I saw him.
His flesh, rotting, decaying, almost gone, his glasses, so old you could barely see his eyes, just barely hanging out of their sockets, so lifeless, you wouldn't know if he was seeing you or not. Wearing a large, black trench coat to cover his slit-open chest, blood and organs hardened from years of ignorance. His skeletal legs were covered by baggy black pants. Out in the open, you could barely tell he wasn't human, or, rather, not anymore.
His stubble, turned to stone, was almost sharp and made an almost metallic noise when scratched as he did so.
"Come on, son. You wouldn't wanna keep the family waiting."
He spoke with a southern accent. His lifeless eyes seemed to pierce through me.
"Son. Come on now. Don't make me punish you."
He said as he pulled out a bloodstained kitchen cleaver, looking like he came straight out of a horror film.
"Don't make me hurt you, now."
I nodded in acceptance. "There we go," he said as he put the knife back in his coat. "Get your things, though I doubt you need much…"
He laughed the most chilling, empty laugh that has ever been laughed before. It made the once familiar, happy feeling of my hallway feel empty, desolate, void of all emotion drab, there were so many ways to describe the change I can't list them all.
"Well, son, need anything?"
I took my laptop, notebook, pencil, pen, Phone, PS Vita and 3DS. And their chargers, of course. As I got in his rusty, 1954 Buick Skylark. (Hint, hint) Its paint job was so overdue, I guess did it fit his overall ambiance: death.
Even its interior smelled like something rotten. But I didn't mind. Or at least, I couldn't let him know that I did.
We drove for a while, about 45 minutes. I asked him why he came for me, if his house was so far. At first his mouth turned to a scowl, and he didn't answer. After a few minutes, I asked again and he said, "Evie's really taken a shine to ya…". I didn't know who he was talking about, but I decided not to get on his bad side.
We finally got to his house. He parked right in front of the gate, got out, and rammed it open. While he did this (it took a couple tries) I noticed the mailbox said, "Baker Residence". How odd, I thought. How could such a frightening man have such a normal name? What a coincidence.
He got back in the car, and pulled out a remote. "Well, son," he said, "looks like you're gonna be part of the family."
Surely I didn't want to be part of it, but he didn't know that. Yet.
We walked into the house. He took off his coat and hat (I forgot to mention his black fedora-type hat) and placed them neatly on the coat rack. Oddly enough, while the exterior was looking old and depressed, with vines covering it all, the inside looked almost normal, albeit with a lot of dust and a small bit of cracks.
"Jack, is that the foreign soundin' fella Evie's been talkin' about?"
"Yup. Marguerite, meet Drago. Drago, meet my wife, Marguerite."
It took a while to get adjusted to the dim setting, but from what I could make out, she definitely looked older than Jack. Maybe it was the lantern. But she seemed older, and spoke in an… ominous tone.
"Well, Drago, its almost time for supper. Go get a little sleep; the food's still preparing."
I followed Jack to the specified room. "Ya know, son, you've been very obedient. Are you up to somethin'?" "Nah, sir. Just staying calm. Accepting."
He looked at me, his lifeless eyes seeming to have surprise fill them after an awfully long amount of time. "Huh. Never thought I'd see the day…" he mumbled down the stairs.
I woke up after a short 15 minutes, to the sound of Marguerite saying, "Supper's ready!"
I got up and, at a surprising pace, almost ran down the creaking staircase.
"Careful, son, wouldn't wanna break the stairs. You're oddly optimistic." "Well, that's how I am, sir."
"Hmm…"
"Need to think, I see?"
"Heh-heh! You're funny, son. You know what? You'll make a great addition to the family."
"Supper's ready!" Marguerite placed a bowl in front of me. All of a sudden, Jack said, "Here's your chair, son." he placed a chair with a shackle on it in front of me. "Go on, siddown." I sat and even let him shackle my left wrist to the chair. "You're way too submissive, son. Are you okay?" "As good as I'll ever be."
I looked at the food. It looked like decomposed organs. And I sure didn't want to eat that.
"Go on, eat it."
I looked at him, with a very straight expression.
"Welcome to the family, son."
