This chapter was longer than I thought it would be, but oh well. The plot thickens!
First, though, I'd like to thank CapturedNecko22 for reviewing AND advertising the fic in her own Author Notes. So, I'll do the same in return. If you're interested in comedy/romance Creepypasta fanfics, you GOTTA read her "Dangerous Love" fic! It's hilarious and adorable!
Also, special thanks to Miglafluff (aka Skullkid001) for reviewing! Glad to see a new reader! X3
Lastly, I have the screenshots of Ella's house posted on my special DA account! Just visit .com All I have right now are the images of Ella's house. lol Still not sure if I want to design the Hackburry house or not, but it WAS pretty fun. Hmmm...
Caught
Once again, I woke up in a bed feeling worn and broken. My eyes opened to the darkness of my bedroom. The moon's glow seeped from behind the window blinds just enough so I could see vague details of my room. The doorway near the foot of my bed was the darkest, and I dreaded what might be waiting beyond it.
Darkness.
I had that dream again. The one about the airplane and the British man.
Why on earth would I be dreaming about them? It's been ages since I've ridden in an airplane. It didn't crash during the flight, either. Perhaps itss just my dreams going crazy again. I do tend to have off-the-wall stuff happen in my dreams.
Shrugging the thoughts aside, I eased myself out of my bed, my clothes stiff around my torso for some reason. My sense of smell caught up with the rest of my awakening body, and I was overwhelmed with the scent of my own blood. I paused, taking it in hungrily. The metallic smell had me salivating, though I wasn't sure why. I shook my head to clear my mind, then lifted up my shirt to check on my wounds.
He must of stitched me up again. The wounds were even cleaned up pretty well, though I suppose my shirt's collection of the blood had smeared what red stains I had on my skin now. At least I wasn't bleeding anymore. My fingers traced over the stitches, almost as if I couldn't comprehend that I had become so injured. Was I losing my touch?
No, I was just stupid. If I would have worn my vest that night, I wouldn't be in this situation.
Idiot.
After having a chat with Captain Hindsight, I figured it'd be a good idea to get into some fresh clothes and have a shower. The last thing I needed was for someone to knock on my door, and I answer it while covered in my own blood. So, I scrounged my drawers and sliding door closet for my usual T-shirt and jeans, then had a shower. Right after, I set my stained clothes washing with plenty of OxyClean and cold water. One time, I read somewhere that cold water was good for washing out blood, and it seems to work so far (or maybe that's the OxyClean).
Whilst rubbing the towel through my damp hair, I flicked on the lights and had a look around the house to make sure Slender Man hadn't taken anything, or someone was waiting to catch me by surprise. The trail of blood leading from my bedroom to the kitchen had me recalling the scenario from just a few hours earlier. I assumed that it had only be a few hours, since the pool of blood in my kitchen was still moist underneath its forming crust. When I turned to go throw my towel in the bathroom, I caught glimpse of the blood mural on my otherwise empty living room wall.
My blood didn't bother me. I could easily make up some lie about how I'm a clumsy oaf, and I cut myself while cooking or something; however, Jayden's blood was a different matter. A little boy's blood smeared all over my beanbag and wall? That was asking for the SWAT team to break down my door!
"Crap," I muttered, racing within my thoughts on how to handle this situation secretively and quickly. I'd need a good mop, something that could scrub hard, but all I had was one of those stringy mops that were nice and cheap. Considering my stitches, I couldn't just use some good old elbow grease to fix this, so I'd need to get a sponge mop with a long handle or something; one that could handle both the carpet and the wall. I'd need more OxyClean, too. Paint. I'd need paint to cover the stains on my wall. The blood wouldn't completely come out, so that would be a good way to hide what would be left over. And bleach. I'll need that for the carpets, though it'll discolor the fabric, but I could make up a lie for that, too. Lastly, I'd need a new beanbag. It'd just be easier to dispose of it. Burn it, maybe?
With the plan formed in my head, I gathered some cash from my safe in the closet, put on my "outing knife" with its holster, and locked up the house. Time for a late-night trip to Walmart.
My time spent in the city was practically uneventful. On my way to and from the store, I thought I caught glimpses of Hoodie watching me from afar. He never approached me, and I wasn't in the mood to fight if I didn't have to, so I ignored him the whole time. I bought just about everything on my list, save for the beanbag, because I realized that I wouldn't be able to carry that with all the other bulky objects without hurting myself. The beanbag was the least of my concerns, so I knocked it off my list and focused simply on cleaning the house.
