Author: Shattered Glass 1375 PM
Kristin has always had bad luck by her side and when she finally shakes him off, he returns, though in a much more angry form.Rated: Fiction T - English - Horror - Words: 7,083 - Published: 10-13-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3065304
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
"There you are... Kristen..." You turn behind to see him. "Long time no see." he continues. You brace yourself to run and then don't see his face. The usual pale head with black hair tiering down into his eyes. His eyes... But there is no one on the empty train tracks. "I'm over here, behind you..." You whip around to see him, sitting cross-legged on the tracks, the innocent smile twisting onto his lips. His eyes are hidden and you breathe a sigh of relief when you notice the white scarf wrapping itself around his head and blindfolding his eyes. It wraps around his head many times, curling from his forehead down to his nose and ties around the back of his head, the long ends drifting down to where they touch the track. Then you notice the tall scythe that he cradles in his lap. It is a dark weapon, made of a black metal, the blade a victorious silver with dried blood splattering it. You notice the folds in his black cloak that lays on his shoulders and flares around him on the ground. He wears a white t-shirt and light colored jeans underneath it with black boots curving up his ankles.
"But... I- I" you stammer, unsure of what to tell him. You can't run now, you can never run once you've faced him.
"It's nice to see you, Kristen," he speaks, his voice sending shivers up your spine, "I've really missed you..." The smile on his lips disappears, "Why did you leave me, Kristen." his head tilts as he stares at his feet. "Why did you run from me... Kristen?" You remember back to when you first met him, it was about seven years ago, you were eight years old. Your mother had brought you to the park where no one was. It was only you. And the little boy playing in the sandbox.
You approached him and said hello, giving a little wave with your small hand. He looked up revealing a pale face with a white scarf twisting around his neck, he wore a black sweater and light jeans with a pair of aging sneakers. His face showed no emotion until he noticed your own face, sparkling with welcome. He smiled back. It was a strange smile but you welcomed it anyways. You talked with him for a minute until you noticed the strange object that laid behind him. You took it into consideration and asked him what it was. His smile faded and he turned to see what you had meant. Then he replied,
"Oh this? It's just my scythe... it's the only thing I own..." You contemplated over what he said and asked him where he lived. He gave his head a shake and told you that he didn't have a home. You then asked him if he had any parents. You received another head shake. You offered your own home to him without another thought, feeling terribly sorry for the young boy. He had smiled at this offer and gladly accepted. You then showed him to your mother like he was a stray dog, acting like it would be a small task, not understanding how much this would cost you in the end. Your mother couldn't see him but she acted like she could, thinking he was only an imaginary friend. She told you that he could stay and that's when you realized that the boy did not have a name. You told him his new name kindly, naming him after a pet dog that had recently died. The boy had smiled at you since no one had ever taken the time to give him a name.
Ever since you took him in, bad things had started happening to you. First of all, your parents had been murdered two weeks after the day in the park. Your last surviving grandmother had a heart attack, your grandfather a stroke. And slowly each adult that took you in suffered from something and died. Then, your last surviving relative took you in. She never wanted to take you in but in the end was forced to. The boy had followed you to each place and by now you were both twelve and had noticed that no one could see him, the boy that you had invited into your life out of kindness. He had grown up with you and become some what of a brother. You knew that he clung to you like a child in the day, coming to school with you but wherever he went in the day he left his scythe behind at home. But at night he always disappeared and came back covered in blood with the scythe gripped in his hands, covered in blood as well. You never paid any attention to his affairs, the kids at school couldn't see him and he never really enjoyed learning and doodled most of class.
You both knew that this was your last relative and when she dropped dead out of nowhere you grabbed some money, food, and water and ran. But the bad luck persisted, knocking on your door at least once a weak. You lost all the money that you had in a hurricane (literally). You had nothing. Wolves would have eaten you if you hadn't had the boy there, able to protect you with his scythe. You managed until a few weeks after your thirteenth birthday when something inside your mind clicked and you realized that everything had started happening after you took the boy in. The boy was the bad luck. You realized that you had to leave him but he would've followed you until the end of time. Finally you found it, the answer to it all. The boy disappeared at night, you could run then. And you did. You left him and things started turning up. You found a hundred dollar bill lying on the ground the next day. And everything got better. You never found a home but could have. You knew to keep running, or else he would find you. And you knew he'd be angry.
And now, about seven years after first meeting the boy, here you were. The boy you had been running from for years was sitting right in front of you, like a bad penny.
"You know, Kristen I'll never forget the name that you gave me. No one ever gave me a name before and you were so kind to give me one," he smiles with that sickly sweet grin again. "right, Kristen?"
