Can't Say

Chapter 22

      Surprisingly, two whole days passed without incident. Slenderman had extended the home truce for an extra day. With guaranteed peace, you took the opportunity to get to work on your vegetable garden. It took effort – more than you had planned – both mentally and physically. You had to research information on various produce and how best to plant them for fruitful efforts. Hopefully, you would see results within the next month or so.
      The most amusing part of it all was your master looming nearby. While otherwise creepy, his childish curiosity seemed to wash away the tall being's sinister aura. You had a feeling that Slenderman knew exactly how to garden, but much preferred to watch his Proxies learn on their own. This wasn't a life-or-death situation, after all. 
      At one point, Laughing Jack had wandered outside, making his rounds to check up on injured residents. For the most part, you were healed, but the wound was originally deep and its dark, thin scar needed to be monitored until all tenderness was gone. The very moment Laughing Jack noticed that you were starting a garden, he excitedly exclaimed that he wanted you to try growing a candy tree. It was strange to see this typically jolly Creepypasta among the other murderous characters, but you didn't dare ask why he fit in so well.
      Despite your efforts to explain that candy doesn't grow on trees – or grow at all - you found yourself planting a bright, pink gumball into the earth. Jack watched with enthusiasm as you watered the freshly covered “seed”, eyes sparkling with hope. He seemed satisfied with just one, probably due to past failed attempts.
      Your nights were long and stressful. The Darkness that haunted you and your fellow Proxies' minds didn't follow the rules of the mansion. It was a miracle if you were capable of sleeping for two straight hours. Luckily, your nightmares faded with time. Sleep became a haven once again. Even Slenderman restricted his peculiar visits in your bed.
      The third day after your first Zalgoid encounter, the truce was lifted. Everyone with known injuries had healed considerably, leaving them capable of functioning and defending themselves while on the mansion's grounds. Masky informed you that the workout routine would be continuing once the both of you were in better condition. To this, you cringed a little. At least the sore muscles faded rapidly here.
      You awoke that morning, stomach soon growling for nourishment like a wild animal. It was a challenge to ignore the hunger pains as you got ready for the day, but you managed. The kitchen was your next destination, though you weren't sure what you would find to feed yourself. Maybe you could convince Slenderman into stealing some chickens for the mansion. It'd be great to have a reliable source of eggs, at least.
      Descending the staircase, you fantasized eating a wide variety of foods; none of which you ever expected to actually experience within the mansion. That is, until you reached the hallway that led to the kitchen. It was then that you caught a faint whiff of a delicious aroma that instantly had you salivating. The further you traveled down the hall, the stronger the smell became – and the stronger your stomach rumbled for satisfaction. You could hear an effeminate humming joining in with the choir of simmering oils and chinking cookware. Memories of the few mornings that your mother actually prepared breakfast flashed over your vision, but you shook them away.
      As you turned the corner to peek into the kitchen, you caught view of the heavenly being that was so kind to – hopefully – feed you. She looked human enough, from the side view that you had. Her long, brunette hair waved down to her waist, only pulled back by a loose tie. The woman looked to be in her early twenties, thin, and just a little over average height. She was clad in black and white; an off-shoulder, white shirt covering a short black top, and a pair of black slacks.
      There were pots and pans filled with all sorts of steaming breakfast foods. Your salivation issue only worsened at the combined sight and smell of eggs, biscuits, pancakes, and other dishes you weren't quite sure of – but they looked delicious, nonetheless.
      While you wanted to walk over and greet this stranger, you reminded yourself that this wasn't a world of average humans anymore. Anyone you met from here on out was more than likely to be some sort of psychopath – if not mentally ill in some form or fashion. Instead, despite your rumbling stomach, you backed away and dashed down the hall in search of a familiar face. They would know if the woman was an ally or a trespassing enemy.
      Just reaching the foyer, Jeff the Killer appeared from around the corner. He looked sober, for once, but miserable about it. No doubt, he was going to the kitchen to get his fix. 
      “Jeff!” You exclaimed, and grabbed the young man's sleeve, “There's a stranger in the kitchen!”
      With a grunt, Jeff pushed you off of him, which shouldn't have surprised you as much as it did. He sniffed the air, almost instantly drawing back his lips in disgust. A deep scowl wove into the pale brows of Jeff, and a low hiss escaped him, “Kitteh.”
