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Chapter Text

The first time you opened your eyes, you stood in front of your open front door. It only made sense to step out.

The heat in the air was oppressive, slow-cooking every inch of your skin. Billowing wind whipped your gown against your legs and sent your hair flying behind you, but carried no chill. Only ash that singed your throat with every inhale. The sweat boiled off of your skin, flames singing the hairs on the back of your neck.

But there was no fire.

There couldn't be, with all this darkness surrounding you. The sky was near black, with low-hanging clouds that dropped ash on you like snowfall. Not a lick of light, sun or moon, peeked through it, making it meld almost seamlessly with the black horizon. Cornstalks rose in every direction, charred by wildfire, and miraculously still standing even in the wind. Though you couldn't see their silhouettes against the dark sky, you could hear the caw of carrion birds in the air.

Even the dirt beneath you was warm, but not as though burnt. In fact, it was more like mud that squelched beneath your bare feet with every step, characteristic brown replaced with the muted red of clay. Like a swamp, your feet nearly sunk into it, earth rich with life--almost pulsing with it--yet nothing living grew out of it. No grass. No flowers. Just endless rows of dead corn.

Every direction was identical, an endlessly tessellating pattern of crops, with the exception of your home. It was still standing, but a hollow shell of what it was before. Whatever of it's bright blue paint had survived the fire was dulled by the lack of natural light, the husk reduced to a flat gray. Every window shattered and dusty, the door banging back and forth in the wind, held by creaking hinges. You tried to recall how it looked inside, but your mind lulled into static.

As you attuned yourself to the thrum of the earth, you felt it reverberate in your skull, a ceaseless hum in the back of your cranium that tickled your nerves, but did nothing to stimulate you. As you circled around the house, the louder the hum became. It was lulling into a suspenseful cadence, the steady thrum of bass through your bones nearly matching your own heartbeat. But slower, more relaxed. As though it had a heartbeat of its own. As though it was sleeping.

Beyond your home, you could just barely make out a set of train tracks hidden amongst the corn. The dirt path that led to town from here was gone, replaced again with decaying corn stalks that you had to push through to make it to the tracks. These hadn't seen use since you were a child. These days, trucks were much more effective, meaning the tracks now served as little more than scenery to your home, nature slowly overtaking the rails with vines and bird nests.

But none of that was left anymore. The tracks were pristine, the wrought iron a striking black against the red velvet dirt. They were warm to the touch, and trembled to the same rhythm as your bones. A quiet, distinct beating that timed well with the breathing of the dirt beneath your feet. Your own breathing stuttered, palpitations shaking your chest, when the iron hissed under your fingers. It was aware, very aware, that you were here.

You took your hand away and stood, the hum dimming significantly as you pulled away. There was nothing but rustling stalks as far as you could see, nothing for you to travel to. So, you chose to follow the tracks. You walked until the home was out of sight, endless rows of rotting plants obscuring every corner of your vision. The longer you stood next to the pulsing tracks, the closer your thumping skull got to a headache, but you feared walking away and losing sight of it. Then you'd be trapped in the endless grain forever, and that was certainly worse.

The vultures in the air were louder now, flying lower. Through your ash-singed nostrils, you were starting to smell the kill they were circling. As you got closer, it grew more distinct, the rot even more unpleasant to breathe than the ash. You thought about turning around, but somehow it no longer seemed like an option. Your feet were beginning to sink, the balance of dirt to water changing and the ground beneath you more closely resembling a bog than a field. Somehow the corn had no trouble staying up, but the sloshy mix of Earth nearly had you slipping with every step, macerated goo sticking to the bottom of your feet. Every time you had to catch yourself, you wound up splashing, staining the bottom of your white gown with a miserable red that slapped your thighs with every gust.

The dark sky made it hard to see where the tracks ended, hinted only by the strength of the decay. It was only when you were steps away that you saw just how severely your path...ended. The tracks, dirt and fields sloughed off into nothing, a pure black canyon in front of you instead. You walked right up to the edge, stopping when you felt the mud falling out from beneath your feet, and looked over.

It was like a trench. The darkness that covered the bottom didn’t seem like the natural dark of the night; it felt much more discreet, almost its own entity. The chasm felt endless. You were getting dizzy from the sight of purely, simply, absolutely nothing, mixed with the gut-wrenching stench of death. Nauseous, you tried to pull your body back. The edge was creeping closer, your toes now losing their grip in the mud.

One more step back, and you immediately lost your balance,catching yourself with your bicep on the swampy ground. You didn’t have time to focus on your aching arm, not when your momentum sent you sliding off the edge. Your fingers dug for purchase. Your legs sought leverage.

But the pit wanted you.

-*-

Your eyes fluttered open. In your chest, you could feel your lungs aching as though you were still screaming, but your mouth was closed and your breathing peaceful. Every ounce of sleep in your body was sloughed off by your nightmare.

The bed was empty next to you, but you could hear music streaming from the master bathroom. So your boyfriend was still here; that meant you were up early. You turned on your side to check the clock, and instead got a faceful of tongue.

"Viking! God--down boy!" you groaned, wiping your bloodhound's slobber off of your cheek. Viking's eyes got big and pitiful--a true master of emotion--and he got no resistance from you when he pulled himself up on the bed by your feet. Petting his side with your foot, you glanced back at the clock. Almost three. Not as early as you thought, but still hours before you had to be at the bar for work. You tried to close your eyes, but sleep wasn't coming back for you anytime soon.

Your temples were starting to ache as your thoughts caught up. Awake now, you got the pleasure of your brain playing the scenes of your nightmare back in your mind, down to your endless tumble into an abyss. You'd had falling dreams before, even thrown yourself out of bed because of them, but that didn't feel like freefall. It felt like you were being pulled down, like a vortex or a black hole. As though something invisible had a hold of you, dragging you into the pit. That image, seeing the bleak world melt away into a darkness that put it to shame, induced a headache in you before you even got out of bed.

"You're up early." You cracked open one eye, focusing on your boyfriend's silhouette in the bathroom door. Roy's hair was still wet, dirty jeans and work jacket hiding the sculpted curves of his figure. His infectious smile drew a tiny grin from your lips.

"Had a bad dream." He clomped over to the bed in his steel-toed work boots, pierced lower lip pushed out.

"You can't start having bad dreams the day I leave, babe," he said, placing his hands on your shoulders and making some attempt to massage out the tension. "What are you gonna do when I'm over 100 miles away?"

"Deal with it myself?" you proposed. He chuckled and gave you a soft "good morning" kiss. He went to say something after, until you pulled him in for another. And another. And then he pulled you in--

"Alright, enough," you finally said, hands on his chest. He huffed as he pulled away.

"Yeah, I'm already late." He pushed himself away from the bed, scratching Viking behind the ear as he moved back to the bathroom. By the time you finished stretching, he had shut the lights off and was grabbing his backpack off the dresser.

"How many days this time?" you asked, signalling for your dog to come curl up next to you, which he gladly did. Roy sighed and pushed his lips together.

"Not sure," he said after a moment of thought, pulling one strap over his shoulder, "it's the same place as last time, I think we're working on the basement now. Jason didn't tell me much."

