[ Ey what's good, I made it through the American election and I'm ready to sleep in V O I D.

I wanna get this out there, just as a WARNING that Jeff is a much more vulgar and crude individual in this version of KP, so his dialogue might be distasteful to some, but I appreciate that you bear with it. He won't be like that forever lol.

Enjoy the chapter guys!

Stay Creepy! ]

Chapter 5

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you doing in here?"

As soon as the closet light came on, the shadow at the doorway was only Dad. I let out a heavy sigh as I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling all the tension escape me with my exhale. Then, I panicked again, and got up to drag him in.

"Ellie, what are you—?"

"I heard someone in the basement, we're not safe!" I blurted as I clutched onto his jacket.

With a stern look, he grabbed my hands and said, "Hold your horses there. Someone broke in?"

"I heard them! We can't stay here!"

Eyes gleaming with concern, he easily reached up on the wrap-around shelf and grabbed his gun. Squeezing my shoulder, he said, "Go ahead and wait here, I'll check the basement, okay?"

"No, Dad...!"

He promptly made his way to the hall and down the stairs. Despite my nerves and his order, I couldn't sit still while Dad possibly puts himself in harms way. Swiftly, I followed after him to the basement.

I could hear him walking around down there, checking the place, as I descended the creaky stairs. Coming around the corner, I saw Dad in the middle of the spacious room, his gun ready. When he noticed me, he gave me a look that said 'I told you to stay in the room', but then made a motion to have me be quiet. I didn't move a muscle as he scanned the basement and all of its forgotten things with a steeled glare.

Looking at him now, it was easy to forget he used to be a peace officer, but that was for a short time. He retired very early, way before I was born, since upon first working he sustained a knee injury that put him off that line of work entirely. Sometimes the affects of the injury still give him aches. On the bright side, that injury is how he met Mom, who was a nurse trainee at the time he was hospitalized for it. Mom always embarrasses him by telling the story about how he tried to flirt while barfing his guts out after a rather unpleasant hospital meal. Life is a funny thing sometimes.

Amidst the silence, I heard that squeak again. Nervous, I looked around the room, thinking some stranger was going to run up on my Dad. But then there was another squeak, and then another, and the both of us traced the sound up to the ceiling. There against the beams were a set of pipes, one of which was squeaking. And it just so happened to sound like sneakers sliding against flooring.

Dad shot me a smile and said, "That's probably acting up because of the weather coming in. The squeaking will be very annoying when the rain fully hits, but I'll have a look at it later."

With my paranoia set aside, I walked up beside Dad to check out the pipes above. I guess the fear had my mind just make things up. Ugh, I'm too skittish for my own good.

"How embarrassing, worrying you for nothing," I muttered, crossing my arms.

Dad rubbed my back and replied, "Hey, don't feel bad. I understand you're still alert from the incident. I'm relieved you told me, at least. Let's head back up, alright?"

With a firm pat to my shoulder, he made his way to the basement staircase. I started to follow him, when I took a moment to stop in my tracks and think. Although we found the source of the annoying squeaks, we didn't find what was making that other clanging noise I heard first.

As if on command, I heard the clang again and jumped. I whirled around and placed my sights on the small basement window. As the wind picked up outside, it started to shake and clatter against the frame. Well, there's my answer. But...why is it open?

Curiously, I walked up beneath the window to examine it closer. The lock on it was broken. From what, I don't know. Looks like it was just very old and it cracked. I'll have to tell Dad about this thing too.

Before I walked away, I looked over at what I remembered to be an old workdesk covered with a sheet, just a bit off to the side of the window. On the corner closest to the basement window was a small patch of...dirt? There's dirt on the bottom edge of the window too, and some had even fallen onto the old baseboard below. The dirt on the sheet...I think...is there a pattern to it?

Before I could continue examining, Dad called me from up the stairs. "Ellie-bear, are you coming out? We gotta start dinner!"

"Y-Yes, coming!" I hurried up the creaky stairs and onto the first floor to meet with Dad. And with some relief, I shut and locked up the basement door behind me. After all that unnecessary adrenaline, I could do with a cozy dinner.

...