      “Kitty?” You watched Jeff with searching eyes, not recalling any cats wandering around the kitchen. All you received back was a series of grumbled obscenities as the pale man stomped past you with fury all over his face. A feeling in your gut had you worried that this really was an enemy in the kitchen. Hopefully, the food wasn't poisoned.
      You followed Jeff, mostly out of curiosity. It was then that you recalled Masky explaining Slenderman's ever-watching eye over the entirety of the mansion. Surely, if that were true, then this stranger would have been evicted for ill will. Yet, here she was, still cooking and ignoring Jeff's hostile insults and threats.
      “This isn't your house, you crazy bitch!” Jeff sounded like he had an old hatred for this Kitteh. “You can't just show up and start cooking whenever you want!” He also kept his distance, for the time being, but did his best to look intimidating. During all his nagging, though, Jeff casually moved to the refrigerator and retrieved a can of beer. Was this a common occurrence between the two?
      Kitteh stopped humming, but never bothered to give Jeff the courtesy of eye contact, “So? I'm sure everyone else appreciates something good to eat once in a while; but you don't appreciate anything, so you wouldn't understand.”
      At that, things really heated up in the already warm kitchen. Jeff was in the midst of cracking open his beer, only to crush it within his hand in response to Kitteh's retort. Beer went spraying in all directions.
      “Aw, did the dog make a mess? Weren't you trained to go outside?” Kitteh's taunting words only egged the man on. She didn't seem concerned for her safety in the least.
      With his newfound fury, Jeff tossed the can aside and rushed toward the woman – only to make a fool of himself and slip in his own spill. The man went colliding with the tiled floor and you were sure you heard his nose crunch upon impact. This didn't stop Jeff from spewing out further come-backs to Kitteh, “GAH! You shut your whore mouth! One day, I'm gonna rip you to pieces!” He hunched over, one hand holding his face. From the doorway that you hid by, you could just see shades of red mix with the wheat-yellow beer on the tiles. 
      At this, you rushed to Jeff's side and tried your best not to slip, too. You grabbed an elbow and began to help Jeff up, but he lashed out at you. “Don't touch me, you little shit!” He violently shook his arm and shoved you away with an, “Oomph!”. 
      Even though you should have known he would do that, there was hurt in your eyes. You were the one being kind to Jeff, yet he ignored that fact. A small burning within you wanted to attack the man. Maybe you would lacerate his skin and pour beer all over the wounds. Maybe you could just repeatedly smash that stupid nose of his onto the floor. Maybe you could do both!
      Kitteh's startled gasp broke your infuriated plots. “You would dare hit a child? No wonder everyone hates you!” In moments, the woman was at your side and pulling you into a warm hug. “Don't worry, I won't let that thing touch you,” she cooed and petted your head. There was a strong, motherly aura to Kitteh. You hoped that was a good thing. “Come on,” she said, ushering you to the dining table in the separate room, “let's get you some breakfast.” You obeyed without question, glancing at Jeff's hunched form as he began to straighten out.
      Upon being seated at the rather massive dining table, Ticci Toby and Masky entered the room through a door across from you. They didn't seem concerned with Kitteh's presence, nor Jeff's disheveled condition. A smorgasbord of food was soon spread out over the table. Most of the household had gathered around the dining table the moment they caught wind of Kitteh's home cooking. Jeff had to wait until he had permission to join the others, which made you wonder just how powerful this woman was.
      Your tall master eventually showed up once everyone had piled their plates and began filling their stomachs. Kitteh hummed to herself at the sink, cleaning the cookware she had soiled. Slenderman showed no interest in the food before him.
      “I appreciate your convenient appearance, Kitteh,” Slenderman called to the woman from his position at the kitchen archway. “We have matters to discuss.”
      “You mean like that new Proxy of yours that you never told me about?” Kitteh sounded annoyed. Still, she continued washing the dishes by hand. Your master didn't respond. “She's just a child, Slender!”
      You stole a glance at your master's wake, trying to understand why he was silently taking the nagging of this strange woman. The slender-being's lacking face did nothing to answer your internal questions. He seemed indifferent to Kitteh; only waiting for her to conclude her rant about having a Proxy of your age.
