"Mice?"
Riley's eyes lifted from the floor to shoot a dubious look at his dad. His father shot him a don't-you-butt-in kind of expression in return. The lie was absurd and entirely unplanned.
Why was it absurd?
Because Janet Thomas kept their home sparkling clean. Always had. Always likely would. Shoes weren't allowed in the house. Glasses and cups always had to have coasters. Mini bottles of hand sanitizer were placed in every room. Everyone even had to wash their hands before and after dinner. His mother was the sole reason why his dad had to invest in a separate space for his wood-working, so as not to disturb his spouse with the mess and the noise. Filth was a myth in the Thomas household, and his father really should have come up with a better excuse than mice.
And as for why it was unplanned..
The pair hadn't had a proper chance to corroborate a story to cover up last night's truly bizarre events. Riley had tried. He really had, however his father hadn't given him anything to work with. The hour had been late, and his dad had been behaving oddly; In fact, he had all but shaken him off.
He had been tense. Guarded. He hardly spared him a glance on his way back into the house and back to his own bed. While he hadn't been quite able to meet his son's eyes, that hadn't deterred him from pulling Riley back upstairs by his elbow. None too gently, and with a strangely determined stride. Once at Riley's door, his father had fixed him with an expression so serious it had momentarily turned back time to when he was a child, about to be told off for something he had done.
'Don't come back out.'
'But-'
'I mean it. Stay in your room.'
Then Darren had abandoned the grip on his elbow while turning away and gone back to bed.
Leaving Riley Thomas by himself to endure a long period of uncertainty.
And as he had been brusquely dragged along, his father had insisted that it was too late to clean, and that the mess was better off being taken care of in the morning, and additionally, that they would handle it in the morning.
Riley just hadn't expected for 'handling it' to have meant telling a lame lie.
"That's what I said. Mice." Darren nodded to reaffirm, trying very hard not to look at his son still incredulously eyeballing him from across the kitchen. Thankfully, his wife's gaze was not focused on their offspring. Rather her gaze honed in on her husband instead. Her head dipped in further disbelief, her eyes drilling him for answers; "Darren. That can't be possible!"
Both of his hands rose temporarily to visually dissuade her disbelief; "Hey now, just because this house is spic-and-span, doesn't mean that it can't have mice."
Janet gave him such a look.
"I mean it!" Evidently he did from the way his tan finger poked and waggled in her direction; "It's a common misconception. Mice are scavengers. No place is exempt from a Stuart Little exploration, no matter how clean."
One hand clamped down into place along the side of the counter while her own, opposite finger mirrored his; "I have never had mice. Not once. Not ever!"
Don't say it, dad.
"There's always a first time for everything."
From his place on the floor, Riley shut his eyes and internally groaned. You said it.
Why was he surprised by such a response from his usually goofy parent? It was just like him to retort with something like that. He'd literally predicted it.
Maybe it was because he had been reminded of that other side of his dad. The more serious, less jokey side he had forgotten existed until last night. Looking at his father in the daylight, it had a strange unease flow through him. As if he were seeing a stranger, though that was very far-fetched. People weren't two dimensional, they were so much more complex than that. It was possible for people to act out of the 'norm', however there usually had to be a reason for it.
The question here: What had been the reason his father had acted that way?
Something strange had happened, and that prompted investigating.
But investigating aside, what could he do? Go against the grain and unnecessarily join his mother's side to prolong this present debate? Especially when neither he or his father knew what the Hell had happened last night? No. It would be better if he played his part right now and cleaned the rest of the broken glass off of the kitchen floor…Get rid of the evidence and probably forget it ever happened, and move on.
Yet his gaze lingered on his father, and he knew that forgetting and moving on was out of the question. Someone he cared about had been affected and he took that personally. He would not 'move on' when it came to his family. Riley would find out.
Find out whether it was mice or ghosts, or whatever last night had been about.
After giving his dad one last wary eyeful, he settled with a current plan of action. Crouching over the tile, Riley angled and swept up the remains of what used to be a glass vase into a small, hand-held dust pan via a matching small hand broom.
The mess could have been worse. Two flower vases had fallen to the floor and met a shiny, shattered fate. Thankfully there had been no water to clean. Not because it had dried in the night, but because there had never been any water at all. His mother did not keep real plants. Fake plants and flowers were cleaner and never had to be replaced.
Riley always thought it was a little depressing to see flowers pretending to be real, but he'd heard enough times from his mother how irking she found fallen petals and rotting flowers to be. He was pretty sure that if she could arrange it, she'd negotiate a deal with God to exchange the grass and dirt outside for plastic.
Although speaking of, a grouping of faux blue and purple tulips lay in a neat bundle along the line of the L-shaped kitchen counter just nearby, already rescued from the floor. They were still wet from his mother obsessively rinsing them off only a few minutes prior.
Her wrinkled hands twisted over one another as she eyed her husband; "Well…Did you see them?" Her brow followed suit to contort worriedly; "It?"
"Just the one, but I did, yeah." No you didn't.
Her hands latched onto both of her wrists; "Oh god.."
"Just one." He said again, as if it was supposed to make her feel better. Which Riley immediately knew that it wouldn't.
"One is past enough! But, ar-are you sure?" Janet took a step towards her husband, her eyes a smidge shiny like she might cry in distress. "You really saw a mouse?" It wasn't like she was afraid of them. It was more the poop and the violation of their tiny paws in her nice, clean home that no doubt offended her so deeply.
A tossed thumb his way accompanied the response, and it had his eyes widen in surprise at the gesture being sent his way; "Rye can tell you. He came down with me."
Fuck. Don't bring me into this.
He could feel his face heat. He hated lying. He hated it because it wasn't right and primarily because he sucked at it, but what was the truth? Actually mom, that's not what happened. What happened is that dad got out of bed to talk to me and then the vases just jumped off the counter by themselves. Oh, and right after that he went to the back door with a knife. Why? Beats me. Anyway, is it okay if we have some bacon and eggs?
When she turned towards him, his head ducked down. "You saw it too, Riley?" From the corner of his eye he could see and feel her watching him. As much as he wanted to tell her that there were no mice in their house, he wasn't sure if vases mysteriously falling to their deaths would be much of an improvement either to her nerves.
"Yeah," He mumbled, turning his face farther away from hers. He kept his view strictly to the dustpan and the glimmering pieces that had been collected. "Real big." Janet released him from her anxious gaze and Riley felt relief barrel through him.
Head shaking passionately, his mom fixed her primary focus back to his dad; "This is unbelievable, I can't believe this! I just can't!" His father in return came closer to physically comfort her. He took her nervous, aged hands in his own.
"You know, hon, you really ought to use the wooden vases I made for you. I promise they're good quality vases. Wood won't break so easily, and they're all natural," Darren's mouth took on a rugged grin to tease. "Good for the flowers, too."
Her face turned away to scoff; "Oh, don't you start."
Wrapping her up in his arms, he planted a soft kiss on her forehead to look down at her. "Why not? Is it too early for you to deal with me?" The smile was meant only for her, just as her blush was only meant for him, so Riley forced his eyes away. Her reply was shy but appreciative for the distraction it was; "Always is."
Their son rose to his feet and made his way over to the waste bin not far off to deposit the remains. His mother's head broke away from their intimacy to fret aloud to him over Darren's shoulder; "Be careful, Riley! The glass."
The worst of the task was over, so there was no way he could possibly cut himself now, but that was Janet Thomas. Fidgety. Paranoid. Continually looking out for her son and her husband. Her concern was endearing and more than often a bit excessive. Letting the debris fall swiftly inside the bin, he answered back instinctively; "I know, mom."
"Don't forget to wash your hands after you're done, okay?"
"I won't."
As he walked back over to the kitchen closet to put up the cleaning tools, Darren stole her attention away once more, still safely tucked in his arms. He swayed her gingerly from side to side, as if in a loving dance; "Want me to make breakfast today?"
Held warm in his embrace, Janet gazed up at him with a softer expression. Delicately her fingertips sought out the rough planes of his face to carefully prod at the bags under his eyes with both of her thumbs; "Noo, you look like you haven't slept a wink. I'll take care of it. It'll get my mind off of the mice…Er, mouse." She shuddered then, a flicker of her earlier anxiety streaking across her face. "Just promise to watch my back in case it jumps out at me."
Darren smiled gently and gave her a loving squeeze; "I can do tha-"
The nice domestic moment was quickly ripped away by the sound of screaming. Weirdly familiar screaming. Not close enough to be frightening, but near enough to be alarming. Janet jumped in Darren's arms just as Riley shut the closet door, all three of them instantly going still to listen.
It was unmistakably female. And not only that, exactly like the screams that they had heard the other day and the night before..
Coming from the direction of the Caddies' house.
Again?
When it finally stopped, the familial trio traded glances. His mom exhaled shakily; "This is the second morning that poor girl has screamed like that. Goodness, that scared the-" She jumped once more when the same screaming began again. This time it came higher-pitched and frantic. Her face hopped up to look at Darren with blatant concern.
"Good lord, she sounds like she's being murdered!" It had only finished being expressed when the ominous sound of their neighbor expelling all the air from her lungs went silent. Riley couldn't help but stare in the way of the neighboring home, as if he could see the house and its occupants if only he looked hard enough through the kitchen wall.
A scream in a nice, quiet suburban neighborhood was unsettling for a copious amount of reasons, but knowing that it was her screaming..
It unnerved him on a deeper, more personal level. A random scream was bad enough. It became a heck of a lot more insidious when you actually knew the person the screams were attached to. His pulse started to pick up.
Collectively bothered by the sudden silence, Janet fretted; "Do you..Do you think she's okay? Should we do something?" Her gaze twitched to peer over at Riley while Darren picked himself out of their embrace, and made his way across the room to steal glances from one of the side windows. His mother turned to him to ask; "You spoke with her yesterday. You said she seemed fine. Did she ever say why she screamed like that before?"
Riley watched his dad peek through the window, internally fighting to keep his eyes on his mother's; "She told me that her and her little sister were watching scary movies. She didn't add anything else so I figured that was it."
The recollection of Jennifer's smile paired with her words came to him: 'Sorry about that. My sister and I were just watching some scary movies. I had promised her we'd make a marathon of it. She loves horror movies, but personally they scare the shit out of me.'
Based off of those glass-shattering decibels, he could tell.
'Um, you can reassure them that everything's okay. Nothing's wrong. No one's died. We're good. I appreciate you checking in though!'
But was she really okay? The Nickels' boy was still missing as far as they knew. At the end of the day, someone had been kidnapped, and they had hardly had any time to scream when it happened. Sure, this was broad daylight…However, crimes happened at every time of day. Bolder and more heinous acts had been committed and would be committed again in spite of the sunshine. For all anyone knew, his sweet neighbor was fighting off an unseen attacker right now.
It appeared as though he wasn't the only one going through a track of unsavory thinking, let alone questioning it.
Janet's eyebrows scrunched together; "Scary movies at this time of day?" And for a second time too? He wanted to add. Usually movie marathons were binged in one sitting. Not splayed out over multiple days. Unless they had a lot of films to go through? But how many could they have? And why watch horror movies during the daytime? Wasn't that counterproductive? Evidently not, judging from those screams..
He offered a shrug, but the gesture came across far more casual than he felt; "I can go over and check in if you want."
"Would you?" A hand had gone to her chest with hope, touched that she didn't even have to ask. Darren wandered away from the window, apparently unable to find whatever it was that he had been searching for. Riley took the fact that his dad hadn't spotted a running, shrieking neighbor through the glass pane as a good sign that everything might be okay after all.
"Yeah, I don't mind. I was meaning to go over there anyway."
"Oh yeah?" Despite the tension, his father miraculously managed to shoot him a cheesy grin that could easily rival Sean's. That was one of many great things about Darren Thomas; That while he could be serious and handle his business, he could still provide some calm and humor in a situation when it was needed too.
