Through the Hollow
Chapter 16
The musty smell of rotting corpses, long past their mark of rigor mortis and stretching gloriously into the dawn of insect claims towards the carcasses, was pleasant and welcoming after the adventure prior. A tiring event such as that left much to be thought about, particularly about the past. Such wonderful mysteries to behold in such a dark crevasse of the conscious. So dark in fact that a mysterious past takes on the call of the seven deadly sins, masking itself with a visor in the shape commonly know as 'sloth'. Worthy as adversary as it was to the curious conscious; the chains of memories could always be linked once more. Nothing was for certain anymore, in this strange new world of untold chaos and fear; no chain's metal is too rusted beyond repair.
And he knew it.
Merciless as the sun was, pouring rays of heat down unto his bones and furthering the decay of flash, Jack continued to toil away at his work, simply determined to finish. The only problem set before him, really, was the heat. Even without skin or organs or even a brain (he'd reached inside one of his eye sockets one night to discover that he no longer had one occupying that space) the temperature still made an impact on him. He'd even sweat. That surprised him an awful lot the first time it happened.
The dreams that he had experienced the night before, dreams of his life, the boys and the island, only made him want to dive further into the past. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to recall the adventures that he and his friends would have gone on, being children of exploring personalities. However, the question still arose to him when he looked back over and over again.
What did it mean?
Jack worked his way to the grave, pulling out shovel after shovel of soil for the mound. Eventually reaching the casket that sat below the surface, the skeleton leaned down and pulled hard one the lid. But, much to his astonishment, the wooden lid did not move, nor did it even feel loose. In fact, the coffin itself looked fresh and the soil around the grave had been disturbed when he'd arrived.
His curiosity peeked, Jack placed his long legs on either side of the grave, just on the topmost soil. Then, leaning in and placing his hands on both sides of the covering, he took in several breaths, still confused as to why he would need to breathe when he had no lungs. With a tremendous amount of force, which actually turned out not to be needed at all, Jack heaved and pulled on the casing.
The lid exploded outwards as he pulled, a forced effort from with the coffin!
Jack was sent flying. He flew backwards, not only from the coffin occupant's heave but also with the backlash of his own strength. He flipped back, legs placed in the same spot, and crashed hard on the mound of soil, which really should have cushioned his fall but did little to aid him.
Groaning ensued from within the casket.
The skeleton raised his skull off of the topsoil and peered ahead, unable to see into the actual coffin. So, with spectacular speed and agility, Jack used the length of his new arms and legs to spin him an astounding 180 degrees in a single fluid motion. It was then that he gripped the edges of the hole he'd dug and pulled his face up to the rim. What he saw inside shocked him completely and his empty eye sockets blinked in their unnatural way when he became confused at times.
There, sitting upwards in the coffin, his dark hair, completely out of state, turning slightly gray on either side, was a man he had never before expected to see again. The spiffy-looking tuxedo that the man was dressed in showed that he had had either great wealth of wondrous connections during his lifetime on Earth. The man's chiseled features struck the other corpses with envy, or they would have, would the other corpses actually see them. It was as though he'd only laid in fir a nap, and had woken up dead, in this dead land that Jack currently occupied, completely untouched by the typical early stages of rigor mortis. The shirt lapel was crowned with a glorious golden pin in the symbol of an eye, the lids holding the pupil in place, as there was no eyeball to behold underneath. The clarity of the man's voice was simply astounding. Not at first, mind you, but after several coughs and a tap to the chest, the man's lungs spat up dust and a sound that resembled the voice of a man in his late thirties was discovered. He blinked charcoal out of his eyes and looked up and out of the casket.
Jack's head was in his line of vision.
An eerie silence ensued between the two of them for, what seemed like, eternity.
"Ohs… Ohs mys god!!" The man screamed, leaping to his feet and backing up against the very back of the hole. He desperately searched for something, anything, to use to pull himself out of the hole and get away from the creature set before him. However, the entire hold had been dug in specifications to Jack's body. His extensively long arms allowed him to pull himself out with ease. This man, with his normal (or small in comparison to Jack) arms, stood no chance for the high walls set to block his path.
