Can't Say

Chapter 37

    The faint light of your life force gradually blended with the mask's dark oppression. It was the last source of illumination behind your eyes, and now it was escaping. Would you awaken to your bed's soft fabrics? Would you awaken at all?
     Something within your chest burned, much different from your withering lungs; it smoldered with anger and defiance – and it was growing. Your mouth quickly flooded with saliva, and you tried to swallow what you could so not to hasten your demise.
     “Enough, BEN!” A powerful, guttural roar followed the command. One forceful swipe threw the Happy Mask Salesman and Moon Children off of you. “Stop this, or you'll come to regret it!” From the adjusting sounds, you determined that your protector was standing over you. He hissed, full and hallow, a warning, “You're about to make a terrible mista-”
     “She's the one who fucked up when she submerged my game in water!” BEN interjected.
     A stitch snapped under a faint pressure in your face. Were you swelling from the thread wounds? It seemed to match the rising build in your chest.
     “I have no time to argue with you,” Slenderman, your current dream savior, rushed from his position above you, heading straight to where you last heard BEN. The shattering of something similar to a clay pot pierced the air, just as another two stitches broke under the mysterious pressure.
     You awoke with a start, gasping for full breaths of air as you forcefully sat up in your bed. So, it was a dream. You slurped drool from your lips and wiped the rest away on a blanket. It almost didn't seem real to be back in your room, your eyes wandering everywhere to take in as much information as possible. Any oddity was proof that your nightmare wasn't over. The sting of the mask stitches lingered on your face. You traced your fingers over the sensation in search of real-world effects from the nightmare.
     To your surprise, you didn't find swollen, tender skin, but a rough layer of short – fur? And your face felt wider. “What the fuck?” You scrambled to climb out of your bed, but a large, pale hand firmly shoved you back down, holding flat against your chest.
     Slenderman leaned over you, a scowl of determination knitted deep over his brow. “You are not well, ____. Stay in bed.”
     “What's wrong with my face? What did BEN do?” Eyes wide with confusion, you searched your master's form for answers.
     Carefully, Slenderman pulled his hand away. Was he unsure if you would jump right up again? Couldn't he just read your mind for your intentions? “BEN has done nothing permanent. You will be back to normal in the morning.”
     “What did he do to me?” You weren't concerned with Proxy etiquette at this time. Whatever BEN did to physically change you in the real world, you needed to know.
     Without a word, Slenderman held an invisible gaze on you, standing unnaturally still. It was merely an instant before you realized what he was doing – you had no power to fight back. Your ears began to ring, growing steadily louder. As the ringing increased, so did an enveloping darkness close in from the outer edges of your vision. You were unconscious within seconds.
     Despite the lack of dreams, your slumbering consciousness recorded the time spent in darkness. You had no qualms against the peace. What pressures and anxieties compressed your soul in the waking world, you could feel nothing of the sort here. It was so blissful, in fact, that the very notion of a thought was unnecessary for you; existence was in its simplest form.
     The gentle warmth of morning light radiated from your window curtains and nudged your eyes to open. Immediately, your mind's cogs began to turn, processing last night's event. You recalled BEN attacking you in a dream that he undoubtedly manifested, himself. You remembered the confusion and struggled to piece together the sounds of your master and BEN arguing, fighting, then nothing.
     You only remembered darkness and peace after that; however, something seemed to be missing from your memory. No matter how hard you ran your mind, you couldn't bring forth anything else. By this point, you gave in and brushed it off as another dream you could only remember having, but register no detail of it – not the first time that happened. People have hundreds of dreams in a night, even if they don't remember them. Besides, breakfast was more important, according to your churning and grumbling stomach.
     Throughout your morning routine, prior breakfast, you went over the details of BEN's torturous dream. Was that all he would do? Would he try to get revenge again? Did he have further plans beyond what Slenderman had allowed? A shiver ran down your spine, fearing the next dream you would have with BEN, if it occurred. He made you feel so weak and powerless. It was hard enough to take control of your own nightmares. You could only pray to whomever necessary that Slenderman would rescue you, were BEN to attack again.
