Hello again, Madams and Misters of the world! How you all doing? Oh? What's that? I can't hear you BECAUSE NO ONE IS TALKING TO ME! Come on, you guys! Where are those reviews? I need some form of human contact on here! Given, it's only been about a week, but it's still nice to know that someone out there cares… *sniff* … And who knows? Maybe no one really has read this, but if you're reading this right now and, let's say, concerned that this might be my last update (I highly doubt anyone cares, but I do). Fear not, dear person, because I've already typed out everything to the ending (and a bonus chapter) and, if you read my profile, you'd know, that I will do my absolute best to be consistent in my updates and such.
One other thing I noticed from the last chapter: I think I credited Jeff the Killer to the wrong person. I apologize for the mix-up, and I apologize again because I have no idea who this gloriously freaky character belongs to. So, Jeff the Killer belongs to whoever owns Jeff the Killer. If you want to leave in the REVIEWS the correct ownership, I'll correct myself for a second time on the update next Friday or Saturday.
Oh, and speaking of Jeff, if you haven't read his Creepypasta yet, I suggest you do before continuing on through this chapter.
Congrats on making it to the end of this ridiculously long author's note! Now here's chapter two.
Jeffrey Woods pressed himself against the red-paneled wall of the house, his ragged breathing and the crickets' songs the only thing echoing through the night… oh, except for the sirens, that is.
Their deafening sound and the red and blue lights were right there, almost twenty feet away from him, at best; why couldn't they just go away? He'd made his family go away… but he had to… He didn't want to think about that right now, though.
He pulled his white hood over his head and adjusted his long, black hair so it shaded his face. In the past two weeks, Jeff had noticed that a lot of people liked his face; he always caught them staring at it. Jeff loved his face, and apparently, so did everyone else. But… he also knew that some other people didn't though…
Why do you care what other people think? A voice in the back of his head sneered. Let them be scared. Maybe it'll save them. From you. Fear's important. It saves lives.
Jeff scowled. He didn't like that voice, but it had a point. Half of him loved his new-found feeling of that final moment when you stand over your victim and that pleasurable power of being above somebody seems to take over your mind and wrap itself around you like a blanket. But the other half, the half that still believed it was possible to go back home and play with his Nerf gun in the backyard with Liu, didn't like what he'd become and seemed to try to break free at every chance it got. Jeff hated that half more than he did the murderous one.
He knew that Liu was gone, and he knew that he was gone, too. He could never go back.
The sirens and lights faded, and Jeff poked his mutilated head out from the side of the house. He needed a shelter. Just for tonight, then he'd be gone again before the sun came up in the morning. Maybe… Maybe he could just sleep in the bushes tonight, right?
Oh, who was he kidding? It was hard enough to sleep without eyelids; he would never get to sleep outside on the hard, snow-covered ground. Maybe he should just keep moving on to the next town and he'd sleep tomorrow night.
He shook his head. No, he needed sleep. He hadn't gotten more than a few minutes of rest total in the past week. His body would start to shut down soon, if he didn't. He really needed a place to stay, but where?
He paused, mentally face-palming himself, and stood to look back up at the house he was leaning against. He smiled. Perfect. It didn't have a car in the driveway or a light on in the house. He'd do a double check once he was inside, but it'd have to do.
Checking the road again for police, Jeff stalked up to the front porch. He bent down and checked all of the most common places people hid their keys: under the mat, in the flower pots, under the door, etc. He found theirs under the chair that sat on the porch. Smart people.
It took him several attempts to push the key into the lock because his hands were shaking so hard. Why were they shaking so hard? Probably because he was nervous, but why was he nervous? He'd broken into houses before- almost five times this week alone- so why were his hands shaking like an old man's?
It's because you're still a kid, the voice whispered. Face it: you're a thirteen-year-old acting like a grown adult, who's killing people, on top of that. You'll still be a nervous, little kid, no matter how much older you may act.
His left eye and hand twitched. "I… am not… a kid," he snarled to himself. He reached into his pocket and grabbed his knife, about to tear up the front door with stabs and scratches, before he stopped himself. That was dumb. That was incredibly and stupidly dumb. If there was anyone inside, they'd definitely hear that someone was their door, and they'd call the police and he'd be busted, condemned to a life in prison, or worse: a mental asylum. Jeff shivered at the thought.
No, he can't let that happen. He couldn't lower himself to the standards of a simple criminal. He was Jeff the Killer! He was the boy who cut off half his face – to which, he saw no problem with that – and killed his entire family in less than ten minutes. He was better than that.
Jeff quietly opened the door, careful to make sure it didn't creak, and closed and locked it back up without a sound. Jeff's already smiling face smiled even wider. It didn't look like anyone was home. It was about 9:00. Only, like, ten-year-olds go to bed at 9:00.
Creeping up the stairs, Jeff inspected the photos on the wall as he went up them. It looked like the family here consisted of a young, brown-haired boy, an even younger, messy, blonde girl, and a short-haired, brunette mother. No father, though. Probably a divorce. It was rare that a split was ever because of death, anymore. How sad… Maybe he could help that rate go up a little. Jeff smiled wickedly at the thought.
Once upstairs, Jeff started checking the rooms for people. The master bedroom was empty, along with what he assumed was the girl's room, the half-bathroom, and the guest room. Now all that was left was one last room, and then he'd be home free.
