Short Stories

(1): Jackson Jekyll + Holt Hyde: Staying in Control: ☁️

Jackson stood outside your window in all black. He peered inside at your bed where you lay, your soft, peaceful form sleeping hard against the mattress you had constantly complained about.

Go inside.

Jackson shook his head at Holt, who spoke in the background of his mind.

"I'm not going in there." He told his alter ego, and he focused on you again.

Go inside, dammit.

Jackson shook his head again. "I'm not doing it."

Jackson could feel the groan that Holt let out. He rolled his eyes and looked to your bed. His eyes widened, and he stepped away from the window. The bed was empty.

Horror turned his gut, and he turned to run away from the house you called home. He had to leave. He had to get out of there!

Fucking stop! Go back!

Jackson shook his head no and inhaled sharply as he ran. "I-I can't! She'll hate me!"

His anxiety tore through him viciously. He huffed as he ran through the dark road. Only dim streetlights led his path, and he struggled to focus due to the mixture of his nerves and the light that blinded him.

Do what I say.

Jackson ignored him and ran.

Fine. I'm coming out.

"No!"

Jackson began to sob. He didn't want to get caught. Holt was much more reckless than he was, and he feared he'd never make it out.

In an instant, he stopped. Blue skin covered his arms, and he smirked.

Holt stepped back to your house lethargically through the dark as he admired his arms. He always enjoyed being free, and it never failed to amaze him.

With a grin, he picked his pace up to a jog, and his grin widened as his jog turned into a fast sprint.

He ran as fast as he could to your house as maniacal laughs erupted from his throat. He was feral. He was unhinged. He was out of his mind.

He always had been since seeing you.

He rarely came out, thanks to Jackson. Jackson felt as if he were saving you. He loved you dearly. He didn't want anything to happen to you!

But he wasn't much better, Holt thought! Jackson was constantly watching you and taking photos. Holt wasn't like that, oh no.

Sure, he loved them, but you were his prize, not your pictures.

His gut turned euphoric, and he rounded a corner before running up your driveway. Then, he made it to your bedroom and looked in.

You were back in bed, just as he had hoped.

He pulled a screwdriver from the ground that he had left from his last visit. Then, he wiggled it under the old, rusted window and pried it open. Your grandparents' house was old as hell, in Holts' opinion. He honestly pitied you for living in such a prehistoric building.

The wall creaked as he leaped up through the window. His feet hit your stained carpet, and he stood slowly. Being in your home, as ancient as it was, was relaxing and interesting no matter how many times he had been inside.

He strolled through the house quietly. Though your grandparents were practically deaf, he still didn't want to take any chances. He walked proudly as he glanced around at their dusty decorations.

After having a small search around, he returned to your bedroom. The feeling was exciting to him.

Your curled up body came into view as he stepped through your doorway, and a wide smile struck his features.