affliction. She lays there for around five minutes, gathering her bearings and recuperating from the unforeseen exertion, before taking in a soft breath and fluttering her eyes open. The terrible droning, at once, fades away and gives her a chance to get her thoughts straight. She weakly pushes herself up, unable to stop from looking down at the pile of acid, regurgitated food, and blood laying on the grass that her body pushed out. 

She gently places her hand on her sore, scratchy throat and massages it, hoping to soothe a bit of the pain, if not all of it, and trying not to have a panic attack over the fact that she nearly hacked her very own lungs out not seven minutes ago. Stray tears dribble down her warmed cheeks and she wipes saliva from her chin, finding the strength eventually to stand to her feet and begin her slow, thoughtful trek back to her grandparents' cottage.

•——————•°•✿•°•——————•

His feet feel almost weightless as he runs at high speeds, far higher than what the average person could ever go, his body twisting whenever necessary to ensure he doesn’t accidentally slam into one of the hundreds of trees around him. His mask is now pushed back over his face and hides the dark grey tone of his skin and the sharp rows of teeth in his mouth, though his empty sockets remain visible.

The tingling in his chest begins to lessen the farther away he gets from the river, but he doesn’t take it as a sign to slow down. Instead, he quickens his pace, avoiding the thick foliage, leaping over a fallen tree, and sliding down a small hill, in a hurry to make it back. He fears the worst could happen if he were to stop.

Easily navigating through the familiar forest and toward Brian's house, his lungs aren’t even starting to get tired and his legs aren’t yet begging for a break; only a few of the advantages of being a demon. Even in a rush, he still somehow manages to be stealthy, so much so that nobody could hear him unless they were listening extra closely. The area around him lacks most of its natural color through his perspective, and even a bit of its shape, but that only means his hearing, among other senses, is keener and is able to detect threats from far off. 

He can see the scenery that surrounds him, though the details leave quite a bit to be desired. The black, slimy tears continuously cascade down his navy-blue mask and fall to the ground beneath his boots; it would be pointless trying to keep them at bay. He learned this long ago, and now it doesn’t even cross his mind.

Finally, the old cabin comes into view, camouflaged by weeds, low-hanging vines, and overgrown grass, surrounded by an old barbed-wire fence, making the perfect place to take residence in. He swiftly climbs a tree to get past the minor barrier, sprints until he’s at the front door, and knocks, clearly frantic and in need of attention. He knows that the man must be there, for he was the one who told Jack to report back to him when he was finished with the assigned task, and he’s been gone for several hours at this point, so he must be expecting him back soon. 

To his relief, it only takes a minute before the door swings open, revealing the tall man - though shorter in comparison to Jack - clad in a mustard-brown hoodie and black and red cloth mask standing in the entrance of his home sweet home. He tilts his head up at him, narrowing his eyes though it can’t be seen from behind the stretchy piece of cloth covering his face and any emotion he may otherwise show.

After a moment, he nods in silent greeting and steps to the side, giving Jack room to walk into the house as Brian closes the door behind them. He turns to face him once again, leaning casually against the door frame and studying Jack’s body language. “What’d you find out?”

His sentence is short and straight-to-the-point, not surprising Jack in the least. Brian was never one to stretch things out; he’d much rather just hear what needs to be said using as few words as possible. Jack allows his muscles to relax, now eased by the knowledge that he’s currently in a safer area than he had been, and quickly collects his thoughts.

“It’s worse than I thought,” he starts, voice muffled by the mask shrouding his face. “He wants her and he wants her soon. If we’re gonna do something about it we need to act quickly, otherwise, it’s a lost cause.” Brian crosses his arms in understanding, processing the information that his trusted companion is delivering to him.

“Do you know where she lives?” Jack shakes his head.

“No, but she told me that she’s here visiting family. She’ll be leaving eventually, if she’s not gotten to, first.” 

“What family?”

“Grandparents. You know that couple that got murdered a while back?” He receives a curt nod in response. “Apparently, they were her relatives. Aunt and uncle.”

“They had a kid.”

“Yeah, Wyatt Colson. Adopted. He was her cousin.” Jack shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, waiting through a brief silence before speaking again. “They were close, she and him.”

“Did you get her name?”

“Y\n L\n.” Brian pulls his phone out of his jeans, focusing on the screen as he scrolls through his contacts and looks for one labeled Ben, clicking on it and shooting him a quick text telling him the girl’s name and to research her immediately. He gets an effortless "yup" soon after, and stuffs his phone back in his pocket, turning his attention back on Jack for more information.

