Crescent Smile ~ John Marston Story

☆. 𓍊𓋼𓍊 ☽Chapter 2☾ 𓍊𓋼𓍊.☆

(Unedited)
Word count: 3785
{Listen while you read?~I recommend Pretty Polly by Vandaveer}

☽✫. 𓍊𓋼𓍊. 𓋼𓍊»»——⍟——««𓋼𓍊. 𓍊𓋼𓍊.✫☾

Suddenly, he lunged forward, his movements jerky and unnatural. Dixie's heart dropped as fear coursed through her. "Jack, stop!" she screamed, instinctively backing away.

The boy didn't respond, his expression vacant and menacing as he continued to advance toward her. Just then, a crack of thunder rumbled outside, and a lightning strike illuminated the room, casting a stark shadow across Jack's face. The moment felt surreal, as if the storm itself had synchronized with her scream. Outside, John's eyes widened with horror as a blood-curdling scream pierced through the night, sending a chill down his spine.

"Dixie!" he shouted, turning on his heel and sprinting toward the house. But before he could reach the door, a shadow emerged from the darkness, halting him in his tracks.

"Your supposed to be dead, old man," John muttered incredulously, staring at the grotesquely decayed face of his Uncle. The man had always looked like the back end of a cow, but now, he looked more like a nightmare brought to life, his skin mottled and hanging loosely from his bones.

With a growl, Uncle charged at him, and instinct took over. John pulled his gun from its holster and fired without hesitation. The shot echoed in the night, aiming straight for Uncle's heart. The bullet struck, but instead of dropping, the creature staggered back, its vacant eyes narrowing with malevolence.

"Damn it!" John cursed under his breath, firing again and again. Each shot seemed to barely faze Uncle, but John's resolve only hardened. He could hear Dixie's voice from inside, frantic and desperate, urging Jack to come back to her.

Finally, with a surge of determination, John steadied his aim and pulled the trigger one last time, this time aiming for the head. The bullet found its mark, and Uncle's body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

John took a deep breath, the weight of the situation crashing down on him. He glanced back at the house, worry gnawing at him. "Where was that kind of energy when you was watching my land, Uncle?" he muttered to himself, a weak attempt at humor to break the tension.

But the moment was fleeting. He dashed back toward the house, the sound of the storm raging around him. As he reached the door, he pushed it open, his heart pounding in his chest.

Inside, the scene was chaotic. Dixie was struggling to keep Jack's bedroom door closed, her face pale and stricken with fear. John's heart dropped as he realized what was happening. Jack was on the other side, thrashing against the door, trying to break free.

"Shit!" he shouted, rushing to her side. He quickly assessed the situation, recognizing the urgency.

She looked at him with wide terrified eyes, "The dead are walking." She whispered the same words Seth told her just hours ago.

With a grunt, he braced his shoulder against the door frame, giving Dixie the leverage she needed to pull the door tighter. Together, they managed to secure it, pulling against the unnatural strength of their son's frantic attempts to escape.

"Is he—" John started, breathless, but Dixie cut him off, her voice trembling.

"He's not himself, John! I coaxed him in here, but it's like he's not really... there. He just keeps trying to get out." Her eyes were wide with fear and confusion, reflecting the storm outside that mirrored the turmoil inside.

John nodded, his mind racing. "We need to restrain him, keep him safe until we can figure this out." He quickly moved to the living room, searching for anything that could help. His eyes landed on a length of rope hanging from a hook by the fireplace, remnants of an old project. He grabbed it and rushed back to the bedroom.