BEN hovers over the ground, glitching in and out occasionally. He has brought some light and noise to the basement, only in the most literal sense. He complains a lot, in waves. He goes through stretches of being completely chill and stretches where being stuck here is too much. He can barely escape the game cartridge and when he does, he can't go far. He only makes it halfway up the stairs before he disappears then reappears by his game again. It is funny when he tries to lean against the wall and falls through, starting a cycle of him reappearing in the same place and falling again. I have to reach out and touch him to make him solid enough to stop the cycle, which adds its own amusement as he smacks into the wall.
Today is a whining day.
"I don't even kill anyone," he groans, rolling his eyes and smirking when Eyeless Jack clears his throat, "directly. Why can't they just leave me alone? And why did you help them?"
He turns an accusatory glare towards me. I'm in ropes again, resting in my spot between the two leaks. I shrug. He usually turns on me. I'm pretty sure Eyeless Jack got him started on it when I was sleeping because he woke me up to ask the first time.
"They have you down here too. You aren't even one of them. What do you get out of helping move us around? Do you like choosing the population that dies?"
I flinch a little when he says that. I don't want them released, honestly. If they kill people, being down here with me makes the world a better place, at least for a while.
"I didn't want the people in the house to die."
BEN chuckles and it sounds like a bad, distorted recording. "Too late for that, I already--"
Eyeless Jack clears his throat again. Clearly the monster is trying to control the conversation. He isn't subtle about it, but I don't point that out. I don't need a reason to prefer them to the men upstairs; they haven't wronged me directly.
"I ha--" he freezes for a moment then continues to speak, "ate being bound. I hate basements. I ha--" Another long pause. "ate the living. Living humans."
The last word is a clarification, thrown in hastily when the chains across the room start to shift. It's actually comforting. The situation feels less dire with BEN's bitching and Eyeless Jack's careful manipulation of the conversation. Neither of them is worked up to the point of animalistic rage and fear. I wrap myself in my blanket and shift my legs to fight off the numbness from sitting on this floor so long.
"Ooh, are you going to start flopping around again?" BEN asks, amusement in his tone.
"My legs hurt again," I mutter in response.
BEN's expression changes suddenly, a bit more serious and thoughtful than I've seen it since he joined us here.
"Actually, I could probably untie your legs," he speaks softly, a smirk replace the serious expression, "if you could make up for the lost entertainment."
I don't hesitate to respond, "I'll stay tied up."
"That's fine, I like that too."
I try not to give him the satisfaction of disgust moving across my face. I bow my head and school my expression into neutrality. No need to encourage him. He does act like a teenager. Sometimes I wonder how old he was when he died, but I won't pry. Somethings are meant to be private. Selfishly, I also don't want to risk angering him. Because I can touch him, it doesn't take much effort for him to touch me too. I don't really know what he is capable of. I only caught him off-guard in that house, and I don't want to test how much he can hurt me now that he knows physical contact is easy.
Eyeless Jack straightens up, rolling up onto his feet., His chains rattle softly as he creeps toward the stairs. The door opens a few moments later. The slow, hard thuds tell me its Toby even before I spot the beat-up sneakers and hatchets hanging from his belt. He is whistling. A good mood. He glances over when his head finally comes below the basement ceiling, no mask or goggles.
"H-how are you holding up?" He asks, taking another dropping step down. "I th-thought you could use co-com-co-company."
I can see BEN mocking him from the corner of my eye. Toby follows my gaze, and his expression hardens as he spots BEN. He freezes mid-step, and I can see the force with which he is gritting his teeth. I quickly pull my knees to myself to draw Toby's attention back to me and nod in agreement to needing company. Keep him calm. Keep him friendly. Keep him not chopping off my limbs. He smiles, puppy-like again, and leaps past the last few steps. He wobbles as he stands up, landing further from the stairs than he normally would step down. I know his mistake before he does and judging by the way BEN's smile grows, he notices too.
The basement is silent for a moment, quieter than it has been in the time that BEN has been here. Chains rattle, cinderblocks grind, and Toby crashes hard onto the ground. I can smell the blood, so much spills so quickly.
Eyeless Jack has Toby pinned. Toby managed to get an arm up in front of his face before Eyeless Jack could trap it under him. Eyeless Jack has his teeth sunk deep into Toby's one free arm, pushing towards the young man's face. Toby's fingers twitch and he grits his teeth, but there is no way he can reach his hatchet. He starts to scream and laugh as he tries to get the monster off of him, reacting more to being trapped than to a chunk slowly being torn and chewed out of his arm. BEN shouts something in glee, probably encouraging. Blood runs thick and red from the shredded flesh and my stomach lurches. I try to roll up onto my knees to move.
