Hush

Jack: Wandering mind and restless voices

Jack stood staring into the one dead eye of the boy he had mercilessly killed, with all of the boys face bludgeoned and unrecognizable, the dead eye seemed to Jack like something out of a cartoon as it stared pitifully out at the world. A brief vague sense of recognition flickered across his mind so fast he didn't have time to process it, instead he wiped his now bloodied hand across his head, the strange feeling of familiarity subsiding, and threw down the axe as though finishing a days work on chopping wood. He turned his gaze towards the rabbit head the boy had been wearing, and kicked it away, with it the cheers of a crowd rolled away, fading to silence as it came to a stop, its eyes set on him, unblinking like the boy's, an accusation to his actions. The boy had begged and pleaded, swore it was because of the rabbit that he was attacking him. But Jack had no interest in words, Jack wanted him dead in that moment just as much as the boy had with him. The boy could have been innocent, the thought came to Jack's mind full of guilt but he shook his head of the feeling and looked around, still lost with no direction on where to go. The voices in his head stilled after his brutal attack on the boy, as though they had been fed on the violence enough to leave Jack alone for a while.

Alone.

The feeling never comforted him, better to fill the aching silence with whispers of threats and violence than to suffer the unbearable thoughts that began to come to mind, memories he would rather not have. Part of him wondered if they were even real memories, but a small piece inside him had no doubt at all. He left the scene of his crime and with no real direction he aimlessly walked. Slow, his mind empty of thoughts thanks to the mental block he had been able to conjure at will, but that wall of protection felt flimsy, niggling thoughts scratched their way to the surface of his mind, whispers of guilt, shame and accusations, haunting echoes of suffering. This place flashed taunting, unforgettable images of his past at him. The cop he had killed, the officer that lay cut up on the stairs, that he now realised was Hush's doing. The two orphan boys, and the strange ghost girl who shook fear through his marrow. So much misfortune and suffering and for what? And why?

He kicked his way through the overgrowing grass and blackened slime covered weeds, completely off trail from the patchwork path, though he seemed not to notice as he began rummaging his mind for answers, anything that would make all of this make sense.

His hands suddenly felt slick, and cold. The slight breeze chilling them and alerting Jack to the dampness of his palms, he looked down. Blood dripped from his finger tips and he shook his hands in shock, the blood wasn't his. It wasn't the bunny boy's, or was it? His mind had already began to erase that moment from his memory. He knelt and scraped his hands on the soft texture of the ground, reminding Jack that this place itself, was full of death. The sickly scent of blood wafted up his nose and he cringed as the ground hungrily absorbed the tacky stains of blood he left behind.

'I'm not a murderer.' He reminded himself once more, 'bad things just happen when I'm around.' He watched in fascination as tendrils of dark began to appear around his hands like coiling snakes, weaving through his fingers, a sensation of numb coldness lingered where the strange mist caressed.

We know what you did.

The disembodied voices whispered softly at him.

We know why you are here.

The coiling darkness tightened around him and he gasped in discomfort at the throbbing of his veins trying to pump blood through their ever tightening grip.

Let us lead you home Jack, you want to go home don't you?

The voice coaxed softly, and Jack found himself moving forward at their will.

Jack allowed his mind to wander as he sought comfort in the touch of tendril snakes on his skin. Home, the place where he would return after a long day at school from being bullied, his mum would always pick him up waiting by the gates, her full lipped smile would brighten her face when he met her and she would ask how his day was. He would lie of course, he never wanted her to worry, his mother's smile was too precious. He would tell her all the exciting things he done with his friends each day, and she would listen and laugh at his carefully made up stories about his made up friends. And they would finally get home, where the smell of dinner would greet them as they opened the door. Most often it was some sort of pie, Jack loved pies and his mother always loved to experiment with what she made. He briefly recalled the smell of spices and pumpkin, the sound of the oven timer as they stepped through the door, bringing with them the cold winter chill as they removed their outer wear and sodden shoes from kicking up the fallen leaves together on the way home.