Scrubbing the walls and carpets was a challenge, even with the long handles of the sponge mop and paint roller. I did my best not to use my lower back and stomach muscles, but you'd be surprised how much you use them when pushing and pulling. Nevertheless, I did get most of the stains off after two or three rounds of OxyClean.
I had to take frequent breaks. The pain of using the damaged muscles got to me after a while, and I would break out in cold sweats from trying to bear through it. This was probably one of the few times I really wished I had a stool or normal chair. It would have been nice to sit down, and the bed was a bit low, so I only leaned on the kitchen counter or a wall during my breaks.
Due to having to let the carpets dry after each round of scrubbing, the layers of paint I had to put on the wall, plus the added breaks, the cleaning took me several hours. The morning sun showed through my window blinds, casting a yellowish-orange light into my otherwise off-white living room. My guess was that it was about seven in the morning, and I wondered how this project could have taken so much time. Maybe I had woken up later than I thought.
I was moving on to bleaching the carpets while waiting for the final layer of paint to dry on my wall. It looked like I wouldn't need to put on another coat, but I wanted to make sure before going back to sleep. The strong odor of cleaning supplies and paint filled every inch of my house, and I only had the utility room and kitchen window open. If someone I didn't want around came to visit, and cleaning fumes were pouring out my windows, I'm sure it'd raise questions for them. Or maybe I was just being paranoid?
No, no. I was being careful. Yeah. If I wasn't careful, I wouldn't be able to save Jayden.
Gotta be careful. Cover my tracks. Keep myself innocent.
The lights in my house flickered out, catching my attention. I only sighed and cracked open the window blinds in my bedroom and utility room so I could see a little better. He was here – somewhere - but I didn't feel like approaching him at the moment, so I continued scrubbing the carpet until I felt that the mop needed to be rinsed. The sponge was still darkening from the blood stains, even after two rounds of OxyClean, but it was much less than before. When it began to get a rusty look, I went to the kitchen sink to rinse out the sponge and get a fresh soaking of bleach water. A break would be nice, too.
When I stepped out of the kitchen, still pondering if I should scrub a little longer or have that break, I noticed a dark figure standing in front of the freshly painted wall. It was Slender Man, of course, and He was studying the wall, as though He could see through the paint to find the blood drawings underneath.
"There you are," I sighed. To be honest, ever since the lights had gone out, I was waiting for Him to jump from behind me or something, so it was a bit of a relief to finally know where He was. "What do you want now? I'm not in the mood to fight." Nor in the condition. All of the cleaning products' airborne chemicals were starting to irritate my wounds, and I had splashed a bit of bleach on the front of my shirt earlier. It might be getting to the wound near there.
Slender Man turned around to face me. He turned so smoothly, so gracefully, that I was reminded how inhuman He was. The white of His skin glowed clearly in the dim light, and it made my walls seem as though they were a shade of gray.
I stared at where His eyes should be, looking for answers. My mind was soon filled with thoughts about Jayden and the mark on his cheek. Why did I start thinking about that all of a sudden? No wait. It wasn't my doing. He was sending those thoughts to me. How were those useful?
My eyes drifted to the wall behind Slender, and I eventually put two and two together. Maybe He was asking about Jayden and the mural. The Operator symbol on his cheek was obviously where he got the blood to draw it. Still, what did Slender Man want to know? Not much choice but to ask. "What? You didn't mind-control Jayden into drawing that? I'm pretty sure you at least put that mark on his cheek. What's that symbol even for?"
More images were forced into my mind, completely covering what was real and in front of me. I saw these images as though they were my new foreground, and the sensation was disturbing; confusing. Honestly, it was hard to explain. The best I could compare it to would be seeing one thing, blinking, and seeing something completely new out of nowhere.
But I didn't have to blink. These images just happened.
What He sent me was the answer behind the Operator symbol. I saw cattle lined up, and the front of the line had a sort of contraption made of metal bars. It held one bovine inside it, the head sticking out and the bars clamping shut on the sides of its neck just enough to hinder the creature's movement. Similar bars did the same for its body. A man picked up an iron rod, the tip glowing yellow-hot as he carefully aimed it at the cow's flank, then firmly pressed it into the skin. I heard the sizzling of fur, the burning of flesh, and could smell the stink that lingered with it. The bovine flinched – struggled - at the pain, but the man held fast for several long seconds, until he deemed it long enough for the shape of his iron to be scarred into the flesh. When he lifted it up, I saw the Operator symbol in the pink and red mark left behind, blackened hair trimming around the edges. The man turned to look at me, and he had no face.
