Dylan groaned softly, his eyelids fluttering open to reveal the soft glow of the moon casting eerie shadows across the sterile hospital room. The dull ache pulsating in his head served as a relentless reminder that he'd been struck by a car. He gingerly attempted to rise, only to find himself tethered to the bed by an intrusive IV line. Sighing he scanned the deserted room, devoid of any human presence. The clock on the wall taunted him with its relentless ticking, announcing the ungodly hour of one in the morning.
Dylan reached for his throbbing head, his fingers grazing the tender spot where pain radiates like wildfire. "Concussion", he surmised grimly. How long had he been unconscious? The question gnawed at him, driving him to piece together the fragments of his fragmented memory.
His gaze wandered to his belongings strewn haphazardly nearby. Among them lay his battered phone, its screen marred by a spider web of cracks, a testament to the chaos that had befallen him. Frustration welled up within him at the sight, mingled with a sense of resignation. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath, the words escaping in a weary exhale.
As he rifled through his belongings, ensuring that everything remained intact, his fingers brushed against something unexpected—a weathered box nestled amidst his belongings. Its surface bore the scars of time, the once-vibrant paint now faded and peeling. Intrigued yet perplexed, Dylan studied the box intently, his brows furrowed in confusion at the faded inscription etched upon its surface: "Laughing Jack."
"Laughing Jack? What Kind of name is that?" contemplated quietly to himself, as he wonders where it came from. He guessed it might have been that kid in the alleyways toy, but why a kid would want something so old and fragile was beyond him. He gently stows the box back into his bag before settling back onto the hospital bed, his mind drifting to the haunting events that transpired. Whatever that clown-like entity was, it defied any semblance of humanity. Contemplating the chilling scene, he couldn't decide which aspect was more unsettling—the sight of the child torn apart and left like discarded prey in a tree, or the presence of the sinister clown itself. The notion that a human could possess the ability to impale another person with bare hands seemed inconceivable.
Dylan runs his hand through his hair, feeling a mix of apprehension and weariness wash over him as he closes his eyes. Is this individual the perpetrator behind the grisly murders haunting the town? He shakes his head, his gaze shifting up towards the ceiling. Why should he be invested in this? Whatever occurred, occurred, and he simply hoped he didn't have to see the damn clown again. Anticipating a long, restless night ahead, he reached for his phone, relieved to find it still functional despite the cracks. Placing his earbuds in, he sought solace in the words of Edgar Allan Poe and Shakespeare, immersing himself in their worlds to momentarily escape the harsh reality surrounding him. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, sinking into the hospital bed, gradually slipping into a light slumber as time passed.
YOU ARE READING
Laughing Jack: How To Put A Jack In The Box Back In The Box (Laughing JackxOC)
Mystery / ThrillerDylan Winters is a 19-year-old young man trapped in the confines of a small town plagued by a series of gruesome child murders. Disturbingly, the parents of the victims all report that their children had spoken of an imaginary friend named Laughing...
