Tracks

Nameless

Content warning for sexual content, blood/injury, religious themes, an attempted sexual assault, and mental/emotional instability.

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The next few days are spent painting in books with varying hues of coffee by the tracks, getting used to the idea of learning how to lure. In turn, the ghost disappears– broadening his reach onto a new set of tracks– causing stress so deep for Jacks that it's physical. He doesn't sleep, knowing he's alone. And if, in his sleep deprivation, he sees the rocking chair move in the dark, he feels himself unable to control urges of a different kind. His mind is plagued– his body is spent, and he was making no progress while the ghost was gone.

In the dark of a particularly warm night, peepers and crickets make themselves known. Spring has come near to its end, and the atmosphere around the house grows more and more vibrant and lush with greenery.

As this evening progresses, the very first of the fireflies start to venture out from the grass and brush. A sudden, unfamiliar specimen had risen out from the foundation of the house that Jacks had allowed to grow unkempt. Its growing stalks sweep the full four corners of the American four square and peek through the dirt of the floorboards in one of the halls, showing no signs of weakness. The ghost, now returned from across the country– sweeps through its thin leaves and phases through the walls, stairs creaking as he makes his way to the upper level. He enters the bedroom, motes of dust shifting around him like petals on the surface of a body of water. Passing the rocking chair and giving it a push, he stands at Jacks bedside, where he sleeps in an off-kilter position, sweat beading on his chest. He writhes gently in his sleep, the windows wet with humidity from the fog that surrounds the house for miles upon miles.

"Jacks." The ghost tries to wake him gently, whispering his name. A shaky breath leaves his lips and he continues to sleep deeply.

"Jaaacks." The ghost draws out his name, a certain playfulness working its way into his voice. Chances are, this isn't a nightmare.

Jacks jolts awake, gasping for air and swiftly pulling the knife from under his pillow and holding it firmly out into the dark of the room, shaking slightly.

"It's alright... It's me." The entity lets out a soft laugh.

Jacks takes a moment, trembling gently in the groggy air of the room as he comes to his senses. His skin is hot and wet, exposed outside of the thin sheets. His eyes scan the room, looking for any sign of the presence that accompanies him in the dark. It speaks before he can greet it.

"I was able to accomplish quite a bit out west. It should make for more energy coming forth." He pauses. "But, discussing that is not at all why I'm here tonight." He reaches out a hand towards his bare shoulder, phasing through, yet still raising goosebumps on his skin.

"It's a longing, Jacks." He continues, a slight melancholy in his tone. The pause between them is moderately long, causing Jacks' breath to catch in his throat. What did he mean by that? His eyes search for an answer.

"To better care for you." The ghost concludes. Was that pause deliberate? Was there something else he had wanted to say? Jacks could not tell.

"But I need something from you in order to do so." The entity adds, starting to pace around the room, footsteps dragging against the wooden floors, making them creak, though no physical body stands above them. Jacks' heart seems to skip beats as he hears the energy shifting in the room around him, seemingly surrounding him on all sides.

"What is it?" Jacks' eyes widen, desperate to please, as he always seems to be.

"Surely you've noticed that I haven't given you my name, Jacks." The ghost sits down at the end of the bed, causing its wooden supports under the mattress to creak under slight pressure. Jacks is amazed by this, as the ghost has gained some sort of tangibility throughout the past few days.