"Not even an estimate?"

"No, but--Shit, it's almost three." He crossed the room in one giant step, hitting you with one last quick kiss. "I gotta go. I'll text you when I have a date, okay?"

Another big step and he was at the door, already pulling the keys to his truck out of his pocket. Hand scratching behind Viking's ear, you called after him: "You better not have a date!"

With one last cheesy smile and a wink, he closed the door behind him, leaving you and your pup alone. You let the back of your head rest against the wall. Your temples still ached, but your heart had finally stopped hammering, and you felt fine with him leaving. You just wish you had gotten a chance to talk about it before he did.

But, oh well.

"I have to work today, Viking," you told your dog, glancing down at him. He looked back at you, big brown eyes sparkling. "How do you feel about that?"

Your dog sighed, wrinkled lips flapping and his entire body rising and falling. You nodded. "Yeah, that's how I feel too."

-*-

Outside of Sandy’s Lodge, you sat on the sidewalk until 5, watching the very last rays of sunshine disappear from over the horizon. Daylight savings had just passed a few days before, making the short days even shorter to you. The sun had begun to set before you even set out on your brisk walk to work.

Even from outside the thick log walls, you could hear the damn cuckoo clock go off to signal the turn of another hour. Now, you were expected. With a heaving sigh, you picked your apron up off the concrete and tied it behind your back as you entered.

The decor around the lodge centered on a hunters paradise, but it made little sense in rural nowhere, where the nearest hunting grounds were hours away. Most of the nearby town worked as farmers and oil drillers. What comfort would they get from an old elephant gun perched on a wooden plaque, or the many, many pairs of taxidermied eyes following their every move?

Right when you came in was when the trophies lining the wall were at their least terrifying. They had yet to switch the system from day to evening, when the lights switched from overhead to electronic sconces lining the walls. The semi-realistic flames cast flickering shadows over the elk, sheep, and various other game mounted on the wall. It was more like roadkill to you, but you didn’t tell the boss that. Speaking of your boss, Sandy, was leaning against the unused hostess stand with no attempt made to hide her boredom.

"Ready for another night?" she asked as you walked by, sans enthusiasm.

"World'll just go on without me if I'm not," you responded. Her loud snort cracked the relative silence of the restaurant, and even made a couple first-timers glance over their shoulders. The regulars paid it no mind.

"Sure will!" she called after you, turning back to the door with a little less bitterness in her smile. "I'll clock you in, just get to the bar before the rascals start showing up." Her tone lowered, sarcasm ebbing from every word: "Mitchell's got plans tonight."

"I do too, it's called work!" Another laugh, and you felt sure that tonight would be a good one. Mitchell glanced up as you approach, relieved smile stretching over his tired face.

"Here I was thinking you'd wind up late," he jeered, leaning one elbow against the counter. You pulled up the gate and slid behind the bar.

"I'd never hear the end of it if I was late, are you kidding?" Mitch was a nice enough guy, and one of the only daytime bartenders that left the bar as clean as he found it, but small chatter was about 80% of your job, and any more than necessary would blow your head off your shoulders. You found yourself in front of the register, punching in your ID number and switching shifts.

"You're never going to hear the end of my wrath!" he said, pulling a dish towel out of his apron and wringing the dry fabric in his hands. "I'm getting out of here at five o' fucking one! One whole minute after I’m supposed to. Don't you know that I--"

"--have plans tonight?" you finished. His face went pink.

"As a matter of fact--" The screech of barstool legs on wood drowned out whatever he meant to say, both of your eyes trailing to the man on the very end of the bar. He dropped onto the vinyl seat, hands folded on the bar and eyes deadset on the both of you. You and Mitchell exchanged a look that ended with him smiling and pushing his dish towel in your hands.

"It's all you," he cheerfully informed you, sliding past you and pulling up the bar hatch. With a wash of resignation that only came with the beginning of a shift at work, you turned to your first patron of the day.

Unenthusiastically.

"What can I do for you, sir?" you asked, sliding the dish towel into your apron. He looked up you up and down, unabashedly checking you out, and it was much more offensive coming from a sober man than a drunk one.

"Tell me your name?" he suggested when your eyes finally met, striking blue sending a bolt of electricity down your spine. Against its current, bile rose in the back of your throat at his nerve. He wasn’t terrible looking, and fit for his age, but no man with gray hair should be trying to pick up bartenders.

At least not sober.

"Sylva," you told him, politely gesturing to one of your three fake name tags with a smile that didn't met your eyes. "Now, anything to drink?"

For a moment his face went slack, but he quickly wiped it away with a smile. Your own stayed restricted and polite. "Jack Daniels on ice. That's my name, by the way."

You turned on your heel and went to fulfill his request, silently seething all the while.  You wanted nothing to do with the guy, especially not right after sundown, when you still had an entire shift of bartending ahead of you and you wanted your mood intact. With some hope, a couple offhanded comments you can't get fired over, and a loud flirty comment made with the patron next to him, maybe the guy would get the idea and take himself elsewhere for a drink.

"Here you are," you smiled, placing the glass on the counter in front of him. He reached for the glass just a bit too quickly after you set it down, fingertips brushing over yours. You jerked your hand back, almost offended, but he seemed unphased by his contact, raising the glass to his lips without pause. You took this precious second to slide down the bar to your next customer.

Soon after, the overhead lights faded into darkness, the decorative sconces lining the walls coming to life and bathing the room in an “artificially natural” light. Throughout the first rounds of your shift, you kept eyes on both the newcomers walking through the door, and him. For being crass as he was, he at least wasn't annoying you with random comments as you walked by. You caught his stares easily, as he made no attempt to hide it, but it wasn't until his glass was empty that you heard his voice again, punctuated with the clinking of ice shaken in glass.

"Another Jack?" you proposed, grabbing the bottle on your way over to him. The look he gave you had an air of being playful, but the scar twisting along his hardened face didn't entertain a playful look very well.

"Sure, and you?" Your only response was unscrewing the lid of the bottle. Smug smile dropped, he shrugged his shoulders and pushed his glass forward, and you topped him off. "Work here long, Sylva?"

"Nah, I keep getting fired for fucking the bosses' wives." His laugh was dry, the vocal equivalent of dust sputtering out of an old exhaust pipe, but managed still to sound pleasant enough. He raised his glass in a toast.

"Well, here's to your new job." You raised the bottle as you screwed the cap on, and he took the invitation to drink without hesitating. The corners of your lips twitched, but your smile stayed demure while you turned to your next customer. You hated dealing with his type. Not talkers--they were content to ramble while you served others, provided you at least acted like you were listening. But conversationalists? Fuck the lot of them.

The night dragged into the later hours, with more and more regulars pouring in to occupy empty seats and replace the empty air with noise and laughter. Two servers and finally, the other bartender clocked in for the evening, lifting the load off of your shoulders. You hoped he wouldn’t see the opportunity at hand, but realized quickly you wouldn’t have to worry about it. He had slid out while you were turned around.

