Can't Say

Chapter 25

      In spite of the short-lived breakfast victory, the Proxies were forced to clean the kitchen. Such a mess was far greater than the first time around, mostly due to food crumbs being smeared into tile grout and miscellaneous corners. You ended up requiring a toothbrush to finish this job. Any sense of smell that you were beginning to regain was overwhelmed by the scent of lemon. The abrasions within your nostrils stung from the chemicals that you were forced to inhale.
      Lunchtime was creeping close by the time the kitchen was purified to satisfaction. At least there was nothing left of Kitteh’s food, so the possibility of another rampage was minimal. You were still satiated from breakfast, so you postponed having anything for lunch until your overlord of a stomach demanded otherwise.
      Later, you learned that Eyeless Jack and Jeff the Killer would be out hunting for a few days. To this, you let out a sigh of relief. The knowledge that about half of the threats that existed within your new home would be temporarily gone mitigated your anxiety.
      With things calming down again, you decided to inspect your garden. It had been a couple days, and you weren’t sure if it had rained at the mansion during that time. In fact, you weren’t sure if it ever rained in the Creepypasta world. Surely it did on occasion; otherwise, where would the water come from? This was a question you would have to inquire about in the near future. In the meantime, you inspected your hard work, plucking up any sprouts of weeds or grass that you desperately hoped weren’t the seeds you had planted. So far, there seemed to be no vegetable sprouts, but you recalled reading that it could take a week or so before noticeable results.
      After cleaning up the bed of seeds, you searched the nearby shed for the watering can. There was no hose, nor a modern water faucet. Instead, you had to work a water pump the old fashioned way. Thus, began your several rounds of pumping, filling the watering can, carrying it to the garden, soaking the rows of seeds, and returning to step one. You didn’t noticed a tall, slender being watching you from afar until your second round. If you weren’t already accustomed to his style of appearances, you would surely have been startled.
      Upon catching sight of your master, you stopped and turned to him, “Is everything okay?” It’d be best not to ignore him, but you had a more direct question that you felt would offend him in some way if you acknowledged him with it.
      Nodding, Slenderman simply replied, “Observing.”
     You flashed an accepting smile, then continued tending to your garden. Now was a good time to ask the real question, “Why are you so fascinated with my gardening?” The back patio full of exotic flowers was evidence of Slenderman’s expert ability to raise flora, so why monitor your work?
     He didn’t respond.
      Glancing in your master’s direction, you saw him staring at you with no intent to offer a reply. You brushed it off, knowing that trying to force out an answer would just get you strangled. There were already enough bruises on your neck.
      Silence filled the air while you finished watering your rows of planted seeds. When you deemed your work done, scanning your eyes over the garden, a mental reminder struck your chest - Laughing Jack’s gumball hadn’t been watered. At first, you rolled your eyes, planning to ignore it, but something deep within you heavily suggested that you treat the gumball equally. This feeling of dread drove you to watering it, despite how silly you felt. You laughed to yourself, thinking of how wild it would be if Laughing Jack’s precious gumball actually sprouted.
      With nothing more to do with the garden, you entered the shed to put away the watering can. A quick scan, looking over the available tools and provisions, gave you a decent estimation of what the future would hold. You would need to refer back to the books to see what was further needed of you once the seedlings sprouted – if they ever did.
      Sighing, you turned to the shed door, only to once again find your master blocking your way with his awkwardly looming wake. Despite how inured you were getting to this habit of his, your body still released a fiery burst of adrenaline in your chest. A slew of curses escaped your breath, though Slenderman didn’t seem to mind. He probably found it amusing to watch you try to compose yourself in his sudden appearances.
      As soon as you moistened your temporary cotton mouth to nag at your master, a pair of large hands clasped either side of your face. Your head was tilted back and side to side; Slenderman was examining your nose. You watched him, eyes straining to keep a bead on his lacking face as he studied how well your nose was healing. There were still obvious blotches of bruising, though they had begun to fade from black and blue to a brownish-yellow. Your master's bony thumbs reached to the bridge of your nose and firmly pressed against it. To this, you winced, feeling a dull pain. Slenderman released your head, seeming satisfied with what he had learned. You massaged your nose while giving the tall being a dirty glance.