     On your way to descend the stairs, a concerning sight stole your attention from thoughts of food and last night. Laughing Jack was exiting Jeff's bedroom, gently clicking the door shut behind him. In one arm, he balanced a familiar silver tray that held a single empty syringe over a napkin. You internally laughed at Jeff's misery, thinking about how the Lady Karma had swooped in so soon.
     “What happened to Jeff,” you asked, catching up to Laughing Jack's side.
     Jack strode his long legs down the hall, toward the staircase, though you knew he would be heading back to the medical room. “He fell ill last night. Some sort of poisoning,” he replied. “The strange thing is, Slenderman ordered an anti-venom to be administered. Jeff said he hadn't been bitten by anything, as far as he knows. I couldn't find bite marks, but I didn't search his body all that thoroughly. He wouldn't let me.”
     “That's weird,” you mumbled. “Maybe it was something laced on one of his whiskey bottles?”
     Shrugging, Jack continued past the staircase, leaving you behind. “I'd say 'that's what he gets for taking candy from strangers', but who am I to judge?” He cackled, turning the corner as he moved at his own, faster pace.
     You weren't sure how to take Laughing Jack's words. He seemed nice enough, but there was always a darker aura squeezing your chest when he was near.
     Upon reaching the foyer via the staircase, you stole a glance into the living room. No sounds emanated from it, which hinted that BEN was elsewhere. You quickly glided your steps toward the kitchen, just in case the ghost boy was sulking quietly.
     Muffled voices barely reached your ears, though you were unable to understand any content. They completely halted before you could begin to make out any words. Stepping into the kitchen revealed your master, Slenderman, and a new being nearby. This newcomer looked stiff and uncomfortable, though his posture boasted pride, while Slenderman was lax.
     Compared to most other Creepypastas you had met, this person was dressed simplistic: a white, button-up blouse and brown pants, accompanied by black and white strap-boots. Dark, stringy hair draped around this person's head, allowing only the right eye to be viewed by the world. You happened to notice a steel mask covering the bottom half of his face; it instantly reminded you of Shredder, from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shows.
     Noticing the awkward length of time you had been staring at this new person, you realized that his single, golden eye had been locked onto your figure as well.
     The young man's nose bridge wrinkled tight, “She reeks – no. I can't think of a word to describe that grotesque smell.” Scratch that. Young woman. Her voice switched something in your brain so that you could detect the vague feminine features. At least you didn't make the mistake out loud. And what was this about your smell being so foul?
     You shifted uncomfortably under your weight, unsure if you should so casually get something to eat. Instead, you did your best to discretely sniff yourself, wondering if BEN had played some sort of trick on you and switched the deodorant or shampoo with something you couldn't detect. Nothing seemed different.
     “I can tell you what it smells like, though,” the woman rolled her narrowing eye to Slenderman, who nodded once.
     A dark object wriggled below and near the person's wake. At first, you thought Slenderman had extended his tendrils to snatch his company, but you realized a slight transparency to the aggressively dancing darkness. They were the woman's shadows. “I should leave,” she warily stated, “before they act on their own.”
     “Thank you for your patronage,” Slenderman nodded again. “I apologize for not seeing you out, considering the circumstances.” He then took three long strides to your side, placed a hand on your shoulder, and the kitchen was replaced with the back patio.
     Your heart sank, knowing that it would be longer before you could have some breakfast. This only angered your growling stomach further. You tried to utter some sort of coherent query to what had just happened in the kitchen, but Slenderman spoke first, “Remain here until I say otherwise. I will bring you sustenance in a moment.” All you could do was comply and have a seat at the patio table. Your master disappeared for what seemed like several long minutes before he returned with a hastily stacked egg and cheese sandwich, along with a glass of possibly expiring milk (it didn't smell bad, so no one dared to waste it).