You walked over to the tucked in barstool, picking up the tightly folded fifty from underneath his empty glass. It was a generous tip, and a quick inspection bore no phone number nor crudely worded sexual comment, so you pocketed it without a scowl. As a matter of fact, you were happy to see him go. Any amount of nuisance in your day was free to leave.

Besides, most of the drifters through here didn’t stay long at all.

-*-

He surprised you by showing up the next day. There was a certain population of pubcrawlers that appear for a single night before disappearing on to the next dive, and you had taken Jack for that exact type. Of course, he made the reason for his return incredibly clear.

"Sylva!" You tried to smile at the moniker the same way you'd smile at your own name, but hearing Jack's voice made your heart skip a beat. He was sitting in the same spot, buried off the the side and away from the door, with his eyes trained solely on you. Did he just come in?

"Hello Jack," you greeted, keeping your voice clipped. Even slower than yesterday, there were less than a dozen people in the bar, so you wouldn't have any work to bury yourself in. If you opened yourself to a conversation, you'd wind up stuck here for 10 minutes. "What can I get you?"

He didn’t answer straight away, instead resting his chin on his closed fists and appraising you for a moment. You had half a mind to turn away when he spoke. “You changed your name.”

You fought to keep calm, flicking through your memories of the last hour to remember what nametag you grabbed before stepping out the door. Alex? Taylor? You couldn’t remember. You swapped them out every day, and regulars had long since grown used to it, choosing a favorite among themselves and using it for you no matter what the day was.  But Jack, he almost made it sound like an accusation, even with his playful smile and calm demeanor.

“I’m borrowing a coworkers uniform,” you explained, pulling a whiskey glass out from underneath the bar and placing it in front of him. What reason did you have to lie? He would either be let in on the joke eventually or continuously ask why you’re “borrowing your coworkers uniforms.”

But what did it matter? He’d be blown along to another dive bar in the next small town in the estranged midwest soon enough.

“Oh. I see.” He leaned his head back and scratched at the scruff on his chin. Overhead, the lights began to dim as the electronic sconces lining the walls came to life with artificial flame. You felt weight come down with the darkness, your heart thrums starting to echo in your ears. “Good, your name suites you.”

Light began to flicker back and forth across the walls, and when his head came back to rest in his hand, the antlers mounted behind you cast a jagged shadow across his entire face. You tried to smile, but it didn’t come easily. “I’d hope so, it’s mine.”

Jack’s smile was crooked, like he knew something he wouldn’t tell, but whatever that something was passed as he raised a hand to his chin and relaxed. “I’ll take the usual.”

You balked, turning to grab his drink before he saw you pale. The usual? Was he going to keep coming here? Maybe you were just looking into it too much...and really, what was wrong with that? You’d just have your boyfriend come back, and Jack would take one look at him and leave you alone forever.

He only smiled when you placed a drink in front of him, handing you a bill upfront this time. You left quickly to avoid conversation, but he didn’t seem interested in any right now. You wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. You were happy to turn back to work.

Once again you served him another drink, and once more he handed you cash. This time, hardly anything was said during the transaction. You were unsure if this was a relief or concerning. Maybe he’d given up; knew you were lying and decided to take a hint.

But the idea of him knowing that didn’t do wonders for your sanity.

You peeked over at his corner again. He seemed to be watching you too, the grin he had stretched across his pale face dissolving when the glass left his lips. You saw his jaw clench, and your gut kicked a little, instinct driving you slowly to the other end of the bar. He was gone when you finally willed yourself to turn back around.

You felt relieved to some degree, but your heartbeat still rang in your skull long into the night.

-*-

Fortunately for your psyche, you didn't have to work the next night. The bar was usually dead in the middle of the week, and since you were one of the better bartenders, you managed to convince management to schedule you on the busier nights. While you wouldn't mind a slow and relaxed night while simultaneously making some extra money, the idea of Jack being there again made you much happier to be home.

Would he be there again tonight? Probably. You had dealt with weirdos before, but none quite so composed. Jack was quiet, equal parts grizzled old dude and dive bar creep wrapped together with an intimidating physique that, to you, made him unpredictable. His demeanor was amiable enough,  but he just felt like a wildcard.

But that wasn't what you wanted to think about. You picked up the remote to change the channel, hoping something would catch your attention more than whatever action flick you were watching. You wanted to enjoy your day off, wanted to forget about whatever was happening at the bar and leave it for tonight’s bartender to worry about.

You stretched your legs out on the leather couch, glancing back at Viking, your only other guest. He glanced back, two massively expressive eyes in a puddle of wrinkles. He was cozied up in his favorite recliner, tired after a day of running around in your backyard.

"What should I watch, Viking?" you asked your dog. He sighed, bottom lip flapping noisily. You nodded. "Excellent input. Good dog."

You started to flick through the movie channels, commented aloud on the movie titles as they passed. "Seen it. No, no...mmm...Are they running another Twilight marathon? Wow, what year is it? I can not belie--"

Viking jumped to his feet, grabbing your attention. His ears were perked, eyes trained on the window. You silently put down the remote, watching his nose twitch. Something was outside. It was almost certainly an animal of some sort, and so you didn't want to panic too quickly.

"What is it boy?" He put his front paws on the arm of the chair, leaning closer to the window. You stood and walked over, putting a hand on Viking's back. He was stiff, eyes trained on one spot beyond the curtains. Slowly, you pulled them to the side so that you could see too.

Your motion sensor on the driveway was triggered, but you could see nothing in the flood of light. You watched for a moment, looking in the same direction as your dog, but you saw no movement. You released a small breath.

"Just a squirrel, then?" you asked, scratching Viking's neck. He, however, wasn't satisfied, jumping off the chair and running over to the front door. He didn't bark, instead looking at you for attention. You looked out the window again, straining to see what it was that had him so worked up. Back to him. "You wanna go outside?"

He jumped back and forth, drool splattering the hardwood. Viking had never been an excitable dog, but he was certainly ramped up now. You pressed your lips together, checking outside one more time. Waiting there for the light to turn off, for whatever was on your yard to scamper off so your dog would quiet down. But it didn’t. Something was moving, beyond where you could see, and Viking was starting to claw at the front door to get at it.

“Alright, Viking...” You walked to the hallway closet and pulled out his leash, clipping the metal to his collar. Rather than dance around your feet while you put on sandals, he stood alert at the front door, nose tingling. Your heartbeat was rising, sweat gathering on your lip, but you felt better with Viking. He was a good guard dog, you just had to let him do his job.

The light was still triggered when you opened the door. Viking charged down your front steps, nearly pulling your arm out of its socket, and you had to dig your heels into the ground to be able to go back and shut the door.

"Easy there, buddy! What's wrong?" You tried to keep up with him as he made a beeline for the dirt road off your property, headed off into the barren fields. Along the way, you lost one of your sandals, and when Viking refused your commands to heel, you decided to kick off the other and find them later.

With your feet bare, you could feel the warm dirt between your toes, still damp from the rain that morning. Your dog was also kicking it behind him in his haste, splattering your lounge pants in it. You were regretting letting him chase whatever animal he had focused on. Changing was first on your list when you got back to your house.