It wasn't quite working today though. At least not for him. Not when it came to questioning the safety and security of his nice, new neighbor that he may or may not have a crush on. "It's not like that, dad." His face went a tad warm. He really was terrible at lying.
And while his mother could naively overlook this trait of his, his father knew the characteristic much better than she did. A pair of bushy eyebrows quirked back at him, a not-quite-convinced glimmer of mischief in his dad's gaze; "She's pretty, Rye. Around your own age. You could do worse. Just sayin'." Riley put his back to him and let his suddenly brisk stride take him out of the room.
With his intent set on his shoes by the front door, he called over his shoulder; "Can we please skip the birds and the bees talk?"
Darren's voice returned his call to hammer home his fatherly goofiness. Thankfully it seemed as though he would not be following him out of the kitchen. No doubt it had everything to do with a nervous wife he would have to soothe; "Waiting for your first girlfriend, kiddo. Or boyfriend! I don't discriminate! I promise I'll embarrass you equally so you get a fair shake!"
Keeping one hand on the doorknob and poking his feet into his shoes one at a time, Riley let his eyes roll. "So kind of you, dad." This he murmured to himself, before exclaiming louder for his parental figure to hear; "I can always count on you for that!"
Just as he was about to slip out of the house, his father's own exclamation rang out from behind him in the other space; "Hurry back, Rye! Don't wanna miss breakfast!"
"Okay!" With that, he let the one word mark his exit.
The door shut behind him and there he stood on his small, railed-in porch, blinking out at the rest of the houses around. Cars were going about their business. There was hardly a cloud in the sky. And Helga, a sweet old woman that he had known for years, watered her lawn from across the way. Clad in green overalls, a beige sun hat, and a yellow and black polka dot sweater in spite of the summer temps, she gave him a kind wave to acknowledge him. Relaxing at the sight of her, he returned the gesture.
Everything seemed normal.
And yet..
But now out of the house and away from fake flowers, broken vases, and non-existent mice, Riley Thomas let loose a long overdue sigh. The sigh itself had only just finished when he heard a soft, musical chime emit from the pocket of his shorts. He worked to retrieve his phone and swipe accordingly to discover that he had just gotten a text message.
Since his father hadn't been interested in humoring him a chat about last night's events, he had sought conversational assistance through other means, being that of his best friend, Seok Mishil. Sean happened to be his western name and one the Korean boy tended to prefer when around his friends. Riley had always thought his real name was cooler, but he had no problems with either one.
Unfortunately however, Sean hadn't texted him back last night. He had been left in the dark of his room, with too many questions and too many thoughts. For a long hour or so, his night had been spent trying to search online for sane, logical reasons why vases might break by themselves. When every search suggested a reason that could not be applied to his situation, it left less sane, less logical ones.
Supernatural reasons.
Riley did not believe in the supernatural. He liked to follow the Scooby-Doo way of thinking, in that there always had to be someone behind the mask. Always a culprit or reason behind a crime. Even so, it hadn't helped dispel his uncertainty.
A personal playlist of music had been the only thing to chase away the concern until he ended up falling asleep in his computer chair.
Sean finally seemed to be awake now, so he let his eyes take in the response after his. The next minute or so was spent conversing. The dialogue didn't come as naturally as it usually did. Even as he typed back and forth with his friend, he couldn't quite fight off the feeling like time might be of the essence:
Hey something weird happened tonight. My dad and I heard something breaking downstairs but when we got down nobody was there. Even went outside and looked around but nothing. Don't know if it was just a fluke or what.
Dad told my mom it was mice so she wouldn't freak out.
Spooky.
That's not all. My neighbor's screaming again.
She sounds dramatic.
Idk. It sounded pretty bad. I'm about to go over and check right now.
Alright. Let me know if you die I guess.
"Some friend you are." He muttered. The jab wasn't meant to be serious. It was supposed to be more of a playful poke than anything, but with the way he was feeling as he turned to look in the direction of the larger house next to his…Riley felt oddly tense. Looking at it now, it did not seem to join the others in how bright and easy-going they all seemed to be around him. It appeared almost menacing. Shady. As if it were only pretending to be a house so it could fit in with all of the others lining the street.
But that was ridiculous.
It was just a house. One with a pretty, kind of strange girl inside of it. It just appeared so foreboding because of the mystery that had previously surrounded it before he had finally gotten to meet one of its occupants, although it really didn't help that his neighbor was waking up every day screaming at the top of her lungs. There had to be a reason, and 'horror movies' weren't quite cutting it anymore.
Now the mysteries lay with her, and his nervous, fidgety neighbor had some explaining to do-
There would be no explanation needed for why Jennifer Caddie ended up waking Jason Voorhees from his sleep. Only a few options constituted a 'why' for her screams, yet it would not be able to process as quickly as he would have liked.
First he rose, the Camp Crystal Lake-bound murderer thought it was that alone: A scream of yet another selfish sinner roaming where they had absolutely no right to be. It being so close within earshot, it could be only one of two things: Either they, she in this case, had snuck into his cabin and found him sleeping, or the woman had managed to entrap herself in one of many defenses he had put together over the years.
Rage flowed through him.
The rage was brief.
Naturally, the woodland slasher became generously confused not to find himself staring at a ceiling in which he was familiar with. This ceiling was intact, completely solid, and had no sizeable hole. The initial vocalization that had roused him left, though his bewilderment did not.
His broad body rocketed into a sit from the bed he lay on, and his mind frantically reeled. Any lasting fragments of sleep were almost instantly erased, though he still held fast to his disoriented disposition. What he saw did not make light of the puzzled emotions or the building anxiety. The hazel eye with the most vision in it, darted around like a panicked fish behind glass. Nothing looked familiar to him in his overly startled state. What had clicked into place first, was the fact that he was not home. His shock came on too strong to discern any rational thoughts.
Raw instinct arrived, and with its arrival emerged action.
Jason harshly rotated this way and another from his seated position. The mass of his hands grabbed and groped blindly at the bedding. WHERE WAS HE? AND WHERE WAS-
He could not find his trusted weapon. Only useless, clean blankets and pillows. Blankets that were not from his cabin. Alone and in a room he had no business being in. If his long-dead heart could beat, it would be pounding. His lungs would be expelling breath like a wounded bear. This was not home. This was not home! THIS WAS NOT HOME! It was the only fact that registered over and over. The reality of it assaulted him and he jerked about as though to dodge the effects it was having on him. Practically falling forward over his legs in his drastic search, he turned quickly about on the creaking mattress to see the rest of the new room, and caught sight of the erosioned machete handle resting by the bed.
His hand impulsively went for it, and a second scream sounded. Jason's large head whipped up at the door across the bedroom to stare long and hard, and finally, with its noise so crystal clear, the revenant recognized who it belonged to, and remembered at last why he knew that.
Jennifer's scream died away and the silence reigned supreme once more. That unsettling silence so unlike his woodsy home. The quiet made him realize what else he missed. Almost as if he did not trust himself, he called out for the only person in the world that he could put any amount of trust in, and suffer no consequence for doing it;
MOTHER?
I'm here, sweetheart.
Only then did he relax. He made his wide chest rise, and slowly forced it to drop; To mimic what he imagined a large, cleansing breath of relief might be like if his lungs still functioned. Jason reclined back smoothly and without caution to permit himself to slouch against the pillows and headboard, letting the bed catch his wide back and frame. His weight releasing all his tension had the mattress groan in protest. Meanwhile, his mother spoke gently inside his mind.
Oh my poor baby. Working yourself into such a fit is no good for you.
The rear side of his masked head landed against the wood behind him and he stayed there, creating a rhythmic pattern to simulate calmer breathing. He eyed his efforts for a moment before seeking the underside of his eyelids. I'm sorry, Mother. I forgot we weren't home.
Tutting and making motherly noises as though to fuss over him, his mother cooed adoringly; Hush, hush, sweet child. You needn't apologize to me. I should have spoken up sooner. You know I'm always here for you, and I just wanted to give you the chance to put things right on your own. Remember we talked about that?
His eyes closed as he carefully nodded. I remember.
Her chuckle caught him unaware then; A small, almost musical noise that undulated what remained of his stomach, to create what most would call 'butterflies' in his gut. Hearing Pamela Voorhees do anything inspired a calm and a joy like no other, whether she laughed or spoke, and her son would always cherish every bit of her sounds.
Speech on her end accompanied that small chuckle. You must have slept very well. It comes as no wonder why it took you a minute to realize. I think you really needed that sleep, hm?
He couldn't imagine why. It wasn't like he had done anything particularly strenuous lately considering recent events. Hell had been more arduous, but even that passage of time spent there had been spent doing next to nothing but waiting. There was no work to do.
Ah, but think of the work you do at home; Of the work you have done for years. You tend to stay so busy. Think of all that you do on a daily basis for our Camp Crystal Lake. He did as instructed, and her voice carried on to remind him in time with his own mental retracing. Checking all of your clever traps on the grounds. Righting the canoes. Collecting firewood and chopping lumber. Tidying and looking through every cabin. Keeping an eye on the animals that live there. So much and more. So much in one day for one man to do, yet you manage it and without any complaint. You ought to be bone-tired by the time it's all sorted.
His mother almost sounded like she was bragging to him about all the work he did. His far more humble self would have blushed if he had the ability to. Jason could recall how he 'felt' after the workload of their days. Not tired per se. Heavier felt more accurate. Maybe because his will turned out to be stronger than that of his already capable body. All of it had turned routine eventually. Nothing that he might bat an eye at, however with her verbalizing the scope of everything he did, he supposed it was nothing to sneeze at either.
A lot of work went into running a camp. Into owning a space. Into making and keeping a home. Everything he did was necessary, so he did not gripe about it. The lake man enjoyed the time and effort he put into his work and the grounds. Keeping busy kept him sound. Sitting and doing nothing? That proved much harder to accomplish than anything he did at the camp. His sweet mother would always insist he take a break, and every so often she'd pop in to check up on him. She'd lavish him with concern and he would soak up every second of her care, before politely refusing her suggestions to take some minutes for himself.
The truth of the matter was simple: That regardless of his chores, no matter how big or small, they did not tire him. If anything, he rejoiced in his efforts. He had admitted to her on a few occasions, yet she had worried still.
He routinely worked and she routinely loved him in return.
Pamela wasn't done insisting however-
Every day you wake, and what's the first thing you do?
She wanted to remind him, and make him see his worth even still. What bit of animated muscle stayed in his lip tensed and twitched to try a smile. He indulged her; I check the traps. The traps, yes, and generally the visible area for any trespassers.
And after you check the traps?
His gaze studied the light yellowish green of the glow-in-the-dark stars above amidst the sunlight. I walk.
How far do you walk, Jason? She knew how far. She just wanted to hear him say it, so that he could hear himself say it as well. Plant the proof in front of him so it could not be ignored or excused.
Miles.
Pamela repeated gently to reiterate her oncoming point; Miles. Every morning, without fail, you walk for miles. Sweeping through and making certain of our safety. And after that? You come right back, traversing our Lord's majesty, refusing to let the terrain keep you from coming back home. Back to the animals that need you, back to the lake. Back to me. My big, strong boy.
She sighed with pride in her son; The sleep you've gotten was well deserved. I'm only sorry it had to end so soon, and give you such a fright. Her tone rid itself of any warmth. We know very well whose fault that is, don't we?
Grimly, his working eye slid to the left of him to see the door. Yes.
There's no telling what that devil put her through.
Or even if she was alive.
Jason tensed at the possibility. Freddy had done horrible things over the years. Things he had personally seen, and things he had not. The dream demon liked to run his mouth, and a good chunk of the time he'd known him had been spent in running his mouth about all of his misdeeds that he was so proud of. What would be one more kill to him? More than likely, just another sorry notch under his belt.
