Distance||Eyeless Jack

Two

Silence hung in the air, and darkness ate at every hopeful, happy thought. The masked man pushed open the door, and the darkness dispelled in his wake. The blue mask hung loosely around his neck, hitting his chest with every step. Blood dripped from his nose, down his face, to his chin.

His footsteps were heavy as he ascended the stairs, a vengeful look in his eyes. He pushed open the door on his left, and looked around inside, before entering the room.

Jack awoke with a start at the sound of the phone ringing. Groaning, he pushed himself up to a sitting position, and looked around blurry-eyed. After a moment, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and got up.

A yawn escaped him as he walked down the stairs, flinching when he stepped on the step that creaked. When he reached the main floor, he looked for the phone, but it wasn't on the charging dock.

He hissed, and followed the ringing into the living room. After a bit of poking around, he found it between the couch cushions. He had missed a call from the police station.

He dialed the number, and called them back. Almost immediately the secretary picked up the phone. "Hello? Who is this?" She asked, her voice soft and delicate like glass.

"This is Jack." There was silence on the other line for a moment, before the woman spoke up again. "Jack who?" Jack stayed silent, unsure of what to tell her. "Bentley. Jack Bentley."

There was a rustling of papers, and a gasp of horror, before the line went dead. Confused, Jack went to put the phone back in its place.

When it was put back, he made a bee-line for the kitchen. But a sound stopped him.

Police sirens.

He peeked out the window, and saw a police car pull into his driveway with lightning-like speed. But it wasn't the only one. Several more pulled in, and he couldn't understand why.

Jack planned to go and ask what they were doing there, but a bullet hit the window, and glass sprayed everywhere. Some of it impaled his arms, which he had used to shield his face, and blood dripped down to the floor.

Were they trying to kill him? He quietly made his way over to the backdrop, and peered through the keyhole. Nobody had come back there yet.

He threw the door open, and sprinted across his backyard, nearly slipping on the wet grass. With a leap, he cleared the short wooden fence that bordered it, and landed on the unkempt grass on the other side.

There was no longer any question about what he needed to do. He needed to go back to the dark woods. Maybe they all were still there. His friends, no, his family. They were like family to him.