Can't Say

Chapter 3

            You had little time to react to the several jet black tendrils that enveloped around your body. Heck, you barely had time to let out a yelp before one of the dark vines squeezed across your mouth, nearly gagging you. These appendages of Slenderman's were not gentle. They threatened to kill you; suffocate you. Another slithered its way around your neck, tightening just enough to effect the flow of blood in your arteries. Shadows of very apparent, scowling eyebrows wrinkled the otherwise smooth face of the Slenderman. He looked furious as he pulled you closer to him, holding you in midair just below his would-be eye level. Static filled your head. You began to feel a nauseous pang in your stomach. Your vision blurred, but you could easily see your captor's lacking face.
            “From now on,” Slenderman's deep voice sounded over the static in your head, “you will refer to me as 'Master' or 'Sir'. Fail to comply, and I will dispose of you.” Despite his lack of eyes, you felt the heavy glare of your new “Master” weighing down on you.
            Straining from the tendrils that fiercely gripped your head and neck, you managed to nod your head with little hesitation. This Slenderman was not the one you had read about. He was not the caring leader you had read in fan fictions so long ago. This creature was much more dangerous, even to a Proxy candidate.     
           When you thought you couldn't bear the squeezing of Slenderman's tendril any longer, he released you. He wasn't so kind as to set you down, but rather dropped you from his height. Surely you fell a foot or two. One of your ankles didn't handle the fall well, and it twisted just enough to send you collapsing on your aft. This could also be from the lack of air you had gotten. Your form curled on the marbled floor, cold and solid. You gasped for air, trying to catch your breath. Even then, you could feel your Master's stern gaze falling on you.
            With the feeling that he wanted you to prove yourself, you forced yourself to stand. If you wanted to be a Proxy, then you had to be tough – especially for this less-than-fatherly Operator. Still gasping for air, you hung your head, not even sure if you should make some sort of eye contact. What should you say? Should you even reply? You decided to take that risk. “Yes, Sir,” was all you said.
            Your mind quickly warned you of how you had seen Masky in his condition earlier. Maybe he slipped up and insulted Slenderman? If that was the state Proxies would be left in, you certainly didn't want to make that mistake. So far, the lack of discomfort was a welcoming sign to you. It meant that Slenderman wasn't angry with you for speaking up.
            “____,” your Master accosted you, dragging you out of your fearful thoughts. Craning your head up to meet his invisible gaze, you waited for Slenderman to continue. He said, “You will have one week from tomorrow morning to prove your worthiness to become my Proxy. I suggest you give it your all, or face a most painful ended to your miserable life.”
            That wasn't very nice. Sure, you were bullied and abused, but to call your life “miserable” was incredibly rude. Not that you could reply with a riposte. That would surely get you killed before you even have a chance to prove your worth.
           “Master,” you stuttered, afraid to speak out of turn.
            “Yes?” Slenderman replied, almost as though he expected you to bring something up.
            Seeing your opportunity to continue speaking freely, you asked, “What happened to Masky? Will he recover?”
            Though it wasn't audible, you felt a sigh escape Slenderman's wake. He seemed reluctant to do so, but he answered, “Masky has been severely injured by an old enemy of mine. Or rather, by one of his own minions. I suggest you take in what you see with a grain of salt, for you will soon be a part of this war. Most likely, you will also end up in a similar condition to Masky's at some point or other.”
            “Oh...” your eyes wavered to the marbled floor. The thought of yourself in Masky's place felt nerve-wracking. But, if the Proxy has lasted this long, then you should, too. That is, if you can even prove your worth first.
            A rumbling in your stomach snapped you out of your concerning thoughts. It was then that you noticed the lack of static in your head and how you didn't feel sick anymore. Again, you felt the fear of speaking out of turn. It seemed that Slenderman already had you well trained as a reserved Proxy. 
            You were going to ask your Master if you could get something to eat, and even where the kitchen was, but he responded to your rumbling stomach with a long, white, index finger pointing behind you. Spinning on your heel to face Slenderman's silent directions, you came to face a long hallway. It looked quite familiar to the one you had ventured along upstairs, yet this one had Gothic structured windows lining one of the walls. This hall, like the first time you exited your room, was long and dark. At least you knew there were light switches somewhere, so you planned to search for them during your travels throughout the mansion.
            Assuming that you should make your way down this hall and the kitchen will be within immediate view, you kindly thanked your Master, then began your adventure.
            First off, you couldn't find the light switch – anywhere. It was a complete mystery, after walking twenty or so feet down the corridor, as to how the lights were to come on. Lucky for you, the windows were sending through enough light for you to make out where you were going. Doubly as lucky, it was daytime. Not so lucky, though, you crossed paths with someone you really didn't want to meet alone.
            The first thing that gave you a hint that someone was approaching you was the strong scent of cigarette smoke. The second thing was the trickling of water sloshing against glass. By this time, a white figure melded into your vision from far down the hall. You stopped, dreading who it might be. An orange glow flew up to the figure's upper regions, then began to brighten for a second or two. It then lowered back to its owner's side, swinging back and forth. Again, the sloshing of some liquid rang faintly in your ears. Then, as the figure passed a window, you saw him.
