I: JACK-O-LANTERN (Pt. 2)

At ten o'clock at night, Doctor Smiley heard scratching. In the pitch black, he sat up and listened. The sound did not desist.

Careful not to upset his bedsheets, he dropped to the floor without making a peep. Straightening from a crouch, he stood to his full height and cocked his head.

It came from the closet's door.

The one he was pretty sure he'd locked before going to bed.

(The not-so-good doctor's eyes had the most eeriest glow in the gloomy dark. It even spread a soft scarlet tint to the top of his cheeks, and the tips of his black fringe.)

Smiley's bare feet were utterly soundless on the gloomy surgery tiles. He advanced towards the nighttime disturbance without hesitation, taking a calculated approach.

(Alas, his pyjamas, which depicted cartoony bunnies frolicking in a field and eating carrots, didn't conduct the same predatory air of menace.)

The scratching hit his ears harder as he got closer. He stopped and frowned. Something seemed... off about it.

Still, he braced himself. As he did, a grotesque, unsanitary smell perforated his nose. He scrunched it up, breath hitching, trying not to make any choking noises.

No earthly creature could possesses such a hideous smell! What the devil is this mockery?

He swore he felt watchful eyes boring into him, staring in the dark. This thoroughly creeped him out, but somewhat strengthened his resolve. Somewhat.

When his courage peaked, he reached out.

Someone opened the door before he could.

At the other end of the room, someone else flipped on the lights.

Perhaps it was because the closet had opened at the exact moment his fingertips touched the handle, or the shock of seeing what came out of it so suddenly. Whatever the reason, Smiley instinctively cried out and sprang back. Tripped over his feet. And landed on his rump.

His eyesight was 20/20. He knew this as a fact, so why did he find it hard to trust what he saw?

"Dear mother of Zalgo! What in heaven's name are you-"

"PERVERT!"

The shrill vibration hit one of the surgery windowpanes, and broke it.

A blonde midget hopped out, a princely cloak held over his privates, pearlescent backside's soft curves illuminated by the blazing lights overhead.

"Can't an elf go somewhere where he can work on his costume in peace?" BEN complained, waddling past Smiley, past a frozen Smirky (who still had his hand on the light switch panel), and through a little door in the wall (which definitely had not been there before).

The new little door in the wall shut with a slam. Seconds later, the mixed odour of cheesy Doritos and cold takeaway pizza that clung to the little elf's body disappeared as well.

Grave silence fell between the twin brothers, Smiley and Smirky.

Neither of them twitched a muscle.

Witnessing a naked housemate walking out of their closet could put a subduing damper on just about anyone. It stayed that way for a lengthly time.

Finally, Smiley dropped his head in sweet surrender A half-grin skirted at the corners of his lips. Mild laughter rumbled at the back of his throat.

"Insane! Absolutely insane! For a moment, I really thought there was something..."

Over one side of his face, smokey shades of black and grey became sharp and focused as he
raised his head, and all of a sudden it felt like a frog had leapt into his throat.

The doctor's chuckling came to a deathly stop.

A child leant on the closet's doorframe, staring him between the eyes, lips pursed in a thin line. His right eye was covered by a gauze patch, speckled red.

For the longest time, the boy didn't move. One of the strings holding the eyepatch went slack. The gauze pad fell askew. A thick flow of blood poured down his cheek.

I'm gonna get you, the boy mouthed. His frown turned into a heartfelt smile, and he pressed a finger against his lips to make the shush gesture.

Without really meaning to, Smiley ducked and furiously rubbed his eyes. Mumbling like a madman under his rapid breath.

"No, no, no, no, no..."

Morbid curiosity lifted his unwilling face back towards the closet space. Then he opened his eyes.

Just an ordinary, spooky closet full of things he didn't use, an abandoned ceramic cat ornament, a pile of orange Doritos crumbs on the plain floor, and no phantom boy in sight.

With a racing pulse, Smiley gave a mirthless laugh and hurriedly pressed the back of his hand to his forehead to check for fever. It felt normal.

