Eyes of the Divine (Yandere!Eyeless Jack X GN!Reader)

T is for Trauma

You'd been staring at your phone screen for at least twenty minutes, yet nothing in the picture seemed to make sense. It wasn't an event that you remembered happening, even though the version of you immortalised in the file seemed to be the happiest you'd ever seen yourself, and it brought a knot in your chest the longer you looked at the beam on your face.

The picture was taken late at night, a few hours after Greg had visited (something you remembered thanks to a timestamp on a separate image). Dressed in your pyjamas, you had a controller in hand, and were beaming at the camera with the satisfaction of someone who had just won an online match.

'Was I...?' Brows furrowed, you powered on your console, entered the only online game you had and checked the logs that went back to when you first started playing. Sure enough, about a dozen or so matches took place on the night the picture was taken—and, much to your surprise, you had won most of them despite it being in a game mode that you very rarely played.

There was more then just a picture. Not even fifteen minutes later, a video had been taken, and when you hesitantly pressed 'play', it took all of your strength to keep watching.

'—you camping little shit,' the you in the video cursed, eyes fixed on the TV screen as your fingers expertly moved the sticks on the controller in your hands.

The person behind the camera laughed quietly. 'Just go up behind them.'

'I'm trying, but they're too high up for—are you recording me?'

'Maybe,' the recorder said.

'EJ, you're meant to be helping me,' you whined, sticking out your tongue even though you could only glance out of the corner of your eyes.

'I am helping,' EJ retorted, 'but you didn't like my help.'

'I take it back, I did like your help, now please help me win this match?'

EJ gave an exaggerated sigh, then said, 'If you insist. You may just have to sneak about and go up behind them. Go to the left, while they're all busy scrapping in the middle.' He continued to give instructions, getting more and more excited as the match got closer to the end. The camera had moved so it was facing the TV screen.

In the last few seconds, the player you were so desperately trying to kill killed you at the same time as you killed them, earning a thrilled cheer.

'Take that, you arse!' you crowed, 'EJ you're an absolute godsend.'

The camera went black, and a soft grunt was heard. The world came back into view a few seconds later, showing you squeezing the life out of a man wearing a dark blue mask.

'Attempted murder in action, culprit is (Y/N) (L/N),' EJ rasped out, a dull grey hand finding its place on your back. 'Video evidence located on their phone.'

'Shut up, Mr Dramatic,' you laughed out before the video stopped, leaving the real you sat in silence, staring at a blur of colours.

Your chest felt empty, as if someone had carved out the flesh and bone and left you with a gaping hole for everyone to see. The recording of your laugh drilled into your skull as though a tiny little gnome was throwing a rock around the inside of your head, holding your memories hostage as it cackled maniacally at your misery.

Your back tingled as the scene of you and the strange, glitching man hugging replayed in your mind's eye. Both the ghost his touch and the sound of his voice seemed familiar to you, yet could you figure out who this 'EJ' was? Could you hell. It was impossible—like trying to find a needle in an ever-growing haystack.

Ignoring the burning sensation that was steadily growing behind your eyes, you pretty much threw your phone away as you stood up, marching over to the front door. You picked up a basket that was tucked away on a coat rack, pulling a pair of plastic gloves over your shaking hands.