Still, he found that his chest ached the more he simply stood there, her cries reaching to him from the field where he was. He felt an urge to go to her then, to wipe the tears running down her face and tell her it would get better, tell her he was there for her. But he knew he could not; it was the rules, after all. An undead such as himself could not—should not—interact with the human world. He understood why that rule had been put into place, after seeing what had happened almost two weeks ago. He didn't want to cause her more trouble, already feeling guilty for what she had endured thus far because of his 'help'. Yet the nagging feeling in his chest persisted, the pain spreading through his ribs and into his heart, making him question those so called rules in the first place. Was it worth it? He simply couldn't stand seeing her so despondent, though he wasn't exactly sure why. Simply because he never wanted to see anyone around him be sad or cry, he reasoned.
So he watched her kneel in the dirt, hands clenching and unclenching at the hem of her dress, terrible yet quiet wails erupting out of her mouth. That thankfully stopped soon, her head now leaning downwards to look at the ground, tears falling into her slightly torn hem. He noticed her fingers had begun to dig into the dirt, leaving small trails behind as her skin began to become covered in mud.
"Why? Why…?"
She plead, quietly, seemingly to nothing. The monarch was conflicted; wanting to comfort her, understanding her pain as if it was his own. She was trapped, much like he was, though he felt her situation was much worse. He did not want to scare her however, and so stayed silent, though he felt his arm move towards her prone figure just a fraction.
"Oh, why must I be forced to live like this? A prisoner in my own home, my parents suspicious of me and everything I do!"
She sobbed again, another horrible yet quiet wail escaping her mouth as her head leaned upwards towards the night sky. His heart wrenched in pain at seeing her face, contorted in grief as it was. She soon continued her rant, this time standing up slightly and walking closer towards him, though of course she did not know it.
"The townsfolk see me as a freak, and my so called fiance simply wishes to use me as a toy. He does not see me as a person, simply entertainment—a slave for his obscene desires, and another set of hands to work his estate!"
He felt himself lurch forward then, hand outstretched in an odd attempt to reach out towards her moping form. When had he jolted forward so? Had her words done that to him? Had he redistributed his weight on the pole improperly? He wasn't sure, but knew that it was a bad idea to move. A soft curse escaped his lips as he saw the ground rise up to meet him suddenly, his bones rattling slightly as they collided with the ground. Even though parts of it were covered in vegetation, it was still hard dirt underneath, thanks to the slow change of the seasons, and it was painful for the skeleton. He didn't even think of trying to move and right himself, with her so close nearby. What if she saw? What if his ruse finally came to light? What if she called him a monster?
Well—he tried to focus on the problem at hand, at least the pumpkin covering his skull wasn't damaged from the fall. He was worried it might, considering the impact felt quite harsh, and reveal his true form. Part of him wondered if she would scream if she saw him as he really was, like she had before. It made his chest ache, imagining her reaction; one of fearful screams and tears. Which he found a tad odd; he usually delighted in the terror he brought upon others. Then again, this poor soul had been through enough in the last two weeks and to scare her further would be cruel, Jack reasoning that was why he felt the way he did.
Her head turned his way then, fear clear in her widened orbs as she stared at his prone form. A hand went up to her mouth then, shaking as she squinted towards him in the dark of night. Of course; she could barely make him out with her poor sight. It's possible she thought he was someone who seemed to harm her or being her back home. Which was far from the truth; if only he could reveal himself and tell her! But that would be wrong, part of him argued. She needs to know someone is looking out for her...He internally argues with himself, not noticing her small footsteps that brought her ever so closer. A soft word escaped her then, confusion clear on her face.
"Huh? A scarecrow?"
Good. She thought he was simply a regular scarecrow. What surprised him was when she cautiously walked up to his prone body, crouching down with a sad smile on her face. He felt his own dead heart speed up at her proximity to him, her nose nearly touching the pumpkin that covered his skull from view.
"Now, how did this happen? That's no good…"
He could feel and smell her breath as she spoke, through the holes he had carved to see out of, noticed the way the pumpkin shook a bit under her touch. He was glad he had no need for oxygen, or lungs, for he knew if he had them his ragged breathing would have given him away just then. Yet why? Why was he reacting in this way? He had never really felt anything like it before and it confused him. He would have to examine this feeling and his reactions later however, as he was brought out of his contemplations by the feeling of her hands gripping the cloth covering his suit, turning him over so that he could look at the night sky—and her concerned face.