If she was dead..
Problems would arise, and he would not be pleased. Not due to how he felt about her previous kindness, but due to her siblings being without their big sister. They would miss her. Mourn her. Jason Voorhees did not know what it was like to have siblings, but he knew what the loss of a loved one felt like. And until Jennifer went back on her word to let them stay or did anything to shed light on them, Jason had no want to see the girl killed. Much less by the hands of his unlikable rival.
Regardless of his hatred for the other killer, a shred of him stayed reluctant to leave the bed. It had been the nicest, cleanest thing he had slept on in a surplus of years, and despite his inability to feel throughout portions of his frame, he had managed to savor its softness and comfort. The fact that it had also provided him the best and deepest sleep he could remember getting only added to his slowness to depart.
Yet depart from it he did. Jason pulled himself up from his prone state and turned to set his boots on the floor. He face roved to track where he recalled seeing his prized weapon and he bent forward, reaching over his lap with his right hand to retrieve..
He stared at the mutilated stubs of what used to be his fingers, mid-reach for his machete. The longer he took in their slashed, ruined appearances, the sooner he went back to feeling anger. His right thumb had been the only surviving digit from his last, grueling battle with Krueger. Ever since, he had had to make an effort in getting acclimated to life, for the most part with a single hand. His palm squeezed inwards in an effort to curl what was left into a fist. Only his thumb could help achieve any resemblance to one.
Once more, he urged Freddy's seared face into his mind to delight in a daydream of slamming his stubbed digits right into the bridge of the other's hooked, burnt nose with what remained.
The other hand, dear.
Light reminder that it was, it too was said to urge him not to dwell on his anger. Jason made himself have another silent, calming breath, before trading his right hand for his left.
Thank you, Mother.
Pamela had anticipated the thank-you, even if it was never needed, but that was her boy. That was her Jason. Even before death, he had been the sweetest little boy she had ever known, and she had raised an angel-
But there was nothing angelic about the way our favorite killer toy awoke from his sleep.
Rather than Chucky coming out of his sleep the way he had been anticipating, slowly, soothingly, and on his own terms, the living toy did so with all the grace of an unawares man reminiscent of his actual age being rudely awakened: Through a line of drool and an undignified snort.
The cursed plaything shot forward from the warmth of his blanket nest, those baby-blues of his completely wide and unfocused. It took a half second to register the screaming, but when he did, his eyes crushed shut and he groaned. Crudely he plopped back against the couch cushion, way too fatigued to take note of the crunching and crinkling of the pudding cups stashed behind.
He should've known that he wasn't going to be able to get any good shut-eye with Fred Krueger around.
Fucking Freddy. Did the overcooked hot dog from Hell have to have his fun at everyone else's expense? So early in the morning too? Didn't that meathead know that a guy was tryin' to catch some Z's?
…
It occurred to him how ludicrous it was that of all people, the Lakeshore Strangler was complaining about the usually sweet sounds of a victim's cries.
Ehh, alright…Maybe jealousy had a bit to do with his displeased line of thinking, so what? It'd been a sorry chunk of time since the last time Charles Lee Ray had made a pretty girl scream. Damned if there wasn't some part of him that wished he could have gotten some cut of the action himself. Hearing Jen scream like that, it left him to wonder what kind of special Hell Freddy had put her through.
Personally, he'd never gotten the 'unappeal'. Fred seemed about as scary as shit down your leg. A shock at first, but more of a headache to put up with than anything else. The guy always came off so cocky, too. So full of himself. Like he was the equivalent to God's gift or something. He'd listened to the countless times when the other killer would brag and boast about his feats in the Dream World. All of it, if not most of it, sounded more than incredible. Sometimes Chucky wondered exactly how high the dream demon was off'a smelling his own farts, for him to expect the doll to believe all those tall tales he told to the rest of the guys.
Jennifer's ear-splitting screams were pretty sound evidence though..
His mood took a step down. Hell only knew how long he'd last gotten any: Tail or murder. Although he knew it had been long enough, knew it so well that he hurriedly dropped the mental subject to instead sink back into warm, beige fabric. There he snuggled deep, trying to bury the side of his face to ward away the daylight..
But neither Jennifer or Freddy wanted to let him keep sleeping it seemed, for the girl upstairs let loose another one. And this one, if you can believe it, had outdone the first from yesterday. How did he know?
He knew. A guy like him, like them, made sure to keep track of this kind of thing. It was part of the business, and one of the many great thrills of this career path him and the boys shared. Numerous times a lot of 'em had gotten together over a few beers to shoot the shit and recollect about their favorites. Favorite victims, favorite kills, favorite screams..While the absolute shred of vocals he heard right now was enough of an ear-splitter by itself, it still didn't have anything on that time he'd electrocuted Tiff in the bathtub. Although to be fair, Tiff would always be his favorite girl to hear scream.
Still, Chucky was pretty sure that nothing would top that one. Either way, it didn't discourage him from making an internal note that when it came down to it, Jennifer's ability to scream wasn't too shabby. He'd save his appreciation for another time though. Right now? Right now the doll happened to be miffed over his interrupted beauty sleep.
Good Guy? More like I'm-Fucking-Tired-Guy.
He reclined his head and stared up at the ceiling until the volume died down. Her last, fading call ground to a halt from above to bless the house with its previous silence.
"Hell of a way to wake up." He said to no one.
No one replied back; "Then you have heard less than I thought."
Chucky's head ripped over to see the dark glimmer of leather seated on the other end of the sofa from him. Eternally pale skin, skin so devoid of life it nearly seemed to glow in the sunshine from the living room window, filled his view: All in the shape of Pinhead.
Reading on the couch next to him.
Chucky rudely scanned the Hell priest up and down; "You're STILL here? Christ." Sure, the pale priest hadn't been there when he had nodded off last night, but that didn't change the fact that the cenobite sat in the same spot when he had been reading his book from before. Had the pinheaded albino not slept at all? How long had he been there reading? Had he not moved from his spot this entire time? Not even for a piss or a snack? How riveting could a book be?
Despite the doll's incredulous voice and ogling, the cenobite paid no notice. His chin raised and subtly turned alongside the turn of a page being flipped via chain. Unbeknownst to Chucky, a new tome hovered over his lap. Much of Balberith's archive appeared the same…To inexperienced eyes. For those more adept, it remained plain to see that every tome was painfully unique. This happened to be the fifth book the believer had purloined in his pursuit to gain the other cenobite's attention.
Thus far it was not working. She must have been away. Ars Longis was not one to shirk her duties. Thanks to her potential absence, the entirety of the night had passed. Book after book had been exchanged and stolen, and yet not one alarm had been raised with their trades. That was fine. Irksome, though fine. Xipe Totec was very good at waiting..
Most of the time.
He said dryly; "Christ has nothing to do with my being here."
As Chucky wriggled and worked to untangle himself from the homely material enshrouding him, he decided to multitask by running his mouth; "Oh, someone's got a sense of humor today, huh? You can save it. I ain't in the mood for it. You can try me again later after I wake up some more."
Pinhead glanced over to note the smaller murderer's always perpetually crazed head of hair. Being so suddenly and freshly awakened, portions of ginger sprouted and hailed up from his scalp in differing lengths and shapes. The overalls he wore too were disheveled from his sleep.
His gaze returned itself to that of the book he read from; "I do not intend on entertaining you, Charles. I have other plans."
Yanking handfuls of the blanket this way and that, the deadly toy shoved aside his backpack from the night before and hopped his way down. Stumbling a step, Chucky caught himself on the front bottom cushion of the couch. "Like what?" He grumbled.
"It does not concern you."
"Yeah?" The doll gave him a sore look in response. He took a minute to pat himself down and straighten his wrinkled garments. He cast a final glance at Pinhead before making his leave to walk out of sight around the sofa's arm; "Well lemme know when it does."
Chucky left the Hell priest to his own schemes. Through his haggard walk through the foyer, which he made whilst blocking the sunshine from the sunroom trying to blind him, he allowed his curiosity to have him peer up into the second story amidst his stride. He could see no sign of Jennifer. As a matter of fact, things were lookin' pretty empty so far.
At least the chick had stopped screaming.
That realization had him come to a halt in front of the kitchen.
Slowly he turned to face the stairs, and then to gaze off in the direction of her bedroom. Surely he wouldn't… She wouldn't be dead, right? Freddy could be a hothead and a bastard, but surely not that dumb to fuck things up for the rest of them, all over a good kill..
Right?
The longer he stood there staring up at the rest of the house, the more he found that he couldn't answer that confidently. Fred had done a fair share of shit over the years, made his own heap of mistakes..He knew it would not come as a shock to him if Knifehands had murdered her in cold blood. Although..
Chucky would be kind of bothered if he had. Bothered? Now he was stewing over that. Bothered had to be too strong a word. It would be an inconvenience to have her dead. Yeah. That sounded better. Sounded better..
But it didn't feel better.
His features creased with irritation. Just what the Hell was he going on about? He wasn't gettin' soft was he? He'd only known the broad, what? Two days? Give or take? If she were really gone, they'd manage. They'd move on. Business as usual. Nothing would change. So why..
Noises that sounded awfully similar to rushed footsteps sounded above and he came out of his thoughts just in time to see a blur of blonde duck into what looked like the bathroom. The door slammed behind her and the silence quickly went on, undisturbed.
An ease came over him. See? All good.
Only it wasn't all good. Chucky didn't appreciate his feelings being hijacked or compromised, let alone by a woman. The last woman he'd been soft on had left him without an arm and a divorce.
Tail was the last thing he needed, and he was fairly certain that Dr. Lecter would agree.
Ah Christ. Right. Hannibal. He'd have to return those missed calls at some point today. Chucky the Killer Doll attempted to fix his crazed hair into place while he grumbled and turned to push his way into the kitchen. At first glimpse, he noticed the room was not as empty as the foyer had been. Still empty-ish, but not totally with the forms of Ghostface and the djinn ahead of him.
The pair were engaged in a semi-comfortable company. The green bean genie stood in front of the kitchen counters with a mug in his hands, the same that had been used from the morning prior. Whereas 'Father Death' had his own back to the island in the center, casually bearing his weight against the trim. An old fashioned polaroid camera rested in his gloved hands as he tinkered with it. Their faces turned to witness his arrival and unable to resist poking buttons, he cooed to the phantom;
"Aw, good for you. You learned how to open a door."
Ghostface's forced night-in had to have been a sore spot for him, because the dark spirit growled hotly in return; "Maybe while we're learning things, you can learn how to close your mouth."
"Sorry. Listenin' to you ain't my strongest subject," Chucky's head and hand swiped at the Wishmaster enjoying his morning beverage. "And you. How is it you learned how to use a coffeemaker before you learned how to use a TV?"
The genie leveled him a gaze that emitted spite; "I have done my time in the human realm. One can learn a great deal when information is given so freely." It came out almost accusingly. Almost as if 'freely given information' were a bad thing. Like the humans were at fault for miraculously giving him the ability to learn from them. Whether or not it was, didn't matter much to the doll. Nor did it answer his inquiry.
"And..?"
The djinn eyed him over the ceramic brim with contempt; "I am not here to learn. It is something I do along the way."
A flash of white had the doll blink. What followed next sounded closely to that of a VHS tape being rewinded. Blinking away the confusion, Chucky gazed up to see the Woodsboro ghost drop his camera from his ever-wailing face. Had he just..? Out slid a paper-thin shape from the camera's slot. Yeah, it looked like he had.
"The Hell was that for?"
"Pay no mind," Djinn's voice took most of his focus, though he did not pry his eyes away from Ghostface quickly retrieving the snapshot from the slit of the device. "He took a photograph of me as well. It was to be expected. I happen to be very photogenic."
