Can't Say

Chapter 10

    With any luck, and no doubt Slenderman's influence on the other residents of the mansion, you were undisturbed by anyone who intended to exact their revenge on you. For the next two days, you hid in your room so you could heal up from your incredibly sore muscles and aching flesh wounds. Laughing Jack was kind enough to bring you medicine and food, though he seemed to be hiding some sort of ideas in his eyes. The way he scanned those clouded grey irises over your form, as though to determine when you might be ready to suffer his wrath, shook your core with fearful anticipation. Some of Jack's visits were awkward and quiet, while others you brought up your concerns over Masky's condition.
    Jack assured you that he was improving. There was an intriguing factor within the mansion's atmosphere - one that increased the healing rate of the accepted residents. Your injuries were minor, thus only requiring a couple of days to be comfortable and move around. Masky had suffered severe internal injuries only a couple days prior your arrival at the mansion.
    The third morning that you awoke, you found your body far more responsive and cooperative than the first. So much so, that you dared to venture from your safe haven of a bedroom and forage for breakfast. While you wandered carefully down the halls and staircase, you noticed that the lights would turn on automatically at your presence, despite no one else seeming to be around. The thought that perhaps becoming an official resident of the mansion caused this ran through your head. A tiny, proud smirk flickered at the corner of your lips.
    Upon reaching the kitchen, you found Jeff tearing into a sandwich that was very literally slapped together. Next to him on the counter was a bottle of whiskey. At this point, you were beginning to think that it was the only thing he even drank. Before you could ask, the permanently grinning man cast a threatening glance in your direction, to which you instinctively flinched. As you stepped further into the kitchen, inevitably closer to Jeff, so that you could inspect the contents of the refrigerator, you noticed several bald spots on the man's head. The flesh around both of his eyes seemed browned, as though they had been severely bruised and were now healing away. The mushed debris of Jeff's sandwich was seeping through his mouth scars, though he didn't seem to mind.
    You shied away from studying Jeff's condition when he snatched up his whiskey bottle and began to chug its contents down as though it were mere water. The refrigerator's insides suddenly become much more interesting to you, to which you found a partially used gallon of milk, bread, bottles of water, and a jar of mystery jelly. Considering that Jeff was leaning against the counter that held the bowls and silverware, you settled just making a sandwich as well - a jelly sandwich, it seemed. You used the closest surface to piece together your food, soon finding that the mystery jelly was even more mysterious than you originally imagined. It seemed to have chucks of something in it - figs, perhaps? Either way, it held the traditional sweet scent, so you scooped a bit onto the bread slices and spread it around, earning yourself a snort from Jeff's direction.
    When you whipped your head around to see what he was reacting to, you only found him shoving the last bit of his own sandwich into his mouth, looking very much away from you. A glint in his lidless eyes hinted that he was watching you expectantly. This had you suspicious of your food, but you mentally shrugged it off and squashed the bread slices together. Hesitantly, you brought the sandwich up to your mouth and took a small bite so to test out the flavor. You still weren't sure what exactly you were eating, and Jeff's behavior didn't make you feel any more comfortable about it.
    Your teeth cut through one of the chunks that came with the jelly. Its texture seemed smooth, yet had a meaty feeling to it. A hint of some metallic flavor laced your taste buds beyond the sugary sweetness. Even as you slowly chewed, you paid far more attention to listening in on how Jeff was reacting to your actions. He seemed deadly quiet, and you strained to watch him from the corner of your eye while trying not to obviously stare at him. All the man did was take swig after casual swig of his whiskey. You eventually finished your sandwich, neutral about how it tasted, and no less confused of its contents than before. As you opened the fridge to grab a bottle of water, Jeff lost his cool.
    By the time you turned around, your eyebrows risen to maximum height at the man's sudden change of behavior, you found Jeff the Killer curled up on the floor laughing so hard that his otherwise white skin was flushing a deep pink. He rolled and rolled, tears dripping from the corners of his eyes as you gawked at him in utter confusion. He continued to scream something over and over, but it was too incoherent with his choked laughter that you couldn't understand.
    "Jeff," you watched the man gasp for breath with little positive results, "what was in that jar?" Your stomach began to twist in anticipation of what you might hear.
    "EJ's gonna shit himself!" Jeff broke out into another round of laughter, kicking his legs into the air. You swore you saw a dark stain on Jeff's pants, signalling that he may have urinated a little from laughing so hard.
    At first, you weren't sure who Jeff was talking about, but you quickly put the pieces together. Your heart sank when you realized he meant Eyeless Jack. To this, you slapped your hand over your mouth as your stomach did a flip. It became quite obvious to you, at this point, that you had just eaten preserved kidneys. The taste of blood remaining in your mouth was all too apparent now, and you weren't sure how to react to this. Your human side was repulsed, yet your new Proxy side tried to reason that this would be a normal occurrence, and you should get used to blood, whether it be on your hands or in your mouth.
    All at once, you snatched the bottle of water from the fridge and ripped off the cap as quickly as possible, chugging the cold liquid and swishing it around in hopes that the taste of your breakfast would wash away.
    It didn't.
    So you tossed the bottle aside and grabbed the gallon of milk, performing the same actions, but not before noticing dried red marks around the jug's opening. Your stared at it for a moment, then rushed to the cabinets that contained glassware, pouring the milk into a clean cup. Only then did you drink it.
    The sweet taste of milk heavily masked the metallic sting of blood, and in that moment, you questioned how such disgusting people could be allowed to live in a building owned by an entity who was far more cleanly. Jeff's maniacal laughter answered your question, however; they were insane - all of them.
    And so were you.
    Eventually, you would be just like them. The sight, taste, and smell of blood would eventually be as normal as breathing to you.
    Lowering the glass to the counter, you sighed, accepting your future self. It wouldn't happen overnight, of course, but you would eventually become similar to these people. Part of you prayed that you would at least not be nearly as deranged as Jeff, though.
    "____," your master's voice melted your insides with pleasure as he stated your name from the kitchen doorway. You turned to face him, and Slenderman continued, "now that you have recovered, we should discuss your appearance as my Proxy." He tilted his head in Jeff's direction, the muscles of his brow knitting together in curiosity, though he seemed not interested enough to ask what had happened.
    You replaced the cap onto the milk jug, set your cup in the sink, and shoved the milk back into the refrigerator before approaching your master's side. At first, you were going to outright ask what exactly was going to happen, but something inside your chest pinched and stopped you to choose your words carefully. "May I speak, Master?"
    "I will allow it," Slenderman replied, turning to exit the kitchen.
    "I didn't think you had a uniform look for your Proxies. What exactly will I be changing in my appearance?" You dared to glance up at Slenderman, waiting for his answer.
    A warm chuckle escaped Slenderman's wake, something your certainly weren't expecting from him. He then replied, "My requirements are vague, but I do enjoy to have a pattern for my Proxies. At most, I require that you wear a mask with some design of a face marked upon it. I find it as an ironic, yet symbolic, trait."
    "How so?"
    "Despite my lack of a face, I am always watching, ____."
    It was then that you realized Slenderman's scowl at Jeff wasn't out of curiosity, but of annoyance that the killer was so easily entertained by your earlier mistake. Your master had known well what had happened. This was his mansion, after all. He controlled its structure, its atmosphere, its contents, even its functions. Slenderman was a powerful being, not only in strength, but within the depths of his mind as well.