𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛 [OLD/ORIGINAL]

Chapter Four - Exasperated Propensity

Walking past the trees that burnt like old wood, Taffy stretched their arms wide and scratched. Patting a red bag with red straps over her shoulders, which now held the tapes—which she had luckily stolen at a place when Alyssa wasn't present. She was a freak, and they were, too, in a perverse way. Maybe too much in looks. That wasn't a big deal, therefore to indicate that Jack was somewhere in a place that seemed unclear initially wasn't a big deal.

The woman who had left remarked, "A bunch of houses and a few."

Nona was...meh.

Nothing completely stuck. It was a long walk, with the wet snow stomping here on clouds, which turned gray and forlorn, knowing what it was thinking. There wasn't much to define it, thankfully there were no creatures in the area. They may picture themselves in a place where they were alone to roam around and watch as lonely roads and houses drove around outside. Whenever the door opened, the clock was ticking. In the far angle, holding the ink glass with something hooked.

Once they got close again, one of them wanted to claw and howl. Not fearful. After they felt the ink within, it was too late; the slimy substance was essentially pumped into the innards of the pale limbs, making Taffy feel strange in the brain. Worms tickling the pink, squishy parts that were like eels.

For a child, the test was traumatizing.

Taffy leaped over the little bumps and continued to the left side of the trees, where it was a little easier to climb off the larger ones that could've sent them off the rails. Little bugs swarmed around the legs, humming around the decomposing flesh spotted on the leaves. Maggots slugging inside the holes of skulls, simulating a cluster of melons with red colors crushed up.

Standing over the chunks at one point was the familiar silhouette as before, this time with a curious shine of yellow and gray. Like a firefly blinking its lights.

They listened.

Nothing.

They were getting closer.

So far, Taffy has managed to stop by the designs that hinted at depressive lunacy. Walls were frigid and morose, paint chips were perceptible, and the inside could have been wrecked with debris and blood. The strong, metallic smell said otherwise. Putrid. Following to the far right was almost to the exact place of the ethereal house until a stride caught on board with a jerky swing. The pressure was strong, practically pressing down the redhead's skull as it battled the foggy eyesight within their masked face—their knees pressing near to the ground as their fingers called for support. It felt like a careless fist striking like a bat. When they did try to claw away, pitiful laughter spat on her bloodied shirt, bringing them over the shoulder. Taffy felt dizzy and stupid—because she didn't think they'd notice she was already there.

At least it wasn't Jack from the cologne smell.

❄

Taffy squirmed to facilitate the pain go away as they jumped up from the stinging burst in the head. The injury wasn't too bad, given the headache that was coursing through their veins. And whoever did that had to be looking for something in them. She wasn't happy. It wasn't very happy. This was starting to feel strange and familiar.

Sniff...sniff–sniff....

"...."

What's that smell?