Can't Say

Chapter 6

           You were abruptly jerked out of your slumber by an echoing crash throughout the mansion. Though it had been muffled by the walls and bedroom door, you were easily brought back to consciousness. A pair of familiar voices screeched in the air, bickering at each other. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you climbed out of bed to inspect the situation. For whatever reason, you didn't think about the risks you were taking, concerning your safety from murderous psychopaths.
            Stumbling down the staircase and following the continuous noises of yelling and things breaking, you approached the archway to the living room. There, you took in the horrendous sight of the television sparking and smoking, a game controller forced halfway through the screen. The television was hanging on the wall with an obvious tilt to it. Upon further inspection, you noticed the couch had been turned on its back, a bookshelf had been knocked over, scattering literature all over the floor, and a couple of lamps had been thrown around.
            “You little bitch!” The raspy shriek of Jeff's voice echoed from down the hall that burrowed past the staircase. “I'm gonna fuck you up!”
            “Fuck you, Jeff!” Ben's younger voice retorted to Jeff.
            You followed the voices, unfamiliar with this part of the mansion. The hall was terribly dark, and you could just barely make out the definitions of doors and decorations.
            A shadow whizzed past you, only noticeable for the fact that the rushing air brushed your cheek. Something else flew past you, though it made less of an impact on the air than the previous passerby. There was a firm thunk into the wooden flooring of the corridor, then the sporadic clinking of something metal dancing on the marble tiles. You whipped your head around to find a knife skidding across the dim foyer. A third something rushed by your side, though he was more vocal about his existence, “You little motherfucker! Get back here!” Jeff turned a sharp left at the bottom of the staircase, having his bare feet nearly slipping out from underneath him.
            A warm hand rested itself on your shoulder. You jumped, not expecting someone else to be part of whatever was going on. You shakily turned your head to eye the hand, finding its long, pale shape to be much more decrepit up close. Following the arm's lead, your eyes ran upward until they found a pale oval of sorts staring down at you. It was then that you noticed the hallways had lit up just enough to expose its contents.
            “Sl-Master,” you nearly slipped up on how you should speak to Slenderman again.
            Slenderman nodded, “Good girl.” The sound of glass shattering echoed in the distance. “I would appreciate that you avoid bickering and destroying my abode as those two do.”
            You gulped and nodded, thankful that Slenderman wasn't here to blame you for the ruckus. “I'll be sure to do that, sir.” Turning the rest of your body to face your master, you remembered what needed to be done today. “When are my tests supposed to start?”
            “Ah, yes,” Slenderman hissed, seemingly pleased with being reminded of this little event. He lifted his hand from your shoulder and tapped a single finger to his chin. “I suppose you've already passed the first two tests, considering that you proved that you are capable of killing those whom you should love and those whom you hate; however,” he prolonged his final word as though producing a sly idea within his black hole of a mind, “you have yet to kill someone whom you have neutral feelings for.”
            Someone you don't have feelings for? Just a random human being. A person you've never met, let alone, knew existed. “That should be easy enough,” you said, though, within yourself, you felt something stir. Maybe it was doubt. You wouldn't be completely sure until the test began.
            “Follow me,” Slenderman gestured to you as he spun around on his heels and began to stroll further down the hallway. You followed, curious, yet reluctant.
            This hall seemed endless, as did the mansion, itself. Aside from the various doors, you also noticed other branch-ways of more hallways. You could only imagine what could be hiding within the mansion – what Slenderman could possibly have such a large home for. Perhaps rooms for other Creepypastas? Torture rooms? A massive library? Storage? Did Slenderman start off with just a simple house?
            The being involved in your thoughts broke the entrancing silence, “You will eventually learn what resides within this building,” he paused, “if you survive long enough, of course.” Slenderman stopped in front of a large, old door. He pressed a hand flat against its surface, then opened it with an effortless push. The thick door swung open to reveal a bleak and stench-filled room. The scent of blood and decay filled your nostrils, making you gag. “I suggest you accustom yourself to this,” Slenderman said nonchalantly, then stepped through the entrance.
            A single window on the far wall was all that lit the room, which was hardly at all. As you followed your master into the strangely cold area, you noticed the stone walls and ceiling. It felt like a jail cell from long ago; however, this one was much larger and lacked the scurrying of rats.