When Mom was home, Dad and I recounted the spooky adventure with the annoying pipe and the busted basement window. Looking back on it, I shouldn't have been so scared. Then again, as Dad said, I was being cautious since there is an anonymous murderer out there. That I helped to keep anonymous...

I still wonder and berate myself for not telling Detective Wilson everything about that man in the house. I mean, what reason did I have for not telling the truth? Sure, he coincidentally saved me from my assault, but he also brutally murdered someone right in front of me and 3 other people. Without any hesitation. And he was going to kill me too, if not for that strange occurrence with the symbols.

The symbols... They haven't come back. I'm not sure if that's something to be relieved or worried about. The more I think about it, the more I'm assured that they weren't fear induced hallucinations. Those symbols were on my skin. How did they end up there? What on earth was the bright light anyway? And that feeling of drifting into a void, what the hell was that about? A joking part of me wondered if Ian would know what they were; he knows about so many bizarre and occult things that it wouldn't be surprising (maybe a little).

There's too many weird things, and not enough answers or even guesses as to what they are. I prefer mysteries in my books, not in my real life, dammit.

My parents and I all settled down for the night as the heavy rain was pelting the house outside. Thunder softly grumbled in the distance, more pleasant sounding than earlier. Thunderstorms were always calming for me, even as a kid. Until some lighting shakes your entire house that is. But aside from that, it was perfect for sleepy nights.

I sat in bed with one of my books in my lap, a small reading light attached to the back cover. Subtle flashes of lightning illuminated my room every few minutes. I took a momentary break to stretch my back and adjust in bed. That's when a thought suddenly came to mind, and I froze in position.

The patch of dirt on the sheet that covered that old work desk in the basement. I didn't get to think about it because of dinner, and I really only caught a glimpse of it. But I remembered the basic shape of it in my head. Now I finally recognized what the pattern was. It was part of a shoe print.

And it was fresh too.

With a start, I jumped out of bed and raced out of the room. I stood in the middle of the hallway as the thunder beyond clapped louder. I have to tell my parents before something happens.

As I reached for the knob of their bedroom door, I gasped upon seeing my inner wrist glow a faint scarlet-red. Then on my other wrist too. With wide eyes, I stared at my skin as the symbols began to appear, like embers emerging from tinder. There it was, an X over an O. I wasn't losing it after all; they're real. But why now?

Although it was against my better judgment, I skipped my parents' bedroom and made my way down the stairs, to the basement. I wasn't sure what came over me to have the gall to go down there by myself. Was it the symbols? Was my brain just finally shutting down from my anxiety? The thunderstorm drowned out my thoughts as I committed to my trek into the basement.

I unlocked and opened the door. I carefully made my way down the stairs, trying to keep my steps light so they didn't creak. The pipe was squeaking again and the small window was rattling as the winds pushed against it. Dad had duct taped a flattened garbage bag against the window earlier so the rain wouldn't come in, so now that kept crinkling and fluttering from the wind too. It was completely, utterly pitch black in the basement, and very cold too. The concrete floor felt like ice against my bare feet.

This is a bad idea. A very stupid, very bad idea. I should just run back up right now. Like...right now. Riiiiiight now. And....now! Oh god...

But one glance at the glowing symbols on my wrists, and I got the tiniest bit of courage to reach over and turn on the lights. I braced myself for something, anything. And...

I got nothing. The basement was just the same as it was earlier. The storage boxes and old furniture were all in the same spots as they have been since the move. There was nothing to be found here.

With a sigh, I eased my tensed shoulders and touched at my wrists. This was an interesting test of courage at the least. But I think that's enough testing of my character for one night.

Just as I was about to turn around, arms wrapped around me and a hand slapped against my mouth before I could scream. Whoever it was was strong, or maybe I was just too light for them, and I was able to kick my feet in the air while they restrained me. I struggled as much as I could, tried to wiggle my arms free. The symbols glowed brighter than before, like little beacons. I was wrapped too tightly, too harshly. One last resort was to open my mouth as much as I could and bite down on my attacker's hand. That seemed to do the trick.

"OW! You fuckin—."

Their arms had loosened up for just a moment, but it was a chance to escape, and I took it. As hard as I could, I elbowed my attacker's stomach and bolted forward. I wasn't sure what I would do now since my only escape was cut off. It only occurred to me now that there was a dark space underneath the staircase, perfect for someone to hide in. Ellie, you idiot.