Tearing his gaze away after the photo of him was pocketed into the mysterious, black garb always Ghostface wore, Chucky raised and extended a finger to the genie; "Listen, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you ain't photogenic."
With both hands on the mug, the Wishmaster gestured the item in his clawed grasp forward as though to point down at the doll; "This coming from a toy. You are made of plastic."
Chucky's finger exchanged itself for that of his stubby thumb in a gesture at the refrigerator next to him; "And you look like you oughta be kept in the fridge, right next to the broccoli."
Djinn growled at him over the mug. If he intended to hail a remark, Chucky made it less likely by not letting the fact that his photo had been taken, be swept underneath the rug. He redirected his position to the less green murderer in front of him; "You makin' a photo album or what?"
"Why?" His white and black mask tipped over his way; "You think I'd want you in it?"
Chucky made a face up at him; "Why wouldn't you?" Had the dumbass ghost already forgotten that he just took a picture of him?
One gloved hand patted at the pocket where the snapshot had been stashed, while the other waved the chunky camera from side to side; "I only need this to remind myself what stupid looks like incase I forget."
"Ain't that what a mirror's for?"
"Quiet!" The Wishmaster emitted a low, lingering snarl. With their eyes on him, he pulled the mug in his clawed hands closer to his own chest as if to protect the brew from their idiocy. If the cursed plaything had to guess, the other being had to have been cranky thanks to comparing him to a vegetable.
While a portion of this did ring true, it was not the main reason for the outburst.
Setting his gaze on that of the kitchen door, the djinn intended to wait for the arrival of the girl. It would not be much longer until she came downstairs. A new day presented a new opportunity to entice her into a deal, and bring him closer to freeing his kind upon Man's kingdom. Djinn readied himself for another indulgent take of the brown liquid, and made certain to encourage their silence; "You will spoil my coffee."
The djinn's coffee would not be the only thing spoiled. For Jennifer Caddie, the day, and by association, her life had already been spoiled by the likes of them a day and a half ago. She just hadn't realized yet the extent of how much more ruin intended to come her way..
Until she woke up.
"Aah!"
Ah yes, how graceful I looked coming up out of the dead of slumber. Starting a brand new day, not with a cozy yawn, but with a fully fledged croak of alarm. I surfaced from my sheets, catapulting forward in bed. Breathing hard, I allowed the sunlight to glare against my bleary vision. Surrounded by the familiar walls of my bedroom, finding myself on my mattress, an immediate contrast in the lighting ultimately shocked me into relief.
Relief that it had only been a dream. Relief that Freddy was not in my bedroom with me and not on top of me, digging his knives into my face. A massive sense of relief that none of what I had gone through had actually been real at all. Just immeasurably thankful to find out that factory-dwelling children and demonic hounds with human heads did not exist, and thus had solely been a by-product of an overworked imagination created by the deepest, most fucked parts of my brain.
I dropped my shoulders as I caught my breath. Gazing out at my bed and blanket, mindlessly I stayed put to breathe and put myself at ease. Part by part my eyes made a sweep along what I could see, visually confirming that nothing was wrong.
No pipes. No machines. No chains. Just my closet and my window and my uncompleted collage wall with some moving boxes. Normal! Fine! It was over! My nightmare was over. I had won. Jesus Christ, thank you. You're the best. Lame goofball that I was, I didn't mind. My eyes returned to my lap. What mattered was that I was alive and that-
Ooh. Oh shit. Oh fucking no.
No..
I stared.
Wait..Waaaiiit..
I stared at my left knee.
I'm not seeing this right now. That's..That can't be, that's not right. What the fuck? Whatthefuck!
Missing a patch of fabric.
There's literally no fucking wa-
After I noticed that, I felt it. Something warm and narrow cascading down the lower, left half of my face. Quickly it fell. So similar it seemed to a nose bleed, only it didn't happen to be from my nostrils. It happened to be where Freddy had clawed my cheek.
From my dream.
That's not possible. That's not possible. That'snot..
Eyes already widening with panic, my hand swiped up to chase the sensation. When my fingers returned to show the pads of my fingers and a smidge more covered in a fresh, wet coat of shiny red…Small swaths of blood..
Me screaming at the sight was only natural.
I became an erratic flurry of movements, screaming and kicking myself belligerently to crawl backwards over my mattress. Hoping with every shove of a bare foot against my bed, that it would get me farther away from the horrid truth. Instead it only got me closer to my headboard. Every kick and feet of distance I crossed in retreat, revealed all the more. My torn top and bandaged arms. My bedsheets speckled, dotted, and stained with red. The good portion of maroon on my right hip. Each new discovery cranked the panic to MAX. Smacking the wall with my aggressive retreat, I kept kicking. And screaming. And kicking.
Until somehow my intense desire to escape managed to get me to my feet. One after the other, my hands went behind to help push myself up along the wall preventing me from going anywhere. Grabbing and pushing up from the edge of the headboard, clawing at the smooth surface behind it. Up and up I went and one of my arms touched the trim of the mirror over the bed.
Desperately I rotated, stepping over my feet and my pillows to see what I dreaded to see.
More visual confirmation that had what happened to me, had happened after all.
I patted my hands to the surface and against my face in disbelief. As though seeing myself moving would destroy this awful illusion, but it did nothing. The cut on my cheek did not go away. Neither did its smudged trail from my fingers. My throat closed up and I tried to breathe. Those choked, gasping heaves echoed, sounded horrendously loud in my ears. Rather than taking the gruesome sight in bit by bit, the whole mirrored picture absorbed itself all at once. A dire reflection of awfully messy hair, sweat-streaked, soot stained, bloody skin. Eyes bigger than I had ever seen beholding my own. She stared back at me, every bit appalled as I was.
And can you guess what I did?
That's right!
I screamed again. Louder than the first. I emptied every bit of air inside my body in a shrill, terrible screech of my voice box. As loud as it could go. So high and thin it emerged, my throat couldn't handle it. It actually cut me off mid-scream, like it had muted me. As if it had taken control into its own hands to shut me the Hell up for being RIGHTFULLY so dramatic. Taken aback by this, I gave a tiny, high-pitched squeak to end off on. Standing on top of my mattress, my harsh reality and I stared at each other. That, all of that had occurred in my SLEEP. MY FUCKING SLEEP!
No. No! NO! NOOOO-
Even still, I couldn't accept it. An instinct to flee flared and I tried to turn around to indulge it. Whiiiicch is why I ended up slipping on my partially bloody bedsheets and collapsing onto my back. This new surge of panic had me roll over to fall again. Stomach-planting onto the hardwood floor in front of my desk. I didn't give a single piss about the painful thump. Hands sprawling about to get to my feet, I launched myself up via the rungs of my desk chair and scrambled around my bed to sprint to the door. Around the end of my bed I ran, leaving my scattered sheets and pillows. Easily it pulled open and I pummeled the hallway with my feet, ducking into the bathroom and slamming the door behind me. For a moment, I pressed myself against the wood. Noting the empty space, I immediately surged forth to the bathroom's mirror to take another proper look.
I didn't know what for. The mirror in my bedroom wasn't broken. What I had seen would be shown to me again. Though it would reveal to me more of the mess. Of what had been done to me.
..There was a lot to take in.
A little too much to take in.
This was real. My injuries were real. My hair was fucked and my clothes were actually torn. Every wound I remembered having obtained, they were there. Present and accounted for. Not one missing. Not one terrible detail left behind. It was all there. Here.
All because of him. All because of them.
There was bound to be so much more waiting for me to put up with because of their stay. I knew that! Okay? I had accepted that! More weirdness! More threats! More everything unpleasant and strange that my mind probably couldn't comprehend, and then some.
But this? THIS? THIS was TOO MUCH! A line had been overwhelmingly crossed. Given, a line I hadn't ever thought would be possible for crossing, but a line nonetheless! What more could they take from me? What more could they ruin!? First my life, then my house, after that my room…NOW MY BED? MY FUCKING SLEEP?! Dreams? DREAMS? Dreams were dreams for a reason! They weren't meant to come true! It should be im-fucking-possible! It was batshit insane! Beyond batshit insane!
This was my life now; How it was going to be from now on until they left. IF they left.
Having the sink so close, it dug up an intense temptation to clean it all away as fast as I could. Rinse away the physical memory. I eyed the hair, of course, still obstructing the drain and clouding the inner space of the basin. My hands balled seeing the disarray. I'd have to clean up after them before I could clean myself. How infuriating was that? Raising my eyes back to my reflection, another impulse grew to replace the former. Keep it like this. Show them. Show them what he did. I had my evidence right here..
My life was slipping away from me in the most ungodly of ways, and I had to take it back! I had to have lines uncrossed. Boundaries put into place. Saying it was easy. Doing it was the hard part. In order to survive their stay, I had to have a space dedicated to peace. Somewhere where I could unwind from the stress they would have me endure. Somewhere to keep insanity at bay. They had to know this. They had to know I needed this, and that I wouldn't be able to go on without it. I suppose the question was whether or not they gave a shit about what I needed.
What part of my five foot two stature made me think that could I possibly put tall, supernatural demons in their place? Chucky happened to be an exception. He never seemed to let his height hold him back from achieving his confidence or openly shooting insults back at the rest of them, however he was a KILLER.
And I wasn't.
What I was though, was a seriously upset woman. Displeased specifically with one man, and definitely not generally pleased with the rest of the men I now lived with.
I poked my finger assertively at the surface of the mirror, reserving an insistence exclusively for me; "You are not going to let him get away with this." Yeah! No one had the right to pin me down and touch me! Even I did…Kind of..
Whoa me, how are you about to finish that sentence right now?
How had I been about to finish that sentence? 'Fascination' or not, it stayed glaringly abundant that I had not enjoyed Freddy's mistreatment of me. The terror he had put me through and the pain he caused me to feel, all of that I had hated. Some of what had come later on though..
A cold, thin line of his blade being traced up and around my navel. Those same, dangerous knives outlining the features of my face. His hips against the softer, less touched side of my legs. His contemplative touching and heavy watch of me.
My eyes refocused to see myself redder than normal from recollecting. Jesus.
Get it together! HE TRIED TO KILL YOU! Currently was not the time for weird feelings I had no clue how to make sense of! Now was the time to get pissed! To get mad! The bastard had cut me and chased me around, and that hadn't been cool of him at all to do! I didn't appreciate being a toy to be played with for someone else's entertainment!
I was not going to just be an angered reflection in a mirror, biting my tongue in fear for my life.
I was going to give them a piece of my mind.
Pushing off from the basin, my feet carried me out of the restroom and down the hall. Each step came heavier and heavier, more and more with purpose, until I started to stomp instead of walk. I kept my fists balled by my side and my stormy gaze straight ahead, feeling every bit that if any of them came under my line of sight, they would disintegrate and crumble on the spot.
All too soon, I had made my way down the foyer's staircase. My heart didn't even race. Fear had been left to rot amongst my bloody blankets and messy floor. Scared was the farthest thing I felt. It was kind of invigorating, knowing that I was seconds away from confronting big, tough, murderous men.
And I wasn't even afraid. Pride in myself swelled.
Fuck em' up. Nodding determinedly at the white of the wood, I opened the door.
Instead of a 'hello', I became greeted by a-
"Damn!" Laughter was its prefix, and it hadn't been a sound I had wanted to hear. I had been more hoping to hear audible worry. Not amusement. An expression as tired as I felt morphed my features. Thankfully the kitchen looked as it usually did. By some miracle or shred of the creator's mercy, everything was not in disarray.
This didn't mean that what I did see was a godsend.
Quite the opposite, for three of my Hellish roomies were crowded around: Nathaniel to my left, and Ghostface and Chucky to my right. Nathaniel stood near to the fridge, my father's cup imprisoned in his grip. Ghostface had his stance casually posed along the island, putting a little relaxed slant in his body. And Chucky? Chucky sat in one of the stools closest, faced in my corner of the room.