By the time your eyes had adjusted to the moonlight, you could see where he was headed: the train tracks. As the tracks got closer Viking slowed, until he had his nose pressed up against the metal. You took the brief respite to catch your breath, hands on your knees, lungs heaving. You tried to remember the last time you’d seen Viking chase squirrels and frogs, and came up blank.

“Lazy ass,” you lauded him, scratching between the folds on his back. He stood straight up again, looking off into the distance. His nose was twitching, and you hoped he’d lost whatever he’d been tracking. Unusual for a bloodhound, but you’d take an excuse to go back home. Tapping your foot impatiently on the mud, you looked down at the ground.

The tracks were just as decrepit as you remember them being, with nests from the last spring still wedged in between the rails. Tentatively, you reached a hand down and felt the metal. You felt vibrations rumbling through the metal and up your arm, the nearby oil rigs emanating a low hum that matched an approaching train. You closed your eyes, letting it thrum in your skull like bass.

In a flash Viking took off again, nearly jerking your arm off. You stumbled to your feet and followed, down the tracks and further from the house. Beside the tracks where the dirt wouldn't hurt your bare toes, you glanced at the corn fields on the opposite side of the tracks as you jogged. They were unmaintained, a sickly brown and thrown over by a light breeze. In the far distance, the top of the oil rig poked over the horizon.

You look forward just in time to avoid running directly into a hole. You dug your heels into the ground, a hard enough stop that it pulled your massive dog with you, managing to regain your balance just an inch away from the pit. Still shaking from the shock, you look at what you had almost fallen into.

It wasn't massive, the dimensions almost matching--you realized with a gulp--a large grave. But the depth; that was another story entirely. The hole didn't seem to stop, like a direct route to the center of the Earth. You looked over the edge, Viking sniffed the dirt around it, but your eyes couldn't pierce through the dark. The sigh of relief that came out of you was unreal. Thank god you were able to stop yourself before you fell down that far!

"Hello!" you yelled down the hole, straining your ear for the echo. Instead, the cavern seemed to eat your voice, much too deep to bounce back. It was almost hypnotic, the complete void where nothing existed, not even an end. Curiosity pestered you, thoughts about how deep it could possibly be and what it was dug for, but you were ultimately awestruck. You felt like you were falling just by looking into it.

Viking began to stumble, yelping as though he'd been hurt. Instantly you turned to your dog, reaching out to him as he turned and bolted for your house. You couldn't even begin to keep up with him, the leash threw you into the dirt before the loop slipped off your fingers and Viking was running like his life depended on it. You spit the dirt out of your mouth and wiped it off your cheek, watching your dog run towards the lights in your windows. Was he hurt? Was he scared?

Whatever it was, you had a feeling you should be running too.

“Viking!” Scrambling to your feet was difficult, but one moment of stable footing was all you needed to be off and gunning. You spat muddy hair out of your mouth, trying to wipe away the grit off of your face.

You followed his leash back along the tracks. You heard nothing pursuing you, and all yours senses but one were undisturbed; it was your skin that prickled in apprehension, like something foul lurked in the very air. It alone drove you to a sprint.

A purple flash underfoot, your realized too late it was your sandal. You passed the other as well, focused on the light from your windows far  ahead. Viking triggered the motion light, casting a massive shadow as he ran up the porch. Your stomach cramped from breathlessness. But your feet would not stop. The house was so close.

Vikings whines echoed across the yard, further spurring you on. Even past the field of light, you didn't stop to see if anything was truly after you. Up the stairs, hand opening the door and pushing yourself in as fast as your dog. You shut the door behind you, turning the lock and sinking to the floor in exhaustion.

"Viking..." you wheezed, watching your dog run to the bathroom and consequently get his foot caught in his own leash. He hit the tile inside the door, whining and kicking helplessly. Once your body let you, you stood back up and made your way to him, releasing him from his leash. "What has you so spooked?"

He shook in place, barely able to look you in the eye for how frightened he was. Dogs could sense evil, right? You weren't being silly, you felt it yourself...

But what could it have been? The most dangerous thing in this area was coyotes, and Viking would charge one if he saw it, or at the very least, wouldn't run like he had. What could possibly be lurking out there? You stood in the doorway, hugging your arms and looking at the front door. Through the front door's tiny windows you saw the glare of the motion light still activated.

But you had lost enough sanity tonight, so you chose to look back at your dog, and think about your well-earned shower. "C'mon boy, we're safe in the house."

-*-

You'd had the nightmare again.

You didn't remember your dreams often, and when you did they were generally more strange than scary. But when you woke up, you remembered every detail, down to the fall into the pit.

This time, you nearly had fallen out of bed, jolting awake to catch yourself before you tossed and turned over the edge. You sat up, chest heaving with petrified breaths as you took in the warm afternoon sunlight filling your bedroom.

That...hole that you had seen in your dream was real. Had you seen it before and not realized it? The only other option was that your subconscious predicted you'd find it, and that was ridiculous! But that was ignoring the real question: what was its significance?

"You good?" You jumped, head snapping to face your boyfriend. He leaned against the doorway, holding a pint of ice cream and appraising you with concern. You deflated.

"Roy," you said. He frowned and put his ice cream down on the side table, climbing into bed next to you.

"What's the problem?" he asked, wrapping his arm around you. "Still having nightmares?"

You nodded solemnly, laying your head on his chest. He leaned down and kissed your forehead. "See? I told you it was because I was gone."

You tried to smile, but your chest was feeling a bit too heavy for it. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right." He tilted your chin up, and seeing his smile made yours feel just a bit more genuine. You did feel better with Roy here. He'd told you he was going to be home early, and you'd completely forgot since...the night before.

Your face fell, and he noticed.

"Hey hey, quit that." He kissed you, and when you couldn't get into it, he pulled away and looked into your eyes. "You want to talk about it?"

You debated telling him. Even if the entire thing sounded silly...well...it sounded extremely silly. You'd let the dog go running after nothing, and got chased home by a beastie in the dark? Though the terror in your mind was still very real, it sounded absolutely juvenile to anyone who didn't feel the goosebumps on their skin.

So, instead you smiled and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. "I just...had a weird couple of days. And I missed you."

His arms fell to your waist, his smile making you feel protected. "I missed you too. We should catch up."

You couldn't have thought of a better thought-clearing activity if someone paid you. "We should."

-*-

Impromptu sex came with a lot of consequences. A rush to get ready for work. No time to cover suggestive marks with makeup. A pint of melted ice cream. Maybe one day you’d learn to stop engaging in it. But you’d never gotten in trouble for marks on your neck before, so you weren’t worried.

You had forgotten about Jack.

“What are those?” Once again, you had failed to see him come in. Unlike other nights where he showed up at the beginning of your shift, this time he had slid in an hour before close. Since most of the workers in town had early hours, the bar was nearly empty around this time.

How had you missed him?

“What business is it of yours?” you quipped, grabbing the edges of the counter and leveling your eyes with his. He was still looking at your neck.

