Her Scar | Jacksepticeye/Antisepticeye X Reader

9 / Y/n / The Attack

I'm shaking. I'm crying. The door thumps again. "Come out of there or I swear to the devil that I'm going to do worse!" His voice is terrifying. Fear runs through me in streaks, spiking my adrenaline and my pulse. I search around the room in fear. My phone is in the living room. I won't be able to get it. I turn to the window in my room and dash for it.

I lift up the glass. Shit, I'm two stories above the driveway. If I jump, there's no way I'll be able to get out of here. I'll definitely break some bones. I give up on that, searching my room again. Mark won't be home for hours. I can't out-wait him.

My computer. I lunge for it, grabbing it and opening it up. Low battery?! Now?! Fuck! I reach for my charger, plugging it in. I need to hide somewhere so I can power this on and send Mark a message before he gets in. He hits the door again and splinters fly off. I manage to avoid getting hit by any, but he will be in the room soon.

Closet? He's going to look there. Besides, the cord won't reach. Under the bed? He'll look there too, even if I could manage to hide the charger from giving away my position.

I spot a nook under my desk that I might be able to hide in if I can arrange some things just right. The charger will look inconspicuous. Hopefully the open window will throw him off.

I crawl into the hiding spot, hiding myself and finally, the computer starts to turn on. Thankfully, with all the daylight streaming in my room, the computer light won't give me away.

After it powers on, the door flies open, slamming into the door stopper and flying back. He knocks it again and stops it. "Where are you, little mouse? You can't hide." Instantly, he spots the window across from the door.

He stomps over and I get a good look at his combat boots. Shoes I probably would've gushed over in any other situation.

"Fuck," he mutters. He slams the window shut, throwing on the lock. "There's no fucking way she left yet. Not until she gets her phone, she won't." He slides my phone into his back pocket. How did he get that? Shit. Not good, not good at all.

He will automatically get a notification if Mark texts me back. I have to risk it. I don't have a choice.

He stomps from the room, slamming the door behind him. I inhale deeply, just now realizing I was holding my breath before.

I open my messages and go to Mark's contact.

[You:]
Help. Someone in house. Murderer

Before I know it, an alert flashes.
COULD NOT DELIVER in bright red letters. Then everything goes dark. I slam shut my computer. The door is still closed but I can't give away my position.

I look around and now the only light is from the window. He cut the power. Great.

I consider for half a second actually risking jumping out the window. No.

I can't leave the room yet. The hallway opens all the way to the stairs down and then the intersection between the living room and kitchen. If he's near the exit or entrance to either of those rooms, he will probably see me. Wait, no. The stairs at the end of the hall. Without lights on, they are nearly invisible. I just have to get up them quietly and into Mark's room. That's my safest bet if I'm going to wait him out.

I slide out of my hiding spot and step cautiously toward my bedroom door. I peak out. I don't see him anywhere. I creep cautiously backwards, waiting to spot him in the living room or kitchen. My back slams into something and my heart stops. I spin around.

His face grins back at me. "You clever little minx." He snatches my arm and I nearly scream. I stop myself. This is a large house. The neighbors won't hear me and it's only going to hurt me in the long run.

My heart hammers against my chest as his knife drags down my face lightly. My eyes are glued to his. There's no doubt in my mind this is the serial killer who nearly ended my life five months ago. Or that it was the same man on a Skype call with Mark a month or so after I moved in. I wasn't sure how he and Mark knew each other, but something felt off about him. However, in the flesh, he was a million times more off-putting.

Shakily, I brought my hands together at my chest level. Slowly, I signed, 'You're going to kill me.' It was meant to be a question, but it was more of a statement.

"Yes, I am, little mouse. You've eluded me for long enough. The only question is: how shall I kill you?" I wasn't sure if he were asking me or not, but I doubted it.

I took a breath to gain more courage, and swatted away his knifed hand at the wrist, racing up the steps behind him. Thankfully, after staying in the house for nearly three months, I knew the stairs very well. I managed not to trip as I rushed up them. I skidded down the hall and slid into Mark's room, shutting and locking the door behind me.

I wasn't sure how close behind me he had been, but I wasn't willing to check. I forced Mark's window open. The banging on the door was deafening. Mark's bedroom window opened up above a large tree in the backyard. Thank God.

I climbed carefully over the window sill, reaching out for the nearest branches of the tree. I didn't dare look back at the room. There was a loud bang. I reached forward and my fingers grazed a branch. The door burst open and I surged forward, grabbing onto a branch and pulling myself out of the room and into the tree.

He rushed to the window, hoping to catch me but his hands landed at the window sill at the last minute. I looked back at him with both fear and surprise. I hadn't expected that to work.

He growled at me. He moved his body over the window sill. Shit! He's following! I quickly climbed down the tree, dropping to the ground as soon as it was safe and running. Chica and Henry barked loudly at me as they saw me run, rushing up to me. I tried to wave them off. Can't they see I'm not playing right now?

I look behind me to watch as the man's hoodie gets caught on a branch. He unzips it, jumping from the tree out of the hoodie. What I see stops me in my tracks.

Not only does he land perfectly in a crouched position, once standing, I can see the blood running down his entire body in thick rivulets from his neck and arms. He has the same gash across his neck. I trip, falling to the ground and watching him for a moment in terrified fascination.

He scowls, brushing dirt off himself before stalking toward me. My eyes go wide as I watch. His neck and bleeding arms don't seem to bother him at all. "Wh-what are you?" I manage to whisper out. My throat burns, but I need answers.

He grins sickly. "A demon, sweetheart." And in that moment, I believe him.