I ran around behind some old metal shelving and storage boxes for cover, hoping I'd be able to sneak my way out to the stairs. Well, eventually. The basement lights weren't that bright so I'm sure I could hide in some shadows if I plan my steps right. Over the constant pattering of rain, I heard my attacker walk around, trying to find me. I began to doubt if I could sneak out of here. I have to have a backup plan, a plan for if I have to defend myself. But there's nothing here I can use!

Quickly looking around, I was able to find an old dusty trophy on the shelves. One glance at the plaque told me it used to be mine: a writing award in elementary school. This thing is about to go into someone's face, if I have to fight. I'd prefer not to but this whole situation isn't a matter of preference anyway...!

As my attacker kept searching for me, I started to make my way around all the old boxes and junk, hopefully to my escape. I was rounding up on a clear shot to the basement stairs. Just a bit more and I'm home free to my parents' aid. C'mon...!

Suddenly, a hooded figure popped up from around the other side of the furniture I hid behind and they hissed, "Peek-a-boo, bitch."

I screamed and scrambled away behind the shelves again, but it was no use. My attacker sauntered after me, unbothered. As I kept crawling back, I stared up at the figure and was able to see them clearly now. It was that man from the house, same clothes and everything. He found me. I don't know how, but he did, and now he's going to kill me...!

Grumbling, he said, "I don't know why you even thought you could hide from me when I saw where you ran. You're not very clever, are you?"

Taking a chance, I lugged the trophy at him to get a hit on him and run. Unfortunately, he just caught it in his hands and tossed it to the floor, where it broke apart. Shit...!

Then, I got another idea from glancing at the metal shelves beside us. This is gonna hurt.

As quickly as I could, I pulled on the shelves and tipped them over towards us. That seemed to work as the man tripped and was hit on the head by shelving and all the storage boxes still on it. Everything clattered and hit the floor with loud thuds, but the thunder and rain outside surely drowned out the noise. The only drawback to this was that I was momentarily crushed by the shelves too, but it was a necessary sacrifice. Quickly, I crawled out from under the mess to my freedom. Just as I got to my feet, the man, having crawled out too, clutched at my ankle and I tripped. He was fast as he made his way forward, pinning my legs down.

When he got to my waist, I had flashbacks to when Cyrus had gotten on top of me. The memory of him hitting me and ripping at my clothes was enough to make my eyes water, and I mustered up the strength to twist around and ram the side of my fist against the man's head. On the second of impact, the symbol on my wrist flashed and sparked red embers. The man cried out from the blazing hit, which felt a lot harder than I thought it would be. He was more discombobulated than I expected, and it took some effort to crawl out from under his weight.

Although he was dazed, the man still tried to grab me, tugging on my clothes for some anchorage. To my dislike, I wriggled out of my pajama pants that he held onto and freed myself entirely. As fast as I could, I raced to the stairs—finally!

The stinging sensation of something cutting into my calf stopped me in my tracks and I tripped onto the first few steps. To my right was a combat knife embedded into the wood. That bastard, he darted the knife past my leg! This isn't gonna stop me. To hell with him!

Suddenly, I was tugged backward by my shirt collar and right back into the man's arms.

"You're making this really difficult. Stay still for once," he growled.

"Let go of me!"

"Your voice is annoying. Maybe I should just chop out your tongue while I'm here, huh? You'll survive."

"I said, let go!"

Braving the pain, I slammed my head back into his face and he cursed me out. With no other option left, I grabbed for his knife, pulled it out of the wooden steps, and dived towards him with the blade ready.

Those icy, black eyes of his widened with shock as he fell backward with me and braced his arms against mine. The blade was only a couple inches from his head. I sat on him and pushed forward, attempting to get the blade closer. I'm not dying tonight, especially not by the likes of this bastard! I've been through too much already. I have to end this bullshit now!

And then, after I had gotten the knife closer and closer, the man started to laugh. It wasn't a maniacal bellow, but just an amused and light chuckle. Why...Why is he laughing?

With a sigh, he muttered, "It's funny just how serious you look trying to kill me. That's cute."

Effortlessly, he sat up and shoved me backwards onto my butt, swiping the knife from my hand as he did so. He only faked struggling? I...I wasn't actually strong enough?