Footsteps thud upstairs. A shadow covers the top of the steps before flying down the stairs.
"I h-have him!" Toby screams, refusing help as he tries to roll out from under Eyeless Jack. "G-ge h-her be-before she mo-m-moves!"
"Come on!" BEN is shouting. "Le--...et's g--...o!"
He is glitching dramatically in all the excitement. I've barely rolled onto my knees when the masked man races in front of me. He knocks me down, gently holding me there with four fingers against my shoulder. His breath is a little fast, labored. How far did he run to get down here? Was he not in the house? He shifts slightly so I can see Eyeless Jack tear a chunk of Toby's arm and latch on elsewhere. Toby doesn't scream. He laughs.
"Do you really want to be more like them than us?" The masked man asks.
And I see Mason. I hear the echo of this man bragging about his kill, about silencing Mason by dislocating his jaw. And it was Toby's hatchet he used. The cooling blood and cooling body. The masked man likes to get so close to me, close enough to be a hair away from direct contact. And he isn't as aware of his surroundings as the hooded man. I know because my hand is already in his pocket, and he has yet to react.
My fingers graze a cool, plastic handle. Hopefully a knife, but I'll take anything I can use. I nod in agreement as I work the weapon out. Slide my grasp forward enough to feel the cool metal of a blade. Perfect. I jerk the sharp metal through my restraints, careful so he doesn't notice the motion.
More like these men than those monsters? As if there is a gap. As if he didn't kill someone close to me. As if this is a game. The rope is carved thin. I work the knot off my ankles before I snap the last threads, driving the knife upward into the masked man. His eyes get wide as soon as he notices the motion, but he doesn't move in time. The knife digs into his gut. The fabric of his jacket and shirt give more resistance to the blade than his flesh and muscle. I pull back and the blood that falls on my hands is warmer than Mason's had been. It makes me sick.
I take the moment of shock to shove the masked man over, slamming the knife into his shoulder as I pass. The pain must finally sink it because he screams a curse at my back. I snag BEN's cartridge off the ground and begin to race for Toby and Eyeless Jack.
Toby is staring at me. It's cold and harsh and makes me shudder. The masked man is already picking himself up. I can hear his shoes scraping on the concrete. Before I can think better of it, I scoop a hatchet off his belt. It's a moment of struggle to get it out, and I can hear the masked man regain his footing. I lift the hatchet as he starts to charge and slam it down hard on Eyeless Jack's back.
A few links split. For a second, a whole breath, the binding holds and I'm afraid I wasted that action as the masked man's shadows descends upon me. Then the chains slides and drop, clanging hard on the concrete floor.
The monster springs up. It catches the masked man's wrist and shoves him across the room with little effort. his body hits the wall with enough of a thud, I can feel it through the floor. Toby is starting to get up, reaching for his remaining hatchet. BEN is pulling me up the stairs. Eyeless Jack is following. We are racing, racing, racing. I can't hear over my heartbeat, can't even feel my breath. Are my lungs empty? Eyeless Jack passes me. I slip BEN's cartridge into the pocket of his pants. He doesn't notice, but BEN does, glancing back at me, black and red eyes wide.
A heavy weight crashes into my back and I'm slamming into the hardwood. My lungs are definitely empty now. Wood nips at my check. Loose nails snag against my clothes, threatening the skin underneath. A hatchet crashes into Eyeless Jack's shoulder. The creature screeches some sound so inhuman that I recoil, try to hide under the man pinning me to the ground. Thick, black sludge begins to leak from the gash, but he keeps running, leaping through a long empty window frame and into the woods.
"Fuck," hisses the voice above me.
I can't catch my breath under his weight and my vision starts to grow blotchy. Searing pain wraps around the back of my head as he yanks my hair. The floorboards come too close too fast. My face smashes against them. My brain rattles and my nose cracks. Blood moves down my face and my throat. I hack and sputter, wanting the taste out, needing to breath. My head is lifted again. One of my arms is twisted behind my back, and he is twisting it further. I'm starting to hear pops and the pain is rapidly growing.
