Midnight of the Fourth Night

A Ben Drowned fic by Purple-Eyed Devil

Rated M for Mature Themes, and possible gore. All characters, plots, places and ideas belong to Jadusable, all Majora's Mask material belongs to Nintendo. I make no money off of this piece'o'crap.

...so many people watching him. Reading his accounts, thinking it's all just a game... But this, to him, is real. So bloody real. They called out to their Jadusable, tried their best to find a way past the half truths, the lies, enjoying their fun while it lasts... But he was trapped. A prisoner in his own body, reduced to a shaking mess, waiting for the next contact, fearing it, anticipating it. Where had BEN gotten to now? Was he watching, waiting, laughing? Or was he already in motion, and his sleep-deprived brain has not figured it out yet?

The paranoia's always made him think like this. Who can be trusted? Who can't? Who is a real person, with a face, breathing, normal? And who is just a figment of his imagination, of BEN's twisted powers? It's enough to drive any sane man as mad as a hatter, enough to break anything, anyone. He was alone, and it frightened the shit out of him. He can't even trust his own eyes, couldn't even escape this HELL in his sleep.

Why?

The dreams. The endless dreams.

Nightmares. They had been his enemy for the last few nights, all thanks to that damned game... All horrible nightmares, about that twisted thing, that fucking Statue, blank eyes staring into his very soul, teeth bared in something between a grin and a grimace... Simply recalling it made him shiver, shudder like a kicked dog on speed. The lack of sleep was getting to him, he was caught in some twisted trap, between the shit BEN put him through in the waking hours...

And those fucking dreams. Nightmares.

Most of them, normal for BEN. Illusions, fantasies, where his body underwent strange and horrible things, the Moon Children, the Statue, that grin, God, that grin... Those, while they scared the absolute fucking shit out of him, disappeared with the light of the day. Left him drained and wanting of sleep, but... Still, they were easily put in the back of his mind. Safe. Untouchable.

In the real world, he could try to relax. As tired as he was, everything could be made sense of. A next step could be planned; he could try telling himself that he was not mad, he was not crazy, BEN was trapped on the cartridge… Everything would go away in time. A chant, a mantra, a security blanket.

But those comforting feelings never stayed for long. That thing followed him, stalked his thoughts like a starving dog stalks a wounded animal. Thoughts of that thing, that FUCKING statue, were never too far off. It haunted him always, letting him feel secure then pulling the rug out from under him.

Those nightmares were not the only ones. There were things far worse, dehumanizing, things he had only read about in war stories he had been dared to read. God, he didn't even want to put those in his notes, but they effected him worse than the other things... Maybe the populace would find clues in them.

But no.

BEN had edited them out, anyway. Apparently, he didn't want the world to know his 'secret'. He asked him why, begged him to stop, but it never did... Sick, twisted fuck. Really, he didn't even want to think of it, but it always happened at odd moments. He'd remember. The cold, the darkness, the feeling of /something/ wrapping around his arms, his legs, pinning him while putting him on display for all to see. That same /something/ touching him, making his heart jump up into his throat, sick, twisted fuck...

Lonely... Ha. That was a joke, if he'd ever heard one. With all the shit that...THING...had been putting him through? God, Matt just wanted this to be over and done with... He'd make a deal with the devil himself simply to get rid of this.

What had he done to deserve this? What God had he pissed off? The drinking, the slacking off, the normal things that normal teens and normal college students did didn't seem like enough to warrant this Hell…And every time that window opened to cleverbot, every time that game booted up, every time he even closed his eyes… It felt like he was slipping a little more down that slippery slope, staring up into the face of his jailor, wishing for help only to be mocked and spit on.

All he could do… Was leave his notes, for whatever poor fool tried to take on BEN next. Wait for that fucking STATUE to get bored with him, and dispose of him like the dried husk of a fly, trapped on the web of a poisonous spider.

Author's Note:

I don't expect anyone to actually read this little drabble. Just putting it up for the Bambers and my friends at The Fourth Day forums.