Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing. ;} Every bit of encouragement and criticism you give really does mean the world when I get stumped and want to put off working on the next chapter.


Ch. 2

Maggie sat with her knees drawn up to her body, staring hollowly at her sleeping kidnapper. The swell and collapse of his chest as he breathed was slow and even, almost hypnotic. It made her eye lids feel heavier, and before she knew it she was jerking her head out of a slow dip to her knees.

The hurting had kept her awake at first; the bits of glass in her feet, the cuts in her wrists from the zip-tie, the throbbing knot on the back of her head. Then, the cold took over. That hurt too, but only until it numbed her. After that there was nothing keeping her eyes open except her own willpower, and that was fast fading.

She had thought about trying to wriggle free again, keep testing the ropes while the killer slept, but she was too haunted by his threat to her family to do anything but sit quietly. She would be able to scream in a few days maybe, if she lived that long. There were voices outside sometimes, dogs barking. People were close by. All it would take would be one good shriek, and they would come running. There was no need for her to become a martyr. The killer would be caught, and her family would be safe.

Her head bobbled again, and her eyes flickered shut; this time she didn't have the strength to open them again.


Maggie brought her arms above her head and flexed them. It felt good to stretch after being bound for so long. She opened her eyes lazily and smiled when she saw a spread of stars winking down at her through the trees. A warm breeze skimmed her skin, rustling the grass and setting the branches to swaying lightly. Everything smelled like dark earth.

A footstep behind her caught her attention, but didn't startle her. She tilted her head back to look, upside-down, at whoever was here with her.

It was a boy in a mask.

Maggie rolled easily onto her belly and propped up on her elbows to get a good look at the boy standing not ten feet away from her. The full-faced mask he wore was simple; it was white, with delicate eyebrows and carefully shaped lips painted on in black. His tan jacket, which looked too heavy for the warm weather, was zipped up to his throat. It looked as though he might be carrying something underneath it, but Maggie didn't pay that much mind.

She waggled her fingers in greeting, and the boy gave a little wave back. Boy. She kept thinking that he looked too tall to be called that, but the mask was so sweet and child-like to her. The wind blew again, making his dark hair drift around the edges of his mask.

He gestured for her to come to him, and she levered herself up into a sitting position. She shook her head, grinning playfully and holding her arms out to him. The boy didn't hesitate to come to her and take her hands in his cool ones. He pulled her upright easily, and then linked his arm through hers.

They started walking.

Maggie was still barefoot, but there were no glass bits in her soles now, and no branches in her path to step on. The grass didn't trip her, but instead cushioned her feet in a dewy blanket, and not once did a prickly thorn-bush snag at her pajamas. She did have to go over a log, but the boy went first and held her hand like a gentleman while she climbed over.

She found herself leaning into him once she was on her feet again, and she didn't bother to pull away when they started moving. A musky-sweet smell clung to him, like old pine needles and damp earth. Maggie inclined her head toward him, breathing in the scent shamelessly, and the boy leaned his head affectionately down against hers.

It wasn't long before someone else joined them.

This boy wore a yellow hoodie and a ski mask with a sad face stitched onto it. There was a handgun in a holster on his hip, and a hunting rifle strapped to his back. He was lankier and a little taller than the masked boy, but not by much. He walked right up alongside Maggie and crooked his arm through hers. Unlike the masked boy, he immediately viced her tightly to his side as though he were afraid she would let go. She leaned her head against his shoulder to assure him that she wouldn't, and his grip slackened a little. The bitter scent of gunpowder, strong but not unpleasant, reached her nose.

They picked up the pace once the boy in the hoodie joined them, and it became clear to Maggie that they were taking her somewhere. Several times the two of them looked around her at each other, like they were having some sort of silent conversation. She didn't mind not being included. In fact she relished being able to walk along without talking, focusing purely on the crickets and the crunch of their steps.

The trees started to grow thick, old and tangled up in each other. It was oftentimes difficult for them to walk side-by-side, and one of them would have to break from the chain to trail behind. Maggie always clung to Hoodie Boy, even though she might have liked Mask Boy better, because Hoodie Boy seemed so anxious about her going off somewhere. Mask Boy was always quick to catch up and hook her by the arm again, though.

