Can't Say

Chapter 16

   You were rudely awoken by a sharp pain in your lower abdomen. At first, you were still dreaming, registering the pain as a cramp in your intestines for whatever reason; the dream gradually ended and your blurry eyes focused on the ceiling of the mansion's living room. The pain wasn't going away. In fact, it was increasing! Hot blood trickled down your side. You tilted your head down to find Eyeless Jack cutting into your abdomen with his scalpel. The built-up tension in your body finally released, and you let out a terrified shriek.
    Unfortunately, Eyeless Jack was watching you intently, knowing you would wake up. He raised his scalpel to your throat, leaning in close as he stared you down with his deep, dark eye sockets. "You ate my kidney jam," his growled. "That's mine! So, now you need to replace what you stole." Jack's free hand plunged a pair of fingers into the incision at your lower stomach. The wriggling of his searching fingers instantly stung your nerves and twisted your gut. You let out another cry, tears now escaping the corners of your eyes. You tried to struggle, but Jack pressed the tip of his scalpel ever closer to your neck. As the fingers dug deeper, your felt them find their target and wrap around the kidney. You tried to prepare yourself for the inevitable yank of your organs that was to come.
    In an instant, Eyeless Jack was propelled away from you and into the wall just below the television. Said television was violently disturbed from its perch and collapsed onto the darkly dressed man's crumpled body. Sparks spat from the electronic devices associated with the set-up. You stared in awe at the resulting mess, not yet acknowledging the growling predator hunched above you from behind the sofa. It was only when a transparent dark liquid dripped onto your chest did you notice who had saved you, but by the look of him, you weren't so sure you wanted to stick around.
    It was Slenderman, but his features were far more intimidating - horrific. From your view below his crouched form, you saw the bulging of veins in his neck and head. The usually softer features of his lacking face were far more apparent, as though his skin had greatly tightened around his skull. Slenderman's mouth was now gaping wide, the edges various and jagged. From that mouth, you saw the dark drool that seeped out. A deep, territorial growl rumbled from the being's chest, and you noticed the claw-like fingers that gripped the back of the sofa, ready to pounce. Black tendrils waved around behind Slenderman, dancing like snakes anticipating their strike. Not once did your master look to you. He was focused on Eyeless Jack's groaning form across from him.
    The broken television moved as Jack stirred underneath it, trying to regain clear thoughts and get the hefty object off of him. There was a defined depression in the wooden wall where he had collided. You wondered just how hard Slenderman had hit him to cause that. Considering that Jack was still alive after the impact, you knew that these Creepypastas were far more durable than you originally assumed.
    Eyeless Jack pushed the television away and weakly raised his body to a stand. His head tilted up just enough to acknowledge Slenderman, though it remained low enough to indicate reservation. “Tell your pets to stay out of my food, Slenderman,” Eyeless Jack growled.
    A powerful hiss whipped through the being above you, his body puffing and crouching far more like an animal than anything sophisticated. Without the movement of his ajar mouth, Slenderman's voice growled fiercely in response, “How many times must I admonish you from damaging my Proxies?” Another thick hiss filled your ears. “I require them at total physical capacity.”
    “It's just one request!” Eyeless Jack clenched his fists, challenging the landlord of the mansion. He then directed his view to you, pointing his accusing finger right at you, “Stay out of my food, you little-” Jack's threat was interrupted by your master's lunging form.
    You heard grunting, hissing, growling; clothes ripped here and there, the cracking of fallen electronic devices under the Creepypastas' shifting weight jabbed your ears. Shelves where knocked and you were nearly slammed in to a few times. This was the last place you wanted to be right now, so you tried to crawl over the back of the sofa, but the damaged muscle in your lower abdomen hindered your movement. Still, your desperation to get out of harm's way was far more powerful, and adrenaline was coursing through your veins. You pulled yourself just over the head of the sofa, then swung a leg over, cringing at the burning pain of your damaged muscle. Just as you were about to slide over, the wrestling pair behind you collided with the sofa. This impact, combined with your weight in the momentum of its directed force, sent the sofa falling back, and you went tumbling to the floor.
    There was a muffled crunch just beyond the now toppled sofa, followed by a horrific scream. You pushed yourself up on one arm, trying to keep pressure on your wound with the other. Things went silent as the scream was cut short. Not even the sound of a struggle continued on. You strained your ears to listen for any sign of either Jack or Slender, though you mostly hoped for your master.
    When there was still no indication of either Creepypasta, you began trying to pick yourself up to stand. As you leaned forward, a splash of fresh blood fell to the hard floor. You cursed to yourself, only now noticing how much blood you had already lost. Your lips parted to begin calling out for Hoodie or Ticci Toby for help, but the sudden motion of the sofa returning to its natural position startled you.
