Jack was a rather interesting monster.
He was kind in a careful, silent way. He was also cruel in an animalistic, wild way. There was no evidence to suggest the latter, but you simply knew. Your body, your mind, your instincts, they were all telling you he was an animal, that he was evil beyond measure and you simply couldn't see it because you were too blinded by the gentle way he wrapped the wounds on your hands. Your body told you it was only because if he wasn't gentle, he'd break you with ease. That the only reason he hadn't torn you apart was because he simply liked Toby. Your body told you he was dangerous, that he could be worse than Tim, that you should do something about it.
But fuck your body.
It had done nothing but cause you pain and give you strange, mixed feelings. So, you sighed into the cold air, staying relaxed as the gray-skinned man finished his work.
"Here, eat," he offered you a granola bar, one he had found in the cupboards of the kitchen. You took it willingly, leaning further into your chair as you unwrapped it. Your arm was resting on the table, the table that was still stained with your blood. However, it didn't seem to affect your appetite as you ate with ease.
"Thanks," you mumbled after a moment, suddenly remembering your manners.
He cracked a smile at that, shark-like teeth on display for a mere moment before his expression became neutral again.
"To be blunt, I'm surprised he hasn't killed you yet," Jack said after a moment, pulling up a chair and sitting across from you. "Is he good to you?"
You looked at the man unsurely, wondering why he cared so much. "He's... okay," was your response.
"Okay?" Jack chuckled a deep, rough chuckle. "You're breathing. That's a miracle. You must be clever, doing whatever it is you're doing."
You gulped. Was it a coincidence or did he know? Did he know about your manipulative games? Your lies? No, there was no way he could know.
"You're playing a game, he likes it, so he's playing along," Jacks tone was rather ominous now. "But when he finds out you're cheating... hmm, what then I wonder?"
He knew. But how?
"Well, if I'm playing a game..." yes you had lied to Toby, you had manipulated him, strung him along and seduced your way into this strange power dynamic. "I might have just played myself." But no matter how much you hated it, you couldn't deny a tiny part of you fell for the lies too, fell for him. It wasn't love. It could never be love. But there was an attraction, an admiration, a sense of respect. "But what makes you think I'm playing anything?"
"I'm not stupid," he stated rather dryly, "I've seen the way you talk to him, the way you look at him, negotiating, pleading, manipulating. Oh, don't worry, I won't say a word, he wouldn't believe me anyways. Interesting approach, it's new."
Twenty minutes later and you still weren't sure what to think of that rather ominous conversation. Jack was now gone, leaving you to mull over your day alone. At first, you were scared, worried that Tim would return to finish the job. But after a while, you realized there was no point in such needless fear.
You would have spent the rest of the day stumbling around the cabin and feeling sorry for yourself if it wasn't for the ringing of the doorbell. Toby? Jack again? Maybe it was Tim?
But then again, you wouldn't expect any of them to ring the doorbell. So, you began to move towards the door before your eyes caught the opened body bag still laying in front of it. You grimaced, suddenly realizing its awful scent. Despite how disgusting it was, you found yourself bending down and grabbing the bag by its sides, struggling to not tear it as you pulled it into the kitchen. Once out of sight, you returned to the door just as the bell was rung again.
You opened the door just a crack, recognizing the tall, warmly-dressed man on the other side, his gun in his hand as he looked at you. "You alright Miss?" Joseph asked, his voice was layered with concern. Without his erratic wife, the man looked rather intimidating and you found your grip tightening on the doorknob, ready to close it any second. You weren't sure you could take another attack, neither physically or mentally.
"Can I help you?" your voice sounded as weak and timid as you felt.
"I was huntin' when I saw all the blood in the woods," he explained, thick eyebrows furrowing in worry, "Came to check on ya. You sure you doin' okay?" You remembered running through the woods, you remembered the mess you no-doubt left. Something about a somewhat stranger taking the time out of his day to help another human being was heart-warming and you found yourself opening the door a little wider.
"Here, come in and warm up?" you began to say, your mind now wandering onto other things, important things that you felt you needed to tell him. This poor man cared about your safety, and you now felt obligated to protect him too. "Let me get you a drink of water?"
"Would be nice," he smiled warmly, his rigid, stiff body relaxing immediately as he entered the warm cabin. You closed the door, glancing to the kitchen to make sure the body was out of sight. As promised, you got him a glass of water, and as he took his drink you began to organize your appeal.