"Ah, yes...This is that old couple's farm...I often helped them some days when I was a child. This would be difficult for either of them to do on their own, seeing as you're so tall and large. Since I am trespassing in a way, I suppose the least I can do is set you back up properly. Wouldn't you say?"
He didn't respond, couldn't respond as he was too worried about her seeing through his deception. How Jack wondered what her reaction would be if she knew exactly what she was holding so tenderly! She then carefully straddled his prone form on her knees, before lifting him up with a small grunt of effort. It was similar to how he had carried her back home, and the irony of it nearly made him laugh. He was glad no one else could see this, and thankful that it only lasted for a few moments. Though the touch of her hands did not stray from their original position on the small of his back and behind his knees, he still felt as if an electric shock coursed through him, making his spine tingle and phantom heart race horribly fast.
It wasn't as if she knew; to her eyes, she was simply putting the scarecrow back up on its post. He would have chuckled, were she not still right next to him, her arms gently smoothing out the creases on his clothing, suppressing another shudder that coursed through his bones. She stepped back, appraising her work with a hand cupped to her chin, a smile on her face. He felt his stitched mouth also spilt into a smile, though for a completely different reason, as he met her gaze for the barest fraction of a second. She didn't seem to notice, brown eyes busy roaming down his prone form splayed on the post, which he was both thankful for and yet embarrassed.
"There we go. Hmmm, yes. You look much more presentable now. Handsome, even!"
A hearty laugh escaped her then, like the heavy chimes of a church bell—though it was slightly self-deprecating—and he found the sound enchanting.
"Oh, what an ordeal I have been through! If you don't mind, perhaps I may bore you with the details? Hahaha…"
She sighed then, sitting down next to him, hands fluttering at the air as she talked to nothing. Or so she thought. The skeleton listened intently as she spun her tale, some of which he already knew. Every so often she would stop, to look at the ground and twiddle her hands together, seemingly bashful for some reason before she started talking again. Her voice was quiet, barely audible to a human, but he listened all the same, desperate for some attention. Even though he knew she wasn't really talking to him, per say.
"It's not as if I don't want to marry…I simply… Don't want to marry him! Then again, it's not like the other 'gentlemen' my parents tried to match me with were much better...But damnable Rowland; he has a way of deceiving others with his wit and sharp tongue."
Ah, so he could finally place a name to the bastard who was troubling her so! He made a mental note to remember that name—not that he would forget it any time soon—and listened to her continue to talk, enjoying the sound of her voice.
"I just want to live my life and be happy, is that so much to ask! I may not be a good artist but it is one of the few things I enjoy, and they've taken it from me, calling me insane! How else can I vent if not through paper and ink! Words would be too suspicious; but drawings—those are much harder for the average person to parse. Now I have nothing, no one! Damn that Rowland Keogh to the lowest plane of Hell!"
A sound almost similar to a frustrated sob left her lips then as she finished her tale, and again he felt his chest ache. She certainly was fiery when she wanted to be! He liked her for that, her inner passion, sad that she had to keep it so hidden from those around her. They simply didn't get it—a notion Jack understood much too well. She made a anguished noise then, before turning to him, her face looking as if she was somewhere between exasperated and about to break into tears once more.
"...What am I doing? Confiding in a straw made man, of all things! If anyone could see me, they'd call me a loon! Still…it is rather nice to speak aloud, where my parents can't overhear, even if I am simply talking to myself…"
He felt his hand twitch then, an impulse to touch her shoulder running through him. To brush a hand through her hair, against her cheek, on her shoulder. But he knew he could not, lest he frighten her again or worse—if someone suddenly came upon them and saw her, they would think her mad. He wanted her to know she had someone to support her, even if he could not actually be there. At least a small show of support, affection, something to tell her he was there for her. For it was all he could do for her right now. He felt her turn around then, panic flashing through him as he noticed one of his clawed fingers somehow embedded in her tangled locks. When...How!? She tugged at his hand, glasses reflecting the light of the moon as she used her own fingers to pry his off of her hair. She gazed at his pumpkin head curiously, tapping the top of the gourd with her dirt covered finger before smiling and letting out a small sigh.