            The jingling of chains rang in your ears. “No,” someone whimpered. “No, please!” You cast your eyes in the direction of the voice. There, you saw Slenderman approaching a human who had been chained to the cold wall.
            “____, come,” Slenderman commanded. You obliged and hurried to your master's side.
            “Please help me,” the human begged you. Its effeminate voice only making it sound increasingly pathetic. You couldn't tell if it was a man or woman, due to this side of the wall being so dark.
            Slenderman hummed a thought to himself, one that you began to notice as a sign of mischievous thoughts running through his mind. “Oh, I will help you. Perhaps a bit of light will aid your effect on my dear candidate.” At that, a single bare light bulb flickered awake above your head. You then clearly saw the person chained to the wall.
            Blood-stained clothes, ripped in various sections. The ragged blonde hair of the young boy stuck to his forehead from the sweat and blood that had smeared on him. He looked to be about your age. His scrawny figure shivered in fear as his blue eyes made contact with your own, pleading for mercy. The boy's wrists and ankles had been bruised and cut into from the shackles around them; he had been struggling.
            A pale hand lowered into your view. In its palm you found a pristine knife, long and sharp. You looked up to Slenderman, sending a question of his orders through your eyes.
            “I would prefer a display of your endurance, ____.” Slenderman held his gaze toward the victim on the wall. “Do what you wish to the human, but keep him alive for as long as you can withstand his screaming.”
            Your eyes flashed between the knife and the boy. Thoughts of your previous murders returned to your mind. Those killings had been quick and generally silent. Slenderman wanted you to listen to this boy's screams. He wanted you to torture this person! That wasn't your style, though. 
            “If you desire to be my Proxy,” Slenderman added, “then I must be able to trust that you can kill whomever I appoint you to.”
            So, this was why he wanted you to kill a random person. The torture didn't make much sense, though. Maybe he wanted to make sure you could stomach the murder of anyone he wanted? A faint chuckle from Slenderman's wake confirmed your thoughts.
            With a shaking hand, you plucked the knife from your master and studied the blade's perfection. No doubt it would cut cleanly. Something told you that Slenderman preferred it that way. This was a test if you could please him, after all.
            The boy's whimpering increased when he saw you take the knife. He knew what was coming, and thus began to sob. “Please don't do it! Please!”
            You bit your lip, part of yourself understanding where the boy was coming from. You had gone through your own sort of torture. Now, after extinguishing those who hurt you, it was your turn to do the torturing of someone you barely even knew – if at all. Life was funny like that, wasn't it? You had gotten your revenge, but now you were to suffer being the exact person you hated.
            “Heh,” a humorous breath escaped your lips. It grew into a giggle, then a cackle. “This is hell, isn't it?” You laughed to yourself, still gazing at the knife. “I died in the woods, and now I'm in hell. I'm doomed to forever be the bullies I hate so much.” You gripped the knife handle, then stepped up to the sobbing boy. “Well, if that's the case, then I might as well make a game out of it.”
            For the first cut, you decided to carefully slice down the boy's chest, right in the center. The silvery blade split the threads of your victim's shirt as though it were butter. Blood trickled down, chasing after your knife as the boy screamed out. His voice rang in your ears, making them want to burst. You clasped your free hand over his mouth, only to deal with his struggling and attempted thrashing. Still, you continued to run the knife down his chest until you reached his navel.
            This was just like biology class, except this wasn't a frog – and he was alive. You thought it best to start off this way, because the frog was something you had neutral feelings for. Yes, just a frog.
            A pair of hands gripped your shoulders and pulled you back, allowing the boy to scream openly. Slenderman leaned down to your ear and said, “This is no frog. Take a good look, my dear ____. I want you know exactly what you're doing.”
            The blonde boy struggled against the shackles and chains. His wrists and ankles began to bleed with fresh fluids. The long cut down his chest and stomach trickled freely, weeping with pain. The sobbing of the boy hit your ears like a broken record as he begging you to stop. “No more,” he blubbered.
            “Oh, but this was just the first cut,” Slenderman replied to your victim. He then pushed you forward, urging you to continue what you had started.
            You were now shaking. You knew full well that this was a fellow human that you were carving in to. This was no frog, no animal, no person who you hated; this boy was probably some kid who was bullied at school, just like you. He was just like you. That's right. He was you, and you were the bully.
            You really were in hell.