It's the dead of the night. Of course I'd be seeing... things. Unconvincing comfort.

He didn't know exactly why, but at this moment, he couldn't bear to call them illusions or hallucinations. Saying so reminded him too much of-

A hand caught his shoulder in a vice-like grip, nails digging into his flesh.

"You look like something the cat dragged in and ate for dinner. Then regurgitated into a goldfish bowl. And lapped up the sodden remains of again."

"T-Thanks...?" Smiley shook himself out of it, removing his brother's hand in the least offensive way he could manage. "I woke you up. I'm sorry."

Smirky cocked his head, narrowing his eyes in suspicion at his unusual behaviour. "I was already awake."

"O-Oh. When did that happen?"

"After I developed a resistance to happy pills."

"I... I think I misheard you. How long have you been awake, again?"

"Half an hour or so. Couldn't doze off, so I passed the time by watching you sleep. While fantasising about all the gruesome ways you could die. Then, the scratching started, and you woke up."

The traumatising image of BEN in all his various glories still buzzed afresh in Smiley's memory. And if Smirky had been awake for as long as he said he had, then he'd surely known about the blonde midget's unholy presence.

"You could've warned me, y'know... he mentally grumbled.

It took a while, but Smiley's poor overworked brain eventually reeled back to an important nugget of information in his brother's recall. "Wait – you were watching me as I slept!?"

"Yes. I got bored. Is there a problem?"

"All that time I thought I was being watched- it was you!"

"Who else would it be?" Smirky yawned.

A secondary thought popped into Smiley's mind.

The thing I saw in the closet... could it have been an illusion of his? Devil's Night is the time for pranks and mischief, after all. Yes. He could've done it- no, he must've done it to give me a fright.

Just when you think you know a person... A logical explanation was a sound explanation. But one single, nagging doubt at the back of his mind didn't sound so sure.

Doesn't he only know how to make illusions of himself?

No use thinking about it now. He pretended to catch a contagious bout of yawn-itis, raising a hand to muffle it and everything.

"It's late," yawn, " Let's go back to sleep."

"With offence intended, that was the fakest yawn I've ever heard in my life. If you're going to deceive me, do it properly. What's bothering you?"

"Starting to care about my wellbeing, eh?" Smiley teased.

"No. I want to find out what it is so I can make it happen more often." Smirky sounded completely serious.

Before Smiley could mention a thing about the apparition, there came a piercing knock on the door to his surgery.

And another.

And another.

Quicker than a patient bled to death when he severed the correct artery, the sound escalated to violent banging.

A deafening clamour, threatening to wake up half the mansion if not tended to quickly.

Smirky flinched and covered one ear. Smiley rushed to answer it, mind brimming with genuine concern about damage to his precious, well-oiled door with its polished silver handle and stainless steel hinges.

He made a quick stop to grab his coat, and put it on while running.

"I can hear you just fine! Coming!"

There was no impatient knocker standing in front of the door. Nor was there, in fact, a patient knocker, a medium-tempered knocker, or any sort of knocker whatsoever. Smiley stood in the empty doorway for a full minute, wondering if someone was going to jump out and say boo, until Smirky called him back inside.

"Stop standing out there like an idiot; you're letting a draught in."

"Something knocked on this door. I know I heard something knock on this door," he said numbly.

"Yes, and obviously it was just the wind."

"In the hallway?" Click, he closed the door.

"So? Someone must've left a window open," the illusionist shrugged. "Why are you-"

"Don't kid yourself! You heard it too. We both know whatever came knocking on that door a minute ago... wasn't the wind."

"Lovely choice of wording. Would you like some special effects to go with it? A convenient clap of lightning, perhaps?" Smirky was already patting down his bed and readjusting his pillow. As it got tugged, the worn edge of a book poked out from underneath. He nudged it back under.

Smiley didn't answer. The look on his face suggested his mind roamed elsewhere, searching long and hard for the all-important LOGICAL EXPLANATION he cherished so dearly.