"I don't know how to say this," you were trying to be as honest as you could without spilling the actual truth. However, as you looked at this kind man you could only picture Jack sinking his teeth into him. These people were in danger here, not just in the house, but in the region as a whole. "but we're going to be selling the cabin."
"What?!" he didn't even let you finish your explanation, his aged features sharpening in surprise. "But Daniel? He grew up here!"
"Yes, but it's been decided," you tried to sound convincing. "The point is, the person moving in, I didn't pick him or anything but... he has a bit of a record. All I'm saying is he's dangerous. It would be best if you guys don't come here anymore, stay out of the area too. Maybe just maybe consider moving...?"
Joseph looked at you with concerned, narrow eyes, his grip noticeably tightening on his rifle.
"Are you threatening me hun?" he asked, and before you could reply, he continued, his tone a little louder. "Things seemed fishy from the start but hey, I ain't one to point fingers. Strange people movin' into our tight knit circle all of a sudden? Jus' ain't natural. I think I need to talk to Dan and Nora myself. Things are getting' too weird 'ere."
"W-wait!" you made an attempt to grab his sleeve just as he marched by you, heading into the kitchen.
"I'm jus' gonna call them," he explained, "I need to hear this from them."
"The landline doesn't work!" you said quickly, knowing he intended on using the landline stationed in the kitchen. It wasn't a lie though, the phone truly did not work, you would know, after all, you had tried it once when Toby was indisposed.
It was too late though, he had already walked into the kitchen, and the silence that followed solidified your fears. How stupid was it to let him in? How stupid was it to try to save another life? When Joseph walked back into the living room, he had his gun raised, pointed at you.
"What did you do to her?!" he was yelling, his eyes held a certain disbelief to them as if he couldn't believe a girl who seemed so innocent could be responsible for such horrors.
You didn't know what to say. It was all too late now, it was your fault too. It would have been better to stay out of the man's business, to not interfere in his life. But such a sweet, kind-hearted man at the mercy of a cannibal? You had to help him. Knowing him, he'd visit the cabin again once Jack took over, and then both him and Annie would be dead.
"Listen..." there was only one thing you could do now, "please, keep quiet and listen to me. I didn't kill her. I've been kidnapped, I'm being held captive by that man you met before. Nora and Daniel are dead. He killed them. He isn't their nephew. There's more than just him though. They're going to kill you too if you don't stay away from this place. You need to stay away."
That felt surprisingly good, the ability to share the whole-hearted truth with another human being. Joseph studied you for a good while. A wholesome man with warm, friendly eyes, thick laugh-lines and whitening stubble. He lowered his gun and stared a while longer, as if trying to understand, failing to understand.
"What do you mean?" his tone was confused, impatient.
"They're insane," you sounded as if you were pleading, "please just go."
A small silence consumed the room for a moment, the only sounds being the gruff mans breathing.
"Annie's gonna kill me if I leave ya here," he finally said before grabbing your hand, holding it tightly, reassuringly. "We'll keep you safe until the police arrive." You realized little too late that you had made things far worse. But still, something about such a warm, human hand around your own was comforting, and you found yourself silently being dragged to the door.
The moment he opened it was the moment reality came crashing down.
Toby stood at the other end, his duffel bag hoisted over his shoulder as he tilted his head. He looked as if he had been standing there for a while, listening to the conversation that took place. You felt an odd sensation of dread deep in your stomach, it was a strange pain, unlike anything you had felt before. A sense of panic accompanied it, stress began to seep into your skin, alarm bells ringing. You felt like a bad pet, like your owner had just caught you in a wrong act, like you were in far too much trouble to even comprehend.
In an instant Joseph had his gun up, the massive rifle faced Toby's unreadable glare.
"Don't move!" Joseph ordered.
Toby clearly heard the threat, and in response, he took a step forward as if daring the man to react. Joseph did, firing a shot into the murderer's leg. When that didn't stop him, he aimed higher and fired another into his waist. The killer stumbled for only a second before wrapping his fist around the gun, pulling it out of the man's hand before kicking him in the stomach, sending him flying back into the cabin. He paid you no mind as he walked by you, entering the house and placing one boot on Josephs' stomach. The muzzle of the gun was forced into Josephs' mouth and the older man stared at Toby with a mix of shock and confusion.