As the man twirled the blade in his hand, he crossed his legs and said, "Quit with that constipated look on your face already. You look a second away from a hemorrhoid."

"Wh...Why...?"

He frowned. "Why? Because you look fucking stupid."

"No, why are you...just sitting there?"

He shifted his eyes. "Because I can..?"

I scoot back some more, horribly confused. "Y-You were trying to kill me...!"

"I wasn't."

"You weren't?!" I scoffed.

"Well, if you didn't panic so much and make a mess of this damned place, I wouldn't have had to chase you down."

"You attacked me! Grabbed me!"

"To keep you from freaking out before you noticed me, but, well, I guess that never works..."

Gritting my teeth, I hissed, "You cut my leg!"

"And? Do you want a lollipop or something? A kiss to make the boo-boo better? Well, tough."

Shaking my head, I grumbled, "Who the hell are you?"

The black-haired, pale-complected man stopped tossing his knife around and flashed me a smirk. "I'm Jeff. And I'm here to make a deal with you, Ellie."

...

My hands gripped my knees tight, trying to reduce my shivering. Furrowing my brow, I asked, "How do you know my name?"

The man who I now know as Jeff pulled out a card from his pocket and tossed it at me. I caught it in my hands and saw it was my state ID. He got my address from this.

"You left that old jacket behind at the house. You had your little wallet in there, along with that. I was hoping to find some cash, but I guess we're both broke as shit."

Clutching the card in my hands, I questioned, "Why did you come after me? To get rid of me, clear up your tracks?"

With a roll of his eyes, he said, "Again, if I was here to kill you, I would've done it already. I told you, I'm here for a deal."

Narrowing my eyes, I replied, "What do you want from me?"

I backed away a bit when he stood up, but instead of coming toward me, he went and took a seat on Dad's old recliner. When he sat down, he winced and held his side for a moment, and I wondered if I had bruised him in the skirmish. Actually, maybe not. He did seem injured when I first saw him though. I wonder if it's that.

Leaning back into the cushions, he said, "I want to crash here for a while."

I blinked. "You mean...stay in my house? W-Why?"

With a scowl, he answered, "Since you and those fuckin' kids randomly came into that one shack I was hiding out in and got cops involved, I can't find any other place. So, I figured, with enough convincing, I'd use your house until I can find a new spot."

I grimaced. "Really? That was your plan?"

He raised his hands. "I'm in here, aren't I? I've been here a few days already."

Wait, he's been here since before today? And I was completely oblivious? Ugh, how creepy!

"And what if I don't agree with you 'crashing' at my house? What if I tell the police you're here?" I asked.

Jeff leaned his elbows forward on his knees, and said bluntly, "I'll kill you and your parents before you can even step foot out the door."

I gasped and pursed my lips, clutching my knees tighter. I hated the way his voice sounded saying that. I hate that he's here in the first place...

Jeff's cold expression eased up as he awkwardly scratched the side of his face (right on his scars) and muttered, "I, uh, I'm kidding. I won't do that. Besides, I know you've already talked to police about those kids who fucked you up. But not about me."

He noticed my puzzled frown and added, "You saw my face that day. Up close, too. You could've told them something about that, but you obviously didn't, because so far not one cop is close to finding me. You probably said something about my clothes, but that doesn't really matter; they're plain anyway. So with all of that, I know you won't tell anyone I'm here because you didn't do it the first time when it really mattered, so why now?"

I suppose that makes sense. Him saying that really makes me question again why I withheld information from Detective Wilson. The fact that I'm still sitting here on the floor listening to Jeff's proposition is telling, too. I won't tell anyone. Technically, we would have nothing to lose if I let him stay hidden in my house. Nothing gained, nothing lost.

"So...," I began, "you only want to stay here for a while...and you won't hurt me and my parents. Right?"

"That's all I want, Ellie. And once I leave and ditch this town, you don't have to worry about me ever again. How about it?"

Frowning at the floor, I muttered, "I don't know if I can trust you."

With a gruff sigh, he said, "Look, I could've snuck up and killed you yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that, but guess what? You're still here whining, aren't you? Plus, you owe me a solid."

"Owe you? I barely know you," I argued.