Soft footsteps creak toward us, and the masked man pauses his assault. He keeps me pinned but does not slam my face down or twist my arm further. I glance up through tear-filled eyes to see the hooded man shaking his head lightly.
The room falls still, like even the wind is afraid to move. The man above me is heaving and shaking. He shoves off of me harshly. I cry out as he stomps down on my back on his way to the door.
"Let's go round up the fucking monsters, Rogers. Hoodie," he says the name with spite, "will handle the disturbance."
Heavy footfalls storm out of the house. I watch them leave, just silhouettes in my bleary vision. My head slowly sinks back down to the floor. It's cool against my sore forehead and nose. The blood drips forward in this position so none goes down my throat. I get several deep breaths before I feel the hooded man's hand on the back of my head. He is petting my hair gently, an attempt to be soothing. He slowly turns me on my back, and I don't fight him. Instead of tossing me over his shoulder, he tucks one arm under my back and the other under my knees, cradling me up against his chest.
"We shouldn't have let them influence you," he speaks calmly, lowly, like a parent absolving a small child of guilt.
His voice isn't as haunting as the first time I heard it. He walks back around behind the stairs, but he does not go down them. Instead, he ducks below some fallen boards and starts down a small hall that doesn't make sense from the outside of the building. There are several large gaps in the walls, more holes in the ceiling that run all the way up to the roof. Several of the doors are blocked by planks of wood.
"We'll fix that," he says softly.
He nudges open one of the doors towards the end of the hall. It has three windows, all with tatters of cloth covering them, sometimes in several layers to keep the light out. A lantern flickers orange in the middle. Three sleeping bags, packs spilling clothes, a small collection of first aid supplies. Rubble has been cleared; dust swept away. It's odd there is no graffiti on the ruins anywhere. I didn't think about it in the basement, figured no one wanted to mess with the unsettling and musty space, the air down there had been hard to breath at first. But this room, with the scent of old wood and nothing inherently creepy about it, is also devoid of paint and markers and carving and pencil and old plastered on papers.
The hooded man gently sets me down against a wall, away from windows and the door. He is positioned between me and any exit. The wood isn't as cold as the concrete, cool but not cold. He hovers by me, slowly pulling something from his pocket. More rope, of course, like he had been prepared for this exact situation. It's prickly and rough against my raw ankles and wrists. My skin had scraped and torn in a few places when I yanked free the last of the old rope and the new rope burns that. He ties it tighter than before, wrapping up onto my hands so they are forced together. I can barely flex my fingers.
He pauses before he starts binding my legs, slowly peeling off one of the leather gloves. His fingers graze my cheek, and I flinch away from the gentle touch. That doesn't stop him. He just follows my movement. He stops touching my cheek to pull out a small cloth and start cleaning the blood off of my face.
"Hoodie," he says quietly. "And the masked man is Masky, please refer to us as such."
"Did your parents give you that?" I try to mock but speaking hurts.
He falls silent. There is a slight shift in his posture, a shake in his shoulders, things I only notice because he unsettles me so much. He leans over me, closer.
"No," he finally answers, like I asked a genuine question.
I push back into the wall, as away from him as I can get. No matter how far back into the wood I push, I can feel his breath through the mask. I close my eyes and turn my head away, trying to breath fresher air. The breath against my cheeks feels warmer, damper. His fingers, the ungloved ones, rough and warm and human, gently grab my chin and shift my head in a way that clearly means I have no choice but doesn't hurt.
Then his lips are one mine. Warm and soft compared to my cold chapped ones. I can't breathe through my broken nose. He has me pushed hard against the wall, stooping over me awkwardly, one hand roughly holding the side of my face. I try to shove him away. I try to kick him off, but I have so little space to move. It's a soft, commanding kiss, too quick for me to think of biting him before he pulls away.
"You don't know your purpose yet," he says, his lips still brushing against mine.
Before I can headbutt him, he backs up, pulls the rolled-up mask back down and glove back on.
"You fucking creep! Don't touch me!" I shriek.
I snap. I snarl. I growl. He finishes securing my legs tying at my ankles and then right above my knees together. I squirm, I fight. I feel like an animal. He leaves me to pitch around my weight and thud against the wood. The door shuts silently, leaving me alone with the orange light, thrashing until I tire out the little energy I had left.
I thump my head, already sore and swimming, against the wood several times when all I can muster to move is my neck. I hope I injured my head severely, so I don't wake up, so I wake up as something worse than myself. I sink, I sleep.