Jack stood up.
His sheer height seemed to frighten the man even more. He screamed as Jack's silhouette was reflected in the sunlight behind him. And in this special lighting, Jack's entire body appeared dark as night to the poor man, while the skeleton's eye were illuminated like a moon an it's double during a cold winter evening.
"No! Ohs I knew s'it! Ima gone straight t'hell! 'Aven't I?" he asked no one in particular. Before Jack could respond, the man began to talk to himself. "I done too much bad ins my life! Too much! Now s'I'll pay fors it fors all eternities!" He began to weep. "Lies n' cheats n' steals n' I expects t'go t'a better place! What s'a fool I been!"
Jack raised the bone where his brow should have been. The man looked up at him, noticing this action on his part. He hurriedly wiped away his tears, starring up at Jack with horrified eyes and the most solemn look that he could really muster. Jack merely glanced back down at him, unsure of what he should really say at this point. If anything, he didn't suspect him of being the man he'd known. He talked differently.
"A'yous here to s'take me away?" The man raised his hand up, holding back what tears that he could. But slim trickles continued to run down his cheeks. His line of vision was blurry now. "A'right. I'ma go nice n' quiet like, kay? I'na gonna fight backs." He crossed his heart with a finger. "Cross'm meh hearts n' swear deaths."
"Actually," Jack said, speaking for the first time since the man had blown off the casket lid. "I'm really not sure what I'm supposed to do at this point… I mean… I've never encountered someone who was still alive down here before."
His head shot up like a bullet when Jack said that single word. "Alive? I's alive!?"
"…I… I think so."
"Sen, what s'I doin here?"
"I'm not quiet sure about that."
The man's smile faded. He stared up at Jack, lowering his arm and slumping his shoulders. "Y'know… Yous a horrible Grim Reapers."
"What?" Jack couldn't help but laugh. He bent low, clapping his knees with his long bony fingers and laughing until his rib cage hurt him. Then he pushed away two tears, one from each eye, and, still giggling to himself, stood as straight as he could. He turned back and looked down at the man. "Me? The Grim Reaper? I don't think I would have the nerve to do something like that. Personally, people think I'm a little too much for a gentleman for my own good. I mean…" He shrugged. "I guess I can scare people pretty well but… To kill them?" Jack shook his head. "Don't think I could ever intentionally do that."
"Ohs…"
"Ohs is right," mumbled the skeleton. "Do you need some help out?"
"You s'won't bites meh hand, will s'you?"
"Even if I did, I doubt that it would hurt." Jack extended a long bony arm, reaching his hand out, palm facing up, for the man to take. Though he seemed quite hesitant at first, it might have been Jack's kind, sincere smile that convinced him that he wouldn't die for real if he just took his hand. So he gripped the cold, clammy bone and was instantly lifted out of the casket and the hole.
Setting him down on the ground next to the topsoil that Jack was standing on, the skeleton lightly brushed some dirt off of the man's shoulders. It was too nice of a tuxedo to ruin with filth from a false gravesite. Then he scratched the back of his head, wondering what to do next.
Picked up his clipboard, first, Jack jotted down a couple notes on the grave he'd just dug up. He looked at the form he was supposed to fill out for the corpse. He put the pencil in his mouth a moment and then turned back, glancing at the man a moment. Then he took the pencil out again and tapped it against the top, metal portion of the board. He decided that it was a good idea to continue with his work. He couldn't very well stop now, but he'd been working fairly hard and he only had one more grave to dig after this one. Jack though it would be best if he asked for the man's information, filled the hole and began on the last of the day. Then he could take him to Leon or the mayor and ask what should be done. Hopefully, they wouldn't kill him to ensure that he became a true part of Halloween town, like everyone else.
Jack looked at him once more. "Okay… I have a couple tidbits of information I need from you, is that all right?"
He nodded his head.
"Great! First question… Age?"
"27."
"Good… good… um… Residence upon death?"