"I must be delusional...You're simply a scarecrow, nothing more. Though part of me wants to imagine that you actually had the autonomy to touch me...How starved for companionship am I? Maybe they are right; I do have an overactive imagination…"
Part of him wanted to laugh, her words reaching his phantom heart. He too, had often longed for the gentle touch of another. Someone who would simply listen to his woes, offer a comforting hand when he needed. Quite unlike many of his citizens, who saw him as a king before they did a person. Even though he loved them dearly, no matter how they saw him. But it wasn't the same; not the true companionship he needed, longed for dearly. For as much as they loved him, they did not love him—Jack, the lonely monarch of Halloween. How many times had he tried to make friends with some of them, only for them to use him and his position for their own ends? Most of the time it was because of sheer ignorance on their part, which he quickly forgave them for, but other times it was truly malicious.
He tilted his head at her words, as if to tell her he was listening. She seemed to find this humorous, as a chuckle escaped her, one of her hands moving up to reach and grab his head, gently moving the gourd back into place on his neck—what she probably assumed was the pole. He resisted the urge to lean into her touch, though he knew she'd think nothing of it. Simply a trick of the wind, or the shoddy construction of his support, she'd assume. He was a gentleman after all; as touch starved as he had become over the past two weeks. He missed Zero, his only true companion and being he could talk to. More so in the human world, where he had to constantly stay hidden and unseen, to not draw attention to himself. And it was dreadfully cold out here, even with the extra layer of clothes and straw insulating his bones as it were. Suffice to say, he understood that he was horribly lonely at the moment. Her odd kindness had only magnified the feelings inside him, to the point where he wanted to cry himself—for both his predicament and her own. He held back his tears then, despite feeling the pricking of heat at the corners of his empty sockets.
He felt her hand press against the front of his chest, through the second layer of clothing he was wearing and straw that cushioned his bones. It stayed there for a moment, before it trailed down partially to the area where his rib cage ended and spine was left exposed. His phantom heart sped up at that moment, wanting her to stay where she was. Her warm touch left him then, leaving that part of him to once again grow cold as the night wind caressed his chest. The look she gave him was oddly longing, as if she did not wish to leave, her lashes fluttering beneath her lenses as her large, tired eyes unknowingly locked onto his empty sockets as she stared into the holes he had made for eyes.
"Well, my little friend, I must leave you now. I promise to try and visit you some other time; the view of the village from here is beautiful after all. Oh, if only I had my sketching materials!"
She turned on her heel then, but not before offering him a sad smile, one that nearly made him try to reach out to her once more. For he could see the hidden sadness in her gaze, the pain she was trying so hard to conceal. He had been doing the same thing now for so long, putting on a brave face for everyone around him, he could easily tell. But he did not, his heart aching as he watched her fade away Into the darkness, her shoulders slumped defeatedly as she trudged back towards her home. He felt hot tears trickle down his skull then, falling onto the collar of his shirt and tie. He quietly sobbed for a few moments, simply letting the tears fall, as he wasn't sure if she wa still within hearing distance.
I can't simply keep watching this anymore...He thought, waiting until he was sure she had left before he wiggled off of the pole holding him upright. Jack easily put the parts of the scarecrow back together, having become so used to the action by now. It was as if he had never used it, the only real evidence being his own straw covered bones. The monarch rubbed his empty sockets, and tried to ignore the odd itch as he pulled some loose strands of straw out of his bones. He carefully brushed the few strands of straw still stuck to his black suit, wanting to seem at least somewhat presentable as if he hadn't been standing out in a field all day—before once again following after her, despite the voice in his head telling him this was a horrible idea. He didn't care; he pushed the thought away, his aching heart urging him onward through the darkness...
He had an obligation to see this through to the end, he thought. He didn't fancy creeping into the house, despite the many times he had done so before to scare humans. This was different; or so he told himself. He was concerned and curious about the poor woman's situation. Besides, he had been able to find a few of her drawings from when she has ran into the forest initially, and they piqued his curiosity about her. He had wanted to return them sooner, but the time had not been right, he felt, what with everything going on. She could use a small pick me up—or so he thought—and hoped that seeing her drawings preserved would lift her spirits at least a bit. She certainly was a good artist, damn what her betrothed said, and he wanted to return them to their proper owner.
So he waited, the moon slowly rising in the sky once more, until he was sure everyone in the house was fast asleep, before creeping his way inside through the barely open window near the kitchen, prying it open with his thin fingers. He was curious, about her lifestyle and that of her parents, though something urged him to head for her room straightaway. He was careful not to make any noise as he walked, easily opening the door to her room without so much as a creak from the old wood.