She wasn't sure when exactly it began, or what triggered it, but eventually she realized that an unpleasant tingling sensation was creeping up her arms. At this point the trees were growing so close together that she couldn't walk with both boys at her sides anymore. She looked around a little nervously, slowing her steps and seeing for the first time just how dark it was here in this part of the forest. Mask Boy gave her a reassuring wave when she looked over her shoulder at him, but then Hoodie Boy squeezed her arm hard and pulled her along faster with him. She turned back around and saw a pale glow through the gnarled branches and trunks, and realized that there was a clearing up ahead with a single skinny tree growing in its center. The unpleasant tingling was replaced with a hair-standing chill.

She didn't want to go into the clearing, and especially not near that tree.

Hoodie Boy turned impatiently on her when she started to dig her heels into the loam, but then Mask Boy appeared and linked his arm into her free one. He squeezed just as hard as Hoodie Boy when they began forcing her forward.

They dragged her into the clearing, right up to the skinny tree, and Maggie screamed. Rather, she tried to, but no sound came out; not even a shrill, wheezy sound. She could feel the force behind her noise, could feel the air bursting out of her lungs, but the only thing she could hear was the crickets' chirping.

The tree wasn't a tree, but a man in a black suit and narrow tie. Rather, it looked like a man. The creature was over twice her height, with a stretched and spindly frame. Its face, when it tilted down to her, was a blank and unsettling expanse of white flesh; no eyes, no mouth, no nose. There was something on its face that contorted slightly, a rippling of shadows over the skin, like a wide smile.

Maggie didn't realize that her knees had given out until the boys let go of her arms and stepped away. She looked up at the creature's eyeless face, and sense of dread overwhelmed her. It lifted one of its long arms from its side, reaching and bending down over her at the same time. The curve to its body was unnatural; not a fold at the waist like a person, but a jagged and many-jointed arch like a bowed branch.

The thing extended a single finger –no, a claw- and she closed her eyes, certain that she would die. She felt the razor tip touch her forehead, but no pain came; instead, a floating feeling surrounded the part of her mind that was afraid, then plucked it up and out of her completely.

Maggie watched in wonder as the creature lowered onto one of its knees, bringing its face closer to her. It threaded its wicked claws through her hair, and she knew, though she wasn't sure how, that it was being careful to not cut her. The idea made her smile, and suddenly she felt guilty for having been afraid. The creature inclined its head, as though it could hear her thoughts, and a warm and forgiving feeling enveloped her.

She knew when the creature wanted her to lift her chin, and not a fiber of her being objected to doing so. A strong sense of approval mingled with the warmth coursing through her, and then there was a brief pain beneath the hollow of her throat. She looked down and saw that the creature had used its claw to cut a symbol on her chest, a circle with an X through it. Blood trickled down between her breasts, but the wound hardly hurt. She smiled back up at the creature, and it reflected her joy.

The boys reappeared at her sides then, peering at the mark. Mask Boy put his hands on his hips and flicked his chin smugly at his companion, but the other boy didn't have time to react before Maggie, encouraged by the warmth and joy emanating from the creature, promptly reached up to touch it.

The creature snapped upright with the sound of cracking branches, sending Mask Boy and Hoodie Boy recoiling backward. Maggie was not so quick; confused, hurt, and able to be afraid again of the horrific anger that the creature was suddenly projecting toward her, she stood rooted to the spot as the creature's arms crackled out to its sides. It wasn't until its white face split open into a set of monstrous jaws, gaping impossibly wide, that she tried to run at all. The boys were disappearing into the tree line when she whirled to follow them, and she screamed for them to wait for her. Not even Mask Boy looked over his shoulder.

Desperate to follow them once she made it into the trees, Maggie didn't let her eyes leave the boys' sprinting forms. She didn't see the thick, vine-like shape shooting alongside her until it was too late; the dark and sinewy thing darted around her ankle, coiling tight around it. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sound was cut short as the thing pulled taught, yanking her leg out from under her. Her chin bounced against the packed dirt, sending her teeth crashing together and almost taking the tip of her tongue off, and then she was being reeled back toward the creature. She gurgled blood and scrabbled frantically at the ground, trying to gain purchase anywhere she could, but there was nothing except cold, hard earth.

She dared to look over her shoulder and saw that sinewy vine extended back to the creature, and was one of many that whipped and drifted around its back like long tendrils under water. The creature itself had changed too, and could no longer be mistaken for a man; what had looked like a black suit earlier was now some sort of dark pigmentation on its skin, the tie at its neck a separate mouth that gaped and snapped, its arms and legs jointed backwards and in too many places.