"Claymore Village."
Jack's head popped up. "Really? You're from Claymore?" The man merely nodded. "Oh! I think you and I shall get along quite nicely! I was also from Claymore… Well… When I was alive, 200 years ago." He smiled as he looked down at the board again, scribbling the answer. "I can't wait to hear how the Village changed during my absence. Too bad I couldn't have died at an older age. Oh well… um… next question… Surname?"
"Huh?"
"Your last name."
"Ohs! I knew sat… Well."
"Mm? You must be related to someone I once knew. I knew a Thomas Well once."
"Sat's mah name! Thomas Joseph Well."
"Oh? What an odd… coincidence… uh…" Jack felt a bead of sweat on his face. "Y-year of death?"
"1763."
Jack's head shot up as quickly as Tom's had. He stared down at the timid man set before him. It all fit now. Thomas Joseph Well, of Claymore Village, died at the age of 27 in the year 1763. Jack David Skellington, of Claymore Village, died at the age of 20 in the year 1756. The Thomas that Jack had known during his own lifetime was the Thomas that he was speaking to at this very moment. The very same Thomas who had… stabbed him…
"Oi… Yous okay?" asked Thomas, hands in his pockets now. "Yous look pale…" It was only after saying that did he realize that Jack was supposed to be pale (being a skeleton and all). "Ohs… wait… I's meant… wells, y'know."
"You know what Thomas? I don't know…" Jack reached down, gripping Tom from the collar of the tuxedo that he'd, previously, wanted to keep intact for him. The skeleton lifted him off of the ground about 2 feet, holding that place with a single hand, not even budging he was so full of anger towards him. "Why don't you explain it for me?"
"GAH! What sa hecks! Yous said yous not goin ta hurt meh!"
"Things change, Thomas Well!" Jack was screaming now. "Like things changed for me! All those years ago! When you stabbed me!"
"What? I's neva seen yous before! I neva stabbed no skeleton in meh life!"
"No? Then do you remember the jealousy that you held towards me during my lifetime? Do you remember how you would taunt me? Because I was paler than you! Because I enjoyed playing with insects and animals more than I did other people! Because I was smart and wouldn't allow anyone to copy from my work during school days or on tests! Because you couldn't take that fact that I seemed to have everything that you wanted!? Do you remember any of that Thomas?" When he didn't answer, Jack felt betrayed, like his death had had no impact on this man's conscious. He pursued. "Let me spell it out so that your mind can comprehend the magnitude of your crime… Do you recall one dark night, after the burning of a witch? There was a man, only just turned twenty, in a hospital shack, receiving treatment for a head injury. It was at this time that you walked into the room and spoke to him. In the middle of this conversation you took a dagger and plunged it into this man's chest and sent him on a path that could only end in death. Do you remember his name?"
Thomas gasped for air. He chocked out the answer as best as he could. "J-J-Jack! His name was Jack! Jack Skellington! His name… was…" Thomas opened his eyes and looked at the person holding him up so high. "N-no ways… Jack?"
"… Hello Thomas…" Jack's anger seemed to fade the very minute Tom said his name. "It's good to see you again… Even under the circumstances…" Then he set him back onto the ground. Straightening his collar once more after Thomas caught his breath.
"W-what happened ta yous? Yous look… uh… diff'rent…"
Jack looked at his arms and chest. "Really? Hadn't noticed." He sighed. "I guess I sort of… rotted away when I was buried in the ground like that."
"N'… n' I's done sis to yous?"
Jack nodded.
"… Wow…" Tom scratched his head. "N' I sough yous skinny b'fore… Se girlies back home wouldn't b'lieve sis if sey's seen it semselves…"
Jack smiled lightly.
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Brooke: BOO! Haha, scared you. Yup, a brand new chapter. I actually would have had this up sooner but I wrote it in a book that doesn't really enjoy opening for long periods of time so I had trouble copying it onto the computer, plus, I couldn't read half of my horribly messy writing. So, anyways, here's the chapter. Hope you like it. :)