"Right," you say, trying to think of a way to leave, "Lucky,"
"Right," his smile grows until you can see his teeth, they're fangs, pointing up in separate paths and interlocking with each other. You cringe and he laughs a bit. "you know, I'm not happy that you left me, Kristen. And you also know," he paused to let your anticipation grow, "I'm going to get my revenge on you," his smile faded to be replaced with a frown and a dangerous tone, "and, Kristen... it will be a painful revenge."
You swallow and shift your feet nervously. You're scared. Deathly scared of him. You are beginning to regret abandoning him, wishing you had taken more thought before rushing away. There is no excuse for what you have done but then you wonder where you would be right now if you hadn't left him. Would you have lost everything? Would you have nothing? Would you be dead? You think a little longer and do not regret the decision you made.
"Do you know how I felt, Kristen? When I returned to that abandoned building that morning? Do you know how I felt?" You don't know what to say. You feel guilt filling your body and stay silent.
"Betrayed, Kristen. Betrayed and scared," he looks at his feet again and murmurs, "I didn't think I could feel scared." his voice grew, "Do you know what I vowed to do that morning, Kristen?" he stopped, waiting for an answer. You don't want to reply but he stays silent, obviously wanting an answer. You take a deep breath.
"I don't know, Lucky." he smiles and you cringe, looking up at the moon shining down upon you. The smile is one of an innocent child. Of one who would never commit a crime, but you know its just a disguise and that any normal person in your position would fall for it. But if the snow white scarf was undone and lying at his feet, his eyes staring at that person. The person would never fall for Lucky's taunting tricks.
"I vowed to get my revenge." his voice is drowned out by the sound of a train traveling quickly up the tracks. You know it is far away but still step off the tracks onto the bank, Lucky continues to sit there. You now see the train's headlight shining against his back. It creates a looming shadow that creeps up the tracks. You know the train is coming. Lucky twists his head to look at you. He smiles showing his teeth again, and you shout, telling him to get off the tracks. You may have abandoned him, but you still didn't want to watch him be hit.
"Lucky!" you shriek. You don't care if he wants revenge, you still care about him. He lifts his hand and his ghost white skin is revealed in the light. He waves and the train hits him. You shriek his name again and feel cold fear twisting your stomach around. You shut your eyes to not see what's happening. The train drifts by quickly and you run to the tracks to see nothing. No body, no blood, no Lucky. Just the sorrowing train tracks and the guttural sound of the train as it speeds off into the darkness. The only remanent of him on the track is the snow white scarf that was wrapped around his head. You kneel on the tracks, ignoring the pain as they dig into your shins. You hold the scarf to your face and cry tears of relief and sadness. Happiness and fear. The scarf is a bunch of white scarves sewn together, the first one from when you first met Lucky. It smells like him, a sweet tang but bittered with the scent of blood. The cold night air whips around you and nips at your cheeks as you sit on the tracks. You are not sure if Lucky is dead or not, there is nothing here, only the scarf which you wrap around your neck, continuing to breath in the bittersweet scent.
As you stand and continue walking down the tracks you see a town in the distance. You are not sure what its name is, you have no clue where you are, all you know is that you're in Pennsylvania. You walk towards it.
You eat at a local cafe, exhausted from the long walk along the train tracks. The cinnamon roll sits on your plate, staring up at you with scornful eyes when you don't bite into it. You find no appetite even though you didn't eat at all yesterday. You are not sure what to think. You see a woman sitting in the corner of the shop. She looks at you and turns away when you notice her, reverting her soft brown eyes to the table. Behind the counter stands a boy of about sixteen, a year older then you. He notices you and gives a flirty smile but you're not interested and turn away to look at the long window in front of you.
Lucky's reflection is shown in it. You know it's him. The cloak is set upon his shoulders and drifts down his back. His mouth is curled in an innocent smile. Above that is the white scarf that twirls over his nose and twists over his face and covers his eyes. His black hair rests over it. His white shirt and jeans cover his thin frame and his scythe rests in his left hand. You see yourself too. Your long blonde hair floating down past your shoulders and ending near your waist. Your blue eyes blink back at you and you wear a grey rain jacket and dark jeans. The white scarf winds around your neck. Lucky appears to be standing behind you in the reflection. You violently twist around in your seat and see that no one is there, only the humid air of the cafe.