His positioning provided me all the time to see his own expression. I saw it smoothly change in real-time to have his brows heave themselves up. During their ascent, his eyes scanned their way down over my body. He became momentarily lost in his viewing of me.
"..Damn." This time it carried appreciation.
Yes. Please objectify me. I internally and sarcastically said.
Obviously I hadn't meant that at all, yet somehow it seemed to have been heard, even from the privacy of my brain.
My vision momentarily turned white. Blinking away the ocular strain, I had to take a slow heap of seconds to comprehend what had just taken place. A sound like something being mechanically rewound saved me some of the trouble. Ghostface took ownership of my attention. Judging from the polaroid camera in his grasp, I concluded that the phantom had just taken my picture.
For what reason? I wasn't sure if I wanted to know.
"Did.." I kept blinking, but it had nothing to do with the flash. "Did you just-"
Swiping the square of the photograph that had been ejected, he didn't seem to be the only one enjoying the new look. Pocketing the snapshot, Ghostface took his turn next; "That's a good look for you, mouse." Mouse? Where the fuck had that come from? The random nickname would be the least of my worries. Even the photo snapped of me paled in importance. In fact, I found his casual demeanor most troubling given the fact that the last time we had spoken, he had pretty much threatened me before being kidnapped into the ceiling.
Why was he standing there so nonchalantly? Where was the resentment? More importantly, where was the murder? Not that I wanted it of course. This felt a little too…Good and okay for him to be in such an easy and not vengeful mood. Apparently today he wanted to be a photographer, rather than a murderer. Further trepidation brewed.
Presently, I was many things. Not only uncomfortable, but also unimaginably annoyed.
"I do have a name." I said flatly.
"Oh you do?" Ghostface clicked his teeth from behind his mask, wrapping some of the camera's strap around his wrist for safekeeping. "Guess I forgot it." Yeah right. Even if I didn't believe him, it still left my mouth; "You forgot my name?" There was no chance he forgot my fucking name. He had been the first of them to call me by it. It turned out far more likely that he just wanted to be a spiteful dickhead to antagonize me. As if I needed any more of that today.
Placing a few of his fingers against his dark chest, Ghostface airily inquired; "Maybe I did. Won't you be a doll and reintroduce me?"
Time stretched the quiet between us. Now could I stoop to his level and bicker with him? Yeah. If I really wanted to, I could verbally assault him until my lungs shrank and I went blue in the face. Was I going to? No. I was not about to let him waste my time.
I cut the line of my patience.
"LOOK AT ME!" I snapped. "Do you have any idea what I've just been through?"
Ghostface's mask fell to gaze upwards at some unspecified spot of the space; "No, but I get the feeling you're about to tell us all about it."
My hand reared back and I turned slightly with the gesture. The manner in which I uttered it oozed viciousness; "Your friend.."
"Woah, hey," Chucky waved a hand at me like he wanted to clarify something. "'Friend', I use that term a little loosely when it comes to him." A small finger jumped to gesticulate somewhere unseen.
Him? I hadn't even mentioned a name…And yet…Like a strike of lightning, the reality of it hit me. My eyes narrowed. You little shit! He knows exactly who I'm talking about, doesn't he! The full force of my scornful glare landed on the living toy; "..So you know."
Looking entirely too unphased and not caught up at all, Chucky asked; "Know what?"
"Oohhh no. Don't you fucking play dumb with me, buddy boy."
Ghostface and Chucky in unison questioned the nickname I'd given him.
"Buddy boy?"
"Buddy boy?"
Nathaniel grinned to himself while he took another sip of his coffee. I didn't know why he was grinning like I wasn't mad at him too. Him appearing entertained served to motivate my building ire.
In return, I didn't back down; "Yeah, buddy boy! You KNEW that he would creep up into my dreams. Invade my fucking sleep. And TRY to KILL me! And what did you do? Sat on your ass, told me gOodNiGHt, and didn't warn me! You just let me walk up there, off to my death!"
"I mean.." Chucky did a half-second shrug with a tilt of his head. "You ain't dead. You wouldn't be standin' there yellin' at me if you was."
Every couple of words I exaggerated with a thump of my palm to my own chest to yell; "HE TRIED. TO KILL. ME!"
The doll squared his shoulders and let his face drift back to address me; "How? How'd he try to kill you?" Um, hello?! Was that hard to believe or something? They ALL had attempted to murder me the FIRST time they laid eyes on me! Now I needed proof that it could happen again!?
DO YOU WANT ME TO DRAW YOU A PICTURE? I seriously would've. I felt petty enough to do it. Despite my impulse, I chose otherwise. Stooping to do something like that would only eat up time. It would be better just to cut the fat and get straight to it.
How to go about it though? Recounting everything that had happened and chopping it down into a nice, clean summary of events without making it sound like a fantastical fairytale…That asked a lot all on its own. Chances were I would look like a crazy person, gesturing about, spouting nonsense about a dream I had, urging the serial killers in my kitchen to believe me.
Yet what else could I do?
"I don't know! I-"
"You don't know?" Ghostface interrupted with a snort. That alone jumpstarted me onto the exact ranting-path I feared I would embark on by voicing my wild dream aloud to other people;
"I don't know how to explain it! I wake up, I'm in my bed and then I go to leave my room, and I open the door and guess what's not there? Hm? MY HOUSE! For whatever reason the rest of my fucking house is gone and instead there's like a path? With pipes and machines everywhere? So I'm walking around, trying to figure out just what is going on, trying to look for one of you, ANY of you,"
Yup, here I was. Voice raised. Limbs motioning. Standing in my kitchen, covered in my own blood and dried sweat, in front of a genie, a killer ghost, and a talking doll telling them all about the nightmare I had. I couldn't stop now however. I could feel it. I was on a roll.
"To explain what's going on to me, yet I don't find anyone! You know who I do find though? Freddy! But only after he's sicced his demons mutts on me and had them chase me around the entire factory! He was the only one out of all of you that was there…And do you know how he decides to congratulate me on finding him? He attacks me!"
Shoving my right bandaged arm at the three of them so they could really take it in and see, I exclaimed; "That's right! AH-TACKS-ME! So of course I run away and-"
Ghostface snickered to himself, too entertained by my distressed, story-telling performance. Rolling his masked head against his dark shoulder, he lazily asked with a hapless toss of his gloved hand, as an index extended to do a small twirl; "You sure this wasn't just some crazy dream you had?"
I had to witness the infuriating sight of Chucky trying to stifle a laugh at the question.
Arm still raised for show, my own immaturity kicked in. Back and forth, I let my wounded arm be thrust about as my middle finger lifted to overly flip off the masked ghost. "What do you think?!"
The laugh Chucky had tried to hide finally managed to free itself; "Okay, okay, so he got carried away."
"CARRIED AWAY?" I shrieked. Dropping my arm and by extension my middle finger, I had both of my limbs raise over my head. "He almost got more than carried away!"
"Oh?" Chucky's mouth had the gall to grin. Like two middle school boys getting in on a joke, the doll and the phantom shared a look. A husky laugh from the ghost only proved they were currently sharing a dumbass brain cell; "Oohh…I see what this is."
Their heads turned to me, and while I couldn't see the grin on the ghost's face, I knew the pair of them had to be doing it in an annoying unison.
A spread of color, as indignant as it was humiliated, heated my cheeks; "NOT LIKE THAT! It wasn't like that AT ALL! He..He-" Right as my tone shook to an irate crescendo, it happened.
Freddy's low voice tickled the shell of my ear; "Tattletale." Warm, familiar breath passed through the neglected strands of my hair, and even caressed the gentle hairs near the nape of my neck. Such an event transpiring right now…It was so unexpected and I was so undeniably ill prepared for it, that my body forgot how to move. Like I had been turned to stone by an evil spell. All of that bravado? All of my anger and fuck-yeah-me-here-we-go energy? Instantly poofed. Fled and betrayed me like a bad friend in a life or death situation. I felt goosebumps crawl up my spine.
My response turned out to be massively delayed. For that heavy instant, I genuinely wondered if he was really there behind me. Had to rapidly choose whether or not to dismiss the voice in my ear, in case I turned out to be imagining it.
At this rate, I didn't know what would be more horrifying: Freddy Krueger actually standing next to me and close enough to speak into my ear, or having his voice achieve sentience inside my head, so he could be there without actually being there.
When it got done being delayed though? Oh boy, did my reaction kick in.
I broke the world record for most dramatic spin-around. Broke it so hard the framing of the doorway caught me so I wouldn't fall. There the both of us stood underneath the entry, barely a foot between us sharing the space; Him gazing down at me from under the brim of his fedora and me gazing up at him.
Our height difference and our proximity put me right back in the factory.
Flashes of it struck me. Blinking in and out behind my retinas like lights being turned off and on. A ghostly feel of his weight keeping me down. The matted feel of his ratty sweater against my abdomen. Steam in the red light. Crackling fires. His hands pulling me closer by the inner, underside of my thighs.
Dark eyes blazing over me exactly like they were right now..
The breath in my throat faltered. I could hardly move. We'd go on staring at each other like this for eternity if someone didn't help me ou-
Surprisingly Ghostface, of all people, came to my rescue. Though not intentionally of course. His 'rescue' arrived as a smug line delivered. Precisely the right amount of smug for it to gain my concentration and break me out of the deer-in-headlights mindset.
"Looks like a lover's quarrel to me." LOOOVERS?! My brain screeched.
I whirled my face around to stare in blatant disbelief.
"Did you miss the entire part of me telling you that he tried to kill me?!"
"That?" His shoulders hopped with a scoff. "We usually call that foreplay." What else could my mouth do but hang open? Hopeless. These morons were hopeless! Going to them and telling them what had occurred had been for nothing! Instead of showing any minimal ounce of concern, they crack jokes. GO FIGURE, HUH? Well fuck it! Whatever!
My courage made a reappearance.
Snapping my face around to aim my hatred at Freddy, I jutted an index up at him; "You," His head shifted to see me. He might have had all of the control back in that Hell world, but here? By damn, I at least had a tiny portion of it! Well, being this angry that is. This I could tell he didn't believe, because already his mouth inched its way to that accursed smirk. My fingertip jabbed in fury; "You stay the Hell out of my dreams!"
That smirk grew a smidge larger. His right hand climbed high to flaunt itself, spreading the dastardly knives in a show. Each blade reflected sunlight as if it were also challenging me; "Or what?"
A plethora of violent suggestions reeled through my mind that I could offer, but with him sneering down at me..Making myself actually say them out loud felt ridiculous and improbable beyond belief. Especially when one stopped to think about the fact that the last time we had been this close, I hadn't been near this brave or upfront. I had been quivering underneath him, begging for his mercy. 'Puh-p-pleeaasee Freddy, don't kiiilll meee!' Pathetic! Who the fuck was I kidding? There stood about a one hundred percent chance that he would laugh in my face if I seriously went through with the temptation.
Unable to provide a hateful remark or a violent comeback, I settled for the only thing I could do: Accept defeat, and accept it bitterly. Obviously they didn't care what happened to me as long as I benefitted them. Yelling and tattling had gotten me nowhere. I was wasting my breath. They weren't on my side. I had to remember that. Turning my face aside, I mumbled dispassionately; "Don't worry about it."
And walked my way out.
Screw them. Screw all of them, Freddy most of all despite whatever weirdo feelings our interaction had given me. Yet it hurt. It hurt that they hadn't seemed that bothered at all by my extreme appearance or the fact that I was painted with my own blood. Who knew what that whacko ghost would do with that photo of me. Likely something deprived and sick. I had more than my fair share of shit to worry about, and frankly I wasn't in the mood to stress over another thing. I'd let the crazies do their crazy stuff.
Go back in there!