      “Continue your medication for one more day,” Slenderman stated.
      “Uh,” you stumbled over your words, trying not to sound snarky, “okay. Thanks. I didn't think I'd be off them so soon, anyway.” Your eyes shifted to either side of the shed doorway, looking for a large enough gap to squeeze passed your master.
     “The accelerated healing is beneficial to our lifestyle.”
      “Yeah,” you trailed off awkwardly, already inching your way to one side in hopes of slipping by.
      Slenderman gripped your shoulder just as you were about to make it through his barricade. Nonetheless, you froze at his touch, fearing that you had angered him for wanting to get out. His less threatening tone eased your nerves, though, when he inquired you, “Did you receive my broadcast about the mission?”
      Eyebrows knitting in recollection, you mulled over the morning since breakfast. “I guess not. I'm sorry. What's the mission?” Your teammates didn't mention anything about it, and you knew they wouldn't keep that sort of information from you – for their own sake – knowing you were still synchronizing with Slenderman's Proxy telepathy – or whatever he called it.
      You were surprised by your master's patience toward the inconvenience, though it wasn't your fault, and thus couldn't be blamed. “We will be executing another human five days from now,” he summarized.
      “Someone else has been collecting glamour shots of you?” It was an innocent enough jest that you desperately hoped Slenderman wouldn't misjudge. Your, at first, snickering face quickly dropped to an uncertain and crooked grin. The pale being simply stared at you, for lack of a better term. The silence was disturbing any comfort you had left.
      “I'd like to show you something,” your master offered, startling you out of anticipation. Even though you flinched, he kept a firm grip on your shoulder. You weren't able to give consent before your eyes unfocused and the scenery changed around you.
      Your next inhale caught your attention, filling your nostrils with the scent of old leather and parchment. Tall, seemingly endless bookshelves filled your view. Slenderman didn't have to explain that this was a library, though you wondered if it was still inside the mansion.
      The hand gripping your shoulder slid down to the small of your back, urging you in your master's desired direction through the rows of books and documents. You were sure you caught a glance of a rack full of ancient scrolls.
      There was one area in particular that Slenderman guided you to, neglecting to give a friendly tour as you went – what a shame. This area, however, had its own quirky theme that quickly made a connection in your mind: Slenderman collected his glamour shots. You bit your lip, trying not to laugh aloud. You did your best not to think too much about the situation, knowing you'd receive punishment for silently making fun of your master, if he was listening in on your thoughts.
      Upon closer inspection, you noticed large filing cabinets filled with film reels, VHS tapes, and other forms of media. Other shelves held numerous photo albums. In one corner, there was a furniture setup of a recliner facing a projector screen, an old box television, and a more updated television. Each appliance was accompanied by its appropriate video player. Next to the recliner was a small side table with a set of speakers and attached feed adapters. Lastly, nearby this arrangement was a white desk. A swing-arm lamp sat to one side, folded and waiting.
      “Throughout the decades,” Slenderman began his verbal presentation, “I have collected various forms of evidence involving myself and my Proxies. I use these to study my effects on the ever-growing technology of recording devices.” He remained at your side, allowing you to view his personal library.
      Hesitant, you cleared your throat and gave an awkward smile as a sign of good faith. “So, this isn't some form of narcissism? It's actually for research,” you dared to ask. “I-I mean,” you panicked, worried that your master would punish you for accusing him of a petty trait, “you seem more like the latter, so it makes sense that this is strictly for research.” Your eyes strained up to study Slenderman's featureless head, hoping to detect something to prepare yourself for the worst.
      Slenderman angled his head in your direction, seeming to eye you with whatever vision receptors he possessed. He was silent for a few moments. This didn't ease your nerves in the least bit. Was he teasing you? Usually he wouldn't bother to postpone your punishments. You gulped, trying to lubricate your drying throat.
      “Sexual-Offenderman is more the type to keep your so-called 'glamour shots' of himself,” your master finally broke the silence, his tone placid. “Mind you, I do appreciate a skilled capture of my likeness.”