That was your moment to act and you found yourself tugging at Toby's sleeve.
"Wait, wait, don't kill him!" you knew it was hopeless, but you simply had to try.
He pulled the trigger but only a sharp clicking was heard. The gun was out of rounds. Joseph and you both seemed to sigh in relief. Relief that didn't last long as Toby pulled the gun out only to push it back into Josephs' mouth with unbelievable force. You heard the sickening noise of wet flesh tearing and twisting as the metal gun went through the back of his mouth, nailing him to the wooden floor below. Blood splattered everywhere as the older man twitched wildly, gurgling cries and screams spewing more blood. It lasted for an entire minute and you couldn't bare to look, a nauseating feeling took over and you felt the intense need to throw up right then.
It was only when the noises stopped, when he was finally dead that you managed to breathe.
Toby tossed his duffel bag inside before closing the door, walking right past you in an aloof manner. You heard the kitchen sink in the background before he returned. It took a moment before you could look at him, not realizing you were kneeling on the ground rather pathetically until you saw him looking down at you. His hands, which were now clean, reached up to lower his blood-sprayed face mask. Cold, unfeeling eyes addressed the emotional disarray in your own.
"What happened to your hands?" was the first thing he asked.
You looked at him for a moment and felt a chaotic array of emotions. Angry, scared, safe, sick.
"Tim..." you mumbled.
"Who w-wrapped them?" was the second thing he asked, still surprisingly calm.
"Jack," was your response.
"And this man... wh-what's your explanation?" he looked down at his handiwork.
"I was trying to help him," so much for that though.
"And now h-he's d-dead," Toby stated rather bluntly, "when his wife comes looking, she'll be dead too. What's it like?" he raised an eyebrow, his tone a little mocking now. "To kill somebody?"
"I... I didn't kill anyone," you said quickly, now getting onto your feet, unable to even look in Josephs general direction.
"Didn't you?" he scoffed rather bitterly.
"I didn't kill him!" you insisted, a little angry now. How dare he. How dare he kill somebody and try to blame you for it.
"He'd be alive if it weren't for you," Toby said the last part like a fact and that seemed to do it. You had somehow developed strange, twisted feelings for this man, but now you could see it clearly. No matter how sweet he got, he'd always be a monster inside. Josephs gushing corpse was evidence enough. You felt angry, angry at him, angry at yourself, angry enough to lunge at the killer. He saw it coming, easily grabbing your wrists as you tried to punch him. You kicked at him, aiming for the bullet hole in his leg. Nothing seemed to work, instead, you found yourself pulled onto the couch, forced under him and restrained.
It felt so wrong to be near him, so disgustingly, horribly wrong. Mere inches away was the still-bleeding body of an innocent stranger. You twisted your head to the side to avoid him, all the while clawing and punching. You couldn't bare another second in the company of such a savage. How many more people did he need to kill before you realized what a monster he was? How could you have ever caught feelings? To think you had even done those type of things for a psychopath like him. It made you feel sick to your stomach.
"I hate you," you grounded out the bitter words. You wanted to hate him, but you knew at the moment you didn't. But if you said it enough times, then surely it would become reality. "I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" It got louder and louder with each phrase, and soon you were screaming it.
"Don't say that," his tone was quieter than yours, calmer and colder as he finally stopped fighting you, hovering a few inches above your shaken body.
"Why are we doing this?!" your tone was louder, emotional, on-edge and angrier. "What's the point? When does it end? I'm either going to die as your bitch or I'm going to die running. There's no escaping, no freedom, no happy ending. I can't take it, it's hopeless."
"Weren't you happy?" his once cold tone now seemed to grow heated, tenser. "What haven't I given you?" he sat up now, putting some much-needed distance between the both of you. "You're not s-starving. You're warm. You're healthy. You get to lounge around a luxury cabin and watch fucking TV to your heart's desire. Wh-what prison am I keeping you in? W-where are the chains? The metal bars? Yes, I hurt you, but it could have been a lot worse. I could have hurt you a lot worse. And you still haven't learned..."
"You're deluded!" you shoved him away and he let you, glaring as you got onto your feet and paced away from the body, away from him. "This is a prison. I can't leave. I'm stuck with a remorseless murderer who thinks he's doing nothing wrong. How can I ever be happy with you? I hate you." You were sick of this game, this was the fourth person he had murdered in front of you. Maybe fifth? Sixth? The fact that you couldn't keep track was disturbing enough.
