Eyes of the Divine (Yandere!Eyeless Jack X GN!Reader)

Where's Colin Firth When I Need Him Most

You hoped that you were safe in the forest, but you weren't sure. It wasn't like you could look it up on the internet; as far as everyone else was concerned, they were fictional, but you figured that the more of them that you saw in a single day meant that your chances of encountering No-Face for a second time grew higher and higher, and the longer you spent in the crowds could speed up that disgusting reunion.

It was a blessing that town was quiet that day. The remains of a market was being packed up in the square, and a small congregation of bingo players were making their way towards a café.

Despite the variety of shops, not many piqued your interest as you wandered down the paved path, yet you made a mental note of what was there anyway, just in case you ever needed them. There was a supermarket, smaller shops selling local produce, stationary, clothes, cosmetics, antiques—

Coming to a halt, you stared through the grimy window of the antique shop. A sign above the door said, 'Good as New' and a little bell tinkled above you as you stepped inside.

A small corridor let to the main shop, where the till was immediately to your right. An elderly woman sat behind it in a comfortable looking armchair, reading the thickest book you had ever seen. She looked up as soon as your shoe hit the wooden floorboards, and she waved.

'Afternoon,' she said. 'Are you looking for anything in particular? I haven't seen you around here before.' Her voice was croaky with age and was heavily tinged with the thick, local accent that you barely managed to understand.

'Oh, I just moved in not too long ago. I thought I best check out what's in town, so I'm just browsing.'

'Are you the one who bought that old house in the woods?'

This surprised you, and you couldn't hide this as you asked: 'How did you know?' Please don't tell me this place has a psychic grandma.

'My granddaughter's an estate agent, you know, and she told me this morning that someone moved in.' She gave you a toothy smile. 'It's so nice to see young people moving into the area. Do you like the house?'

'Yeah, it's nice.'

'Good, good. There's a few tales about it—would you be interested in hearing one?'

'If you wouldn't mind.' I'm gonna get shot in the arse for this.

Your answer seemed to cheer the old lady up, and, with the assistance of a shining walking stick, got to her feet and tottered towards the cabinets full of antiques, gesturing for you to follow her with a shrivelled up hand.

'When I was a girl,' she began, 'me and my twin would play in the forest and talk with the old man that lived there; his parents built that house, you know. He would sit us down in his living room on cold days and tell us the stories he used to be told as a child. There was one story that my twin and I adored, and we would beg and beg to hear it every time we went to see him.

'It was about how his parents picked where to build their house. Apparently, they took one look at the land and said that it would be a site of great importance in a few centuries. The son never got told all of what happened, but he always told us he thought they said a demon would have an attachment to the house and an act of God would be defied. He always said it was like Beauty and the Beast, even though he knew my twin and I were never too fond of it.' She came to a stop in front of a large framed photograph on the wall. 'Those two there—do you see?'

You nodded, gazing up at the grainy faces of the couple. 'I do. They must have been incredibly resourceful to build an entire house themselves. Did they have help?'

'I'm not entirely sure, dear. I would imagine that they did, but I certainly wouldn't be surprised if they didn't. Are there any pieces that you want to hear the story of? Everything in this little shop has a tale to it.'

You were certain that it was a ploy to make you buy something, and who knew that little old ladies could be so persuasive? Turning away from the photo, you made your way to the back of the shop, which was darker and more cramped. It was filled with items that no one wanted.

Shuffling past a ceramic lamp while trying to gave a moth-bitten teddy bear a wide berth (you did not like the look in its button eyes), your attention gravitated towards a pocket knife that sat next to a porcelain teapot.

It was the prettiest knife you had ever seen. Flipping the blade, you ran your finger against the flat edge, the cold metal sending tiny shocks through your system. Your other hand gripped the handle, which was engraved with an ornate pattern that pressed against your palm.

The price tag told you that it cost £35, and you internally reasoned with yourself about how to manage your limited finances until payday. You could manage.

'Hey, uh...?'

'Marigold.' The old woman popped up on your side, demeanour filled with the innocence of someone who had been standing there the entire time.

'Right. Marigold. Can I buy this?'

'Of course.' She took the knife from you, turning it over in her fingers as she began to walk away. 'I remember this one well. Lord, how along ago was it? Three or so years? A lovely young man brought it in, saying it belonged to his best friend before he disappeared. Ah, what was his name? No matter.'

'Did they ever find his friend?'

'I don't think so, dear. The young man said that no one remembers his friend except him. A rather strange thing, is it not?'

You paid for knife, which was wrapped in gold tissue paper and placed in a small bag. When your fingers closed around the string handles, Marigold clasped your hands with her own in a rare display of strength that threw you off guard.

'Your house has seen many days pass,' she said. 'If the Lucas' were right, you will be faced with many things. Do not let them scare you. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to come to me.'

'Thank...you?' You didn't waste any time in hanging around; your exit was swift, and when you stepped out into the street, you weren't sure if the air was harsher than it had been before.