      After a moment of silence between the two, Slenderman began, “We have a dilemma more concerning than my new Proxy and her age.” He moved to Kitteh, becoming less audible to everyone in the dining room. You strained your ears to listen as you carefully chewed. “There's been another casualty to the Proxies – this time, on Sexual-Offenderman's group. These random Zalgoid 'strolls' are becoming increasingly frequent.”
      Kitteh hummed in thought for a moment, just loud enough for you to hear. “You're recruiting allies, huh? I've already told you that this is none of my business.”
      “Yet you drop by to feed my residents as though you've already chosen a faction.”
      “I did. I'm neutral, remember? A Watcher.”
      “And what do you plan to do when Zalgo begins attacking you?”
      There was silence, then. Not even the sound of thumping dishes in the sink's warm water. You glanced around the table to see if anyone else was listening with you. Everyone had been doing the same as you – dining as quietly as possible to listen to the conversation beyond the walls.
      With a sigh of denied defeat, Kitteh finally replied, “Fine. I'll help out the Slender family; but only out of concern for that poor child you've dragged into this.”
      Slenderman chuckled at this, “Wouldn't Sally have been enough, then?”
      “While she's still an adorable little dear,” you heard Kitteh coo at the mention of an unfamiliar Creepypasta, “she isn't nearly as defenseless as a human.”
      The rest of their time in the kitchen consisted of minor chatter – mostly of Kitteh bickering about the lack of fresh food she witnessed when she got here. She, of course, blamed that entirely on Jeff. Mumbled insults caught your ear from a corner seat furthest from the dining room-kitchen archway. When you glanced in their direction, you found Jeff shoving fork-loads of breakfast into his mouth. Unfortunately, some partially chewed contents seeped from the extended corners of his mouth, which began to turn your stomach at the sight.
      After some time, closer toward finishing breakfast, you finally asked the table about the Watchers you had overheard being mentioned. “How many are there?”
      Laughing Jack was the first to answer, explaining that there was an indefinite number of Creepypastas in existence. Slenderman tries to keep a catalog updated as new Creepypastas are encountered by allies. “The library has half a wall dedicated to the books he's filled,” Laughing Jack said, raising his eyebrows in emphasis. 
      “I wish he'd just put it all on a computer file,” BEN added. “He's spent way too much time rewriting entire catalogs just to enter new information.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head with exasperation. 
      “Okay,” you knitted your brows, “but what about the factions. I keep hearing about new ones all the time.”
      The table decided now was a good time to lay out the entire map for you, so to speak. So, as you and your housemates nibbled at the remnants of breakfast, you were lectured on the Creepypasta world and its factions.
      There was the Slender Family, of course. The four leading heads of that faction were the brothers: Slenderman, Sexual-Offenderman, Splendorman, and Trenderman, respectfully. They prefer order and punctuality, though this could be loosely agreed upon for the allies. This was one of the two factions of high sentience.
      The other being the Zalgoids. They were ruled by Zalgo, and they leaned toward chaos, destruction, and unwavering obedience to him. Only two beings were a step below Zalgo's throne: Iris and Anastasia. They were his two most loyal – and powerful – followers. The rest of the Zalgoids were generally known as Minions, though they had names of their own.
      You had heard about the SCPs – Savage Creepypastas. They were just as they had been classified: savage, feral, dangerous. None of the other factions enjoyed dealing with the SCPs. Zalgoids could be reasoned with, despite their chaotic nature, but SCPs were ferocious to the end. Some resembled animals, while others were more humanoid. All that being said, the SCPs had no leader, doing as they please. Whether that be wandering around and searching blindly for food, or hiding away in their territory until an unfortunate being stumbled upon them, it didn't make a difference.
      The last faction you learned about were The Watchers. While they don't claim to be an official faction, these neutral Creepypastas became labeled as such due to obvious reasons. Not all Creepypastas wanted to deal with war and sides, nor did everyone have the same ideals as the Zalgoids or Slender Family. Rather than dealing with either faction's requirements of protection and such, the Watchers preferred to stay out of it all as much as possible. Still, many did lean closer toward the Slender Family's ideals, which lead to spontaneous visits here and there by such beings. Kitteh, for instance, often dropped by to check on the much younger Creepypastas. Other times, she visited out of boredom. 