Jeff cracked open the door and was immediately greeted by the yellow-orangish glow of a night light and the soft snores of the boy who was sleeping peacefully in his bed. Jeff cursed under his breath. He had been so close, so close, to not having to kill anyone tonight… But oh well. It couldn't be helped now.
Jeff lurked over to the side of the bed, his knife raised above his head, and set his sights on the boy's throat, aiming for a quick slice to the throat. Hopefully it would be painless; that was all he could ask for. The boy would be easy, being asleep and all, but Jeff hesitated.
Did he really have to end this boy's life? So far, the people Jeff had killed, other than his family, was a woman who'd seen his face and started to freak out, a gas station cashier, and a really, really annoying man at a bus stop who just would not stop talking to him. But the point is that all these people had been older, but this boy was so young… Had so much to live for…
But Jeff suddenly hardened and a shadow crossed his face. He was young once. He'd had a lot to live for, too, but then Randy and his dumb buddies showed up, ruining everything…They were the ones that killed his family, not him. They were the ones who've made him this way, not him. And they were the ones who were about to kill this boy, not him.
Raising the knife above his head again, Jeff readied himself. The lightheadedness of power swept over him, and he grinned wide, revealing the slits in his cheeks. This was always his favorite part.
Jeff started to thrust his knife down, but a shot of something white struck his hand and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. Eyes wide, he cradled his hand and tried to pry the stuff that had encased it away. What was it? It was cold like… like… ice.
Jeff looked up to find that golden light was spilling in from the hallway. He narrowed his eyes as best he could without eyelids. He was certain he'd left the hallway light off.
He flexed his hand until most of the "ice" fell off, and he gripped his knife in his hand again. Quietly stepping away from the bed, leaving the boy, Jeff noticed a white-wooled trapper hat on the floor.
Jeff picked up the hat, inspected it, and then set it on the boy's desk he had in his room. That was it. He knew that hat hadn't been there when he came in. Someone was messing with him, baiting him to come out into the hallway.
Even though Jeff was pretty sure it was trap, he stepped out into the hallway anyway, but found no one was there. He scanned the upstairs surroundings, and when finding nothing else out of the ordinary, Jeff decided to make a break for it and head downstairs. He'd find somewhere else to hide that night.
Bad move on his part, because as soon as his foot hit the first step, it seemed like an invisible force picked him up, carried him down the rest of the stairs, opened the front door, and threw him out into the cold snow, the cold, winter air biting any exposed skin.
Dazed, Jeff stayed down in the snow until he could gather his bearings. He wasn't much for ghosts and such, but he sure couldn't think of any other explanation.
Jeff sat up and put his wrist to his forehead. The sound of the front door of the house slamming made his head snap back up. He couldn't see anything or anyone who could've shut it, but he knew something had to, and Jeff was back up in seconds, holding his knife out in front of him.
"Show yourself, Coward," Jeff growled, his unblinking eyes searching every nook and cranny around him for his unknown enemy.
Jeff's eyes widened when he was suddenly picked up and off the ground by the collar of his hoodie. "Who are you?" a male's voice demanded.
Jeff smirked in the shadow his hood threw over his face. "I should be asking the same of you," he retorted, unfazed by the fact that he was responding to only a voice; he'd done it before.
He heard the voice scoff and adjust his hold on his collar. "You'd have to believe in me to be able to hear me, Dimwit," it sneered.
Jeff frowned as much as he physically could, due to the scars running up his cheeks, and ran threw his mind about what the voice could mean. "What the… Believe in you?" he murmured, shaking his head. Most of the time when the voices spoke, they made sense to him.
The voice held him up higher in the air. "My name… is Jack Frost."
It took a moment for it register in his head, but then, like a bullet, childhood memories started to flood back to Jeff: Him and Liu curled up with their mother as she told them stories of a boy who could control the winter weather. And on a snow day, screaming with Liu up to the sky, or "Jack Frost", thanks for a day off of school. Jeff even remembered a fifth grade paper where he had to research American folklore, and he chose Jack Frost.
And with the flooding of memories came the flooding of imagery. With a strange purple light, a teenage boy appeared in front of him, revealing himself to be the one holding him up by his hoodie's collar. Jeff's eyes widened. This was going against everything he knew about his childhood and his sense of logic. People didn't just… just appear; they had to come from somewhere, but Jack Frost… Jack Frost didn't exist, but if he did, this kid sure fit the description.
His white hair looked messy and wind blown, and the boy's blue hoodie and torn, brown pants were sprinkled with snow and frost, along with pale skin that was just a few shades darker than Jeff's. His brow furrowed slightly at the Shepherd's Crook in the boy's other hand, but the thing that stuck to Jeff was his hard facial features. Give him blonde hair and green eyes and he could be Liu's twin… if he were given the chance to grow up, that is.
The boy's cold, blue eyes bore into Jeff's and Jeff, for once since the birthday party, was caught off guard.
With a flicker of what was a mix of horror and awe, Jeff asked, more to himself than the boy, "What are you?"
The boy's eyes hardened and with a gruff voice, he answered: "I'm a Guardian." He then brought back his pale fist and swung it forward, connecting it with Jeff's face, and his world went black.
Okay, you guys; now I'm serious. Please. Leave. A. Review. The silence hurts. Really, it does. Just a smiley face is all I'm asking for... Or frowny face, depending on your opinion of the story, I guess... Please no frowny faces... :-(
Again, I'll update around next Friday/ Saturday-ish, so... yeah. Happy Friday you guys, and don't forget to be AWESOME