            Jeff the Killer.
            He looked to be in about his late twenties. Long, black hair; wiry and frizzed. The dark lines of old scars curved from the edges of his lips, forming an excessive permanent smile. His not-so-white hoody was stained with old and new blood. You guessed that he washed it every so often. His dark eyes caught your attention, though, freezing you in your tracks. Fear overcame you. If Jeff was anything like Slenderman had acted, you were in for a terrible trip to the kitchen.
            There was no turning back, though; no escape. Jeff had already seen you staring at him. He didn't look amused. “What?” Jeff spat at you, then began to cough and hack.
            “Nothing,” you forced out of your mouth. Something told you that keeping quiet was the worst idea you could possibly have. So, you tried to hold a conversation with the infamous killer. “I was just going to the kitchen. Do you know where it is?” Stupid! Of course he does!
            Once Jeff finished his coughing fit, he wiped his mouth with his already stained sleeve and nodded his head over his shoulder. “End of the hall. On your left.” He paused, tilting his head as he began to stare at you curiously. “Hey,” he blurted.
            “Umm,” you hesitated, “Hi.”
            “I just realized that you're a girl.” Jeff began to approach you, quickly closing the distance between you two. He shoved his cigarette into his mouth and used his now free hand to grip your chin quite roughly. “Pretty thing. But I could make you beautiful,” he strongly emphasized his last word. It sounded practiced.
            At first, you weren't sure what Jeff had meant, but your memories of all the Creepypastas were still coming back to you. It did soon snap that Jeff was offering to carve a smile into your face. “No! No, thank you!” You denied his offer as kindly as you could, but that didn't seem good enough. Your mind raced for a good reason. “Slender- I mean, Master probably wouldn't want me to do that,” you nearly slipped up on giving the correct respects to Slenderman. Good save, though.
            “What a shame,” Jeffery Blalock mumbled before releasing your aching chin. He had gripped it pretty tight. No one seemed very gentle in this mansion. Well, except for Laughing Jack. So far, he was the nicest.
            You watched as Jeff once again puffed on his cigarette and strolled toward the mansion foyer and out of your sight. A sigh of relief escaped you. That could have gone worse, and you were thankful that it hadn't.
            Now, though, it was time to satisfy your complaining stomach. It continued to rumble and gargle with pathetic sounds. So, you continued your way down the hall as you were told to do. When you reached the end of the hallway, all you could see was an incredibly dark area to your left. You assumed that this was the kitchen, but how on earth would you find anything without a darn light switch?
            Well, there were other ways to turn on lights, thanks to technology. So, you began going through every idea that hit your mind - clapping, snapping, yelling, stomping, and making some sort of noise. You even attempted to wave, but to no avail.
            “Will it,” a voice startled you. The voice sounded new, and slightly muffled. “But you have to be an official Proxy to do that.” You turned to find a hooded figure standing next to you. From the limited light of the windows, you could see that the hoody was a yellow tint of some sort. His face was too full of shadows to see what he looked like.
            Saying nothing more, the apparent Proxy stepped past you. Lo! And Behold! The kitchen was then lit up in a brilliance of crisp light. You stared into a large, extremely roomy kitchen styled something similar to a country home. Red bricks decorated the walls while tan, marble flooring welcomed you onto its surface. A large, steel refrigerator sat against a wall on one side, while a barrage of tan wooden cabinets lined the other. A magnificent stove with several variously sized burners sat against the wall straight across from you. The equally as splendid metal sink wasn't far away from the cooking top. The kitchen had everything you could need for having a holiday family meal and still not run out of room!
            Then, you realized who was talking to you just earlier. This was Hoodie. His now much clearer appearance clicked your mind into gear. He would be one of your high-ranked teammates later on. You should make good terms with him.
            You quickly stepped into the kitchen, hoping to make conversation with Hoodie. He, on the other hand, seemed to ignore you as he opened the fridge and dug around. You asked what there was to eat, but he only shrugged and responded with, “Whatever you fix.”
            “You guys don't cook large meals for each other?” Your data on the Creepypasta mansion that you had gathered from fan-fictions and the internet was quickly doing down the drain as this day went on.
            “No?” Hoodie looked over his shoulder, confusion in his voice. You couldn't quite tell, thanks to the dark mask, but surely he was quirking a brow at your apparently stupid question.
            With disappointment, you accepted this new fact and began to explore the cabinets for a loaf of bread. Maybe you could make a sandwich of sorts. Meanwhile, Hoodie gathered up a can of beer and some ham slice that he snatched out of a plastic bowl. As grand as this kitchen was, you couldn't help but think that maybe Hoodie was lying to you. The kitchen was even excessively clean, though there were tale-tell signs it had been used plenty of times before. Maybe you could cook something up for everyone?
            Sneaking a glance at the opened fridge, you noticed how empty it looked. Whipping up a large meal sounded like a great thing to do, but you needed ingredients.
            You wondered if Slenderman would let you go shopping for the mansion.