Distance||Eyeless Jack

Ten

Pic is Frank Iero because god his music amazing and he's always been so goddamn pretty, no matter what era/band he was in. (Pencey Prep, MCR, Leathermøuth, Deathspells, Frnk Iero And The Cellabration/Patience, etc.)

Jack pulled the shirt on, and crumpled up the note. Hissing in annoyance, he left the room, now in search of a cigarette. "So, where've you been?" He asked the suit-wearing man sitting on a couch in the main room that definitely hadn't been there before.

"Just getting some information on the potential whereabouts of the others. I've got a lead on Laughing Jack. But it's from
a pretty unreliable source. Either way, I need you to go check out the place for me. Here's the address." A square of paper was slipped into Jack's hand, before the faceless man disappeared. Hesitating, Jack took the paper out, reading over the address.

"This is..." Jack trailed off, shoving the paper back into his pocket and moving towards the door. His hoodie had been hung up, the holes stitched and the stains removed. Jack pulled it on, along with his shoes, and left the house.

Except he'd forgotten his mask in his hurry to leave.

#

The old, Victorian style house looked as though it should be crumbled to dust, but somehow remained standing. The steel fence, with spiked tips, had been worn to brittle poles that could be broken quite easily.

Jack found this out by kicking part of the fence down so he could get closer to the house. To be honest, he hadn't expected Laughing Jack to be in a place like this. He'd expected an abandoned carnival or something.

His instincts told him something was off, but he couldn't place what.

^ ^ ^ ^
All of that was written earlier, way earlier, in the year. Forgive me for this piece of trash and continue reading the chapter.

Of -fucking- course that creepy ass clown would take up residence here. There was a motherfucking carnival just over the hill, and this was the closest 'house' to it. Still, something felt wrong here, something he couldn't identify and it made him uneasy.

Dead grass crunched under his feet like gravel as he approached the porch tentatively, reaching for the weapon, a knife, he'd shoved in his pocket in case Emo Clown got violent or sent his army of dead fucks to do it for him. The door was slightly ajar, and the impenetrable darkness seemed to be seeping out, waiting to snatch up anyone who got too close and drag them into the pitch black where they would inevitably die a painful death.

The porch creaked and groaned under Jack's weight and he silently begged the rotting wooden boards to not to give out underneath him. As he neared the door a pair of eyes, glowing menacingly, appeared in the dark, narrowed on suspicion.

"What are you doing here, Eyeless?"