"Fine," he stood up immediately, his tone a border-line growl. "You want a monster? I'll give you a monster."
This would usually be when you begin regretting your decisions, but at this point, you were truly too emotional. You felt strangely brave as you stared down the killer that marched up to you. What's the worse he could do? Torture you? Been there, done that. Kill you? Well, at least that way it'll all be over.
He stopped a centimeter away, holding you by the shoulder as he leaned in. You expected some sort of violent reaction but instead, you felt his cold breath against your skin as he said one simple phrase, "you're on your own." And with that, he suddenly picked up his duffel bag and headed on upstairs.
You stared ahead for a few moments.
You were on your own? What did that mean? He was going to leave you alone? You were free to go? A subtle smile began to form on your face. Was that it? Was it all over? This was a lot easier than you ever expected it to be. You glanced down at the fountain of blood still gushing out of Josephs torn throat, you whispered a silent apology before tearing your eyes away and scrambling towards the door. You fished out the largest jacket in the nearby closet, one that no-doubt belonged to the previous owner. It was warm and fuzzy, and you soon felt a strange sense of comfort as you opened the cabins door.
Freedom.
And then it hit you.
It had all happened so quick, you were unable to think it through, unable to realize what you were doing. You took a few hesitant steps back inside, staring at the snowy expanse ahead. There were other monsters that wanted to kill you. Tim, Jeff, even that clown guy. If Toby was done with you, then even Jack would probably turn on you. The only reason you were still alive was because Toby stood in their way. If you stepped out of this door, you'd be free game. Jeff was already hunting you and dying at his hands would be far worse. For all you know Tim was still in the area too, waiting for another chance to pounce. And Jack? He surely couldn't be too far, after all, he had only left moments ago. If you ran into him again, then there'd be nothing stopping him from turning you into another meal.
You closed the door of the cabin, glaring at the ground. This was incredibly unfair, incredibly chaotic. How much more of this could you possibly take? Everyone has a breaking point and realizing just how hopeless your situation was only brought you closer to that breaking point. Your coat slipped to the ground as you took slow, antagonizing steps towards the staircase.
There was no way to win. The loss would only be worse without him.
You felt pathetic as you made your way into the upstairs bedroom. His duffel bag was tossed against a wall, and you could hear the shower running from within the closed bathroom. So, you stumbled towards the bed, hoisting yourself up and sitting there, staring ahead at the floor. You hated this, but what choice did you have? You'd have to apologize probably. Maybe even beg and plead for forgiveness. But what happens when he kills the next person? What happens when he murders poor, unfortunate Annie? Do you harden your heart, let survival instincts take over and act as if you're okay with it?
He had spent all day hunting down and killing people, but that didn't seem to bother you. After all, you hadn't seen those people die. However, you had seen Joseph die. Maybe that was the secret. As long as you never saw it happen, you could string along all sorts of fictional fantasies. Ignorance is bliss.
You curled up closer to the bed's headboard, rubbing your calloused fingers against the grayish bandages that criss-crossed your once soft hands. Would there ever be a day when you could look back at all these injuries and take comfort in the fact that it was all behind you? You were beginning to doubt it. Your hands absentmindedly tugged the end of your dress over your knees, brushing along the scar on your thigh. Hopefully, your hands would heal just like your leg had. But was this what the future held? A constant cycle of injuries healing only to be replaced with fresh wounds, rinse, repeat.
You muddled through your bleak thoughts for at least ten more minutes before the washroom door opened. He was already dressed, as if he knew you were outside waiting for him. The material of his sweatpants was darkened though, a familiar red colour bleeding through and dripping down his foot. Even the fabric of his shirt was wet with blood around his waist. He held something in his hand and ignored you as he placed it down on the nightstand. Two reddened bits of metal clinked down on the wooden nightstand. He turned to leave.
"Toby wait," you forced the words out, your emotional disarray reaching its crescendo. For some reason, you felt like crying. It was too stressful, too hopeless, too difficult, and you knew you couldn't deal with this new reality alone.
On the bright side, he hadn't completely shut down on you, instead, he listened as he came to a pause by the edge of the bed.
"I'm sorry," you explained. "I'm scared, and I feel sick and it's all so stressful. I'm not used to this, to all this killing. I know I should be by now, but I'm just not. It's all too much and... and I know I won't survive a second without you. So, please, don't let me go." You hated every second of this, having to negotiate and plead with such a monster.