"I can't be curious?" he asked, folding his hand beneath his chin. Something in you told you to humor him, start the same simple back and forth you'd launched the last few nights, but you simply didn't have the energy in you. Between sex and your nightmare, you were in a strange limbo between sluggish, content, and on-edge.

"You can, if you keep it to yourself." You told him, parting without waiting for him to order. Tonight was even slower than usual, two other folks at the bar and a table in the corner that would likely stay until close. You would've had plenty time to clean up if things had gone your way. Jack seemed to enjoy being a rock in your path.

"Don't enjoy late nights?" he questioned from his side of the bar. You shot a glare his way as you transported glasses from the counter to the back. One of the other men was standing to pay his tab by the time you came back, and you took your time making the transaction,  thanking him for his patronage and ensuring that he'd have a safe ride home. The clock signaled another 7 minutes had passed before you finally turned to Jack to answer his question.

"We close in an hour," you informed him, hand finding a whiskey glass beneath the counter. "What'll it be?"

He tilted his head. "Oh, I thought you'd forgotten about me."

You smiled, just a bit, just for a second. The night didn't have to end poorly, if he could just keep it civil--

"Too busy thinking about your boyfriend, I suppose."

You bit your lip in anger. Your words came out clipped: "What do you want?"

"Two shots, Jägermeister," he said. Your hand froze on the glass, then retreated, turning instead to grab two shot glasses off of a seperate counter, and a bottle from the mini-fridge. You poured his drinks in front of him, capping the drink and turning away without another word. A hand grabbed your wrist, a hand that was almost bitingly cold and clammy, and you nearly recoiled in pure instinct. You turned back, and Jack was reaching over the counter for you.

"I take it you didn't realize that this one is for you." He pushed one of the glasses your way, and you shook your head.

"Come on, I'm at work," you lauded, glancing around to see if Sandy was watching. She was nowhere on the floor, meaning she was probably in her office or out back smoking. You'd had a drink on the job before, and you were already thinking of cracking open a bottle of wine when you got home. You certainly could use one now...

...but not from Jack. So, you politely pushed it back his way. "Sorry."

"Why not? You get off in an hour," he argued, pushing the drink back your way and lifting his own to prepare a toast. Irritation was starting to rise. You really had a thing against guys trying to get you drunk. It irked you more than a lot of the behaviors you put up with on a daily basis, and you definitely weren't going to take it from Jack.

"Jack, I'm so incredibly not in the mood," you informed him, pushing the drink one final time to him. He tapped his fingers on the counter, giving you a look that made a voice in the back of your head murmur incomprehensible things.

"Drink."

Your fingers wrapped around the tiny glass and you up-ended the shot, the chill slightly easing the sting of the alcohol down your throat. You slapped the glass, stained with the pink lipgloss you'd hastily applied, back on the counter. The crack of glass on wood brought you back to Earth. Immediately realizing what just happened, you turned and walked as far down the bar as possible. The entire way, the sight of his triumphant little smile was burning itself into your memory.

What the fuck was that?

The liquor wasn't settling well on your empty stomach, but that wasn't the only reason you felt nauseated. Jack had a horrifying aura about him, something that could take control of the situation when he wanted, and you realized that now. There was no other reason for you to slam a shot, other than that he scared you, on a subconscious level, into doing it.

This was absolutely not what you needed on top of everything else.

You considered ignoring him for the rest of the night, but to your surprise, he wasn't there when you looked over. You hurried over to his seat, scanning the front out of the corner of your eye to see if he was still in the building. You watched him open the door, just as you got to his seat. He hadn't left any money under the glass this time. In fact, you were one glass short, his shot glass still sitting full on the counter. The glass you had emptied was gone.

"H-Hey--Hey!" You ran to the gate, letting yourself out from behind the bar and darting across the floor. You were pretty good on walkers, and if Jack thought he'd get away from you, he was kidding himself. Who knew, maybe this would be reason enough to ban him from the bar, and you wouldn't have to sizzle under his intense stares any longer.

You pushed open the heavy front door, and Jack was just in front of you, turning around in surprise. He had an unlit cigarette in his mouth, which he quickly put back in the pack as soon as he saw you. He was just going to stick around after dashing on his bill? And his smile was much too wide for a man who just got caught skipping out on a tab.

"Oh, your money!" he said, sliding his cigs into his jeans pocket and trading them for his wallet. You gauged him, trying to figure out if this move was deliberate or not. Who walked out after one drink though? And wait--

"And my glass?" He had already fished out a twenty, tilting his head as he held it out to you. Confused, you tentatively reached up to take the money from his hand, but he didn't let it loose. You tugged again, but his grip was firm.

"I think I'm going to keep that." Confidence ebbed out of every word. You pulled once more, stopping just short of tearing the bill, but he wouldn't release the money into your grip. You weren't sure what to do, short of calling Sandy out to deal with him, but he made the next move for you. By seizing your arm with his opposite hand.

"As a matter of fact--"

A familiar horn blaring cut off the rest of his sentence. Bright lights flashed on the both of you, making Jack release your arm and recoil to cover his eyes. You manage to wrench the twenty from his grip, and turned to your savior; your boyfriend in his pickup truck. You heard the door open and slam shut, and when you turned back to Jack, he was taking off around the corner of the building.

"Babe!" you called, watching Roy materialize from the darkness into the beams of his headlights. "Oh my god, your timing couldn't be better--"

"What happened?" he asked over you, running up and grabbing hold of your arms. You wished you could find the usual comfort that your boyfriend's touch brought you, but it was all getting to be too much. The nightmares, the running around at night, and as what had just happened settled in your brain--that you'd just nearly been KIDNAPPED--it all just started to crumble.

"Oh, god--" you burped, falling to your knees and vomiting up the little bit of alcohol that was in your stomach on the grass. Immediately your nausea subsided, and you just clung to your boyfriend's form, shaking as he lifted you to your knees and brought you to the door.

"It's alright, calm down, lets go settle down and you can explain to me what the hell that was."

-*-

You had hoped on a full nights rest helping you feel better. You hadn't counted on the nightmare coming for the third time in a week.

Unlike the first two times, Roy wasn't there when you woke up. You had only yourself and Viking to calm yourself as you tried to parse through the events of your nightmare, of the night before last, all leading up to now. At least you felt comforted knowing that something was being done about it.

*

"He grabbed you?"

You finished pouring your boyfriend his pint, placing it in front of him and crossing your arms over the counter. Everybody else had paid out, meaning luckily for tonight that you didn't have to put out a final call. You were free to talk, both to Roy and to your boss, who was sitting in the stool beside him.

"Yeah," you admitted, looking down at the fine finish of the wood. Sandy and Roy exchanged a look. "I have no idea why, it was out of nowhere."

"I can think of a few reasons," your boyfriend muttered, clenching the handle of the glass, shaking in fury as he began to drink. Sandy tapped him on the forearm.

"Don't go driving my bartenders home drunk now," Sandy chided. "Bad P.R. for my business. Now, honey, do you want to press charges? I can get the camera footage if you need."

"I don't think so," you told her, shaking your head. "I can’t get wrapped up in a court case right now. I think I'd be happy just knowing he can't come back."