    As your whipped your head to where your master and Eyeless Jack had disappeared, you found Slenderman standing victorious. His black tendrils were shrinking away to his back, his claws were dulling down, and the flesh around his face was filling, softening to a less monstrous appearance. Even his mouth was sealing closed again. You noticed his crimson red tie was now askew and damaged, which was minute to the condition of his suit.
    Without a word, Slenderman rounded the sofa, approaching you. He reached down and scooped you into his arms, cradling you. The room warped from its antique and homely appearance to that of a pristine hospital. As you blinked your eyes, trying to wipe away the dizzying effect of the Slender-walk, your master lowered you onto a cold, metal table. To this, you flinched and shivered, but succumbed to accepting it. The chilled steel was only making contact with your hands and exposed waist, anyway.
    Slenderman turned to a wall of cabinets and drawers, to which he quickly snatched out various items and placed them neatly on a wheeled metal cart. There was a white cloth, a bottle that looked like rubbing alcohol, medical thread, and a stitching needle. You gulped when you didn't see any pills or syringes. “M-master, I need something for the pain,” you began to beg as Slenderman returned to you with the cart of supplies. “Please. I don't think I can-” you were unable to finish, though. Slenderman unscrewed the bottle and doused your wound with the confirmed rubbing alcohol. Your body began to contort as you wailed out in pain, but your master's tendrils extended from his back and pinned you down to the table.
    Earlier, you thought waking up to Eyeless Jack playing doctor on you was the worst pain you had ever felt. Now? Now, you knew that your own master trying to repair your wound was the worst pain you had ever felt. He had no concern for your comfort, so long as it didn't cripple your performance in missions.
    The searing sensation in your abdomen set your brain on fire. You could barely register that you were even screaming or struggling out of reflex. No matter how much you wanted to fall unconscious, the discomfort of your wound being utterly cleansed kept you well awake. Even when Slenderman began dabbing and wiping away the blood and alcohol, you could feel the aftermath of his actions. Through the distorted vision of your tear-soaked eyes, you noticed your master preparing something else; his motions reminded you of someone threading a needle. This was soon confirmed when you felt the dull pierce of the needle and the drag of the thread through your flesh. Part of you was thankful that the alcohol had numbed the edges of your open wound, but it didn’t comfort the sickness in your stomach.
    As you gathered your wits and steadied your breathing, you began pondering over the events within the living room. You dared to ask Slenderman, “Why didn’t you wake me up before you left?”
    There was a long pause as the tall being carefully stitched close your incision. He slowly pulled the thread through as he considered his words. “I had to attend a quick matter. I didn’t expect to be away for as long as was.”
    You winced at the next pierce of the needle, silently wondering what had called Slenderman away from you. This Creepypasta was mysterious – far more so than the rest. Maybe one day you would learn of what these ‘matters’ he had to deal with were, though part of you feared that you might not be able to handle them.
    “What happened to Eyeless Jack?” Concerns of the previous fight entered your mind. Jack’s screams echoed in your memories.
    A grunt of disapproval escaped Slenderman, and you noticed a deep scowl crinkle over his brow. He replied, “That fool will survive. He is acquiescent of my regulations within the mansion. His territorial instincts toward his sustenance will be his demise if this continues.”
    “I’ll just pay better attention to what’s made of kidneys,” you pursed your lips. Not sure if you should feel bad for Eyeless Jack or hate him for being viciously protective of his food.
    Slenderman finished your stitches and sliced the thread with his fingertip. He wheeled away the cart of supplies and pointed to a cabinet on the far end of the room near the door, “There are bottles of pain medication if you desire them. Take care not to overdose.”
    You didn’t hesitate to slide off of the metal table, though your stitches and abdomen protested. Through the aches, you hobbled across the smooth, tiled floor and reached up to the cabinet you were directed to. Opening it revealed numerous bottles of various pain pills. On another shelf, you saw even more bottles of the drugs in liquid form. You took the safer route and snatched up a bottle of pills that you were most familiar with.
    “Take note that I will not always protect you from the other residents,” Slenderman’s deep voice filled your head. “They are allowed rough-housing and various pranks, but I draw the line when my Proxies are damaged to the point of hindered performance.”
    “Right,” you nodded and swallowed the dosage of pills that you would typically ingest for bad headaches. It took a few strained gulps, but you managed to get them down. "But I'm not exactly the most skilled with self-defense. Everyone here has way more experience than me."  You turned to face your master, watching him wipe clean the table you were recently laying on with the already blood-stained cloth.
    Casually, Slenderman replied, "Your performance during your Proxy tests suggests otherwise."
    "That was totally a fluke," you blurted out, hoping that Slenderman might take pity on you and give you some fighting lessons or something.