“How old is she?”

“Young. Only sixteen.” Jack subconsciously bounces on the heels of his shoes, though the action is barely noticeable and disregarded by Brian, who keeps his gaze locked onto the boy’s masked face. “She was nice. Something was definitely troubling her, though. I could feel it.”

“So she’s emotionally vulnerable. That makes her easy bait.”

“Maybe. He was messing with her head, but she was trying to resist it.” Jack remembers her odd behavior before he left, and he recalls feeling pressure in his mind as she gripped at her hair. She looked distraught, though he could sense that she wasn’t giving into the fog of thoughts her mind was likely being covered in at the time. Not easily.

“What do you think about it?” he asks, and Jack considers the question a short moment.

“I think she may stand a chance. From what she told me, she seems to come from a more or less broken family. All the more fire to fuel her hate. That could be a good or a bad thing.”

“We’ll see what Ben’s results are, then make a final decision.” Jack nods, not quite wanting to just forget about her and let her fall victim to the inevitable like so many others before her. He senses potential; something that isn’t very common for them. He would be less than content to just brush her aside as if she was simply meaningless to all of them, knowing they could have helped, possibly saved a soul from eternal torment and what could be referred to as slavery.

He is well aware that it would be a big risk, bringing another person to their base after so many years of isolation, and he knows it could easily result in catastrophe. But he isn’t very doubtful about this particular case; he saw no reason to be when he was speaking with her. She seemed innocent enough, then again, it’s always the "innocent" ones that end up stabbing you in the back. 

All he knows is that if they’re going to do something, they need to do it soon, because she’s in immediate danger, and he has a feeling she doesn’t even realize it. She won’t until it’s too late.

•——————•°•✿•°•——————•

Her eyes drift up from the dirt to the familiar cottage that she’s grown acquainted with during the past few days, and she releases a shaky breath, the action itself causing her mild pain in the back of her throat. Gosh, water sounds so refreshing right now. She walks closer, only noticing her grandfather sitting on the porch when she reaches the gateway and avoids direct eye contact. She knows that he’s going to try and speak to her, especially considering the conversation this morning, and she wants to dodge that until she feels a bit more like herself.

She’s still totally puzzled at what happened over an hour ago and has racked her brain for answers, only to fail each time. Maybe she just caught the stomach flu? But stomach flues make you throw up, not cough until you feel like you’ll explode at any moment. Perhaps something got caught in her throat and triggered her gag reflex? Highly doubtful. Gag reflex doesn’t work like that.

She forces a fleeting smile across her face as she draws nearer, but drops the act once she sees that his eyes are closed, his lips are parted, and soft snores exit his mouth as his head is leaned comfortably against the wall behind him. Oh good. He’s asleep.

Hopefully, she can sneak in undetected by her grandmother, who is most likely up at this point in the day and well aware of her surroundings. She steps quietly onto the porch and grips the handle of the screen door, pulling it open and cringing when it makes a long, drawn-out squeak in response. She glances at Pops in concern, shoulders relaxing when she sees him still dozed off.

Her facial expression twists into one of agitation as she opens the second door, this time with less caution, and walks inside, knowing that her Nana had to have heard that obnoxious noise. Her hearing is relatively better than her husband’s, after all. Her gaze shifts toward the living room, biting the inside of her cheek when she catches a glimpse of her grandmother sitting on the recliner beside the couch, glasses on, her attention directed at the book in her hands.

She doesn’t seem to have noticed Y\n come inside, much to her relief, and she looks at the staircase directly ahead of her, glancing in-between Nana and it as she silently closes the door and wonders if she can pull this off. It’s only a few feet away, but Nana would surely see her walking and be interested in a conversation. The very thing that Y\n desperately wants to avoid for the time being.

She swallows, inwardly wincing at the discomfort that radiates from the back of her throat, and carefully moves forward, hoping beyond hope that Nana won’t spot her. “Oh, hi, Y\n.” The girl freezes, turning her gaze back toward Farrah and meeting her eyes regretfully. “You were out a while this time. Almost five hours.”

She nods, not wanting to speak unless absolutely necessary, at least not until she gets ahold of some pain relievers. The elderly woman tilts her head forward, setting the book in her lap and giving her granddaughter her full attention. 

“I didn’t know you could cook.” Y\n’s eyebrows knit together in confusion before she pieces it together in her head and allows a knowing expression to form across her face. After hearing the silence, Nana speaks, again. “It was good, Y\n. Thank you.” She hums in reply, wanting to leave it at that, however, when she starts walking up the stairs, she hears her grandmother’s voice. “Are you alright?”