As long as it did not involve me, that was fine.
You're letting him get away with it!
Ignoring myself, I moved ahead. All I would concern myself with right now would be putting myself back together. Washing away the grime and the ash and my blood, and doing what was expected of me to survive this egregious arrangement of ours. Afterwards, I'd finally put some food in my stomach and regain whatever energy I could to deal with today. Then eventually figure out what to do about sleeping.
I'd do it. Living and making it out of this hostage..Roommates scenario..Whatever the fuck it was, would be my way to get back at him for the time being until something better came along.
What was the alternative? Lay down and die?
So I pulled myself up every step of the foyer's staircase in hopes of going to th-
"DON'T FORGET YOU'RE COOKIN' TODAY!"
Stalling just long enough to cast the weight of my head back over my shoulder, I gave the entitled toy what felt like my darkest expression. Unfortunately it appeared as though it had gone entirely unwitnessed seeing as there was no small redheaded doll staring back at me from the kitchen entry. Only the show of the door closing from where I assumed he had just been.
The look of my face soured further. I threw my head back around and stomped on, grumbling aloud in the stupidest, whiniest version of his voice possible; "Dooon't foorrget yoouu'ree cookiingg todaay," God! I had almost died, and that's all that he was concerned about? Food? A growl of disgust and anger crawled out from my throat.
The peripheral view of Nathaniel standing guard by the banister, magically no longer in the kitchen, became more realized when I grumpily moved past him. I had only finished venomously spewing the words "fucking doll" when it dawned on me.
Finally realizing that he was right there and that he hadn't been a minute ago, I jerked my head up in surprise to actually look at him. Nathaniel had his forearms posed on the decorative crest of the rail already smiling like he'd been waiting for me. And as always, the smile did not achieve any semblance of a genuine greeting. Instead it came off as it typically did, like that of a cat smiling through its teeth at a mouse; Odd teeth on display, his fiery gaze half-lidded, and fixated a little too intensely on my own. My dad's mug was nowhere to be seen. Likely, it had been left abandoned down below with the rest of them.
I blinked back at him, before my anger remembered itself; "What do you want?"
"You are awfully cranky this morning," He mused. That head-lofted amusement did not wane as it tilted to wonder to me. "Did you, wake up on the right side of the bed?"
My nose crinkled at him. "First of all, it's not the right side of the bed. It's the wrong side of the bed, okay? Let's get that straight to start. Secondly? I don't know what it is exactly that you find so goddamn funny, but I'd really appreciate it if you'd wipe that fucking smirk off your face. Lastly? Am I cranky? Yeah! I'm pretty fucking cranky, Nathaniel. Maybe you can guess why?"
Surely he could since the answer was pretty much written all over me.
"Perhaps you would not be so cranky if you had accepted my offer. Just imagine the nice sleep you would have gotten instead if you had." Was said rather pointedly.
Okay, could that have been true? Probably.
Did him flaunting that in my face help how I felt in any way? No.
Scowling, I brushed past him in lieu of the hall. I knew he would follow, so I didn't bother to turn my head to address him. My hands and arms motioned about, ranting above the sound of his footsteps tracking mine; "Perhaps I wouldn't be so cranky if my house, and my life, hadn't been taken over by monsters! You come in here, turn my life upside down, you eat my food, you threaten and insult me, completely rid me of any sanity and security I have left, and I'm supposed to put a fucking smile on my face and take it!?"
"I do not do those things."
I spun on my heel to glare at him. This seemed to make him think better of the previous claim.
"Some of those things." He amended.
"No, but they do!" One of my arms helped to motion in the direction of the below space to point out the 'they' part. "You're pretty much the only one that doesn't do some of it. You're the only one that seems to want to listen to me and treat me like a human being and I'm thankful that you do bu-"
He took a short step towards me and narrowed his eyes; "The tone of your voice does not suggest that you are."
That alone put my tirade on pause. A visible curl to his mouth, not at all an entertained one, had me feel vaguely threatened. Combine that with the harshness of his stare had my face unsure whether or not it should lose or gain some color to it.
Was I already making another mistake? Was that all I was good at? Fucking up, and making people mad at me? And evidently want to slaughter me? I had a right to be so distraught! There was no way he couldn't see that I did!
Under his heated watch right now though, I couldn't refrain from shrinking a bit. He seemed to be the only one, maybe aside from Jason, that could be capable of kindness. And in a household full of malicious people, I needed that. Maybe not as much as he needed me..
…
..Actually..
That wasn't true, was it?
'This is the shape in which my chains come,' Sudden imagery of him holding aloft that curious red gemstone unearthed itself from my memories. I recalled so well the melancholy emanating from his face and posture; The way his shoulders had sagged to confess a want so seemingly innocent, his eyes and fist closing around the object in his grasp; Admitting his grievance to a poor, overly stressed eighteen year old with her own set of problems. 'My only want is to be freed from it. Then I will know peace.'
Peace. Could I give that to him? Was that all he wanted?
'He passed before he could grant me my freedom.'
Peace and freedom? I had asked him upfront.
'What is it that you want from me?'
'I want you to accept my offer.'
The damned offer. Those damned wishes. I wasn't necessarily jumping for joy at the thought of making them, yet that didn't change one important fact: Being that Nathaniel did need me. Potentially as much as I needed him.
And when two people need each other, they have to look out for one another. Otherwise, the mutual goal never gets accomplished. So that meant I had to look out for the thousand year old genie, even if he was particularly skilled at being a royal pain in my ass.
Which ultimately means we can't look out for each other if we're too busy butting heads to do it. I had to put my ego on hold. At least long enough to keep this weird alliance of ours intact.
Slouching with brief acceptance, I sighed; "I'm sorry," Locking eyes with him, my head gingerly shook to convey with strained sincerity. "I, I'm not angry at you..I mean, I'm kind of angry at you because at the very least you could have told me about Freddy being able to sneak into my sleep like that. Kind of fucked up that you didn't. I'm mostly angry at them, and I-I'm angry at me..I don't mean to raise my voice at you. I'm just so upset and I need a minute. A long, long minute to just take this in and sort it out, because just when I thought things can't get worse, they fucking do."
With those last words vomited, I decided to punctuate it by slinking down and petulantly sitting criss-cross applesauce in the hallway: Completely fine to be drained and miserable right then and there.
Nathaniel's head lowered to watch, though he did not do so with curiosity or intrigue, or even a trace of sympathy. Those green, aged features of his wrinkled with disgust. Apparently done to reprimand me; "Do not sit on the floor."
My face twisted into an offended grimace at the unexpected chastising. Not even a 'thank you' or a 'I appreciate it'? No explanation either? My afflicted ego took back the controls over my mouth to shoot back at him above me; "Why, too dirty for you? I'm already dirty! What's a little more dirt, huh?"
His black mouth thinned while he squinted; "You are the one to say it. There are other cultures that gather as such to sit and converse."
I turned up my nose at him as much as I could; "Okay, then why are you looking at me like that?" Him standing over me certainly did not alleviate the feeling that I was getting of him looking down on me.
"Because you are behaving childishly."
…
Childishly?
CHILDISHLY? AFTER EVERYTHING I HAD BEEN THROUGH?
For a second, the umbrage I felt soared to such a high extent my brain couldn't even process it. It teetered so stupidly high that it almost erased itself; Changed into a sort of dumb calm. I truly blanked. He doubled down on it by turning up his own nose.
"Me?" My hand patted at my grimy, red tank as though to help make sense of this, as though to make sure I had understood that correctly. It had my head rock and bob stubbornly to ask in undisguised disbelief; "I'm behaving childishly?"
His features relaxed into a mold of a lecturing figure. It was amazing how simple the next words sounded, and just how unbothered he came across saying this to my face. With each added sentence of his reply, Nathaniel's head tilted and moved; "You sit on the ground and pout. You whine. You are a baby."
"A…Baby?"
"It is weak. It is beneath you."
Weak. Yeah, that's what I was. That's how I had felt. Weak. Powerless. Pitiful…Trapped underneath him. Unable to move or change the course of how things were going. Robbed of my own will as I had to lay there in the sweltering heat of my nightmare, forced to take it. Forced to breathe in my own sweat and blood and the smells of him pressed against m-
My lip trembled, but whether with sadness or fury, I could not discern which. The words I really wanted to say couldn't come out. My mind raced to make them possible or credible. Tried to frantically scrawl and rearrange the mental letters so that they could be perfect when they came out of my mouth, so that Nathaniel could understand…But I couldn't. Nothing sounded good enough, and instead of lashing out with what actually needed to be talked about, I lashed out with something that didn't even matter, something petty and less meaningful;
"Oh I'm sorry. I didn't realize that I wasn't allowed to whine. What, you gonna take that away from me too?" Take, take, take. That's all they had been doing so far with their stay here. Taking and not giving.
Yet here came the softer recollection of Nathaniel picking grass from my hair to counter my turmoil. He hadn't taken anything from me in that moment. Nothing but the blades of grass and the incoming tears, and in their place, he had actually given me something. Advice to deal with them. An urging to keep my head high. An inkling of my own peace..
"Not unless you wish me to."
I stared up at him with warring emotions. Was he looking out for me even now? My troubled gaze found that of myself. I let my eyes roam over the filth and the blood and the overall mess, over my arms and legs clustered together on the ground. Fine, I could have handled this a tad better. Spoken to him not like a tantrum-throwing child exclaiming my arguments and petty lines at his knees and shins, but rather like a calm adult face-to-face. It was true, I could have done that.
However, this could have also been handled a lot worse. All things considered, I think I had done fairly fine even if future me would consider this an embarrassing moment later on. After all, there had been a reason for my 'childish' behavior. Multiple reasons, all over my body. This evidence, at least, did not have to be verbally perfected.
I let my face lift from my earlier study to gaze back up at him; "Well I don't. And since I don't intend to do that, it's your lucky day, because I have an assortment of problems that I can whine all about to you," I perked up with feigned vigor as he continued to watch, chirping with a passive aggressive enthusiasm so fierce it had his brow raise. "Not only that, I just so happen to have a nice, wide selection of wounds you can heal, too!"
Alright, so maybe I had some left over pettiness and animosity. Can you blame me?
Raising both of my arms outward in front of me, I allowed my head to angle towards the various streaks of dried blood and marred skin as if to proudly showcase the damage that Freddy had done; "Let's see here!"
First my chin tipped in the way of my inner right arm. "We have blaaddes.." Then my chin directed his attention to my opposite forearm. "Ooooh, and next there's doogg biite!" After that my face reared backwards to sarcastically cheer; "Oh, and don't forget this one! This one's the real prize." One of my hands sped up to the lengthy cut on my cheek, so that a finger could jut out at it. "Go ahead, take your pick! Come back tomorrow and I'm bound to be riddled with even more shit!" There I finished with a beaming smile and the most forced thumbs-up I had ever done in my life.
Nathaniel did not appear amused nor impressed. His mouth pursed, and he studied the damage I had so goofily boasted to him. After that? I got to witness the incredibly absurd show of him attempting to roll his eyes at me. Those twin, fiery irises rose, held their raised elevation, and then fell back down; Like he had just mentally griped to some part of the ceiling about how irked he was. Before I could let him know that that had offended me, he took my chance away;
"Then I will heal them."
He started to sink. First his hands went back to prevent the train of his cape from being stepped on and hindering his movement. Second, his feet shifted to change his stance. With a motion that came oh so gallantly, Nathaniel carefully dropped to sit on the hardwood floor of the hallway with me. The childish human.
I couldn't even say the retort. I didn't even blink as I took in the show of him maneuvering his weight and bulk to sit over his folded knees. He knocked back both of his hands to swipe the red fabric away and he straightened into his usual air; Chest ahead, face high. One of his dark tendrils writhed and slithered in place while my eyes drank the sight of this in.