    "That, my dear," your master gracefully turned to you, tossing the cloth into a basket nearby, and then leaned in close, "was a beautiful phenomenon I like to call primordial instinct." His index finger, long and bony, playfully tapped the center of your chest. Slenderman then straightened himself up, still tilting his head down to simulate eye contact. "I recommend that you meditate on the abilities humans have suppressed these past few millennia."
    You quirked a brow at the thought of sitting cross-legged like the hovering monks you saw in movies. Spending hours sitting still and humming a single tone to yourself didn't seem all too appealing. "Can't I just take a Proxy fighting class?" You flinched, realizing how that question sounded; maybe you crossed the line?
    Slenderman didn't budge. He continued to stare at you. This did nothing to soothe your nerves. In fact, it made you anticipate him suddenly lashing out at you any second. "Another recommendation for you," he finally stated. When he knew you were paying more attention to his words, rather than his composure, the tall being continued, "Study your vocabulary. Humans have degenerated their own language, primarily the English language, through the abuse of slang and stereotypes."
    You pursed your lips, not sure how to respond to what your master, a cold-blooded killer, had just told you. The more you lived out this new life as a Proxy, the more you connected it with your old life as a human. Not only were you still in fear of being bullied, but now you had to do homework? What next? P.E. class?
    "Lastly," Slenderman interrupted your thoughts, "once your wound has healed, you should consider starting an exercise routine. The activity during today's mission was perhaps the least my Proxies have experienced in some time." At the sight of your irked demeanor, your master became - what it seemed to be - offended. He leaned in close to you again, much closer than before. You could feel the heat of his skin radiate from its surface; even the light scent of mulch tickled your nostrils. You stiffened up at the Slenderman's sudden change of attitude, afraid of what he might do to you. "Would you rather I turn you over to the residents of my condominium?" His words were laced with poison - one that caused your skin to crawl at the thought of Eyeless Jack actually gutting you with no restrictions.
    Swallowing the lump in your throat, you quickly shook your head to deny the offer. "I'll make sure to do everything you ordered, master, sir," your words were nothing short of a mousy squeak. Every time you thought you could relax and have a normal conversation with Slenderman, he would change altogether into the monster he truly could be. So far, you hadn't gotten strangled again, but maybe he was going easy on you now that you were officially a Proxy.
    Again, your master straightened up, this time stepping around you to exit the medical room. “These are all in your best interest. A lack of understanding and physical capabilities can be a major downfall in this line of work.” At that, he pushed open the swinging door and left you to your thoughts. Strangely enough, those thoughts currently consisted of how the door had no handle or lock. Probably for ease of access during emergencies.
    “Whatever,” you mumbled, feeling exhausted from the pain medication entering your bloodstream. You still felt some of the pills sitting in your throat, or maybe you were just being paranoid. Either way, you decided to hobble to the nearest bathroom and get a drink of water from the sink before finding your bedroom.
    So far, you seemed to do more sleeping as a Proxy than actually running on missions. Not that you should be complaining. Each mission was another possibility that you could be seriously injured or killed. The mansion seemed to be no less dangerous, though. Learning to fight back against the rest of the others living there was definitely your top priority, but for now, you couldn’t do much of that with your current condition.
    “Guess I’ll have to find out exactly what he meant by ‘meditating’ at some point,” you mumbled again.
    After drinking to satisfaction from the bathroom sink, you wandered the halls in mild discomfort, trying to figure out exactly where you were. How many floors did the mansion have? Sweat was beginning to form on your forehead from the pain in your abdomen. You would need to sit down soon or who knows what would happen – you hoped that fainting wasn’t a possibility, since that would leave you open to anyone who came across your unconscious self.
    Huffing and puffing from your rapidly declining endurance, you eventually found the staircase that lead to the first floor. This told you that you were on the second floor. Further past the staircase would be your bedroom. You pushed yourself on, telling yourself that the room was the only safe-haven in this home of psychos. So far, it was.
    As you stumbled down the hall, using the nearest wall for support, you approached Masky’s door. Curiosity burned in your mind, but you didn’t want to risk being caught snooping. So, rather than opening the door, you pressed your ear to it and listened.
    There was no longer a steady beep of the heart monitor. You couldn’t hear a distinct, strained breathing like before. This seemed like good news – and you hoped that it was.
    Satisfied with your discovery, you continued on down the hall to your sanctuary. You locked your door shut and collapsed on your bed, immediately regretting that as your stitches strained against your tender flesh.
    For the next two days, you did as little as possible and stayed in your room when you otherwise needed to eat or relieve your bowls. Unfortunately, this routine didn’t give you as much peace and relaxation as you hoped to get.