     With longing eyes, you stared down at the food, but other things were on your mind. If Slenderman wasn't able to read your thoughts, he would surely think you were disappointed with the humble breakfast. He eventually answered your internal queries, seeing that you wouldn't eat until otherwise, “She goes by the name Black Blood. Much like The Gentle Man, she is an ally to the Slender family who prefers to hold residence elsewhere.” He paused, hoping that was enough to get you to eat, but you held your ground. Your master sighed and continued, “When Black Blood said you “reeked”, she was referring to your soul.”
     “My soul?” You contested, brows knitted with doubt. “She could smell it that easily? I was across the kitchen.”
     “It's one of her specialties, which is exactly why I requested her opinion.”
     “What's wrong with my soul? And why are-” You didn't get to finish your flurry of questions. Slenderman had snatched up your breakfast sandwich and stuffed it into your mouth with barely a trace of mercy.
     “You ask too many questions,” he growled.
     So what if you couldn't talk? You knew he could hear your thoughts, and you were damn tired of the secrets he was keeping from you. With narrowed eyes, you screamed your suppressed questions within your mind over and over. It didn't last long.
     A slap across your face knocked what remained of the breakfast sandwich from your mouth. Your cheek stung red hot. This wasn't the first time he had struck you, but the tautness in your chest held just as firm. Your thoughts only faltered for a moment, but your hard-headed temperament grew. The questions repeated once again with a thirst for answers so powerful, you felt your mouth well up with saliva. Slenderman wrapped a large hand around your neck and lifted you to his level. The dainty patio chair clattered over, and the matching table coughed in offense when it was bumped by your knees. Surprisingly, the milk didn't spill.
     Slenderman's lacking face furrowed with vivid ire. He had no patience for your attitude. The grip against your throat blocked the entirety of your windpipe; it was hard enough to swallow, though most of your excreting drool began to run down the corners of your mouth. “My Proxies are usually more obedient and reserved over time,” your master spat with his mentally broadcasted voice; he even sounded to be speaking through gritted teeth. “You are quite the opposite. Perhaps I should have let you rot into a fer-” He stopped.
     For a moment, Slenderman only stared at you; or maybe he was lost in deep thought. You weren't sure, considering how cloudy your mind was getting by lack of air and blood flow. The large hand gripped a little tighter before its master tossed you against the nearest wall and disappeared. Your back sounded hollow upon impact with the solid brick barrier. Luckily, you didn't fall too far, but the patio floor wasn't any softer.
     You wheezed and coughed and gasped, greedily taking in fresh air between spitting out saliva and breakfast chunks. As blood flow regulated through your arteries, the heat of recent strangulation cooled down, but the sting of your cheek remained. Sure, you probably deserved all of that. You pushed Slenderman and his patience further than ever before.
     Why, though?
     It was more like you to tread carefully, pushing buttons here and there, but to test someone far more superior? In all honesty, this wasn't something you had within yourself – last time you checked, anyway. Some fight, sure, but not a war.
     What bothered you the most was your master's last words before he cast you aside. Let you rot into a what? He didn't complete the sentence, and you weren't sure which of all possible words he cut short. A fair game for all Creepypastas? Or were you just ignoring the obvious truth?
     “____!” Hoodie's voice called from the mansion corner. Your three brother Proxies appeared from toward the garden. “There you are. We're about to exercise. What the hell happened to you?” They couldn't help but notice your slumped form against the wall. The toppled chair and discarded breakfast were also fair indicators that something had gone awry just moments before.
     You gathered yourself and stood up, dusting off as though you weren't affected at all. “Oh, you know. I can never keep my mouth shut.”
     “When are you going to learn to stop asking so many questions?” Masky sighed, helping clean up the small mess of patio furniture and food.
     “Probably when I get enough answers,” you sneered.
     “I don't know how. . .why master hasn't k-killed you yet,” Toby chimed in.
     “I like to think it's because I'm actually a valuable Proxy.” Tongue sticking out, you began a loose taunting battle with the twitching boy.