Nothing came to mind.

The notion of trying to fall back to sleep now almost made him laugh. The air had become chilly enough to numb his nose. Smiley buttoned up his coat and decided to make a hot drink.

Maybe if the smell lured L.J downstairs, they could play cards over the kitchen table. The monochrome clown made for a very cunning player; his devious methods never failed to take Smiley's mind off anything except winning the game.

(Although the not-so-good doctor hesitated to admit it, the instant cocoa powder he used was famous for leaving a rich aroma, and he kept a pack of cards under the sugar jar).

"I'm going downstairs to make hot chocolate." Manners over mind, Smiley added: "Would you like some?"

Chocolate. The one and only word he'd made a habit of never mentioning in Smirky's presence, and for a reason. Smiley did a verbal double-take, mentally slapping himself.

"I mean- would you come, with me, to the kitchen?" the not-so-good doctor laughed nervously. "It's a spooky night to be alone, don't you think?"

"Go on your own," Smirky said softly, settling back down in his bed without taking eyes off him. "You have your cold scalpels for company."

Smiley tried to nod, but his neck muscles were stiff. With more on his mind than ever, the night was rapidly turning into a three-cup problem.

"Alright. Um... take care!"

Just as he instinctively reached for the light switch, Smirky's drowsy voice drifted from under the breathing bundle of blankets:

"Keep the lights on." Then, on a slightly more desperate note: "Please..."

He did as he was told, and didn't ask why. In fact, he didn't need to.

What he'd said previously, about something not being right in the surgery, wasn't an excuse.

Ever since he'd woken up, a strange sense of foreboding had welled up in the atmosphere. It built. It grew. The cold, the utter dead silence, the strange occurrences, and especially the cold.

Amassing was a chill that crept silently on four legs. It stung his unsuspecting senses, squeezed the breath from his lungs, kept him in an unexplainable state of paranoia.

Almost as if something inside it had a consciousness – and it wanted to hurt him.

Smiley hurried down as fast as he could, a hand on the staircase railing. On his way, he stole a glance at their grandfather clock, which was glued to the wall. (It was a full-sized one, meant to be standing in a hallway, but Toby had somehow mixed up Slenderman's placement instructions with a manual titled: Modern Wall Art: How To Stick ANYTHING Up There!)

According to the disapproving clock face, banded by a dainty porcelain ring, it was now twenty past ten. Good!

His chances of hooking and reeling in a Laughing Jack with chocolatey bait were promising. Spirits brightened, Smiley slowed to a relaxed walk. The air became warmer.

Suddenly, he halted.

A moving shadow licked past the bottom stair. This shadow materialised into Dark Link, who stood in the way with crossed arms, and a tapping foot.

"And just where are you going?"

"To the kitchen," Smiley said, bewildered.

Why did the shade sound so... hostile?

"If you think I'm going to turn my back to you just because you keep coming down here, think again. You're not taking another step; get your water from the upstairs tap."

Eureka. At the mention of water, a lightbulb went off over Smiley's head.

"Your constant vigilance is admirable," he chuckled, tilting his head, "But you really should save those words for Smirky and not me."

Shing! Dark Link had drawn his sword – and angled the point an inch from Smiley's throat. A gleam traveled down the mirror-like blade.

"Prove you're Smiley, or go back upstairs!"

"Can I bore you half to death with some pointless medical jargon?"

"No. For all I know, you could've memorised it from a book. Do something Smirky would rather die than be seen doing."

"Oh dear... well, this is going to be embarrassing. Cover your ears."

Dark Link furrowed a brow, but he pulled his hat over his ears. He didn't lower the sword.

The not-so-good doctor brought a hand to his mouth and coughed 'till his throat cleared.

Then, taking a huge breath, he closed his eyes and started to sing in a ridiculously baritone, melodramatic, over-the-top opera voice.