There was silence for a few seconds, and then he moved closer, coming to stand at your bedside as you sat up.
"You're r-right," he spoke quietly, sounding strangely weak. Was it the blood loss? Or perhaps something else altogether. "Either you die, or you change."
There was another option as well.
"Or you can change," you mumbled, remembering that dream you once had.
"I guess so," his tone was a tad bit humorous now. "Someone has to."
He was right, either you become more like him, or he becomes more like you. And if worse comes to worse, you die, and he moves on. Those were your options. But there was something else too. A different, more daring scheme. He could die, and you could move on. If only you could kill him instead, then all of this would be over. Well no, you'd have to find a way to kill the rest of them too, and that was unfortunately very unrealistic. But wait, what if they all thought you were dead? Was faking your own death an option too? Because that seemed like a pretty good option. What if you-
"Do you r-re-really h-hate me?" he cut off your plotting with a question, his hands resting on either side of you as he leaned in. He looked paler than usual and you once again blamed it on the blood loss.
"I..." you sighed, inhaling a sharp breath before managing a soft, compassionate smile, placing the back of your bandaged hand against his jaw in a caressing manner. "Of course not," you lied, at least you think you were lying. Were you lying? Did you hate him? It was all so complicated. It was simply wrong to feel anything but hate for a monster like him, and so you mentally told yourself that you did indeed hate him. You had to hate him. "I was just scared and emotional." He was leaning into your touch, like an animal that craved the affection. It was strange, how easily he forgave you, how easily his anger subsided into whatever this was.
"If things were different..." he wrapped his own hand around yours, lowering it to the bed in a gentle manner. His cold eyes dropped from your gaze to glance at the bandages, assessing the damage the encompassed. "Hmm, what did he do?" he lost track of his first question, clearly distracted by your wrapped hands.
Even thinking about the whole Tim ordeal was too stressful, and you found yourself uncomfortably pulling your hand away. Toby seemed to notice your reaction, archiving it in his mind for later use.
"Of course, y-you s-survived it," his hand was now on your neck, cold and wet as his fingers trailed up, holding you steady. "Such a fighter."
His lips were equally cold as they brushed against yours, your body involuntarily shivered against him as he pressed up against you. You could feel the wet warmth of his bloodied clothes bleeding into you, but you didn't seem to mind it. Your fingers instinctively tightened around the material of his shirt, holding him at a safe distance.
You found yourself being pushed back onto the bed, the bed's headboard pressing against your shoulders as the kiss deepened. It was strange how the emotional chaos that was once driving you crazy now seemed to melt away under his touch.
"This is d-di-difficult for me to admit," he broke away from the kiss, his cold fingers softly pressing into your sides, holding you down under him with ease. "But I d-don't see the harm in it," he began trailing his hands up your waist, dragging the material of your dress up. Slowly your legs began to grow more exposed, the material leaving your thighs, and rising up your waist. "Wh-what's the worst that could happen?"
"Toby?" you said his name quietly, curiously.
"I..." he trailed off, smiling and shaking his head. "I can't say it. Ah, perfect."
"What're you doing?" it was your turn to ask that breathless question, not stopping him even as your dress was pulled off over your head, tossed aside. You vaguely remembered the two corpses downstairs, a picture of Annie's horrified face coming to mind before all those thoughts faded away.
"I'll be good if you be good," he stated, his hand moving to pull his own shirt away. A once powerful body was coated in a layer of blood that dribbled down his wounded waist. If he was in pain, he did a good job of not showing it. "Th-that's fair, r-right?" He leaned down into another kiss, soft, simple, subtle. "Here, I'll try to be honest. Just this once. I care about- well, that's a gi-gi-given. I mean I like... Ah, it's very new, unhealthy too probably," another scoff. "Here goes. I..." he trailed off again, looking down at you apologetically.
But you seemed to understand, and a part of you was horrified at the very thought of hearing such a phrase. The last thing you needed was for him to confess some misplaced feelings. So you quickly nodded your understanding and he smiled at that. There was no way you could ever feel the same, it was wrong, it was so, so wrong. But you could pretend at least. Yeah, that's what you'd do. Pretend you felt the same, pretend you cared about him too.
The worst part though was that you knew deep down you weren't pretending.