"Well of course," she said, slicing along her neck. "Banned. I'll have him arrested for trespassing if he shows up here again."

"I don't like the idea of him being anywhere else though," Roy interjected, making eye contact with you. "If I need to round up my buddies and find this guy, we can do it. I just need to hear you say the word."

You pressed your lips together, looking down at your folded hands. Your wrist was unmarked, the little bit of red that his manhandling had left was worn away by now. You were safe. And really, all he did was take a glass.

But if he'd had the chance, wouldn't he have done more?

"I don't want that happening to another girl," you eventually concluded, looking back up at your boyfriend. "Just because I got lucky, there's other targets."

That seemed pretty final. Roy slapped his pint down on the counter, beer sloshing over the edges. "Alright. I'll head out after I drop you off."

Sandy shook her head, turning the stool to the side and getting to her feet. "And for your sakes, I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear none of that."

*

That was over 12 hours ago. You'd gotten home just after 1:30, and now it was early into the afternoon, sun already on its descent. You hadn’t even bothered to change out of your nightgown; or even do much of anything. No messages or missed calls. You were starting to sink into a pit of doubt.

The consequences of your boyfriends hot-headed vigilante actions had already been stewing in your head for an hour when you heard the front door open and close. Any other time, you would jump up. But instead, instinct froze your legs to the bed, staring at the bedroom door like a frightened doe as the footsteps approached. The door cracked.

"You awake?" you heard before you even saw Roy's face. Your relieved sigh and warm smile  were cut short when you noticed the blood stains hidden beneath his jacket. Pointing wordlessly, he followed your line of sight down to his torso.

"Oh, no babe, don't worry." He unzipped his bomber jacket, and the extent of the gore was worse than you imagined. It ran down the front of his shirt, but not like the stream from a nose bleed or bloody mouth. It looked more like splatters. "It's not mine."

Your heart skipped a beat. Finger still outstretched, you shook as you pointed again at the stain. "So...that's..."

His face went grim. "Yeah," he admitted.

He tried not making a show of zipping his jacket back up. “Things went...okay,” he started, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed."I'm fine, he didn't lay a hand on me. It was...weird, actually. I could only get Millie and Earl, so it was a 3 on 1, and--and I saw the muscles on that guy! He looked like a bodybuilder. He could've fought back..." Roy shook his head, resting his elbow on his knee and his forehead on his hand. "But he just...laid there and took it. The whole time. Didn't lift a finger."

"That is weird," you agreed, but you couldn't think of anything else to say. You'd never really taken notice to Jack's muscles, only that he had broad shoulders even when he hunched over the bar. But you wouldn't doubt for a moment that he was able to handle himself. So if he could, why didn't he?

"But..." Roy was no stranger to violence, but this fight in particular seemed to unnerve him, hand pulling down on the back of his neck. "It's taken care of. You won't have to worry about seeing him again."

You gasped, covering your mouth with your hands. "Oh, Roy, tell me you didn't."

"No! No, of course not!" he quickly defended, unzipping once more and shrugging his jacket off his shoulders. The bloody tee shirt went next, bypassing the laundry and going straight into the trash can.

“And ...you’re sure that you guys are safe?” you asked.

"We caught him from behind, and I don't think he'll be talking any time soon." Down his chest, the faint red print that matched the pattern on his shirt spread over his torso like a rash.  You shuddered to think about what had happened the night before. Even though you felt no remorse for Jack himself, you were starting to wonder if you'd made the right decision.

"I'm going to take a shower," Roy said, fingers working on his belt next. Normally, him being shirtless guaranteed a sexual pun or joke of some sort, but even he seemed uninterested. Reasonably instead, he sounded very drawn to the idea of washing the blood off of him. "I've got to go back to the union tonight."

Back to work; business as usual. You didn't doubt Roy was shaken about the event, just the same as you were. But he couldn’t use his turmoil as an excuse; it was right back to the grind. Act like nothing happened.

On the other hand, you had arranged for the rest of the week off, which Sandy was happy to grant you. You needed the comfort of home, a break from strangers and customer service. The bed provided such comfort, but you couldn't stay curled up in the covers all day. Or, you could, but the lack of productivity would've cooked your brain alive like an unchecked oven.

The shower started up. You kicked your legs over the edge of the bed, bringing yourself to a stand and stretching out your spine. The door to your bedroom creaked open, and you watched your dog lumber in, wide eyes focused on you.

"Hi baby," you called to him, getting his floppy ears to perk and his tail to wag. Viking bound over to you in two steps, meeting your hands as you crouched to pet him. He was back to his old self, the remnants of the other night washed from his psyche. Somehow, that made you feel even better than the news about Jack.

"Come on," you chirped, standing back up and making your way to the kitchen. Viking followed obediently, circling ahead of you and laying down in front of the dishwasher just as you got to the kitchen. Everything back to normal, as it should be. A smile--a truly relieved, weight-lifting smile--crossed your face, and you turned to open your fridge. Even the nightmares, you bet, would be gone tonight.

Now, the only thing souring your mood was your hunger, which you hadn’t sated in nearly a whole day. You hadn't gone shopping yet, making your options slim. But with a bit of ingenuity and a few gracious substitutes you had a skillet on the stove, starting on a sauce for chicken pasta. The chicken was just starting to brown when Roy rounded the corner.

He covered his unharmed body with a work shirt and a different pair of jeans. His towel was still draped over his shoulders catching water. Even freshly clean, he looked unkempt, though the bruised circles under his eyes might have contributed to that.

"Lock the door after me," Roy reminded you, grabbing his truck keys off of the counter. You wanted to say something along the lines of having no reason to worry, but if it concerned him, you weren’t going to argue.

"I'll lock it."

He smiled, blowing you a kiss and turning to walk out the door. "I'll be back in a little bit. Hour tops.”

"See you!" Once the door shut, you put the wooden spoon down on the counter, watching the oil bubble on the pan.

A small part of you wished that you were there. If for no other reason, than to know Roy wasn’t lying to you to spare your feelings. Whether he had hurt Jack too badly, spending hours at Millie’s washing blood off of his fists and wondering whether or not to tell you.

But what he had told you was that you didn’t need to worry anymore. You trusted him on that much.

Once your noodles were boiling and your sauce was set to cook, you lowered the heat and stepped over your dog to the living room. You could see the sapphire blue of an early evening outside your window, the last rays of sunset cutting a thin line through your curtains and down the center of your coffee table. With any luck, Roy would be home before the dark settled in, and you could be cuddled up with a nice dinner and a TV movie.

You picked up the remote, hitting the power button and letting the TV run through its start up process while you moved back to the kitchen. From your spot in front of the stove you flicked through the menu, squinting across the room to make out the titles.

“Of course there’s nothing good on,” you muttered to yourself, dropping the remote on the counter. “Guess I’ll have him grab a rental before he gets home--shit, I better text him now.”

Wiping chicken grease off of your hands with a dish towel, you went back to your room and pulled your phone off of the charger. You had a few texts from friends, none of which stood out to you except for one from Sandy, which you tapped to open.

