Abigail (Jeff The Killer Fanfic)

Chapter 8

Abby wakes up, feeling better than she had in a long time. She looked around, confused. She felt calm, but she had no idea where she was. Speaking of which, she had no idea who she was. She frowned deeply, slowly moving off the bed. She stood up and looked down at herself. Her heart dropped as she noticed half of her leg was metal. She had a prosthetic leg. But she had no idea what happened to her leg before.

She wore a simple outfit, and her hair was brown, resting on her shoulders. She could tell her skin color from her hands, but she couldn't see her face. She didn't know what she looked like. She went over to a nearby mirror, looking into it. She examined her face and could tell it was her, but it didn't feel like her. She didn't recognize the face, she didn't recognize any of herself. She looked short, and she looked young. But that didn't feel like her, because she didn't know who she was. She couldn't remember. 

She didn't even know what her name was. She knew all of this should be worrying. She should be scared, concerned. But she wasn't. Rather, she felt calm. Like everything would be okay. Something about the place seemed to have an effect on her. She strolled back to her bed and sat down, noticing a journal on her bedside table and picked it up. There were pages ripped out of it and she wondered what had previously been there.

She felt comfortable with it. It seemed like the only familiar thing there. She picked up the pencil lying next to it and began writing down her feelings. It felt normal. If she forgot anything else, at least if she wrote down the events and feeling now, she can read about it later.

Once she finished writing, she got back out of bed and decided to wander outside of the room. As she took a step outside of the bedroom, she was surprised to see a dark, long hallway. It was honestly a bit intimidating. As she walked down the hallway hesitantly, she passed many doors. They had different names, and she wondered if other people lived there. If so, why did she live there?

As she was walking down the hallway, as she examined her metal lower leg as she walked, she bumped into someone. She took a step back, apologizing and looking up. Her thoughts faltered at the startling face in front of her. It was a  boy with pale white skin, blood splattered across a white hoodie, and a smile carved on his face. Despite the permanent smile, he frowned down at her. 

"Who the fuck are you?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. 

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and shrugging. "I'm not sure."

He nodded slowly, as a look of realization hit him. "Oh. You're the new girl."

Abby wondered what he meant by 'new girl' but didn't question it. He didn't seem like the type of person to tolerate questions. "Go down the hallway, at the end, there's a room labeled 'office'. Just knock on it," he instructed. She nodded, about to thank him, but he just turned around and walked away carelessly.

She watched him walk away, wondering what was up with him. Was everyone here like him. A voice broke her out of her thoughts. The boy spoke up without turning around, still walking, "stop looking at me, it's creepy."

She turned around awkwardly, walking away quickly. How had he known she was looking at him? He wasn't even looking at her. 

Abby noticed how weird it felt to walk on the prosthetic leg. The longer she walked, the weirder it felt. The foot swung loosely along with the movement of her leg as she walked, rather than having any sort of mechanics to it. It felt insanely different to her other leg, and she knew she hadn't had it long because it was still nearly unbearable. It was weird for you to feel like you have no control over one leg, and to be missing one. 

She stopped in front of a door that read 'office' across it as the boy had said. She rose her hand and her heartbeat. She wondered what would open it if it would be something like the other boy. She felt the fear setting in, despite the fact it felt like she was programmed to feel calm right now. She had no idea who she was, where she was, or even what she was. 

She knocked on the door, and waited for a response. 

"Come in," a voice echoed in her head. She gulped, and slowly opened the door.