Septic freaks (Jacksepticeyegos short stories)

The broken puppet

// GORE //

The strum of guitars, the tune of the piano, the desperately merciful hum of the man listening to the instruments settle and play. It was once in a blue mood he would sit down and listen to at least one minute of music... He uses music to block out the intrusive thoughts that would manically rummage through his head. The amount of things he already has to worry about, another pile to add on would only make him collapse... His foot joins the beat of the melody, eyes closed and body leaned back as if he has never had anytime to relax himself. He would sigh every once in a while, mainly because he always remembers the things he'll end up fussy over, storing itself cornered in his mind like a pimple you can't seem to get rid off, worrying that it would ruin your whole appearance that very day or week. Sometimes some things won't go unless you acknowledge them with your full attention and focus, in this case it would take a while. He knows the more time he spends on it, the less time he will worry about it but other things are stopping him. Troubled thi-

The door to his office slammed open with erupted force. The man jerked from his seat, yanking the earphones from his ears and staring over to the opened door. All the lights were out in the house including his office, only using a few candles to light up what he needed, somehow reflecting the shadow of the figure standing in the doorway. Not moving. Just staring. The man silently panicked, his phone and earphones still gripped heavily in his hand from the sudden burst of open doors. His eyes scanning the unknown being in front of him. That wasn't until he could make out the blurry shadow of a somewhat sharp object in the persons right hand, facing the floor as the disturbing image of blurred liquid ran off the object and dropped to the floor- making a small, dripping sound which unsettled him as he leaned against his chair.

His whole body shaking, mouth slightly open but words wouldn't fall out. The glasses that stood on his head slid down to his nose, quickly pushing them in so he could properly vision what he is trying to make out. But by the time he adjusted his glasses the figure was gone. Nothing but the open door that led to the darkness of his hallway. Now he was scared, jumping from his seat where he struggled to contain his anxiety, picking up everything important he sees and shoving it in his arms. The man quietly walked out of the room, squinting through the darkness and touching the walls to guide him across so he could reach his front-door.

He thought he felt the handle, gripping it tightly with his free hand until something cold and stiff threw itself on his wrist, twisting it in an ungodly manner making the man scream out in agony. Before he could react anymore a blindfold was tied around his eyes and the feeling of being dragged over someone's shoulder, heavily walking around for which he doesn't know where. The mans voice started to hurt. Feeling the urge to vomit as he couldn't feel anything but the sticky, wet liquid that ran down his hands- he had no clue how it got there but seeing as the figure appeared quite bloody it must of been them.

It was short time before being thrown onto a cold ground, the man gasping out from the painful shot he felt. His blindfold was ripped off to see the face of his nightmare. His fellow look-alike. The person who sank his depression and anxiety further than can be possible. The sharp, smirk he gave as soon as he saw the mans feared expression that ran across his face. He was grabbed at by the neck, pulled up against the closes wall that felt damp and cold, his back sliding across it when something sharp was thrown into his torso. His eyes were tightly shut, due to pain and refusing to look at the disturbing sight he tried to escape. He screamed and whimpered until two fingers were forcing his eyes open, glancing over to the blood-coated, evil looking self. He watched as the person twisted the knife in his stomach, hating the sick laugh the person gave whenever he shouted out, begging for his life.

His earphones were still tucked into his pocket. His lifeless body lying on the cold, steel and now bloody ground. The person admiring their work of art until focussing on the faint music they are hearing, going through the deceased persons pocket and pulling out some black earphones which played out some calmed music. The person grinned, pulling on the cable and soon catching himself the phone. He tucked it into his own pocket and collected the used knives that stood in the body, slashing them out violently- loving the sensation of the warm, crimson liquid that splat itself onto his face. Throwing the weapons on the table and eyes glowing.

"You had a chance to acknowledge me Schneep. Looks like you didn't."