2. Blue

Chapter 2

Blue

Her words...

Riddles in air,

Full of odd temptation.

They draw me out to the world,

Her words.

I t has been three days, and each day, I find myself venturing further and further away from my new home, looking for... well, anything, really. No, not anything; I am looking for that Havoc being. As mystifying as she is, she's all I know here. I've tried to find others while creeping around on my walks, but despite knowing there are others, I feel as though I'm all alone here. I never thought I'd miss anything from Dreadmoor, but at least there—despite always being locked—there was some sign of life and interactions with the other creations. After days of wandering the never-ending darkness, I begin to think Havoc was simply a hallucination, a fabrication of my own making adding a new layer of madness to my predicament.

I walk down an unfamiliar wooded trail, attempting to kick a small rock with my shoe as I go. I should know better, my foot completely missing as I stumble in the process. "Ow," I groan, landing with a thud on my behind. "At least no one saw that," I mutter while dusting myself off as I stand back up. From what I've seen in recent days, Nightmare is very much the same yet different from Dreadmoor. It's the same in that it's vast and heavily wooded, but different, as I don't know the entirety of what creations and monsters inhabit this world. It's unknown to me, much like the smell here. Inhaling deeply, I'm consumed by a smell that reminds me of a fresh, earthy scent—like a foggy morning walk deep in the woods. I inhale again, enjoying the oddly comforting smell. Everything back in Dreadmoor was dipped in a smokey crust, as if the world was made up of burning embers. It makes sense, considering it's very much Hell to be there.

A twig snaps in the distance, causing me to jump and spin around, my nerves on edge. I see nothing, but I can hear the rustling closing in on me.

"Hello?" I call out weakly. "Who's there?" Who's there? Blue, this is precisely why you were thrown into the cage. You don't call out who's there when you're defenseless ? —

My mental scolding is abruptly halted as a sudden force shoves me to the ground. I instinctively try to fight back, but between the endless night and bright moon shining above, I'm unable to really see. My hands frantically scramble around, luckily finding a rock. I grip it, hurling it at whatever the thing is, making it yelp out as it yanks my hair so tightly, I fear it might rip out at the roots and unravel. My nose is suddenly filled with the congesting scent of dirt as whatever I hit pulls me close, a gasp escaping its body.

"Her eyes!" a male voice snarls. "They're buttons. She's from Dreadmoor!"

"Indeed she is," a second man's cold, calm voice purrs. The snarling man releases my hair and my head fills with the painful sting. "And what a pretty little toy that bitch made this time." He marvels. My eyes focus, as I glare at the strange man. He's very tall and thin, dressed in a suit, and his face painted like that of a skeleton. "So very pretty. I always did have a thing for ragdolls." He reaches a long, boney hand out, trailing it up my tights, reaching under the skirt of my dress, causing me to gasp and smack him away.

"Don't touch me!" I hiss, standing up. The gangly man looks down to the snarling, ghost-like creature beside him and releases a sigh of disappointment. "Well, if you don't want to play with me," he grumbles, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves,"I'm sure my friend here would just love to have fun with you. Pity; I would've made it enjoyable for us both." He smirks before cocking his head. "Sic'er."

My heart drops as the man-creature lets out a loud, almost animalistic howl just as my flight instincts kick in and I take off running, the ghostly thing close behind me. I cry out as something scratches at my arm, my lungs burning as I force myself to run faster, all while knowing whatever that thing is, it's gaining on me. Could it be him? Was that thing chasing me the Boogeyman?

"Please," I wheeze, running through a foreign part of the woods, huffing the cold night air as lingering dead branches of surrounding trees pull and snap at my dress, ripping at the fabric and scratching my skin. "Please, stop!" My body shoots forward as the creature dives on me. I let out a choked cry as it slams my chest roughly into the ground. "Stop it!" I grit out, trying to kick him off. He grabs the back of my head, slamming me against the ground, a shooting pain striking my head, causing the world to slow and spin.