"I saved you from being that scumbag's dicksleeve, didn't I—?"

"Agh!" I blurted, covering my ears. "Don't say things like that! Don't talk about that! J-Just—stop it!"

Still curled up in my spot, I held my head against my knees and shut my eyes, hoping this was all just some messed up dream I was having. Surely it is. I'm just passed out on my bed with my book. That's all!

After a few moments passed, I heard Jeff groan aloud and fake-lament, "Well, if you're not going to take the deal, then fine. I guess you'll never find out what those marks on your wrists are. Hah, oh well..."

That caught my attention more than I expected.

Immediately, I scrambled up on my knees and kneeled in front of the recliner. Jeff was noticeably startled and turned away from me a bit, but I still faced him and asked, "You know what these things are? Really??"

"I, uh—."

"You have to, right? You seemed to recognize them when they first appeared. So, if you know what they are...then you can help me understand them and then...get rid of them...! Right?!"

"S-Sure, that sounds doable..."

"O-Okay then." Feeling a bit more confident about the situation, I stood up and said, "You can stay hidden here until you need to leave, as long as you help me."

"Right, of course I'll help..."

I nodded. "Good. You have your deal. Although, you should move up to the attic tomorrow when no one is home. Most of our storage is here, and I can't have you getting caught when my parents come looking for something. We barely have anything in the attic, so that's a better place to hide away."

"You're more eager now. Not that that's a bad thing," he chimed.

I felt a light blush crawl on my face as I rubbed my shoulder for comfort. "I just want to know what these marks are. That's all."

"Yeah, I get it," he said. Then, he glanced down and commented, "By the way, are you going to keep your pants off all night?"

It barely occurred to me now that I was still just in my t-shirt and underwear. My pajama pants lay on the floor mocking me out of the corner of my eye. The light blush on my face became a blaze as I yanked down on the hem of my shirt, trying to cover my thighs.

With a wry glint in his eyes, Jeff remarked, "Hey, I don't mind the show. Maybe you can keep that up, make this stay a bit more interesting for the both of us."

I internally gagged at his smug face and kicked my foot at the recliner's lever. With a rattle and shake, the old thing crumpled as the footrest sprung up and teetered everything backwards. Jeff's snarky grin dropped and he was sent back onto the floor, just what I wanted. I guess I can thank Dad for never fixing this deathtrap of a recliner.

Jeff rolled over onto his back with a groan. Then, he looked up at me and smirked again. "Jokes on you, I have a better angle now. Polka dot panties? Foxy."

"Pervert!" I blurted and shoved my foot into his face.

"Owowo! Hey, w-watch the scars—ow! C'mon, your socks have dust on them, stop!" I only twisted my heel into his face more.

After I finally got over my humiliation and put my pajama pants back on, I deemed it was time to call it a night. Without ceremony, I started up the stairs, but then I was interrupted by Jeff calling for me. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"To bed. I've had enough of this for one night," I said.

He frowned. "Where am I supposed to sleep down here? Obviously not on this hunk of junk, right?" He nudged the recliner with his foot, only for it to rattle and sink lower than before. He side-stepped away from it completely.

"Figure it out," I deadpanned.

The pale man crossed his arms. "You're not even gonna spare me a pillow? A blanket? It's the least you could do after stomping on my face. And head-butting me. And punching me in the head. And biting my hand. And throwing a whole fucking shelf on top of me."

Mimicking his tone from earlier, I glowered at him and said, "Well, tough."

He snarled a bit. "You little—."

"Goodnight!" I paid him no more attention as I walked up the stairs and finally shut the basement door, locked for the night.

The weight of the entire encounter finally sunk into me and I had to really urge myself to make it up the staircase. The thunderstorm was still churning outside. Curious, I opened my parents' bedroom door to check on them, and sure enough they were fast asleep. I guess the storm really did cover up all the racket. Let's hope I can keep this same luck until Jeff finally leaves and keeps up his end of the deal.

Which reminded me to check on the symbols. Although there was very little ambient light in the hallway, I could still tell that the marks on my wrists had disappeared once again. I wondered when they would show up again, or how I could make them. With Jeff's help, I should be able to figure this whole thing out. But a low yawn escaped my lips, interrupting my train of thought, and I finally shuffled my way to my room. I don't even think I put my book away and just fell on top of my rumpled covers, drifting into sleep instantly.

