Ch. 2
You woke up in the forest laying flat on your back. You jolted upright, remembering the events from the night before. You groaned in pain once you sat up completely, your shoulder aching from the stab wound. Quite honestly, you hadn't expected to still be alive. You had bled a lot, and with the addition of the freezing rain, you had expected to be dead.
You moved your arm around some and found it to still be usable despite the pain. You noticed there was some resistance to your movements as if there was something wrapped around the wound. You removed your shirt, wincing some from the motion, and saw that the area was neatly bandaged. Lifting up the edge of the gauze and tape, you saw that the skin had been stitched together.
Who would have come in the middle of the rainy night to tend to your wound? Looking around you also saw that you had been moved under a tree, keeping you from getting any more drenched during the night. You also saw the kitchen knife, still rather bloody, laying near you. You picked it up and tucked it in one of your belt loops. You looked around hoping that the person who helped you had left something behind. You wanted to thank them for their help. But you didn't find anything: no note, no markings, nothing.
You sighed and collapsed back down to the ground. You were really on your own now. Not that you had ever really depended on anyone before. But now, you felt lonelier than you ever had before. Yet strangely, you felt somewhat empowered. You were finally free to be yourself without having to worry about what others thought of you. Maybe, just maybe, this could actually turn out well.
As you looked around the forest, a small smile creeping onto your face at your new found appreciation of your surroundings, you noticed something glinting in the morning sun in some nearby shrubbery. You tilted your head to the side, your curiosity levels spiking quickly. You stood and walked over to the reflecting object. You reached down into the bushes and grasped what felt like a small, wooden box. Pulling the object out, you saw that it was an old Jack-in-the-Box. The reflection came from the metal crank on the right side. The box was old and worn, some of the paint chipped off, but you could tell that the toy had been decorative at one point. The paint still left was very colorful and seemed to portray images of clowns, carnivals, and lots of candy.
You smiled fondly at the old toy. It had been a long time since you played with a Jack-in-the-Box, and you were filled with pleasant nostalgia. You grasped the metal crank and began to turn it, the familiar tune Pop Goes The Weasel filling your ears. You sang along with it as you turned the crank. "All around the mulberry bush the monkey chased the weasel. The monkey thought it was good fun..."
When you reached the climax of the tune, the music stopped. You frowned a bit, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion and disappointment. You tried turning the crank again, but now it was stuck and wouldn't budge. "Must be broken," you mumbled to yourself.
You set the box back on the ground and stood. You turned around to head back under the shade of the tree... And walked straight into someone. Your eyes slowly lifted up to stare in shock at the tall being in front of you. Grinning down at you was a monochrome clown. He was in dark gray pants and suspenders, black shoes, and a black and white striped shirt with black and white feathers poofing from his shoulders. His skin was white, his hair shaggy and black, his lips painted black, and his long, pointed nose striped white and black. His dagger-like teeth were bared in a maniacal grin, but his most disturbing aspect was his eerie, white eyes.
His clawed hands grasped your throat and squeezed tightly. Chuckling darkly he sang in a deep, psychotic voice, "Pop goes the weasel."