Disclaimer : I don't own Eyeless Jack, or Jeff the Killer. I do, however, own Oliver.
Hyde. Oliver Hyde. What do people think of when they hear that name? They think of popular high schooler Oliver Hyde, of course. Senior at Dresson High, a straight-A and B student who participates in almost anything. Theatre, science fairs, talent shows, you name it.
The people know who he is, to the public eye. But they do not know who he is behind closed doors. They do not know the secrets he keeps so close, the secrets that practically tear him from the inside out.
Oliver Hyde is broken, tried to be fixed by countless shrinks, therapy sessions, and doctor's appointments, but they all worked to no avail. His mind is, what they say, 'irreparable.'
He used to always have a bounce in his steps, sincerity in his smiles and laughter, and effort in his studies and activities. Now the bounce is gone, his cheeks hurt from his forced happiness, and his grades barely pass the board with the autopilot switched on in his brain.
Oliver's friends have no idea why he's turned into someone they don't know. Oliver doesn't speak to them anymore, he doesn't even bat an eye in their shared classes. He's become a stranger.
His previously bubbly self is lost in some unknown abyss, never to be retrieved again. Ever, again.
His only friend now seemed to be his notebook. A slightly tattered, brown and college-ruled notebook bought from Staples. Oliver's full attention was focussed onto this notebook from beginning to end of classes. The book opened to a random page, a pencil in his hand, and an eraser in reach, he would pay no attention to anything else.
At lunchtime, he doesn't eat, he disappears for half an hour, to an isolated area of the school campus. He brings out a small Ziploc bag from his sweatshirt pocket, filled with fresh patches.
Oliver would take out one, just one, and stick it on his left arm. His breathing would hitch, and he'd let out a sigh of relief. The bell would ring, he'd discard the patch over the fence, and resume his notebook sketching for the rest of the day.
Then later, once at home, he'd tear the drawings he'd done out from the book and either hang it up on his bedroom wall, or crumple the paper up and throw it in a recycling bin.
He drew, therapeutic sketches, he'd like to say. He drew things that he saw in his dreams, his nightmares, even his own thoughts, pure and dark all together. Drawing the—disturbing—images let out his fears, putting them all on disposable paper.
But the ones he put on the wall, well…let's say, those were his obsessions.
There was one, a 'creature' that had the body of a young man, perhaps his age or slightly older. The man wore a dark-colored sweatshirt, though not black, as Oliver had stated clearly on some of his sketches.
The young man should have been a normal sight, but it wasn't. A blue mask covered his face, no mouth, and the eyes were pure black and seemed to drip out a dark liquid. The only notable feature was his brown—nearly black—hair. Thick, and unruly.
Oliver gave the masked man the name of Jack, he didn't know why, but he felt like it was…right.
Next to the messy sketches of Jack, was another young male, though younger than Oliver himself. He was clad in a partially white sweater, and black jeans. Partially white, because of the blood that stained his attire, never washed off.
This young man…this teenager, had shoulder-length, jet black hair. His skin was dead white, and he held a bloodied knife that he seemed to treasure. But those weren't his most frightening features. His eyes, his smile…
Let's call him Jeff, keep the names of Oliver's 'creatures' in the J's.
Jeff's eyes are nearly always open, and when they do blink, the process of closing his eyelids happen at lightning speed. As if they didn't close at all. And his mouth, oh…his lips were spread apart in a painful-looking broad grin, showing a complete set of pearl white teeth.
Those two young men, were amongst many of the 'things' that torment him in his nightmares. They never did so as kill Oliver in them, sometimes they don't even physically show themselves.
But their presence was always there, even if faint. Oliver always knew, they were watching him, even if he couldn't see them himself. It paralyzed him, drowned him in fear.
Jack and Jeff, they rarely, ever so rarely, show themselves to Oliver whilst he was awake, conscious. His mind would spawn them in the same room when he was in a state of anxiety, or plain drowsiness.
Jack would stand or sit by the window, staring at Oliver through his mask, silent and still. Jeff would rub the flat part of his knife on his cheek, lick it twice, then walk over to him if he was in a panic attack.
Jeff would then rub circles on his back with the blunt end of the hilt of his blade, his mouth still held the cheek-hurting smile.
If Oliver was sleepy, Jeff would lead him to his bed and sing him one of his childhood lullabies, twisting the words into tales of murder and disappearances of children and adults. Jack would sit by his bed, and stare out the window.
The songs of murder would lull him into a restful sleep, shocking as they weren't exactly songs you would whisper into an adolescent's ear. Oliver would wake up in the early morning, and not remember any such moment from the previous night, other than the visits of his 'creatures.'
Oliver silently wished they were real, even if their presence gave his heart a slight boost in its beats. He didn't know what this meant, but their company soothed, and terrified him. It was too confusing to explain with mere words.
Their existence would be the death of Oliver Hyde. But would also serve as his draughts of sanity.
A/N : I…I don't know. Honestly. I wasn't exactly sure why I wrote this. It just…came. Oliver Hyde, was an OC I had made some time ago. I wasn't exactly sure where I would've used him then, so here is his first appearance.