"Help," I weakly choke out as I feel icy hands running up the bare backs of my thighs. I turn to look over my shoulder to beg once more, but as I go to speak, a dark figure slams into the creature, sending it flying off my body. The dark figure lands with a loud thud, and as the creature runs back toward us, snarling with anger and frustration, I cover my mouth to stifle a scream as the figure whips out a large knife, slashing it across my attacker without hesitation. The creature shrieks and cries out as a glowing liquid pours from the wound. It stumbles, trying to fight off the stranger, but it's too weak. The large dark figure removes the knife as my attacker falls to the ground next to me, his ghostly light fading away as his eyes stare into mine, fading away. He looks... like a normal human now . How strange.

The dark figure steps to the deceased being's side and lifts its head as he begins to slowly run the blade along its flesh, sawing it apart. I try not to gag, the cruel act churning my stomach while I watch in helpless, stunned silence. I dry heave when a squelching sound tainted with angry grunts fills the air. The figure doesn't stop until the dead thing's head is completely detached and hanging from the figure's hand, blood dripping onto the ground.

The figure growls, the sounds resembling that of a man's as he chucks the head aside with such strength, it hits the ground with a wet thud. After a moment, the figure turns slowly toward me, the clutched knife still dripping with the creature's glowing blood, breathing heavily. It's almost as if they forgot I was here. I force myself to swallow the nausea and fear as my eyes linger, trying to register its frightening appearance; a tall, wide, and dark being covered in a dull, faded, sack-like material. The face of the sack has an eerily sewn mouth, ripped open, and two dark, endless eye holes which are currently boring into my soul with consuming shadows of darkness. Whatever this thing is, it's completely covered, not a part of it exposed, no eyes or mouth visible. Yet somehow, I feel two very much alive eyes moving up and down my body with interest.

"Who the fuck are you?" A muffled bark causes me to jump and nearly wet myself as I'm ripped from my thoughts. So it is a person, or a male at least . I struggle to answer, to find my words and make my mouth work. This seems to irritate him, because, deciding my time to respond is up, he reaches his burlap-covered hand out, roughly grabbing me by the neck, pinning me to a nearby tree, his free hand piercing the dead bark, his knife inches from my face. "Answer m—" He stops, his entire demeanor and voice changing from aggressive to something less as his hold remains the same around my throat. "Holy shit." I hear his breath hitch, my fingers clawing at his wrist as I desperately try to free myself and get a look at him, any part of him through the holes of his mask. "Your eyes," he marvels, his free hand moving to my face. I feel the rough texture of the glove covering his hand as it glides sweetly across my cheek, causing me to shiver. "You're from there. Dreadmoor." He pauses for a moment before whispering in an odd tone, "You're one of hers ."

I nod softly, trembling with fear and anxiety as I finally muster my words. "I am." I stare into the two black abysses of his mask, straining to catch even a glimpse of him. "W-who are y-you? How d-do you know about Dreadmoor? Of the Creator?" The energy in him shifts at my words as he releases my neck. My body falls to the ground while he slowly backs away, shaking his head.

"Wait," I call out to his retreating figure while wobbling to my feet, my body sore and tired from the attack. "W-where are you going?" He continues to ignore me. "Wait. Please! Don't leave me here alone! What if that thing comes back?" I desperately cry out, anxiety ripping through my nerves as a distant shriek echoes in the night. What if that skeleton man comes back? Or something worse? I can't do this. I can't be left alone again. "Please!" I scream at him.

He stops and turns back to look at me, the burrowing eye holes staring into my soul. Hope blooms in my chest as I think he's going to change his mind and stay here with me. Instead, I hear an odd, high-pitched humming from behind. I turn and look to see his bloody blade still embedded in the tree trunk. The knife sways, vibrating through the dead tree, trying to break free. Reaching for the handle, I still its movement with my hand, wrapping my fingers around the leather as I grunt, yanking it free. I turn, looking back to speak and return his knife, but as I stare ahead to where he was standing, I find... no one.

He left me.