Just like that, the images stopped, and I found myself back in my living room again. Fury building up within me. I took in a deep breath to calm my nerves, reminding myself that revenge couldn't me mine this instant. "Tch. Your own branding, huh? Then why did you draw one on Jayden's window?"
Slender Man only chuckled lightly, His slanted shoulders bobbing in rhythm. Again, He sent images, but they weren't answers to my question – I think.
My swords floated in front me, lazily spinning within an empty darkness. They were lit perfectly enough to see every detail about them, but there was no source of light. I could only assume He was asking if I had learned anything further about them. When the image stopped, I responded, "Keeping secrets, huh?" I smirk twitched onto my face, then disappeared just as quickly. "All right. You're at least answering most of my questions." I began looking over the carpet, seeing the bleach starting to stain white where I had scrubbed. A sigh escaped me while I wondered if I'll have to get new carpeting instead. Even so, I began scrubbing again, starting my second round of bleach as I decided to answer Slender's question, "As for the swords, I haven't found anything about them in my books; however, I've have an idea to go visit some nursing homes in the city. I got a tip some time ago about the previous owner of the swords."
Most of the bleach in the sponge had dried up or soaked into the carpet during my break, so I stepped into the kitchen to get a fresh rinse. When I returned to the spot I had left off at, I continued scrubbing again, going down the hall at a gradual pace. "You know, if you didn't want me to keep Jayden, then why did you leave him sitting in my beanbag?"
My view of the carpet and sponge mop left me, and was replaced with images of a vicious dog on a yard chain, charging at something beyond my line of sight. It easily snapped the chain, and lunged out of sight.
I paused my scrubbing, sneering as I began to understand what Slender meant by that. "Aw, your little pet broke his leash?" I stole a glance back down the hall, leaning over to see if I could witness an irritated reaction from Slender, but I instead found him approaching me. He held a finger up to where his lips should be, closing the distance between us.
My heart raced, and I instinctively went into defensive mode. I positioned the mop handle across my body to keep it between myself and Him, ready to strike if I needed to. My feet moved on their own, backing me down the hall, but Slender Man kept up his pace as if pushing. "Whoa! Hey! I thought we still had a truce!" The solid form of the hallway's end thumped against my back.
I was cornered.
Still, the Slender Man held his finger to his missing lips, and pressed his other hand onto the wall near my head. He stared down at me, hunching his lanky body to loom over my much smaller self. I think He was keeping eye contact with me, but it was hard to tell. Even so, I couldn't bring my eyes away from the empty depressions of his shallow eyes sockets. With him blocking out most of the faint sunlight, the already dark end of my hallways was even darker now. I just barely was able to the definition between his hand and head.
After a short moment, the awkward silence was getting to me, which had my sarcastic side jump out. "I would prefer a date before we move forwa-"
Before I could finish, the finger that was once resting on the Slender Man's lips now rested on my own. It was oddly warm, but still boney. I glanced down at the finger, then back up to Slender's ever steady gaze. Why was He trying to keep me quiet?
As though the world heard my question, it answered. There was a knock at my door. Polite, but very noticeable. My heart skipped a beat at the sudden noise, but my eyes didn't waver. I stared at the Slender Man in a sort of awe, wondering how He knew that someone was coming.
"Miss Greenhill?" Detective Statman's voice called from outside. My heart skipped again in panic. What did he want now? This was almost the worst time to visit me!
Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap! My mind cursed repeatedly within itself, not sure how to handle this situation. I wanted to answer the detective, but Slender's finger was still resting upon my lips, and I had this strange feeling that it would be best to trust Him right now. If the detective saw all of the cleaning supplies and painting I had done, it would certainly be suspicious. I haven't even disposed of the beanbag! I only moved it to the side while I painted and cleaned! Aw, man! Why didn't I go throw it in some dumpster somewhere?
Calm down, Ella.
I inhaled. The air moving through my nostrils, and I caught the scent of Slender Man for the fist time. Beyond the drifting OxyClean, bleach, and paint chemicals in the air, I smelled the freshness of brand new cloth, mixed with a sort of forest-scented potpourri. The musk of wood and dirt lingered around Him, accompanied by something sweet, but I couldn't fully recognize it at the moment. It was kind of nice, and thus calmed my nerves, which was what I had planned to do in the first place. I didn't expect Him, to be the reason, though.
Even stranger, I found that Slender's face wasn't nearly as grotesque as I had originally thought. It was, dare I say, like looking at the moon. The smoothed out features of what should be his face were the craters. For a monster dressed in a snappy suit, He was rather handsome. Was I thinking this because I hadn't been with a man since before I moved here? I mean, I never had the time to date, and I have too many secrets to get a significant other involved. Stupid hormones.