      You released a breath of air that you hadn't realized you were holding. The relief that you weren't going to be strangled or terrified for thinking of your master as a narcissist melted off your shoulders. Actually, you mentally noted that Slenderman had been oddly forgiving toward a number of your situations. Sure, you were officially a Proxy now, but you were assured that such a status didn't exempt you from corporal punishments when he deemed it necessary. So, why were your insulting assumptions ignored? 
      “Because you were merely deducing from the facts you had gathered,” Slenderman responded to your pondering as though you had been vocalizing your concerns the entire time. “I may be a creature of nightmares, but I am capable of discerning logical reasoning from blind accusations.” He then gracefully whirled around on one heel, toward the front of the main library, “Come.” You did as you were told.
      Down the long, wide isle of the main library was a pair of classic wooden doors with bronze knobs. Upon exiting through them with your master, you found yourself in a hallway unfamiliar to you. Directly across was a line of large windows overlooking the patio. You seemed to be in the back of the mansion.
      The pressure of Slenderman's hand on your lower back guided you along the modestly decorated hall. Occasional doors dotted the wall opposite the library. The air was eerily quiet, save for the soft tapping of footsteps made by Slenderman and yourself. The monotonous atmosphere was soon interrupted by a new scent entering your nose. At first, you figured Jeff was up ahead, huffing on a cigarette. You remembered, however, that he was supposed to be gone for a few days, so that was unlikely. From what you knew, no one else smoked.
      You and your master rounded the corner, revealing to you the familiar hallway that led to the staircase and your room. The choking odor of ashes was growing, though you didn't notice much difference in the air's visibility.
      It was when Slenderman stopped at the top of the staircase did you see the source of your growing curiosity.
      Standing in a corner of the mansion foyer was a thin being clad in gray-scale colors. He wore a gray, hooded jacket and black pants. With the low-cut style of the zipped-up top, you detected a black, turtle-neck shirt. You could see his peach flesh between the shirt and the black mask that concealed his true face. Upon this mask were a pair of white, scowling eyes and a jagged mouth. These weren't characteristics out of the norm for your new world, but you couldn't take your gaze from the one thing that did.
      Steady plumes of smoke veiled this person's hands and feet. You could barely see if they even had such physical appendages. These were obviously the cause of the thickening air of smoke. You weren't sure if you would be able to stay in the same room with this being for too long.
      “I appreciate your cooperation, Smoke,” Slenderman descended the staircase, pulling out small, metal box and flipping its conjoined switch. “I have interrupted my passive energies. You should be feeling less suppressed at this point.” You watched from atop the stairs, listening closely and watching this Smoke's demeanor.
      Smoke nodded, loosening his crossed arms and pushing himself from the corner to straighten his posture, “Thank you, Slenderman.” He still seemed tense, uncomfortable with where he was.
      “Perhaps it would be more appropriate for us to continue at my patio,” Slenderman offered. He gestured a hand toward the hall that lead to the back of the mansion on the first floor.
      Nodding, Smoke waited for Slenderman to take lead. You noticed an effeminate quirk to this newcomer, though you were certain his voice sounded masculine, as he walked out of sight.
      You waited a short while, making sure that the two had gone far enough so that you could open the front door and air out the lobby. It might be rude to want to get rid of Smoke's odor, so you didn't want to risk it. Simply opening the door wasn't enough, though, so you went into the living room and found a magazine to fan the smoke outside. You took breaks to catch your breath and fill your lungs with clean air, probably looking like a darn fool to anyone who might happen to be watching.
      Unfortunately, for you, someone was indeed watching.
      It began as a tingling sensation around your feet. This soon clawed up your legs like vicious demons equipped with molten talons. Your body gave way to the increasing pain, collapsing to the floor as tongues of fire flickered into your view. The engulfment of your body set off every alarm in your mind, forcing out a desperate shriek for mercy. You felt as though you were melting, but your skin seemed to tighten around your heated bones. No matter how wide you held open your eyes, praying that this was just some nightmare you could wake up from, your vision never faded; your eyeballs stung like the fresh burst of steam after uncovering a boiling pot. Overwhelmed with pain on every inch of your being, you found yourself nearly catatonic – muscles tensed and held tight in a single statuary position – while trying to writhe on the lobby floor. You screamed incoherent words of terror, of fury, and of bargains to make it stop.