“Hey Love havent seen anything suspicious here…just checking in with u”

Heartfelt. After sending her a quick “All good” you switched over to Roy, recalling which gas station in town had a rental kiosk. “Hey babe, could you pick up a movie from Crown on your way back? I’m thinking feelgood shit, I could use the--”

The doorbell went off. You jumped up, expecting Viking to scramble to his feet along with you and bark at the stranger before you could even get to the door. Quite the opposite. It wasn’t two seconds before you saw Viking fly through the bedroom door, swinging past you onto the bed and curling into the farthest corner. He wouldn’t look at you, but you could sense his fear.

A small black hole opened up at the bottom of your gut.

Cautiously, you reached behind the bedframe and produced an old aluminum bat, dinged from the last and only time you’d had a run in with a burglar. Now armed with a familiar and lethal weapon, you made your way back down the hallway. The figure you made out through the frosted glass was short, unfamiliarly pale. You thought of ignoring it, but the doorbell went off again, and the kitchen was in clear view to the front door. There was no hiding. Fingers clutched around the bat, hidden strategically behind your leg, you unlocked the door and cracked it open.

"Oh." Through his clear agony, Jack's eyes widened in surprise right along with yours. "You live here."

Your eyes were too drawn to his body to answer. You had been right to assume that Roy had gotten too carried away. Yet, if Jack was still up and walking with that amount of blood dripping from his shirt, that amount of bruises up and down his face and neck, it must not have affected him so much. Your stomach, previously sinking in on itself in fear, was now doing somersaults. He didn’t even seem to care enough to wipe away the blood dripping from his mouth.

"Ahem," he caught your attention, arm clutched across what you could only assume was a nasty wound on his stomach. "I don't suppose you'd call me an ambulance?"

"Uhh." For a moment, his creepy asshole behavior was forgotten to you, and you glanced down at your cell phone in your other hand. "Yeah, sure."

You couldn't surmise how he got out to your house; there was no way Roy would dump him anywhere near here. And your house wasn't exactly placed where you could just stumble upon it. But a man was bleeding out on your doorstep, and regardless of who he was, you didn't want strangers bleeding out on your porch. That was just a given for life.

After a moment of thought, you stepped back into your home and unlocked your phone.

"Can I come in?" his voice was weak, almost a little ashamed of asking. Regret lingered somewhere in his tone as well, enough to make you put down the bat; though not out of sight. You held up your finger, more to silence him than to ask for a moment.

"Not right now," you told him, dialing 911. You saw him straighten up just a little out of the corner of your eye.

"I could really lay down," he begged from the doorway. At least polite enough not to overstep his bounds. You turned and shook your head as the operator came on.

"Nine one-kkch-e what's you-rkrch-ergency?"

"Oh, shit--uh, Medical?" you said, edging closer to your front porch. Jack stepped aside to let you out, and you moved right past him, standing at the top of your porch steps. “Medical please.”

"Do you need an ambulance m'am?" the operator asked, much clearer now. You sighed, your heart wrenching at the potential danger you were putting your boyfriend in. But you were in too deep now. If there was any doubt in Jack’s mind that him getting jumped had something to do with you, turning your nose up and closing the door on him would extinguish it. You had to play it cool.

"Yes please.”

“712 Fargo Drive?”

“Yes M’am.”

“Alright, stay on the line and I’ll send an ambulance to you shortly.”

From behind, a sharp click set every nerve in your body stiff. You turned around, trailed your eyes from Jack’s fist closed around your doorknob, up his arm to his bloody shirt, ending on his horrible, wild-eyed grin.

“Sylva,” he said, like he was spitting the word on the pavement in front of him. “What a joke.”

“Can you describe the emergency to me?” the operator asked you, but you weren’t listening. The phone stayed there, limply hanging in your trembling fingers, catching only your terrified breathes. You fucked up.

“At least you were smart enough for one thing,” he lamented, tilting his head to the side, until his ear was pressed against his shoulder in a most inhuman fashion. “You didn’t invite me inside.”

Like a gruesome yeast, his mortal body unfurled right before your unblinking eyes. Bones cracked and skin tore as his body grew in height, his fingers grew in length, his features grew in ferocity. The word monster came to mind. But even that felt too tame.

“M’am?”

Straight white teeth sharpened into points putting syringes to shame, piercing through the flesh of his lips and creating jagged strips of bloody skin. The blood from his mouth went from dripping to oozing, spilling over tattered lips where it began to drip onto your porch. Sizzling on contact with the wood.

“Are you there? Can you tell me what happened?”

Suddenly you understood Vikings terror. The very sight of this horror made you want to run, but your legs could only respond by shaking violently in place. Jack's eyes, already a dark shade of black you hadn't seen before, were growing larger, jaundiced yellow outlining his massive black pupils.

You were suddenly very aware that both your weapon and your dog were behind that door.

“Why don’t you tell me what your real name is?”

In any other situation, the sound of your phone slamming on wood would have given you pause. But your blood was rushing too loudly in your ears to even hear it. You lept the three wooden stairs to your gravel driveway, taking off down the dirt road. Almost immediately you cursed yourself for not trying to push past, for running from what could almost certainly catch up, but even more severe than your self-blame was your fear. The knowledge that no matter what you chose to do, this did not look good for you.

You ran out into the darkness, beyond where your motion light could help you, the moon waning and only just starting to rise. Any workers at the oil rigs would be far too distant to hear your screams. You were still upright, still running, still surviving. But effectively, you were trapped.

In your blind panic, you made your way to the train tracks, edging towards them as you put distance between you and your house. You could use them to double back, circle around Jack and run back to your house. Your phone would still be there, 911 still on the line. All you had to do was get beyond that door, move faster than Jack could. But you didn't know how fast Jack could move.

As it turned out, very fast.

A mass of flesh hit your back without so much as a footstep to register that it was ever there. Sent flying onto the ground, you landed right on the tip of your nose, smashing the cartilage into a useless strawberry pulp in the middle of your face. You tasted the blood before you felt the pain, and it was striking.

"You prefer the lights off?" you heard through the ringing in your ears. You pulled yourself to your hands and knees, steadying your dizzy head so you could stand. You were pushed hard back onto the dirt, your cheek getting covered in the mud for the second time that week. He pushed you down firm, the pressure squeezing more blood from the cracks in your nose. You coughed, toes and fingers still curling in the dirt for leverage. Jack watched it all with sickly laughter. "Mm. So do I."

His hand slowly moved from the back of your head to your still-clean cheek, cold fingers sliding over your flesh until his nails poked at the corner of your lips. Inch long claws forced their way in easily, slicing into your tongue and cheeks as they pushed their way down your throat. Only adding to the blood you were swallowing.  If you weren't pressed down sideways, your salty tears would have added to the stringent copper taste.

Jack--this monster--was going to kill you.

"Please..." your begging equated to nothing more than a layer of spit on Jack's claws, because it fell on deaf ears. His fingers were exploring your mouth, pressing down on the back of your tongue, sliding back further than your body liked. But you could do nothing about the violent shivers he sent through you with every movement. Nothing to do about one airway broken and the other blocked. You thought to bite down, but the only thing that would do was make it feel less like murder and more like suicide. Your only option left was to plead. "Please..."