Detective Statman knocked on the door again, snapping me out of my silly thoughts. "Miss Greenhill, it's Detective Statman!" I heard the doorknob rattle. Thank God I locked.
Shadows soon danced within the living room. I glanced past what I could of Slender Man's torso, seeing the shadows casting from the window closest to the door. I could only assume that Detective Statman was trying to peek inside to see if I was trying to hide. He wouldn't be wrong.
All I could do was wait. Slender had me pinned – sort of. He would know when it was best to move freely again, so I put my trust in Him (against my better judgment).
Again, shadows began to dance, but from my bedroom window this time. Slender's form was just past the doorway, so Detective Statman wouldn't be able to see either of us. I mentally thanked the house for having this empty space in the hallway. It was perfect for hiding from all the windows.
In the back of my mind, I was still thinking about how awkward it was for Slender to be so close to me. I think He was reading my mind, because He began to chuckle softly, catching my full attention again. Images of the two us embracing flashed by, and all I could do was blush. I could feel my face growing hot, and I shoved Slender Man away, pushing Him with the mop stick. My lips felt lonely as the pale finger drew away from them.
Bad idea. The push had me use more of my wounded muscles than I thought I would, and I doubled over in pain. To my surprise, long black arms caught me, slipping under my own so gently. The white, boney hands gripped my shoulder blades to hold me steady.
Was this the same Slender Man who stole away Jayden? The same monster I tried to, but couldn't, kill? Was this, perhaps, the Knight?
I looked up to gaze into his empty eye depressions in wonder; confusion; admittedly, a little embarrassment, too.
He urged me to my bed, holding my upper body to take off the strain of my wounds. Sure, I could probably walk myself, but for some reason, I didn't mind Him helping. So, I rested the mop against the wall, and did as ordered.
It was as I climbed into bed and laid myself on my back did I noticed that Detective Statman had gone. I felt it safe to talk again. "Why did you help me? Wouldn't you want me to get caught?"
Slender remained silent, and instead pinched the edge of my shirt to tenderly lift it up enough to take a look at my front stitching. After what had happened in the hallway, I couldn't get the awkward thoughts out of my head.
"You move too fast. I still haven't gotten that date, and you're already seeing me without a shirt." He had only moved it up not even past my ribs, but whatever.
After pulling my shirt back down, Slender Man straightened himself back up and stared down at me. Images swarmed my head. Images of various game animals being hunted by man. I flashed a smile, mentally rolling my eyes, "Tch. Yeah, I bet I am just some prey to play with." Since I was pretty sure that we were still doing the whole truce thing, I didn't mind closing my eyes and getting myself comfortable. "If that's the case, then why not kill me while I'm weak?" No images filled my mind. I waited a little longer, just in case He actually had to think about how to answer me.
When I still gained nothing in reply, I peered open an eye to find an empty room, aside from what was normally there. Dresser, swords, closet, windows. Blah, blah, blah. No Slender Man, though. I looked to the doorway just past the foot of my bed, and noticed the artificial light stretching as far as it could across the hallway. My lights were back on.
He wasn't here anymore.
Good. Now I can take a nap. Afterward, I'll finish the carpets and get the beanbag out of here. Still a lot to do, and I can only hope that Detective Statman doesn't show up again.
An aching feeling in my gut had me think otherwise. If the detective came by, then he wanted something, and he'll be visiting here until he gets it – whatever it is.
Two days passed by.
I disposed of the beanbag during the night by carrying it into the city and finding some hobo's trashcan fire. My stitches didn't appreciate the strain I put on them when I carried it into the city, but they held fast, and that's all I cared about. The hobo didn't seem to mind my odd donation, since his source of warmth was getting low on stuff to burn. I cut up the beanbag so the fire wouldn't smother from the its mass.
During the evening of the second day, I heard a knock at my door. I was in the middle of sorting out washing, but decided to answer the door anyway. "Who is it?" I called out as I strolled down the hall, though I knew very well who it probably was.
"Miss Greenhill, it's Detective Statman. Do you mind if I ask you a few more questions?"
I reluctantly opened the door, nervous as Hell, but did my best not to show it. "Sure thing. Come on in."
The detective gave me a nod of thanks and stepped into the house, immediately glancing around with his usual air of suspicion. "Been doing some redecorating?" The smell of the wall paint was still lingering, and I think the cleaning fumes were still around.
"A little. The wall seemed so barren, so I figured a different color would help balance it out." It wasn't too much of a different shade, but certainly noticeable. Probably should have painted all the walls in the living room.