She was asleep, snoring softly, though his gaze only lingered on her for a moment lest he feel guilty of ogling her. He focused on the details of the room itself; it was a simple space, filled with the necessities one would need in day to day life. Indeed most of the furniture he saw would not look too out of place on his own home; a dresser, vanity and a small writing desk which seemed to have been cleared off recently. He stalked over to the desk, curiosity compelling him to examine the many books laid across its top, opening one with the utmost care. He skimmed through the pages, long slender fingers pausing on certain words or phrases that caught his sockets. It seemed to be a guidebook or instruction manual of some sort; for proper manners and things of s similar nature. Part of him wondered why she would need something like this, she was already so beautiful to him—the thought made him stop in his tracks, feeling the marrow race in his bones and a strange heat creep up his skull. He closed the book, quickly putting it back on top of the others, albeit shakily. A loud slam made him jump, scaring the master of fright and making him turn toward the sleeping woman. She did not seem to notice the noise, nor anyone else in the house for that matter, so he turned back to the desk behind him.
He had accidentally knocked some books over in his excitement to put that one away, and in doing so had caused some papers to shift out of place on the desk. He looked at them, before shuffling through the papers and putting the ones he had brought into the pile, now much more interested in the sketches than some soppy old tome. It was an approximation of his form, Jack realized as he put a pointed finger against the paper, though the proportions were ridiculously exaggerated. His sockets were quite large, for one thing, alight with an eerie flame that outlined his tall body against the darkness. His hands were more sharpened than usual, twisted like branches, gnarled and reaching out to them from the darkness. His mouth was turned in a gruesome grin, teeth sharp and pointed, looking as if he was going to devour them both.
So, had she seen him? Nonetheless it was a frightening depiction, and part of him was compelled to keep the drawing. He was oddly flattered by it, his marrow rushing through his bones as he beheld the drawing; and yet part of him was still worried about how badly he scared her, for her to depict him in such a way, sockets flicking to her prone form as she lay sleeping. She looked decent enough, though her cheeks were stained with tears from crying earlier, and the bruise on her face was healing nicely. He gave in to the temptation to get closer, walking to the side of her bed as quietly as he was able.
She had not moved this whole time, softy snoring as she clutched her blankets. He found it quite cute, the way her face looked without her glasses, her soft lips pursed together and how the moonlight from her window splayed across her tan skin. Part of him felt a tad guilty at what he was doing, though the racing of his heart and rattling of his bones betrayed his true feelings. He knelt closer to her side then, hand trembling as he brought it closer to her face. A bony thumb gently caressed her bruised cheek, dipping down to follow the indent of her jaw and tip of her chin. Her skin was so soft, and warm compared to his cold bones from being out in the cold all night, it was mesmerizing to him. She let out a tiny moan then, lips prying open slightly as his heart beat furiously against his rib cage. Worried that he had caused her pain, or possibly woken her, he froze on the spot, ready to face the consequences for his actions. She did not stir any further however, her breathing soon become steady once again as her body turned away from him. Understanding that his time was up, the lanky skeleton quickly retreated from her side, though not before whispering quietly to her.
"...I'm sorry. I've caused you so much trouble simply by being here, my damnable curiosity... You won't suffer anymore because of me. I swear it…"
Steeling himself, he took a quick look at her desk and the papers he had placed there only minutes ago. No...I shouldn't get involved any more. But why not? I've taken it this far...Besides, the poor thing needs to know someone is watching out for her. And get her into more trouble? No! No, I just...He fought within himself, hands clasped on his skull as if he was in pain. After a minute he finally made up his mind, walking over to the desk and grabbing a pen, despite the voices in the back of his head screaming at him at how awful of an idea this was.
He took one of her drawings, one of his favorites of the pile he had found—the one showing the forest trees in a black and white splendor—before flipping the paper over so it was blank. He began to write, using his sight to his advantage, ignoring the hammering of his phantom heart against his rib cage. After looking it over, and pocketing the sketch she had made of him in his suit, Jack carefully put the pen back in its place.
He let out a tired sigh, but understood what was done was done. He had chosen this path—his actions had already damaged her enough—and was not going to back out anymore. The least he could do was look out for her, if she wanted it to accept his help. But why would she? The skeleton quickly and carefully made his way back to the door in her room, though not before giving the young woman one last longing glance before shutting it closed with the tiniest of slams...