      Finally, after what seemed ages of the deranging torture, it stopped. You weren't sure when it stopped, but the horrible sensations faded away as if you had simply suffered a cold sweat. The moment you realized your freedom, your body flattened onto the floor, finally relaxing. You stared up at the ceiling, gathering your thoughts and trying to remember where you were. 
      “That's for breakfast,” a young man's voice hissed from the side. He hovered near you, making sure that you saw just who got their revenge.
      You strained your eyes to look in the voice's direction, trying to recall what had happened to receive such a punishment. Your head tilted over, aiding your attempt to see who had done this. A green, Phrygian cap nestled upon a head of golden hair. 
      Everything came flooding back to you as soon as you noticed the red, bulging lump on BEN's pale forehead. His dark eyes narrowed at your vulnerable form, satisfied with his revenge, then wandered off into the living room without another word.
      Unable to find the will to rise from defeat, you remained on the floor, staring at the entry way to the living room. The tapping of a game controller filled in the silence, accompanied by the faint music of the Song of Unhealing. Your eyes stung as tears welled up within you; a painful lump in your throat steadily grew. You wanted to cry right there, but if someone witnessed such a thing, would they think less of you? Would you immediately be cast out from the team of Proxies?
      Slenderman had warned that you should get accustomed to this sort of pain, but receiving it from those who were supposed to be your ally was a different class altogether. You felt betrayed.
      After some time of allowing your thoughts to wander, you gathered yourself and rose from the floor. A quick once-over your body confirmed that BEN had only used his illusioned flames, leaving no physical harm to yourself – only mental. You wiped away the few escaped tears that clung to your cheek, then began climbing the staircase to reach your bedroom. The mansion door could stay open for all you cared; there was still a lingering scent of smoke that needed to be further aired out, anyway.
      Your bedroom door, however, was gently closed behind you, sealing away what you were trying to hide. You clambered onto your bed, unable to ignore the smoke that clung to your clothes as you tried to hold back your swelling urge to sob into your pillows. Collapsing onto the soft fabrics, you screwed your eyes shut, trying to imagine yourself anywhere but the mansion. All that formed in your mind was the view of the lobby ceiling framed by orange flames. Your skin crawled at the memory of what you endured.
      No matter how hard you tried, it wouldn't stop. The pain wouldn't stop.
      The dam that was your eyelids gave way to tears. You choked on the lump in your throat. Pathetic wails of your misery were muffled by the pillows as you buried your face into them. You felt a loathing rage build upon inside you, judging Ben to be unfair in his vengeful tactic. A need to even the score called to you from deep within. Ideas of how to torture the ghost flashed through your mind like flipping images. Your chest burned as hot as your fresh tears while you gasped for control.
      An unknown time had passed when you had calmed down to the occasional hiccup and sniffle. A weight on your bed behind you tipped off that there was a new presence in your room. You were confident that it was your master.
      Sure enough, you heard his rumbling voice initiate the following conversation, “I prefer my Proxies to have bites worse than their barks.”
      You didn't bother to turn you head; you didn't feel like moving, much less talk, but you figured it best to reply. “You want me to attack an ally?”
      “So long as you refrain from extinguishing them, I don't care how you go about retaliating against an ally.”
      Your jaw clenched, considerations dancing through you mind. You remained silent, knowing that Slenderman was most likely reading your thoughts, anyway. There was concern of how things would go on the battlefield if you continued fighting with BEN. How would you be able to trust that he wouldn't try to get revenge on you during that time?
      “BEN would have to answer to me. Solving personal conflicts with a colleague while on a mission is strictly prohibited. It causes too great a risk to the team's livelihood.” Slenderman was confident in his statement. This was already a normal thing for residents and Proxies to fight back while at the mansion. “The same goes for my Proxies, of course. Even if you completely despise an ally, you must do your part while on mission.”
      Cracking open your lips, you wondered aloud, “I don't know what the limits are to a Creepypasta, though. What if I accidentally kill one?”
      There was a broad sneer in your master's voice, “Then, my dear, you should begin experimenting before such a mistake occurs.” His encouragement was contagious, and it infected you wholly.