He had brought himself down to my level. There existed only one thing I could ask right about now, and that was; "Why?"
I guess he hadn't caught on to the validity of my shock at this. His expression was lax, entirely unconcerned with the surprise on my face. His hands reached out to me, his gaze only set on my dirtied skin; "So you can stop being a baby."
I couldn't help the frown. Strangely enough, his mouth inched upwards at the sight. It quickly dissipated and his sharp fingertips waved for me to give him my arms. Maybe he thought I didn't notice, but I did. Faced with the abrupt intimacy of his company, of him so near to me offering me yet another kindness that he did not have to give, I didn't stew over the detail long. A shade of red ghosted over my facial features and I scooted awkwardly towards him; A series of shy, half-hearted tries before I was deemed close enough for him to take both of my arms in his hands. I uncomfortably cleared my throat.
God this was so…Weird. Some ancient demon sitting on the floor of my house with me, like we're about to hold hands and fucking sing Kumbaya, all because he had magical healing powers and was 'nice enough' to use them.
And the funny part about it? It wasn't even the weirdest thing in my house right now.
Choosing not to leap into the hysterics of my situation, or become even more distracted by his hands grasping my limbs, I dove for the real heart of the matter I wanted to get to. His previous answer hadn't been what I was looking for. I needed more than him potentially teasing me. "You said I could be blunt with you, so why are you so nice to me?"
"Then be blunt with me quietly." 'Quietly' had become a growl with a short yank of one of my arms; A strong emphasis to quickly make me remember that we were not alone, and that I ought to watch what came out of my mouth when there were others nearby. The measly distance my upper body had crossed just by him tugging me by the elbow, halved the gap between our faces. As you can guess, my easily-embarrassed self did not take this too well.
Blood filled my countenance and he watched it with some semblance of interest. Forcing my gaze away from his, I made it a valiant effort of physically retreating with my head to keep my composure and make my point.
"So why?" I whispered.
Hand still wrapped tightly around my arm, his own voice lowered to nearly match mine; "Must I need a reason?"
A move, more daring than I expected of myself in that moment, came in the view of me reattaching my gaze to his; "Yes," When I refused to break the stare we shared, he did it himself. Him looking away first provided all the courage I required. "Well..You might not need it, but I do."
Casually leaning back and loosening the grip on my elbow, Nathaniel busied himself with eyeing the flesh partially in his lap. He let his curiously-shaped talons trail down the path of my inner forearm, from the bend at my elbow, down, down, down towards my wrist. Their fine points left tingling sensations in their wake, featherlight and ticklish. He watched his fingertips glide over the skin as he spoke;
"You said it is unfair. I am evening the odds. Besides, as much as I enjoy taking part when it amuses me, this house has enough bickering in it. Squabbling grows tiresome, and I will treat you how you want to be treated. If you would rather I degrade and break you, so be it. But until then, a little peace is needed now and again."
A mini silence enveloped us then; One that had been created because I had had no comeback. No quip or point to make in return. His consideration for me had left me speechless. My mouth struggled with voicing any bit of gratitude, so I hoped it could be seen through my face. Quietly I watched him work his talents, permitted him to have his hands travel and smooth a warm path back up my arms. Once each hand got to the segments of damage on either side hidden under the lackluster bandaging of mine, there they stopped and stayed to cup the marks in his palms.
The initial touch earned a hiss of pain, though shortly after my eyes fell closed and I exhaled some tension from my shoulders. I didn't mean to have it come out, but the sentence slipped out of me like slipping into a warm bath after a hard, stressful day;
"I wished for you." But it was out. I couldn't just vacuum the fucking words back in and pretend like I hadn't just said that. What was done was done. I let it go, and it felt nice to be able to impulsively tell another person, even if they were a genie/demon/monster man, about my feelings. Having all of my shit constantly bottled..It…It took its toll. Outside of that, I hoped that Nathaniel would grant me an explanation since he hadn't granted any of my desperate wishes back in the nightmare world. I was not entitled to his mercy, but he at least owed me that. Especially after continuously insisting that he had wanted me to make wishes, and the moment I finally made them, nothing had happened. Curiosity had me crack my eyes open to see how he would respond.
He froze for a second. The second threatened to spill over, to greedily take another to let his own brain process what had come out of my mouth. His eyes flicked to my own, and they seared through me in that brief instant. His teeth almost seemed to glare at me, but then it eased.
"You wished for me?" His chuckle carried a bit after the question. While the other stayed over where Freddy's dog had bitten my arm, the other hand tapped at his torso with a back end of a black fingerclaw to say a little too softly, a little too sweetly; "I am touched."
An outright scoff tore itself from my mouth, and I redistributed my weight. That hand drifted back down to the four, partially bandaged parallel cuts on my forearm. I said quickly, as not to let that engorge his pride; "I was in trouble at the time. If I'm being honest, I think I went over my wishing limit."
That immense concentration that had lingered in his stare a few moments ago came right back. He hovered forward however close he could to try and take my attention, and his strange tone growled; "What were they?"
"Oh you know," My head canted and I let out a nervous, stressed kind of chuckle, partially unnerved by the sudden fixation. I rolled my eyes in an easy-going, jokey kind of manner. "Things you typically want when you're being chased by monster dogs and you're not sure whether or not you're going to die.." Any former entertainment at the notion faded and actively receded from my visage. I proceeded more seriously and with a slightly accusatory tone. "Either way, none of them came true. I needed you and you weren't there."
That fierce intrigue dimmed. His lips puffed…Was he pouting?
"You are upset with me."
No duh. "Clearly."
"Then allow me to make this clear to you.." His hands finally came away from their places, and I was dumbly taken aback when one of them approached my face. When I visibly jumped against the palm holding my hurt cheek, he didn't let it deter him. There his hand pressed, the shape and weight of his thumb below my eye, and his words went on even as my cheek warmed; "If I would have heard your wishes, I would have granted them. I possess a great deal of power, yes, but I cannot use it quite as freely as I would like. I do have.." His cadence lowered like an old fruit gently plucked from a branch. The following term arrived during a quick grimace. "Limitations...Had you accepted my previous offer, I would have been able to assist."
And just like that, his hand went away. Through a bashful flutter of my eyelashes, I spied him settling back on his folded legs. He hadn't even needed to undo the tied strips of my shirt over my injuries…Probably because they hadn't been proper or ideal for binding wounds to block access to them.
Such is life.
"As it stands, your wounds are no longer."
"That wasn't.." I had to make myself blurt the truth, no matter how warm it left my face to do it. I did not possess an iota of medical prowess. There was more to attend to, and if I didn't want to suffer any potential infections or scars, I would have to have him know. "..All of them."
He went still. With his eyes on mine, only his mouth moved; "There are more?"
Way more. Honestly just in general, more than there ever should have been. Three, but three was past enough. More marks and scrapes in places no one should touch. At least not for possibly murderous…Roommates…Whatever the Hell they were to me. But I wasn't about to show them off out here, that was for damn sur-
"Show them to me." It sounded every bit like the demand it was.
Such a forward command directed at me scrambled my brain into mush. I stumbled with activating my tongue; "..They're…Um..I-I can't out here. I'll show you, just..Not out here.." My eyes caught sight of something beyond him and it only served to amplify my reasoning. Looking insistently past his shoulder, I urged; "..Somewhere more private."
Nathaniel turned himself enough to look.
The ridiculous stock of Jason Voorhees, machete and all, met his eyes in return as the giant stood by the entrance of Max's room, having just come out of it. I tried to give Jason a small, everything-is-fine-don't-worry-about-little-old-me smile, but as per usual, his reaction was nearly impossible to comprehend..
Except for the clenching of his machete-free fist.
Side-glancing at me, Nathaniel replied; "Very well." As he set upon the motions of getting himself back to his feet, I rushed to follow. Though my frantic attempt to stand and untangle my legs took a fleeting pause when I caught the sight of one of Nathaniel's shoes.
Shoes. Okay, hear me out. Under normal circumstances, his footwear would have been a dumb thing to be distracted by. However, these were not normal circumstances, and what Nathaniel wore were not normal shoes.
What encased his feet looked akin to decorative sandals. A shoe with no laces or complex way to be worn, only a simple slide-on. These were heavily embroidered, consisting of small, swirled designs segmented into impeccably woven patterns. Handcrafted, but by who? They had a hardness to them, and...Bizarrely, a curled pointed toe. Not to an excessive degree. A half curl. A crescent shape that curled inward to the foot. And just ahead of the seam around the hole in the footwear, curled another, much smaller identical part to face it..
And...And..
Oh my god, he's wearing heels.
There in fact, was a short, stubby little heel to be seen behind it all.
How the actual shit did I not notice this before? THIS DEMON MAN WAS WEARING CURLY-HEELED SHOES. LIKE A GODDAMN ELF FROM THE NORTH POLE. JUST LIKE THE GENIE FROM GODDAMN ALADDIN!
Like a baffled cartoon character, I had to shake my head to get my thoughts clear, like I hadn't almost had a tiny mental breakdown over his shoes. As he brushed himself off, like his appearance wasn't already immaculate, I turned my back on Jason and headed for the bathroom, trying desperately not to let my head explode by how hot it felt.
Swooping into the small room and out of the hockey player's eyesight felt like a burden being relinquished. Yet any relief I felt instantaneously sprinted away from me when I heard the bathroom door shut behind me. The click of the door coming to a close had me instinctively leap enough so that the balls of my feet left the tile. Hastily I turned, bumping into the barrier of the sink to stare at Nathaniel with his hand still on the doorknob.
He regarded me rather sternly, looking strangely displeased; "You are jumpier than usual."
I breathed out a reply while my hands helped anchor me in place along the line of the basin; "I…Sorry. As you can see, I'm on edge today."
"Clearly," It left in the precise way I had personally uttered it to him earlier. He didn't let time be wasted to dredge up how that could make me feel. Nathaniel cut straight to the point. "Where are they?" His gaze made fast work of seeking out what remaining damage was left that could be found. Almost immediately, his gaze burned hot on my stomach, certainly on the sight of the two twin lines that had to be there thanks to Freddy's glove. "Is that all?"
He took a step forward.
I nervously weaseled myself away. I could feel him staring down my back while I crossed the space to the bathtub. My fingers sought each other to fidget and I stammered; "Th-That's not all, there's one more," Chewing on my lip, I peered down at the white rim of the tub before spinning around to seat myself on its edge. Far too nervous to care that I had sat on a good portion of my hair, I interlocked my digits. I confessed softer than I meant to. "It's on my hip."
His hand drew away from its placement on the knob and another step was taken.
"Wait!"
He stopped.
I blabbered nervously; "It's..You can't really see it right now because it's covered. I have to um," Oh God, I actually have to say this out loud. What kind of lame rom-com dialogue is this? My cheeks grew all the more scorching. It became a struggle not to mumble the rest. "..Undress a little so you can get to it. So..Can you uh, not look please? While I do this?"
Head falling to the side, he groused; "Whatever you do not want me to see, I will see it anyway."
I shot back, fairly aggravated to huff; "Well humor me, okay? I don't make it a habit of undressing in front of people I barely know, so I would appreciate a little courtesy."
A part of his top lip inched up to click his teeth; "You humans and your dignities."
"Please?"
The moment of silence between us went on too long. Him standing there, looking as though I had asked him to do the stupidest thing imaginable, and me practically begging him to go through with it in spite of his irritation. Seconds transpired and when I thought I couldn't bear it any more, a sound emerged from him. Hardly audible. A lasting stretch of air to fill his armored chest that kept going and going until it harshly expelled itself through his nostrils.
To nasally sigh. At me.
"..Fine." I was surprised further when he actually turned away from me altogether. His trailing cape swished with him when he did. I was grateful, though far too shy to announce it. That, and way too socially inept to do it.
"You..You won't peek?"