Brushing myself off, I squeeze his knife in my hand, angry and frustrated that he left me out here alone and defenseless. Well, not entirely defenseless. With the blade securely in my hand, I waste no time marching my way back to the safety of my home, my steps quiet yet quick. My body remains on edge the entire time back as I feel as though something or someone is watching me. It's just my imagination, I repeat to myself over and over. It must be . I'm full of anxiety from the attack, and every noise makes me jumpy right now. It's just my nerves. Everything is fine. I'm fine.

Once inside my deliciously macabre home, I slam the door shut, locking it the best I can before running straight up the stairs to my room. As I close the door and lean against the chipped back, a wave of instant relief hitting me upon seeing Mr. Whiskers sitting perfectly atop my journal, nestled along the layers of furs. I found the old leather notebook yesterday in one of the other rooms while exploring, the discovery truly a gift as I always wanted the chance to write my little poems and feelings down. And now, given a way to do that here, it was a very emotional moment for me. I feel more at home and at peace in Nightmare than I ever did in Dreadmoor. Add in today's unlucky experiences, and I'm an emotional wreck.

"Mr. Whiskers," I cry, flopping onto the bed, placing my floppy little friend on my stomach, running my fingers over his patchy fur. "It was terrible out there. This creepy skeleton-like man attacked me, him and his ghostly friend, and I think—" My words trail off as I stop as I realize what I was about to confess. "I think I met the Boogeyman. There were these two men, or creatures, who attacked me. I think he was one of them, and the other must've been his minion." I shiver at the thought of their hands on my body, moving along my skin. Being locked away, I've never been intimate, not even a kiss, and to know that was almost stolen from me...

Stop thinking about it, Blue. You're home. You're safe.

Blinking away the anxiety and heartache lingering in my mind, I continue to talk to Mr. Whiskers about my encounter. He's always such a great listener; never once has there been judgment, I'll admit, I've revealed some things to him that would cause even me to think twice, but he just listens and lets me speak my mind. I know how this appears on the outside: a sheltered woman giving life and a personality to a clearly dead thing, but everyone has an imaginary friend at some point in their life. I once remember finding a small child in Dreadmoor. I could hear her talking and talking for hours, never missing a beat. My curiosity overtook one night as I snuck out of my own prison to observe her. We creations weren't allowed to interact with the others, but I needed to know who she was always telling her stories to and rambling on with, but as I peeked through the crack of her weathered door, I found no one there with the girl. She was alone, speaking to the darkness across from her and her single flickering candle. I continued to observe her for days, realizing she was interacting with her imaginary friend—at least that's what my Creator called it. However, the night that poor girl met her unfortunate fate, I'll never forget a tiny mirror in her little prison fell and shattered, and for some reason, I always thought that was her friend. Afterall, we're all simply vessels for energy, right? Who's to say that you can't be so lonely, so desperate for companionship that you could transfer some of your energy, creating the illusion of a "friend"?

"There was this other man. He wore this heavy mask," I whisper while looking up to the ceiling, my heartbeat quickening. "I know nothing about him, but he knows me. Well, correction: he knows of my world, Dreadmoor, and the Creator. He saved me." A small smile pulls at the corner of my lips as I think about his touch, the way it ran across my face so delicately as he stared into my soul. What I wouldn't give to feel it without those gloves...

I shake my head, pushing such strange thoughts away as I realize I'm still holding his knife tightly in my grasp. I stare into my reflection, the moonlight bouncing from my dual, grey-toned button eyes. An urge overcomes me as I bring the leather-bound handle to my nose and inhale. The scent is so unique, the oils on the leather consuming me, but there's also a warm, spicy scent that enters through my nose and hits me in my belly button, making me blush.

"I want to find him, to thank him properly for saving me from the Boogeyman." I give Mr. Whiskers a final scratch on the head, flicking away a couple of stray pieces of fur that fall off him before gently laying the knife on the small nightstand and settling in along the furs. Rolling onto my side, I glance out the bedroom window and see a shadowy figure move across the dead branches of the overhanging tree. It's just my imagination. You're safe here, Blue. I yawn, brushing the fear aside.

Closing my eyes, I hold Mr. Whiskers close as I quickly fall into a dreamless sleep.