A black, oily substance dribbled from its jaws in glistening strands as it dragged her closer, pulling faster now. Maggie felt her fingernails snap and splinter as she clawed at the ground, but it was no use. She was underneath the creature now, and it was hunched over her, caging her beneath it. Other tendrils found her, snaking around her body and flipping her onto her back. They pulled her limbs taught, holding her still as the creature brought its face close to hers.

Hot death, rotting and sickly sweet, blew over her as the creature exhaled. She retched, her eyes and nose burning. Its jaws popped then, and began to split impossibly wider. Through her blurred vision Maggie saw chitin-like plates raising up over the creature's skin as its narrow chest swelled, and through the tendrils she felt it trembling with some sort of effort. The creature jolted once, twice, and then brought its face so close to Maggie's that they almost touched.

A torrent of black sludge gushed from its jaws, filling her nose and eyes. She had the good sense to keep her mouth closed, but only until the burning began. A blinding pain, like pressing flesh against white-hot metal, ignited slowly wherever the sludge spread. Maggie's lips parted to scream when her eyes began to melt, and the acrid oil kept flowing until she was choking on it, swallowing it, feeling it swell up in her belly to melt through and leak into the rest of her. She thrashed her head back and forth, maddened with the pain, until the sludge ate through the flesh and muscle of her neck.

All over her body the muscle burned and fell apart in strips. Her bones sizzled to nothing, but still she didn't die. Maggie felt every ounce of pain there was to feel, was acutely aware of every second of it until there was nothing left of her underneath the creature but a bubbling slick of tar.

She was there as the creature straightened and stood on its back legs, its joints popping back and giving it the more recognizable shape of a man. The pigment of its skin shimmered, forming crisp lines to give the illusion of a suit, and the jagged plates flattened smoothly. The mouth at its neck was a tie again, its face a smooth and clean mask. The only bit of it that didn't revert back was the tendrils, which the creature dipped carefully into the black pool that was Maggie at its feet.

Maggie felt the smooth, cold appendages wrap around arms and legs that she didn't have, and then she was pulled upward and out of the pool. Cool air hit her face, and her skin felt so new and keen to the world that it hurt. She sucked the air greedily anyway, expanding her lungs as big as she could. She tasted pine trees and rain.

The creature lifted her up to it, using a tendril to brush away from her eyes some of the oily blackness that was running off of her like water. Maggie stared up into the smooth planes of its face, and this time she waited until she knew that it was all right before she reached upward to touch it. Warmth flooded her in the most intangible way as the creature brought her to rest against it, supporting her now only beneath her legs.

Maggie's fresh, glistening fingers glided over the creature's face, carefully finding the slightest protrusions of cheekbones, a nose, a brow. Despite the consent that the creature projected to her, she kept her fingers away from the jagged thread of a line that marked its mouth. Amusement bubbled in her that was not her own, and she smiled.

Maggie.

"Yes?" she whispered, holding the creature's cool, thin face in her hands.

Wake up.


"Wake up!"

She cringed, her eyes flickering. It was cold, and her body was stiff and hurt again. She balked at the unwelcome sensations, and then felt something move against her. The musky sweetness of the forest was gone, replaced by stale blood and sweat. Her eyes opened and saw the killer smirking down at her, his face illuminated by the flashlight standing upright by his knee. His lips were slick with fresh blood.

"Thought you weren't coming back for a minute, there," he said. He had her sideways on his lap, one arm wrapped around her. The ratty blanket he had slept with earlier was draped around her shoulders.

She opened her mouth to speak, but could only cough. The killer didn't even flinch as she hacked into the sleeve of his hoodie. He even went so far as to pat her back a little, though he did it too hard.

"Saw your mark," he said when she'd gotten her breath back. "I cleaned it up a little for you." He licked at his smeared lips, eyes gleaming. Maggie looked down at her chest and saw the symbol from her dream, that strange and terrifying dream, carved neatly there. It shone pink and wet with spit in the flashlight's glow, still oozing the smallest bit of blood. She stared at it, horrified and astonished at once. It stung when the killer brushed his fingers over it.

"It looks good on you," he said, his voice low and soft. Maggie squirmed a little under his touches.

