Spirits of Wawanakwa

Zeeke

Why does my body feel weird...? Where am I..? Who's touching me...? S̸̙͓͉͎̬̤͙̯͋͊̋̅̒̌͐͂͗̀T̵̡̡̞̲͖͛O̵̫̥̳͚͂̑P̷̡͓̹̘͕̫͔̱̀̆̂̾̃̄̀̓̌͜ ̷̛̘̰̮̹̠̺͇̄̂̕Ş̷̨̲͆̊̈́̋̔͝T̴̡̡̛̖͈͔̝͚̰͑͗̈́̍͂̕̕A̴͓̝̫̰͒̾̃̓͝͝Ṛ̷̟͍͖̦̙͓̝̜͘I̶̧͚̟̤̮̻̣̎̓̓̀̕Ň̶͍͌͆̈́̚Ḡ̷̦͠ ̷̻͎̟̀̌̑̆Ȃ̴͍̅̽T̷̜̩͇̣̍̏̾̑͜ ̴̺̤̠͎͋̂̀̐̈́̽̀M̵̥̐̽̽̓̆̍̈̕Ḛ̷̡͇̺̂́͂̓͆̄͆̉͘͜!

Rule: Don't look, Don't Touch.

Ezekiel Miller had made his unwelcomed presence known amongst the fellow campers. It had only been a few hours with them on the island and he already had been disliked by those around him.

It wasn't fully his fault, he never had true human interactions, and the small times he did, his family taught him the wrong values. But nothing could change what he had said, and nothing could change what was heard.

While everyone was busy excluding him from gatherings and small talk, Ezekiel resided himself to just wandering about the island. He'd already visited the cabins, cried in the confessional, and gotten threatened by Chef, so he turned his sights to the close by forest, seeing a small trail that screamed adventure.

He offered a walk to everyone, but with the distain all the others felt towards the boy, he found himself alone, wandering by himself. Soft sighs and tears fell out of the boy as he walked in a slow pace, staying as close to the trail as he could.

Amongst the trees he felt eyes on him, rationalizing it to be the woodland creatures, he pushed forward, the chills running up his spine from discomfort. As the sun was starting to set he picked up his speed, turning slightly to check behind him out of habit, making sure the path was still there. If he had continued looking straight he would have seen the raggedy, disheveled figure now blocking his path. He would have seen the bear trap now in his way. He would have seen his tomorrow.

Ezekiel unfortunately missed all of this, his foot now ensnared by the trap, and his body being dragged forward as he screamed and thrashed, begging and pleading for any type of release and freedom. None was granted and Ezekiel could feel in his heart that there was nothing he could do.

Ezekiel was only dragged for a short period when he was roughly picked up and thrown into a dismantled shack, his eyes puffy from crying and his voice hoarse from screaming. His eyes shakily look up to see his captor, praying it was Chris playing a joke for a challenge. He was met back with a mask and the color from his face dropped.

The unknown figure danced around Ezekiel, lifting up objects and dangling them in front of him. What confused the scared boy was all of the items were dolls. Dolls of varying sizes, but all of them were broken, mismatched, disfigured.

"Wh-what is all of this...?" Ezekiel barely whispered out, his eyes now analyzing the room he was in, his body shaking as he took in all of the sharp tools across from him.

The unknown figure stared, behind the mask his angered smirk grew. "Ezekiel, was it? I've seen you since you first arrived... I heard all that youve said... And I knew you had to be first."

Ezekiel whimpered, looking towards the figure. "First for wh-" Ezekiel was cut off with a loud smack.

"You don't speak. You don't get that privilege anymore." The unknown figure spat. It slowly walked over to its neatly sorted tools, picking up certain ones and nodding approval of their look. The figure turned back towards Ezekiel, crouching down to be at face level with the petrified boy. "If you do believe women are objects, lesser than that of a man, weak and helpless...  I'll put you in their shoes."

Before Ezekiel could take in what was said to him, he felt the sharp metal pierce through his upper arm, his body twisted and turned trying to avoid the hack saw. The figure didn't like this one bit. "If you do NOT stop it, I will make it worse for you."

