Tracks

Coal Smoke

Content warning for an attempted sexual assault, character death, mentions of physical and emotional abuse, and sexual content.

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Jacks wakes to the smell of coal smoke. The room is cold and unfamiliar– coated with dust and yellowed with age, wallpaper peeling down from the ceiling. In the broken window beside him, perches a brown spider, weaving its web through the ivy that had made its way into the room as well. Jacks sits up in the bed he's found himself in, lifting dusty covers to reveal the chill of the room. His blistered, bloody bare feet land on a dirty wooden floor with a thud as he drops out of the old metal-framed bed. He explores the room, the smell of smoke still thick in his nose, burning his throat. He coughs, not seeing any sign of a fire, before a different sensation lets in. He hugs himself, feeling a chill– and a presence. He isn't alone.

"Hello?"

Silence. Jacks walks towards the door, wincing at the pain in his feet. Non-physical entities tend to have a particular feeling to them. If a person is in the presence of something, a good amount of humans are usually able to tell. A creepy doll. A closed off room that isn't often entered. A basement. Even "the monster under the bed." Some people even refer to the sensing of the metaphysical and paranormal as a hidden "sixth sense," one widely debated, and questionable in validity. Jacks is familiar with this feeling– having sensed it before, these senses being heightened further due to his youth– as children are often much more sensitive to these kinds of hidden instincts. But instead of being cautious and fearful, naive Jacks is hopeful. His mind goes to his friend, his first love– who could never hurt him.

"Joseph?"

A shadow wavers in the corner of his eye. His vision turns towards the door of the room, where a dark figure seems to lurk behind the door. His ears start to ring, and Jacks holds them shut in confusion while his feet give out and he's set to sitting on the wooden floor. A voice becomes audible, a man's voice. Through wavering tones that overlap over one another, it is gentle, as though not to frighten him– its tone full of sincerity, despite being slightly distorted.

"I'm sorry, boy. I'm not your friend."

Little Jacks is silent as his face runs pale. This is clearly not a human.

"But he's in heaven, I assure you."

The boy's eyes open wide.

"You... Know about Joseph?" Tears start to sting his eyes, and he chokes on a shaky breath. He is no longer afraid. The man on the other side of the door is silent still. Jacks can't see him clearly enough to determine if it's a real person or not– and considers that he could be hallucinating. At this point, he couldn't care less either way. Joseph has something to do with this man, and that was enough for him.

"Your friend wants you to take the chance at a new life, Jacks."

Jacks feels a pang of shock upon hearing his name, and the supposed request from his friend. But somehow, he knows he can trust this shadow behind the door. He knows too much to be lying, but not a single soul had witnessed the accident. Is he a ghost? An angel? The reaper?

Jacks, in this realization that the two have spoken, rushes to the door, his hands clutched against the pale wood.

"Tell him I'm sorry! Tell him I miss him! Tell him I'm stupid, tell him I love him! Tell him I love him!!"

Little Jacks sobs and cries as his words leave his mouth, collapsing back down onto the floor of the room. The shadow seems to crouch down beside him on the other side of the door, hushing him gently.

"I promise you Jacks, I will." The shadow says, allowing Jacks a moment to cry before continuing.

"You should eat what's on the table downstairs, and make your way to the town just south of here. There will likely be someone there that will take you in." He whispers through the door.