She nods once more, making her exit quick and shuffling up the staircase, stopping only when she reaches her room. She grabs her bag and digs through it, eventually grasping a plastic bag filled with various medicine that she thought was appropriate to bring along with her, just in case. She pulls out the bottle labeled "Tylenol" and unscrews the cap, pouring two of the red, blue, and white capsules into her palm before putting their container back into the bag.

She grabs her water bottle and, after a moment of hesitation, swallows the medicine without much trouble, taking a sip of water afterward to subdue the pain a bit. She then sits on her bed, hands tangling themselves in her hair as she tries to hold the weight of stress on her shoulders. It still feels hard for her to fully process - everything does, really. She almost wants to cry again, but refrains, mainly because it would only cause her greater physical pain, and that’s one of the last things she wants right now.

The sun shining in through her window hits her back and warms her insides, bringing her a sense of consolation. It will be okay. It has to be, right? She will get through these trials. She can handle them. Can’t she?

A quiet whimper forces itself from her mouth and she covers her face in an effort to compose herself. Why me? Why now? She hears her phone chime from her pocket, indicating she just received a text. That’s strange. Nobody ever cares enough to text her anymore. Growing curious and wanting to focus on anything other than her pathetically devastating situation, she slides it out and presses the sleep button, quickly typing out the password and going to her messages.

Unknown number? She blinks and wipes away a tear before it’s able to fall from her eye, looking down at the glowing screen and clicking on the contact.

Yo, is this Y\n?

“What the…” she can’t help but mutter, ignoring the twinge of pain it causes and furrowing her eyebrows in bemusement. Is it somebody from school? Her thoughts then turn to Jack, though she shakes her head in disregard, deciding that it wouldn’t be possible. We never exchanged numbers.

After staring at her phone for two minutes straight, she sends a message back, almost certain that somebody from her school somehow got her number from one of her friends. Or, well, acquaintances, at this stage in her life.

Yes... With whom am I speaking?

She waits for a response, tapping her finger against her leg absentmindedly and gazing through the window. Her e\c eyes land on the treeline, halfway expecting to see something standing outside. It reminds her of when she awoke last night and saw that mysterious, eerie figure posing at the edge of the forest, its creepy white mask standing out in the dark of the night. 

Even after several minutes, she doesn't get a response, and she comes to the conclusion that it's likely a prank, no matter how strange and abrupt it is, and tosses her phone on her bed, choosing to forget about it. A movement in the doorway draws her awareness, and she turns her head in that direction, raising her eyebrows when she sees Nana standing there with a commiserate expression painted across her wrinkled features. 

"Sweetheart..." Y\n cranes her neck to the side and parts her lips, beginning to feel the Tylenol take effect and lessen the aching in her throat.

"Nana?" Farrah rubs the back of her neck, almost nervously, as she walks farther into the room. "Is...something wrong?"

"Your grandpa told me what happened this morning... I'm sorry, baby." She makes her way beside Y\n, sitting on the bed and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Y\n's posture slumps as she realizes what she's referring to, and her gaze shifts down to her lap. She twiddles her fingers, sensing the tension in the air between the two of them. "Are you gonna be okay?" 

She waits a moment, thinking over her reply. She doesn't want to worry her, besides, she's positive this has been extremely hard on Nana and Pops, much harder than it could have ever been on her. That was their daughter, their grandchild. And that, on top of already having lost their son to ridiculous family disagreements? And not having the emotional support of anybody but themselves? It makes her feel terrible for them. 

"Yeah..." She clears her throat, looking anywhere in the room but Nana, and fighting the tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks. "Y-yeah, I'll be fine. It's...fine." Her voice cracks, and she feels Farrah's fingers ghost through her hair to calm her down, console her in some way. 

"Hun, if you need to talk, or anything else, you can come to me. I know it's a lot of hard information to process, and so suddenly, too." She only nods wistfully, not even trying to mask the hurt on her face, anymore. Nana notices and gives her a quick hug before standing to her feet and exiting the room, leaving the girl sitting alone once again, with a heavy heart and an uncanny suspicion that things are about to get even more dreadful from here on out.

Here’s an eyeless jack drawing that took two hours of my life 😭

Messed up his arms and accidentally gave him yaoi hands so we’re just… new headcanon, long arms and big hands because demon monster dude.

Fight me if I’m wrong but- I hc that this man has a southern accent when he speaks..