"It hurts."

"It'll be healed up by tomorrow night."

Maggie didn't understand how that was possible, but how was it possible that she had the same mark cut into her from her dream either? The killer could have done it, he certainly had the tools, but hadn't she dreamed the mark first? How would he know about it?

"Did you do it?" she whispered, her eyes finding some bloodstains on his hoodie front that looked awfully new. She looked at his hands and saw that they, too, had blood on them that didn't seem quite dry. The killer followed her eyes. He chuckled.

"Nah," he said. "Not this time. Slender that did that for you, just like he did mine."

"Slender?"

The killer shifted her away from him a little, and Maggie gratefully accepted the distance. He pulled the neckline of his threadbare hoodie away, revealing a pale chest covered in a webbing of scars. Maggie felt gooseflesh ripple across her skin when he tapped his finger against a particular scar underneath his jutting collarbone, one in the shape of a circle with an X through it.

"Yours'll look like this tomorrow, as fast as you'll heal," he said, ignoring her question, but Maggie hardly heard him. Her mind was racing, replaying the dream in her head. She could remember all of it, and vividly, like no other dream she'd had before. The boys, the creature, dying, turning into nothing and then turning into… into what? She had become herself again, but something was different. What was the word that the killer had used?

"Proxy," Maggie muttered. Her eyes flicked upward to see the killer watching her intently. "What does that mean?" she asked him.

The killer smiled in a crooked and unpleasant way. "It means lots of stuff," he said. He poked at her mark, dabbing some blood on his fingers and making her wince. "Mostly that you're kinda dead, and you gotta do what I say."

"I'm dead?!" Maggie croaked.

The killer stuck his bloodied and dirty fingers in his mouth, sucking them thoughtfully. "No," he said at length, and Maggie's shoulders relaxed. "Not until you're a full proxy. You're sorta… halfway there, but there's no goin' back."

"Are you… dead? I mean, are you a proxy?" Maggie said. The last word was hardly out of her mouth before the killer shoved her off of his lap and pounced on her, a long knife suddenly in his hand. He pressed the keen blade up under her chin, his teeth bared like an animal and his eyes just as wild.

"I ain't no proxy," he growled down at her. Maggie felt a hot trickle run across her throat as the knife pressed too hard. The killer looked down and saw the blood, his pupils dilating ever so slightly.

And then he had his mouth on her neck.

Maggie squirmed when the knife was taken away, replaced by the killer's hot tongue. A low sound rumbled in his chest as he lapped roughly at the blood, making the cut sting and run until Maggie thought she couldn't take it anymore. Then, he sat up and licked his lips. His dark eyes burned with a light that made her want to scream.

"I'm gonna cut you loose," he told her, "but don't think you can run from me. All right?"

Maggie nodded, wondering if the muscles in her legs were ready enough to move. The killer turned her on her side beneath him and began sawing through the ropes.

"We got a lot to do, Maggie May," the killer said, a giggle creeping in to his voice. "It's gonna be so much fuckin' fun-" A sharp breath hissed out of him as Maggie flipped over and brought her knee up hard between his legs. He dropped forward, the knife leaving his hand as he curled in on himself. Maggie pushed out from under his body, her stiff arms screaming at the effort. She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn't support her.

She managed to crawl halfway across the room before the killer snatched her by her ankle. She screamed breathlessly, the memory of the tendril grabbing hold of her surging back. The killer hauled her back toward him, snarling at her.

"You fuckin' whore," he hissed, "I'm gonna rip you in half! Teach you a fuckin' lesson-"

Maggie kicked, but her sapped strength lent little conviction to the attack. The killer dragged her beneath him easily, pinning her down with his knee. The knife flashed in his hand. Maggie lifted her arms to protect herself, and the killer batted them away easily. She screeched as the knife plunged into her chest over and over, chipping her bones and shredding holes in her lungs until they filled with gore and she was drowning inside. She clawed at her throat when it all welled up, spurting from her lips and running the sides of her face.

Seconds passed, and she became only vaguely aware of everything. The killer was leaning over her. She was pretty sure his teeth were in her neck. The knife was moving blindly, raking through her belly, spilling her open and spreading her across the cold, dusty floor. The pain became pressure, and the pressure lifted gradually.

She stopped seeing after that.


Review for DLC : chapter 3