"I saw you when I first showed up." He ignored you, other hand prying your head and shoulder apart so he could get a close look at your neck. "Followed those tracks until I was in your backyard, saw you sleeping, thought to myself...'Gee, I'd like to know where you work.'"

"Oh my god," you sobbed, hands clenched into trembling fists. He hooked his fingers, leaving a final, shallow slice along the top of your tongue before he pulled his fingers out and spread them in front of your eyes. Letting you see the blood he spilled.

"And so,” he continued, “I risk the sunlight with nothing more than a hoodie to follow you . I show up, and you tell me your name is Sylva. And I think to myself, ‘That’s not the name I read on your mail.’”

You gulp.

“But I understand. You were just scared.”

He retracts his hand, bringing it up to his mouth. You knew what that meant. But looking away wasn’t an option; he stayed permanently in the corner of your vision, a massive red tongue reaching out to lick your blood off his fingers. You clenched your eyes shut instead.

"Stop," you spat, sucking in breathes. Ever gently, you felt his claws curl into your hair, prepped to pull.

He took his time with his tongue before he pulled his hand away. “And what if I don't?"

Well, there wasn't really a question there. Silence was your only answer.

"I thought so.” His fingers were digging into your hips now, nails refraining through his will alone from piercing through fat and muscle, straight to the bone. "When you make your boyfriend take care of your problems for you, it's no surprise you turn into a crying brat."

Jack knew. Somehow, the very thing that worried you not an hour before didn't matter to you now. And Roy...Roy would see the ambulance when he got home, would know what was wrong. Would he go looking for Jack? God, you hoped not. If his search ever led him to this monster, he would fare no better than you. Besides, after he killed you, what would stop him from hunting down Roy before Roy could even start to hunt him?

"Just kill me," you begged, saliva stinging the cuts on your tongue. No begging then. No saviors. Your most hopeful outcome now was a quick, painless death you were almost guaranteed not to get. “Don’t touch Roy.”

Jack scoffed. "Oh please. Tell me you don't think I'd go through all that effort to kill you."

Of course not. Of course it wasn't going to be that easy for you.

"No, cutie," he cooed, still bloody fingers finding their way beneath your nightgown and lifting it up. "I want to get to know you ."

He anticipated your scream. His tongue, more a massive tendril of flesh than anything meant to taste, was shoved down your throat as soon as you opened your mouth. Your energy to fight was renewed, but he was quick to yank your hair, pulling more tears from yours eyes. He had no interest in fighting you. And you had no interest in losing your ability to breathe. Against your very own instinct, you relaxed your muscles.

In tandem he loosened his grip; his tongue pulled itself back out of your throat and into his mouth. "Good girl."

His claws dragging your panties down your legs left red scratches down your thigh, intentionally harsh and oozing a droplet of blood every inch of so. You winced and hissed, but your lungs still ached from choking. You couldn't scream. And what good what it do, when the next neighbor is a quarter mile away?

No, you'd wait for when the ambulance came. You were close enough, you might just be heard if you were loud enough...and maybe Jack wouldn't kill you before they arrived. Or maybe you'd just be responsible for the death of some EMTs.

Either way, his threat kept you quiet.

He pulled your ass into the air and you kept it there, clutching the dirt in between your fingers. This earned you enough trust for his hand to leave your head, fumbling with his already-torn clothes while his other set of claws dug into your hip.

Once more you had the urge to beg, but you couldn't see it ending any way that would help you. Jack obviously wasn't the type to consider empathy. You fought back your protests when his other hand joined your hips, the blunt tip of a massive cock pressing against your wet lips. Not hesitating to force its way inside of you.

You bit your hand to hold back your screams of pain. He stretched you to your limit with ease, pressing up against your cervix only half way inside of you. He tuts in disappointment.

"Damn," he growled. But he chose to be no less satisfied, pulling back and slamming into you again. You yelped, and suddenly it was his rhythm, pounding away without mercy. You punched the ground with your fists, pushed your teeth together, and your pained gurgles only spurred him to go faster.

In the distance sirens roared, pitch bending higher as they closed in. Jack paid it no mind. He was starting to get lost in you, claws piercing your skin and letting more of your blood dribble down your legs in tiny beads. You were running out of tears to cry.

"Fuck," he cursed beneath his breath. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

He pulled your hips onto him, leaning over you and bringing his lips to your ear. You feared he wanted to nibble, but only his tongue poked out, flicking over your earlobe.

"Nn, fuck," he groaned, his position making his words gargle with the sound of his own blood. "It's been a while, I-I'm--"

He pressed hard, a low roar rumbling out of his throat as he emptied himself into you. You couldn't even feel its warmth inside of your walls, long strings of cum pushed directly inside of your womb. You sobbed, and the sound made him chuckle amid his ecstasy-ladden groans.

The ambulance was close now, the faintest of blue and red lights over the dirt in front of you. It was probably stopped outside of your house. Now was a good chance, while he was distracted, caught up in his disgusting bliss. You filled your lungs with air, and this time it was his hand that covered your mouth.

"Don't think so." He took hold of your jaw, stilling your twisting form as he adjusted his clothing. Your struggles were nothing for him to overpower. He had no issue forcing your lips open to shove his tongue inside once more. You tried to bite down on it in a desperate attempt for give, but it was tougher than leather.

Your furious flailing slowly turned into pleading slaps on the ground, trying desperately to achieve some sort of airflow through your busted nose, but even that wasn't possible; his massive appendage was making its way down your throat. The edges of your vision were going black, the sirens in the distance fading.

One final attempt, grabbing at his tongue with your hand, only made it wriggle inside of your mouth. Pale in the face, your vision faded to black.

-

You regained consciousness, some form of it, to your body being dragged face-up over the dirt. Nothing was distinct; you had trouble distinguishing the earth from the sky, save for a single purple strip that was quickly flying out of your view.

The cogs in your head, though slow, processed exactly what was happening. Your sandal.

You urged your arms to respond, to claw in the opposite direction, but even now you couldn’t bring your brain enough oxygen to power up. Your vision was hazey, fading in and out, your brain screaming to escape but without the means to even think about how.

Another purple strip flew by, your other shoe. You managed to throw your arm to the side, but it only got swept along the dirt, fingers just barely managing to flick against the spokes of the railway, before your body reflexively jerked it back.

You stopped in an instant, right below a crescent moon that you were seeing three of. Your ankle, locked in a grip so loose you barely registered it, dropped onto the ground. A second later, Jack pulled himself into your field of view.

"Aw, did you wake up?" he asked, as though he pitied you. You made no attempt to respond, and he gave you a grisly smile. In one fluid motion he lifted you up, holding you close to his chest. You worked up enough energy to press your hand against his chest, but if he even felt it at all, he didn't mention it.

"Don't worry."

You felt his momentum shift, air starting to glide past you as he fell back on his ankles. A trust fall with no-one to capture you, the edges of the pit began to swallow you whole.

"We're home."