"Oh, Mary had a little lamb! A little lamb! A little lamb! Mary had a little lamb, whose fleece was white as snooooow! And everywhere that Mary went-"

"PUT IT OUT OF ITS MISERY!" Jeff the Killer's distant voice screeched from upstairs in a strangely feminine pitch, followed by a door being slammed.

Smiley abruptly shut his jaw and smiled, showing teeth. "Will that be sufficient? I could carry on, if you like..."

Multicoloured rupees and little balloon-borne Tingles whirling around his brain, Dark Link groaned and made a gesture that vaguely resembled shaking his head.

Still smiling, Smiley ducked around the sword, patted the dazed shade's back sympathetically, and went on his merry way.

_______

Humming Mother Goose nursery rhymes under his breath, Smiley sleeked around the kitchen, putting forward two mugs and tending to the whistling kettle.

In poured the hot water, down to the last steaming trickle.

He stirred the instant cocoa powder - Benjamin's Benevolent Brew: We love it, and you will too! – vigorously, and couldn't resist sniffing the luxurious, slice-of-heaven aroma.

Whoever Benjamin was; he knew how to whip up a delicious recipe.

That's when he noticed the speck. A single spilt grain of mousse-coloured cocoa powder, exposed and incriminating on the otherwise squeaky-clean countertop.

His dirty spoons clanked violently into the sink.

This... This is a crime against humanity!

Armed with a soggy sponge, Smiley descended onto the unsuspecting speck like a vicious Great Grey owl. He scrubbed and scrubbed and SCRUBBED furiously until, at last, the speck had vanished.

A presence breezed into the room, and by the sound of it, pulled up a chair for himself. Waiting. Patiently.

He wiped the sweat from his brow. His throat inexplicably tightened.

Laughing Jack was unusually silent. The lack of noise struck a reverberating chord in Smiley's gut; a bad one.

Plopping the sponge back into its place on the rack, Smiley wiped down his hands with a paper towel. He'd stopped humming, though he wasn't completely aware of it, and tensely reached for the red mugs.

The chill returned.

It sought him out with spindly fingers, breathing under his collar, enveloping the bare skin of his back in hair-raising goosebumps.

Clarity struck him across the jaw. He froze, holding the mugs. The person sitting behind him wasn't Laughing Jack. It was...

Hot chocolate, still drizzling hot steam, sloshed onto the countertop and ran down the side. One after the other, the mugs rolled to the floor and shattered, pieces spinning.

Smiley whipped around, shoes grinding into wet sticky glass.

Where was his LOGICAL EXPLANATION now?

The raven-haired boy sat on a chair, toying with a large knife. When he realized he had the not-so-good doctor's attention, a mischievous smile blossomed.

Keeping his singular eye on Smiley, he slowly slid a finger down the edge. Skin, flushed white as jasmine petals, parted too easily.

Glistening red bloomed across the steel.

Then, innocent eye still fixated on his horrified face, he slowly brought the knife to his mouth and lapped it clean. His pink tongue – darting in and out of sight – was marred by a cherry-coloured cut.

"What's with that look?" he questioned, puzzled, "isn't that what you wanted me to do?"

All the color had drained from Smiley's face, but he gained some of it back when he cleared his throat and made a move to step forward, reaching out to take the knife.

"You shouldn't do that; you could get tetanus-"

"Don't touch me!"

A second knife, a carving knife they used for the pumpkins, flashed past his line of sight and embedded into the cabinet beside his head, handle quivering.

Smiley swallowed dryly. A trickle of warm, metallic-smelling liquid oozed past his ear.

The boy's shoulders sagged. "No, no, no! I shouldn't have done that!"

He wore a padded black coat, but his arms weren't in the sleeves. His fingers were entwined around the knife's handle, staining it red. He looked at it intently.

"I'm bad now, aren't I? I tried to hurt you. I need to be punished. Will that make you happy again? I'd do anything to please you. What should I do, Devin?"

"N-No, it won't... it won't cheer me up," croaked Smiley. "Please, just-"

(... leave me alone.)