...

"ELIZABETH!"

The sound of Mom's voice yelling for me jolted me out of slumber, and the first thing that came to mind was Jeff. Oh no, she found out about him. Or worse, he's going against our deal and doing something to her right now!

"I'm coming Mom!" I screamed and raced out of my room.

I nearly leaped down the entire flight of stairs to the kitchen, where I had heard her call for me again. Preparing myself for the worst, I charged in and nearly ran into Mom, who only stood by the island counter

"Whoa, careful!" she stammered. "What's the rush?"

"Y-You called for me. I thought you were in trouble!"

She frowned with concern. "Trouble? What trouble?"

I realized that I had jumped to conclusions and let my mind run wild again. Before I said more than I should, I cleared my throat and asked, "Uh, so what happened?"

"There's a leak above this counter, probably from all the rain last night. I just needed you to come and stand here in case I fall, while I cover it up. I'd get your dad to do it, but he left early to talk to a handyman before work."

"Oh. Right. If you want, I'll cover the leak."

"Really? Go for it. I'll be here." She then handed me some duct tape and I went to work.

While I stood on my tip-toes on the counter, reaching to tape up the leak, Mom grabbed at the cuff of my pajama pants and said, "What's this blood on your clothes?"

Startled, I looked down and caught her pulling up the cuff. There on the calf of my leg was a long cut on my skin, now dried up. "Oh, bear," Mom sighed, "what happened here?"

That's right, I forgot Jeff cut me with his knife last night. I guess when I put my pants back on, there was still fresh blood, and it stained.

"I, uh, I think I scratched myself in the middle of the night," I lied (I guess not technically a lie).

"This looks like a clean cut. Are you sure you—?"

"All done! Leak is covered!" I called out, hoping the conversation would be dropped.

Before I scooted off the counter, Mom stopped me and asked, "Have you cleaned the cut at all?"

I blinked. "N-No, but I'll be fine—."

"Don't move. I'm getting some disinfectant."

Then, she rounded the counter to get to the first aid kit under the kitchen sink. I couldn't help but sigh as Mom set up hydrogen peroxide and a cotton ball. It's a blessing that she's a nurse, but she does get a bit neurotic about the smallest of injuries or wounds. I could recall all the times she ranted to school nurses over the phone about how to take care of me. Meanwhile, they'd just give me a bag of ice wrapped in a paper towel and call it a day (then it would melt in like 5 minutes and I'd be stuck with a soggy "ice"pack).

Mom goes a little overboard sometimes. Then again, I've been through some weird situations growing up. After all those times, I suppose it's natural to be overprotective.

"There, that should do it," Mom announced after she cleaned up the cut and put a patch over it.

"Thanks," I said.

As she put everything away in the kit, she chided, "You need to be more careful, Elizabeth."

I lowered my head a bit. "I always try my best, Mom. Really."

A flash of guilt crossed her features and she squeezed my hand tenderly. "Sorry, bear. I...didn't mean to doubt you or anything. You know I worry too much for my own good."

Squeezing her hand back, I replied, "It's okay, Mom. Things just happen. No matter what, I'm glad I have you to help me."

Her ocean-blue eyes shined as she radiated a gentle smile, and plopped a kiss on my head. "Well, we have time to make ourselves a nice breakfast. Go change for school while I start."

Following her orders, I went back up to my room to change into today's clothes. Once back in the kitchen, I started helping Mom with our breakfast: little panini sandwiches.

When I started making extra, she had asked me why, and I only said it would be for my lunch today. She believed me without any trouble. When she went upstairs to get ready for work, I took this chance to put a couple sandwiches in a tupperware box, then used a napkin to write on and stuck a note on top of the lid: 'Remember to go into the attic'.

Quietly, I opened up the basement door and went down a couple steps, before setting down the container and a bottled water, and knocking on the wall. I wasn't sure where Jeff was, but I hoped he'd come across the meal anyway. Maybe I didn't need to make him food. I have no idea how he's been taking care of himself, hiding in abandoned places, drifting around, but he's been fending for himself somehow. So, yeah, maybe I didn't need to make him food. But I felt better doing this than not. Besides, I need him to read the note.