"I will not peek."
"You promise?"
He turned for half a second, giving me a short-lived view of his side profile to show off his frustration. Both of his head-tendrils writhed with emotion. Hand raised for emphasis, he cut himself short; "I-" His broad shoulders slumped and he heaved a more shallow, less deep sigh through his mouth. The raised hand slapped down to the side of his garments and he faced towards the door. "I will not peek." He said again.
Keeping my eyes on him the entire time, I distractedly undid the drawstrings of my capris. Seeing the rare view of Nathaniel's back to me, it had me weirdly transfixed by his bald, twin tendril-sprouting head. Wow uh, those tentacles really do wrap all the way around the back of his head, huh? What the Hell were those anyway? Slimy horns? Antennae? Brain tentacles aside, suddenly this felt like the strangest doctor visit; Only my doctor was green with curly goddamn elf shoes and one thousand fucking years old…And was a genie, AND NOT A FUCKING DOCTOR.
Shut up, me. Take a breath. Just untie the goddamn drawstrings, and get this over with. Right. Do this. Get it done, and hopefully, we would never have to repeat this again, let alone mention it. I'd pretend this never, ever happened. He'd pretend this never, ever happened, and we'd aalll liivee happily ever after. The end-
"Are you finished?"
Startled out of my poor attempts to keep myself composed, I tensed in alarm that he might turn around prematurely; "No! No, not yet! Don't look yet!" He had the audacity to drop his head back in exasperation. I sputtered loudly; "Just keep your pants on! I'm..I'm, just give me a minute!"
"You are the one not keeping your pants on."
"I AM KEE-" My hands left the waistline of my bottoms to cover my face. Taking a breath for myself, I restated much more calmly; "I AM keeping them on. I don't intend to take them off, alright? I'm just, only tugging them down a little bit."
The red line of his shoulders hopped as he chuffed.
Shaking my head to myself, I made a soft complaint; "Geez." With the strings undone, I shimmed the trim of my pants down some. Leaning over on my left hip, I pulled the right side of my capris down askew. That left the side band of my underwear exposed to the room and his back. Dipping my view forward to judge whether or not the view could be too scandalous, I made some adjustments and settled. Staring warily at the rear side of him, cape and all, my pulse went all but erratic in my ears.
Get it over with. Get it over with. Getitoverw-
"Okay.." I wet my lips. "You can look now." Even as I said it, I didn't want him to, but I couldn't be a baby about it. Nathaniel had accused me of being a baby, and I wasn't about to prove him right. My injuries needed to be attended to. I needed to woman up, for fuck sake.
Any and all thought of 'womaning up' vanished from my brain the moment he turned around.
I sucked in a breath and waited.
That forever smoldering eye contact he gave so well, pinned me in place. He held me visually captive for a moment longer, before letting his gaze sink over me from across the little room. My body felt like it was blushing. Why did he always have to look at me like? Sear through my flesh and soul, straight through me? Just how many times was I going to be in this scenario? Frozen under someone else's eyes, having to let them scrutinize every single detail until they got their fill? I expected this agonizing minute to last on, but incredibly it did not. Nathaniel took a half step, yet did not go to take another one. His eyes met my own from across the space. Mouth flexing oddly, he overly enunciated to ask; "May I approach?" Why did it sound as though his patience was being tested? Well even if it was, I appreciated it. Evidently he was putting up with my childish behavior to soothe me. The instant recalling of him listening when I told him to 'wait!' rang through my mind. Tension left me in the smallest increment.
Inhaling and exhaling, I answered; "Yes. Yes, you may."
Hesitation diminished from his steps. Smoothly he walked over. Every step made it increasingly challenging to ignore my heart rate. The closer he came, the more unhinged my overthinking got.
Oh. Ohshitwhydoeshewalksofast!? Okay, okay. It's fine. This is fine. Iiimmaaginee he's your doctor. Your reeaalllyy really green doctor. Oh wait, fuck..How am I..? How are we supposed to do this? Trying to rapidly map out how this was supposed to go became a nightmare sequence of mental flashes. Every suggestion of a proper positioning dissuaded me more and more. Every single thing that could have popped into my brain seemed to be a fuck of a lot more intimate and awkward than I was prepared to endure. Does he kneel in front of me? Or do I move my legs apart so they're not in the way? OH GOD, THAT SOUNDS A LOT MORE SEXUAL WHEN I THINK IT IN MY HEAD-
His feet deposited him right in front of me. Anxiously blinking up at him, all I could manage was a fairly braindead-sounding "uuuhh.." as I tried to think of how to maneuver myself for him to get to my other injuries.
As always, my overthinking turned out to be for nothing when Nathaniel simply solved every one of my problems by just sweeping away his cape and sitting right next to me on the tub's rim. Oh.
I watched him scoot and turn and I cautiously mirrored his motions. Planting my left hand farther down the edge of the tub, I leaned myself over to put myself at a slant so that he might have proper space to see what he had to work with, while also trying to keep my stomach angled in his direction. Christ, this was so much more awkward and revealing than I had hoped for: Hip out trying not to show my ass, half of my yellow undies on show, and stomach bared. I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut so I didn't have to see this. Don't think about it! "Is this, um…Is this fine?"
I had been hoping for a more verbal confirmation in return, so when it came in the much more physical and unexpected form of his hand grasping the left side of my waist, my breath hitched. His palm cupped the side of my body and firmly pulled to influence me to twist a bit farther for his viewing. My right arm hung gracelessly at a neglected angle.
"It will do." His other hand followed suit, putting both hands around my middle. Nathaniel's head dipped down to peer at the almost identical nicks on either side of my belly button. Sliding his palms lower and closer over both marks, he let the majority of his fingers rest against the slope in my waist. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from wincing at the sting.
Meanwhile I thanked God that he had enough sense to keep his gaze to what he was doing, and that he wasn't trying to engage eye contact. That did not make this any easier to deal with however. A new internal struggle manifested, and the source of it I knew, came from that unknown fascination I still could not name.
It caused me to be ungodly aware of him. To be hypersensitive to his touch. I fought not to squirm. Fought an unfair battle to breathe normally as if this wasn't affecting me in ways I didn't know how to deal with.
To have hands on my body that did not intend to cause harm..
Hands that were not my own.
This, it wasn't at all like what I had experienced with Freddy. Not at all the same under his watch. Under his gaze. The sensation came gently, followed after with consideration. Unlike anything I had ever been subjected to. Familial touch was personal, but not as personal as this. A kiss or a hug carried an incredibly different feel when it came from your parents or your siblings. Those came naturally and without confusion.
This kind of interaction though. This kind of touch…Was the kind that had never been meant for me. It was the sort that I had always longed for but never received. The kind I giggled and squealed over in the romance novels lining my bookshelf, trying to put myself in a love interest's shoes. Trying in vain to imagine myself in their place. Experiencing and feeling what I never had..
But always wanted.
The dawning truth had been announced and comprehended like a plate being dropped on the floor. My eyes widened. I tried to play it off like they hadn't just done that, and hoped that he was much too invested in healing me, than watching my face.
Wait. Wait, wait, wait. No. That couldn't be what that fascination was, could it? Fuck, my dumbass brain! What was I doing?! He and I weren't-
The murderous men I harbored in my house were not meant to be romantic interests. THEY WERE NOT MEANT FOR THESE KINDS OF FEELINGS. SO STOP THAT. STOP FEELING THAT WAY WHEN THEY TOUCH YOU!
How else to explain it or make sense of it? What other reasoning would there be for my not being able to get flashbacks of those instances out of my head? Before they had crashed into my mundane life, I had never had any interactions as intense or jarring as these. No one had ever given their attention to me so intimately before. It would fluster anyone in my position! Who could have been prepared for any of this!?
First it had been Creeper wrestling me down in the back yard, with his tongue against my arm.
Then it had been Freddy in my horrible dream, pinning me against a desk.
And now? NOW THIS! With Nathaniel's encouraging words and caring touches!
It wasn't my fault that they couldn't keep their hands and intentions to themselves!
Regardless, the ugly truth was coming out: That in some way or another, I had liked being on the receiving end of those scenarios…Even if they had terrified me, too. The moral of this story should be NOT TO LIKE MEN THAT TRY TO KILL YOU. That message hit easily. A little too easily actually. It was one that I agreed with.
So perhaps it wasn't so much that I liked them..Maybe it just happened to be the attention I liked.
..Was I really that desperate for a physical connection with another being? Holy shit. Just when I thought I couldn't possibly be more hopeless! IS THIS WHAT STOCKHOLM SYNDROME FEELS LIKE? IT'S ONLY BEEN LIKE TWO DAYS! THESE FUCKERS ARE BRAINWASHING ME, AREN'T THEY?
Suffice to say, I could not focus.
You're stupid, Jennifer! You. Are. Insane. So calm down. Caalmm. Let him do his thing. Don't make this more than it is. You're not crushing on a goddamn genie, or an overly toasted chunk of malevolent hamburger in the shape of a man, or a flying seemingly mute demon. Fuuuuccking reeeellaax.
Yeah. Relax. Give a shitty excuse.
It's just nice when I'm touched, that's all.
...So that sounded a lot more sad than I anticipated.
Oh how I tried. Tried to end this battle of personal wits by focusing on other things; Like the shower curtain, or his funny shoes, or the floor tile. My hand pressed against the porcelain held such an immense contrast though; A jarring difference between its cold and hard exterior when matched with the warmth and cushion of Nathaniel's hands…And how I knew that I would be disappointed when they left.
Fuck, they just had to come into my life, huh? Had to just barge right in and make me realize how lonely I'd been all this time. Grab me and pin me and get way too close to my face and throw me around and say kind of teasing, promiscuous things..They really had no concept of personal space, and evidently, I enjoyed that they didn't!
It wasn't fair.
'Silly girl.'
It wasn't fair at all.
"This is in the way." Unfortunately my mind did not register that. It only did register that Nathaniel possibly said anything whatsoever when he waggled a talon at the band of fabric hugging my hip. Blinking out of my losing battle, I tipped my face down to look. His hands had come away from their places, leaving only smooth, filthy skin where the damage had once been.
That singular black talon waggled once more at it; "Will you move this, or must I do it?"
"Ah, sorry!" My hands raced forward before he could make good on the maybe-threat. "I-I'll do it." I faltered as I debated whether to tug the fabric up or down. NOT DOWN! NOT DOWN! Warmth fled to my face and neck while I carefully slipped my fingers underneath and lifted the part that required lifting.
Pain flared within the trio of cuts. Whimpering at the sensation, I had to pull a tad harder to heft it up and away. The fabric put up a slight fight, and it had everything to do with the dried blood making my underwear stick to the wounds. Narrow slits in its fabric were revealed, proving all too clearly that Freddy's blades had not only sliced through my pants, but through that bit of my panties as well.
It had to be the least grisly injury I had, and thankfully now it was the last. Crumpling that stretch of fabric in my fist, I pulled it taut up along my hip bone so Nathaniel could easily get to the section he needed to. In addition, I made sure to angle my hip closer to his.
I could not bring my eyes to that fire-colored gaze, yet I could feel him scanning the three, red lines between us.
"I was wrong," His gravelly voice came quietly. Words I would have never expected coming from him made me look. A solemnness that I hadn't expected either, resided along the lines of his face. I waited to hear what about.
"You are not weak." My irises averted. A tightness seized my heart, followed by a light fluttering in my stomach. Silently I watched his hand come near my thigh and soon come down, gingerly and firmly over my right hip. I set my jaw to refrain from making a noise. The dried blood and shredded material must have caused it to smart more than the others. From under his palm and fingers, I watched the bloodied lines gradually disappear.
What he said next caught me off-guard.
"..Though you are still a baby."
Simultaneously we locked eyes. His mouth quirked.
And for the first time today, against all the odds, I smiled.