Detective Statman didn't seem pleased with my answer. "Most people just buy a painting or wall decoration." I only shrugged at him. He continued giving me interior decorating critiques, "What happened to your carpeting?" His head nodded toward the overly bleached flooring down my hallway.
I bit my lip, not sure if my prepared excuse was perfect, but I didn't have much choice. "I've been sick for a few days. Even had a nosebleed, and well..." I trailed off in my excuse to give a little effect of embarrassment while I lightly shrugged at the stains.
Again, the detective didn't seem to fully buy it. "That's a pretty strange sickness. Have you seen a doctor?" His eyes glared at me skeptically.
"Yeah," I was obviously lying, "he said the nosebleed was just from the stress of the sickness, plus the headaches. I'm bad about pushing myself too far." Again, for effect, I flashed a weak smile.
As he returned to looking around my house, Dectective Statman pursed his lips, "Mmhmm. So, tell me, Miss Greenhill: What is your real career?"
Crap. I felt my blood rush to my heart, my face growing cold and pale. My mouth felt dry and full of cotton. "E-excuse me?"
"I've been doing research on you, Miss Greenhill. You live a very low-profile life. Why is that?"
"I-I just like to keep to myself." I looked away, thinking about where all of my knives where hidden. I might have to fight him. How much does he know?
Detective Statman began to close in on me, trying to intimidate me. "I checked every storage unit business in the city, and no one had you listed. You've also changed your name before moving here. What are you running from?"
I backed into my kitchen doorway, knowing of a small knife that I had taped under the counter edging. "I'm not run-" My front door silently and slowly opened. Hoodie crept out from behind it. "Running from anything." I tried to keep the detective's attention. "I just don't take much pride in my real job."
"I bet you don't-" The detective was interrupted by Hoodie tackling him from the side and into the hallway. They struggled against each other as Hoodie tried to pin down Detective Statman. I wasn't sure if this was good or bad, but right now, I had to get out of here. In a nutshell, I was caught. The detective knows that I'm hiding something, and with Hoodie having attacked him, this was going to be on my record for sure. Either way, though, there was a pretty high chance that I would have to abandon my house after the detective's visit.
So, I hopped over the men's struggling and grunting forms, straining my stitches, and dashed into my room. I picked up everything I could think that I would need. Swords, belt holster, backpack, emergency medical kit, an extra set of clothes, and that blasted bullet-proof vest.
"Get back here!" I heard Detective Statman holler after Hoodie. From the sounds of it, they went outside.
Gotta get everything. Get what I need.
I put on the vest, then snatched up my little safe from my closet and stuffed it into the backpack. Then, I grabbed my "outing knife" and its holster, attached them to me, picked up a couple other knives, along with a Swiss army knife, and the swords case with the papers inside. Lastly, I sprinted to the kitchen and threw in a couple of bottles of water, and found some packaged snacks to hold me off for at least a day.
Okay, I think that's good. That's all I need, right?
Yeah, that'll do. I can get other things later on, if needed.
My legs carried me to my utility room window, heaving everything outside. If I went out of the front door, there could be a lot of witnesses, if they heard the commotion with Hoodie and the detective. I quickly, but carefully, climbed out of the window and strapped on my sword holster and backpack. It was heavy, but I would have to bear through it. I closed the window to lessen the idea of where I might have gone to, then escaped into the forest. I could only muster a light jog at this point, but I managed to keep up the pace for a long while.
There were a lot of abandoned buildings in the old camping grounds. I could take shelter there. Would that be too obvious, though? Maybe. If nothing else, I can find some stuff for making a shelter. The grounds were pretty far off. With it being so close to dusk, I'm sure the police won't be able to find me very easily after dark.
Something tells me I won't be getting much sleep tonight.
Fun fact: When I first thought about the plot to this story, I didn't plan to have Detective Statman move in on Ella so quickly. I actually wanted a slow progression of him finding more and more about Ella. That didn't happen, but I still like it. It fights his character, and the fact that as a detective, he would have done this research with success in finding out what he did.
I'm pretty sure I mentioned that I use a notepad at work to jot down a script to this fic, right? Let's say that I did. So, yeah. I have up to chapter 12 noted down, but I'm not completely sure on how much I like some of the events that happened in them. In fact, there was one point where I had to called an airport helpline to find out how someone who is waiting for someone at an airport finds out that the person they're waiting for died in the plane crash (mouthful there). Turns out - not so easily (unless you're a family member). I was a little nervous about asking because of all the terrorist crap scare these days, but I told them right off that I was writing a story. The lady on the line said that she gets that question a lot. lol Good to know!
Please review! And thank you!