     Toby lowered his mask just long enough to return the gesture. “Yeah, w-well, when master whisp-spers sweet n-nothings in my ear at n-night, he says – Ow! What the fuck was th-that for?!” Hoodie punched Toby on the shoulder before he could finish the obvious lie, though you suspected it was for another reason.
     “Just shut up, Ticci. No one wants to hear about that.” Hoodie flashed a look in your direction, though the mask would be difficult to determine this for anyone unaccustomed to such a lifestyle. “We're wasting time. Let's get to it.”
     “Yes, Cap. . .C-Coach Hoodie,” Toby grumbled.
     Masky took to your side, lagging behind the two arguing Proxies. He placed a hand on your shoulder and spoke low, “ 'You okay?” All you responded with was a simple crack of the voice intending assurance. You weren't lying. Masky accepted your answer and gave you a couple pats on the back before catching up with the others.
     You didn't linger too long before joining.
     Exercising and yoga would be much easier with fewer clothes, preferably the typical athletic attire. The mask didn't help, either. Sure, it was all so that you could grow comfortable with movement in your typical Proxy uniform, but that didn't make things easier.
     All this silly contemplation was forced through your brain, hoping to distract yourself from underlying concerns. You wanted to ask your fellow Proxies about what you had learned just earlier, but would Slenderman scold you again? He knew of everything that went on in his territory – especially the mansion – and what everyone was thinking. He'd know you were prying into matters that quite obviously concerned you in a heartbeat.
     For now, you were on your own.
     A few more days passed by. Typical affairs in the life of a Proxy ensued.
     Today, though, something special happened: your garden produced its first ripe vegetable! It was a tomato – large enough for a couple of sandwiches or a savory salad. Maybe you could sear it on a frying pan? Or make a sauce!
     It occurred to you that you didn't have much of a plan on how to use the vegetables once they provided a surplus of food. The library would be a good place to search for cookbooks. Or maybe the boys had dishes they craved?
     You didn't get the chance to discuss it, due to the fact that Slenderman halted your one-person parade to the kitchen by Slender-walking directly into your path. The precious tomato cradled in your cupped hands nearly hopped out of your grasp. Luckily, your reflexes (motherly instinct?) caught it in mid-air. This all was accompanied by a piercing yelp. If your heart wasn't already racing with excitement from the garden, then the horror of nearly losing your first successful produce had it going.
     Clutching the tomato close to your chest like a dragon to its egg, you glared up to Slenderman and hissed, “Yes?” The grin stretched across your clenched teeth was manifest.
     Slenderman remained silent for several long moments. He was probably doing it just to antagonize you more, seeing how annoyed you already seemed. You never averted your intense gaze. Finally, he said, “We have a mission. You should pay attention to the broadcast.” He was referring to earlier in the garden, where you deliberately ignored his telepathic announcement for all Proxies to meet up in the briefing room.
     Whether you liked it or not, you were still his Proxy. It was inevitable that you would have to go on that mission. “Yes, master,” you mumbled, then detoured around his slender form to put the tomato in the kitchen. “I'll be there as soon as I put this away.” From what you had learned about Slenderman within the past months, he was an understanding being – reasonably forgiving. The garden was important to the Proxy and resident survival. To deny the tasks required of it – even putting produce away – would be denial of proper sustenance, in the long-run.
     As you promised, you went straight to the briefing room after placing the tomato in a bowl on the counter. You had read that leaving fresh fruits and vegetables out in the relatively neutral room-temperature helped them to last longer.
     You were the last one to enter the briefing room, which wasn't a surprise to you. Masky, Toby, and Hoodie glanced over their shoulders as you shut the door on your way in. Slender stood behind the table, where a new map was pressed under the glass barrier.
     This type of mission wasn't new to you. Slenderman wanted to toy with his latest prey, “For experimental reasons,” as he explained. The psychology of humans, while stagnant in its most basic form, was ever-changing as technology and new techniques for survival are developed. Human psychology never ceased to intrigue the Slenderman.