Soon, I was back upstairs and left the basement door unlocked this time. Just in time too, for Mom was coming down the stairs in her scrubs, handbag ready.

"Let's get going!" she chirped, and we filed out the front door to her car.

As we drove away, I took one last look at the house. It felt so weird knowing it wasn't empty while we're away. Maybe this deal with Jeff isn't the brightest idea, but those marks—whatever the hell they are, whatever they might do to me—I know there's something deeper to them, something unnatural. I need to learn more and be rid of them. So far, Jeff is my only ticket to achieve that goal.

The house was out of sight now, and so were my thoughts of the stranger I left behind inside its walls.

...

We had a quiz in Algebra today, so Ian actually wasn't able to go on his usual spiel of random things this time, which was kind of a bummer since it was unusually quiet for quiz-taking. It felt as if every pencil scratch, every sniff, every shuffling of clothes was enhanced, and it was difficult for me to take the quiz. I already don't like math. Ugh, I just need to focus, dammit.

Ian was the first to turn in the quiz and he seemed pretty confident about it on his way back to his desk behind me. What I wouldn't give to have his knowledge of mathematics, things would be much easier.

Eventually, I made it through. It took a lot for me not to sigh out loud as I turned in my quiz. I also took this opportunity to take a restroom break and ease up my nerves.

As I walked to the girls' restroom, I shook out my arms and fingers, feeling the buzz of my nerves under my skin. It was frustrating to realize I was exceptionally nervous today. It was even more frustrating to realize it was because of the strange man I left behind in my house. My mind was categorizing all the things that could go horribly wrong, leaving the rest of me to deal with the paranoid feedback. I hated being anxious so subconsciously. Then again, I have every right to. Can I actually trust Jeff?

Flashbacks of that day in the abandoned house came flooding in, forcing me to relive every moment. Especially when Jeff just killed Cyrus without a moment to lose. Thinking back, I could've sworn he was smiling as he did it. Thinking back, he moved a little too swiftly to have killed someone for the first time...

Finally in the restroom, I go to the sinks to wash my face. It sort of helped for the time being. I couldn't help but tighten my grip on the edge of the sink and just hang my head over the bowl, feeling all the water drip off my skin. Somewhere in all this, I'm wondering how I got to this point, and what I did to deserve it. Like I told Mom, I really do try my best. I guess the world doesn't care if it's your best though.

The sound of sniffling interrupted my thoughts, and I turned my head towards the last stall in the restroom. The more I listened, the more I recognized someone struggling to not be heard. I couldn't help but frown with concern. Is this what Johanna heard that very first day of school?

I wiped my face and stood in the middle of the restroom, debating if I should comfort the person, or leave them be. It wouldn't sit right with me if I just walked away. Quietly, I came closer to the stall and raised my hand to knock on it. Even though I knew I wanted to help, I still hesitated. No, Ellie, you have to now, I'm sure they've seen your shoes outside the stall already.

Gently, I knocked and said, "A-Are you okay?"

I grimaced at myself. Of course they're not okay, Ellie, or else they wouldn't be crying in a bathroom stall...!

I didn't get a response at first, just a quiet sob. Then, I asked, "Do you need any help?"

They still didn't want to talk to me. I guess that's understandable. Maybe it's best I leave them be now.

As I stepped back, I heard the person inside move around, and I spotted their shoes behind the stall door. Thing is, I recognized those shoes, but I was too late to leave the scene.

The stall door swung open and there stood Maddy, her mascara a bit smudged around her teary eyes. Yet as soon as she recognized me, those sad eyes glinted with disgust.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" she hissed. I thought I'd hear the effect of her sobbing in her voice, but her tone was as cold as ever.

"I...I was just washing my face and I heard you. I didn't know it was you, b-but I thought I'd help anyway."

"Help me?" she scoffed. "That's rich."

Despite her menacing gaze, I still asked, "Wh-Why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying."

"But, I just heard you—."

"You didn't hear a god damned thing, rat! Out of my way..." Then, she shoved past me to the sinks to clean herself up. She had her pack with her, and pulled out a small cosmetic bag to redo the makeup around her eyes. I'm not sure why I said what I said next, but I guess I wasn't thinking—a habit of mine, as of late.

"Is it because of that day, at that house?"