      So far, there were three other Watchers who favored the Slender Family. While they didn't visit like Kitteh, they were potential allies. There was Chromatic Scales, a ghost Lyrical Griffin. She's known to remain in one area, singing pleasant melodies to draw in prey. Another was a mutated human known as Smoke. His abilities revolved around his themed name. (Here, Jeff interjected that Smoke was much less masculine in person than his name let on.) From experiences, the Slender Family found him to be extremely reluctant to trust newcomers, but Slenderman saw potential. The fourth Watcher was known as Hailey; a young, deceased girl who now haunted closets. If it weren't for her otherwise docile personality, most would label Hailey as an SCP. Luckily, she was capable of holding sophisticated conversations, so long as her anxieties weren't triggered.
      This was a lot of information to process. It gave you a much larger picture of the Creepypasta world, though. Pieces of the puzzle slowly fell into place.
      Once everyone's bellies were full of a fresh, warm meal, the dining room was gradually tidied up. Kitteh and Slenderman were nowhere to be seen. Most likely, they were continuing their political discussions elsewhere.
      “Damn woman barges into our house, makes a mess in the kitchen, then forces us to clean it all up,” Jeff grumbled as he helped with the dishes. No one bothered to retort to his ungrateful complaining. You figured it was routine by now, seeing as how he and Kitteh were acting when you first met her.
      Masky stopped at your side, placing another stack of plates on the counter. You had been stuck to washing the dishes; Toby was on drying duty; Hoodie put everything away. “Did everyone get our master's message?” Masky inquired.
      “Yup,” Ticci Toby affirmed.
      “Yeah,” Hoodie replied.
      “No?” You eyed Masky with curiosity. “What message?”
      A faint grunt rumbled from Masky's throat, “Hm. You must not be attuned enough to him.” When you continued to give the man perplexed looks, he lightly sighed and continued, “We're gonna be running through a training exercise today. It's to help with our teamwork and sensitivity to Slenderman's mental projections.” You noticed Masky's hands clench at the mention of the latter.
      “Oh,” you went back to washing dishes, noticing that you were holding up progress. “Where are we going for this?”
      “Hey!” Jeff shoved Masky aside and dropped his stack of pots and plates onto the counter. “Quit slacking! I wanna get out of here so I can go slaughter!” He grumbled something obscene about the four of you as he stormed away, allowing Laughing Jack, Eyeless Jack, and BEN to add their armfuls of dishes in the quickly growing collection.
      You stared at Masky, who watched the Creepypastas walk away as though this was a normal thing. Sadly, it was.
      Masky began arranging the dirty kitchenware so that they wouldn't avalanche on you as they were dwindled away. “We'll be going back to Sexual-Offenderman's motel. It's pretty normal for us to spar with other Proxies. Not sure if there's any particular reason why we're going against these guys, though. They'll be short one Proxy, since. . .” Masky trailed off in thought. You knew he was talking about the Proxy that had died during that fight with the Zalgoids.
      The rest of the time was pretty quiet, aside from Jeff's nagging. As soon as the table was cleared and cleaned, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the cabinets and left. The Jacks and BEN disappeared, too, though not as eager to ingest alcohol. Your teammates and yourself continued with the kitchen's scrub-down. It wasn't until half an hour later that the deed was done. 
      With a relieved sigh, Toby leaned back on the counter, “Man, I l-love when Kit-t-teh cooks for us, b-but she's gotta stop-p making such a mess!”
      Everyone collectively agreed.
      “You should know by now that nothing is for free,” Slenderman's low voice lectured, catching his Proxies' attention. He stood at the kitchen doorway, Kitteh no longer with him. “Prepare yourselves for the sparring. You have ten minutes.”
      The men nodded and rushed past their master. You followed just behind, glancing up at Slenderman's towering form as you passed. He seemed to watch you, examine you. There wasn't an air of warning surrounding him, which you were thankful for.
      Within the armory room, you were handed, of all things, Nerf guns. For melee weapons, there were sturdy foam replicas, which looked severely worn, but still functional. It quickly occurred to you that safety was a concern between allies, which was a relief. At least you didn't have to worry about suffering new wounds so soon. Given the situation with the Zalgoids, more injuries – and deaths – were the last thing the Slender Family needed right now.
      “I st-till think we should st-tart a LARP g-group. We have everyt-thing for it,” Ticci Toby mused as the four of you regrouped with Slenderman in your new gear.
      Everyone rolled their eyes, though partially interested in going through with Toby's idea.