     The town map was already marked by dry-erase markers. It always amused you how such markings resembled the few times you had seen football strategy drawings. Each of the five colors represented a respective person in the room. They marked where you should start, then end up; point A to point B. Since this was the beginning of a new “Study” mission, Slenderman always preferred to start from a distance. The Proxies would drive the victims in Slenderman's desired direction, plant cryptic messages or objects, and otherwise be his eyes and ears. Today, Slenderman would be stalking his victims, occasionally giving them the opportunity to view him, while the four of you would set up the messages and videos for the humans to find.
     Slenderman pulled out a folder from the side, spreading its contents out across the table. Photos of three humans and notes on their insecurities lay before you. It was best to be familiar with them now, for unexpected variables that sometimes occurred.
     The scenario was simple: man is having marital problems with his wife, who seems to be cheating on him with a close coworker. The interesting part was that the men were Cryptozoologists. The main target, Brett Otters, was also a skilled Survivalist, specializing in the outdoors. His relationship rival, Allen Roquez wasn't so competent in that field, but had picked up a few tricks from Brett. The cheating wife, Jane Otters, was a freelance Event Photographer, knowledgeable about videography, photography, and the likes. This was a challenge Slenderman took special interest in. Would the humans use their skills to fight your master? And if so, how well would they execute their plans under stressful circumstances? Would Brett be willing to work with his cheating wife and traitorous colleague? These were the questions Slenderman found so intriguing. Even if he were to repeat base plot, the outcome varied.
     Each Proxy took turns viewing the individuals and their known personal data, typical life patterns, etc. Once satisfied, the four of you waited for further instructions, which came promptly after the last file was replaced on the table. “Hoodie,” he began, “will place this SD card inside Brett's vehicle.” He held out the encased item, along with a paint marker, “Leave a message on his window: 'They are liars.' Be sure to leave the usual signature.”
     Hoodie accepted the items and stuffed them into his attire.
     “Toby will vandalize and destroy Jane's vehicle the best way he knows how,” Slenderman handed Toby a can of spray paint and a bottle of lighter fluid. He didn't bother handing a lighter, knowing that Toby kept one on his person at nearly all times. “Leave a message near the scene: 'He is a liar.' Be sure it's far enough away so not to combust before she sees.”
     Toby plucked the cans from his master's hand, happily accepting his task.
     “As for Masky and ____, I will need the two of you to lead Brett and Jane to their surprise gifts,” Slenderman removed the files, straightened them out, and set them aside. He then placed a lanky finger onto the table, noting the couple's house. “Our focus tonight will be to irritate the qualms between the Otters. Allen Roquez will have his due in time.”
     You and Masky nodded in unison, knowing the importance of your roles.
     Slenderman went on to explain, “As you should have seen in the notes, Jane Otters regularly jogs in the nearby park trail around 5 PM.” He tapped the section of town map marked as the park. “Brett Otters remains home, buried in his computer and cryptid files. This will be the optimal time to begin the mission. Once your tasks are carried out, we will regroup and plan according to their reactions.” Everyone nodded.
     There was no need for gathering equipment so early in a multi-part mission. Self-defense, weapons, sure, but climbing gear, assault weapons, and such, not so. The fun part was that Slenderman was able to join in these sorts of missions, helping his Proxies disappear and confuse the victims. Missions just seemed more natural with your master in on the action, unlike the missions involving those forum members and their hindering devices.
     With no further instructions to give, Slenderman extended his tendrils, made contact with each Proxy, and all were transported to their respective positions for the mission. Toby and yourself lingered around the outskirts of the park, while Hoodie and Masky hid in a secure place near the Otters' home. You delved deeper into the overgrown woodlands than the park trail wound through, finding a good spot to begin taunting Jane when the time came. Masky would have to lead Brett out of the house and to the garage without drawing attention from neighbors. The car alarm was out of the question. For now, Slenderman only wanted the humans to discover the messages, then let the swirling questions in their heads fester with dark intentions and confusion.
     All that was left to do was wait for Jane Otters to get to the park and begin her jog into the woodland trail.