Maddy froze and hung her head, her hair covering her face. In her hand was a foundation powder box with a mirror that she gripped tight.

Gripping the hem of my jacket, I murmured, "I...I probably shouldn't bring it up. That was...a lot. I also know Stephanie got cut, so I hope she healed up okay. I, um, I'll get going. And, as a tip, drinking water helps with the crying—."

"I wasn't crying...!" she snapped as she rounded on me and swung her hand at my face. I didn't have time to react to the hit. I also didn't have time to notice the foundation box with the mirror was in the same hand.

The force of the hit was enough to shatter the cosmetic mirror into the side of my face and make me stumble against the stalls. Despite the sharp pain of broken glass on my skin, I could only gape with shock instead of crying out.

To make matters worse, she grabbed my shirt collar and shoved me against the stall wall. With that vehement glare I was stupid to forget about, she sneered down at me, "Shut up, shut up, shut up! Your voice is the worst, everything about you is the worst! How can you just mention that shit like it's nothing? Huh? Like a guy wasn't murdered right in front of you? You fucking freak! Bet you enjoyed it—of course you would, you dead-faced fuck!"

"B...But...," I murmured, "h-he was..."

"Shut it! You should've been the one who was killed. You! You aren't worth a damn thing! Rats like you get stamped out for a reason. Go ahead and off yourself, why don't you? Here, I'll give you a head start!"

With no remorse, with no fear of hurting herself, she grabbed a remaining shard from the mirror and forced it into my hand, forcing me to make a fist on it. I only winced but couldn't react with anything else. The abruptness of all of this was too much for me to process.

"Fuck you," she growled. "Fuck your stupid friends. Fuck the damned cops on the investigation. And fuck that scumbag murderer. And if you say a single word about this and about me crying—a single peep!—I'll ruin you. For good!"

With that, she pushed me against the wall one more time before storming out of the restroom completely, dropping the broken foundation box in the trash on the way. I stood against the stalls with the mirror shard still in my hand. Slowly, I opened my trembling fist to look at the damage done. Bits of blood streaked the mirror, obscuring my tiny reflection, but it didn't hide the sight of fresh scratches on my face.

I stood in front of the sink once again, this time to clean off the blood on my hand and on my face. I suppose I can count myself lucky I wasn't hit in the eye, but the scratches were close. There was one tiny speck of glass in one cut but I was thankfully able to take it out. The white sink shined pink as the blood washed out. The cuts on my hand still spewed tiny blood bubbles, but it shouldn't go on for long.

As I looked at my hand, a scarlet glow illuminated from beneath my sleeve. Taken aback, I pulled it up to see the mark in my skin had appeared again, feeling warm.

Quietly, I whispered, "What are you? What do you want from me?"

Its glow pulsed as if responding to me, but I didn't gain anything from it. Or did I? Is this mark alive?

Before I could ponder it more, a couple of girls came into the restroom and I yanked my sleeve down. Hurriedly, I left the restroom, tossing the little mirror shard in the trash. Although I know I should be appalled by what Maddy did to me, furious even, I didn't feel like acknowledging those emotions. All I could think about was the marks, Jeff, and the deal we had made.

...

Today, Johanna went and gave me a ride home since neither of my parents would get out in time. It was tedious to come up with an excuse for the bandaids on my face and hand, but in the end I said they were rashes I didn't want to be visible. Not the best of lies but it worked this time.

We got to the curb in front of my house, and Johanna asked me, "Are you sure you don't want me to stay for a bit?"

I nodded. "I'm fine. My parents will be home soon. Fifteen minutes tops."

She bunched up her lips. "Alright, if you say so. See you. Text you later!"

I got out of her car and headed for my front door. Johanna was down the street by the time I got my keys in the lock. I was eager to just crash into my bed and sleep for a millennia, but thinking about Jeff being around suddenly didn't make me sleepy. I don't know when or if I'll get used to him just being in the vicinity. As long as he stays out of the way in the attic, I can be somewhat comfortable.

"As comfortable as one can get with a murderer in your house," I muttered to myself as I opened the door. "No less a pervert, ugh...! What an absolute—."

I interrupted myself with a gasp upon seeing Jeff's body at the base of the stairs. And he wasn't moving.

"Jeff!"