Ezekiel wasn't listening, all he could hear was his pounding heart beat, he could only feel the blazing, sharp pain spreading through his body. He was screaming, but he couldn't hear himself screaming. He was struggling but he couldn't feel himself struggling. He was dying but he couldn't feel himself dying.

The figure was enjoying the sight, the poor, helpless, weak boy beneath it, trying desperately to escape his decided fate. The figure took its time in sawing off Ezekiel's arms and legs, making sure the boy had stayed alive for the process. It slowly looked down at the boy, watching his body drowsily twitch still trying to escape. "If you had learned to keep your mouth shut, you just might have survived the night."

Ezekiel had no recollection of what happened, his eyes slowly blinked open with the rising sun and he smiled realizing it was just a nasty nightmare and he was safe. He tried to move his arm but it wouldn't budge, he tried to kick his leg, but that wasn't working well either. He tried to move his head but nothing would move.

There were shrieks and gasps coming from all around Ezekiel but he couldn't see where the people were, he could sense they were near but he couldn't see them. He felt uncomfortable, he didn't like the staring, he didn't like the new silence that fell upon him.

"Campers, we NEED to get out of here!" Chris exclaimed, making a beeline for the dock. Ezekiel didn't understand what was going on, he wanted to be included but they were ignoring him. He couldn't move and that pissed him off. He couldn't speak, and that fueled his hatred.

It had been a week since everyone had left Ezekiel. The only company he had was the figure, who visited him every night. Catcalling the poor boy and adjusting his positions. The figure would make uncomfortable comments as if Ezekiel was a woman and he hated it.

On the ninth day of Ezekiel's isolation, there was noise. Camera flashes, people talking loudly, and approaching him. He listened as the talked about 'the doll'. What doll? Why would they talk about a doll when they could be helping him. As they continued discussing it dawned on him. He was the doll.

The figure had replaced Ezekiel's arms and legs with plastic female arms and legs, his torso was now a female mannequin torso, he was dressed in female clothes. The figure had placed a crudely drawn mask on the boy and placed him in a box in the middle of the camp.

Ezekiel felt rage. He felt anger. He felt disgust. These people were talking to him as if he was an object. They didn't release him from his cage, they just pointed, and took pictures and stared at him.

As night fell, he heard familiar voices those that had left him some time ago, the voices grew near and Ezekiel had enough. The fellow campers had gathered to say their goodbyes when Beth looked at the box. "Um.. You guys.. Zeeke wasn't wearing those clothes when we first saw him.." Her voice trembled.

"Yea.. and he wasn't in that position right..?" Justin spoke up, eyes now staring at Ezekiel's form. The fellow campers started commenting on the things that had changed since they last left Ezekiel and it pissed him off.

His box rattled his plastic body now contorting to his will, his hoarse voice sliding words from his masked lips. "S̸̙͓͉͎̬̤͙̯͋͊̋̅̒̌͐͂͗̀T̵̡̡̞̲͖͛O̵̫̥̳͚͂̑P̷̡͓̹̘͕̫͔̱̀̆̂̾̃̄̀̓̌͜ ̷̛̘̰̮̹̠̺͇̄̂̕Ş̷̨̲͆̊̈́̋̔͝T̴̡̡̛̖͈͔̝͚̰͑͗̈́̍͂̕̕A̴͓̝̫̰͒̾̃̓͝͝Ṛ̷̟͍͖̦̙͓̝̜͘I̶̧͚̟̤̮̻̣̎̓̓̀̕Ň̶͍͌͆̈́̚Ḡ̷̦͠ ̷̻͎̟̀̌̑̆Ȃ̴͍̅̽T̷̜̩͇̣̍̏̾̑͜ ̴̺̤̠͎͋̂̀̐̈́̽̀M̵̥̐̽̽̓̆̍̈̕Ḛ̷̡͇̺̂́͂̓͆̄͆̉͘͜!"