Shaking your head, you feel frightened deep inside your soul. You know Lucky was hit by a train last night. You know he's dead. He should be dead. You turn back to the window and begin pulling at the scarf. It still smells like Lucky. A sweet tang but darkened by the smell of blood. Peering at the window you notice Lucky's reflection lingering in the still glass. He is right behind you. But this time his smile is bigger, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards a little bit farther, letting you see his teeth. His teeth that resemble those of a cougar. You ignore him for a moment then turn back to the cinnamon roll that sits patiently in front of you. Your hand slides to the scarf and you pull it up to your mouth. Taking a deep breath, you slide out of your seat and push your hand into the pocket of your coat. You don't want to leave this place but you have to. Lucky's reflection is starting to frighten you. The cinnamon roll you wrap in napkins and jam into your messenger bag.
Placing a few coins on the table, you focus on a painting across the room. It's of a man dressed in a suit. He has perfect green eyes and brown hair. His hand rests against his cheek, his lips curved into a frown. You turn to leave and as you exit through the door you take a last glance at the painting. The man's frown has faded into a foretelling grin. You close your eyes and bury your head into the scarf, rushing through the door and out. You figure it's all just grief. Lucky was like a brother and if he was gone... it felt like your world was being torn apart. You'd loved him like a brother ever since you met him in the park that day.
You walk along the sidewalk, passing strangers who don't acknowledge you. You saunter down and spot an old house out of the corner of your eye. Realizing that you really are exhausted and probably need sleep now more then anything, you stop and look at it. It's tall and painted white. The door is a dark rustic wood color and there seemed to be windows everywhere. A for sale sign sits in the burnt lawn motionlessly and your exhaustion hits you like a wave and you are washed into it. You haven't slept for two days and you consider the house. It had a for sale sign and there were no cars there, it was also really old. Who would be here? You take a left and walk down a cracked tar path that leads to the house, feeling a soft autumn breeze tug at your hair, pulling it back against your stride. Almost like the wind doesn't want you to enter the house.
But exhaustion tugs you onward, against the wind and you place your hand on the rusty doorknob and twist. The door is unlocked and you pull it forward and enter the house. A blast of cold air hits you in the face almost immediately and you cringe back against the door.
"Hello!" you yell into the empty air. You pause for a moment, waiting for a reply.
"Hello!" you call a second time when no one answers. After a moment you assume no one is home and take in your surroundings. You are in a musty kitchen with a door casing ahead of you that leads to a small living room and out of the corner of your eye you see a dusty grand piano and you stare at it wistfully. You used to play the piano and wonder if you still could. Walking to it you spot a soft floral couch and turn back from the piano. It looks so comfortable and you can hear sleep calling to you with soft words. And you answer by curling up on the couch, letting sleep claim you.
There's a rocking chair in the corner of your mind. A red rocking chair in the corner of your mind. And a little girl sits in it. She has long blonde hair that sits in pigtails at the sides of her pale head. They are tied there with light blue ribbons and her eyes are a crystally blue, almost like tiny pearls. She wears a white blouse with a navy skirt with jeans underneath them. You recognize the little girl for she is yourself. Yourself when you were much younger of course. The younger version of yourself looks solemn and quiet. She stares at the ground and you see her lips moving as she speaks in a silent tone. You can't make out her words but know what she's saying. It's almost like you're connected to her by an invisible cord which transmits her thoughts to you.
"He's here," she mouths, "He's right behind me," her eyes stretch wide with terror and you find yourself feeling the same emotion. It flows through your body like water and drains through your head.
Out of the darkness the tip of a blade plunges. It has a curved tip and as it comes out of the darkness you know what type of weapon it is. A scythe. The silver blade hooks around her neck and she freezes with fear. You try to yell out her name but the cord is keeping you frozen with fear as well. A pale hand wraps itself over her mouth to silence her. You see the sharp blade curling around her neck a bit more, the blade now touching her skin. A dark form steps out of the shadows and a killing grin twists onto its face. But there is no white scarf above his smile. Only his pale skin which leads to a small nose. And his eyes were exposed so you could see them. You knew who it was by those eyes. You could never mistake those eyes.
His eyes were yin yang symbols. On his left eye the whites were black and there was no iris. Only the pupils or the white side of the yin yang symbol, a black dot set in the middle of the top part. The black side was still there only it faded into the black whites. A white dot set in the lower part. On his right eye it was the exact same only opposite colors. The whites were white with no iris. Only the pupils or the black side of the yin yang symbol, a small white dot in the lower part. The white side of the symbol was still there, only it faded into the whites. A black dot set in the lower part.
You know it's Lucky and you try to move but are still frozen with fear. You know he's looking at you. But you can't tell just by looking at his eyes, his pupils shift and look at things, but you can never tell where he's looking, but right now you can feel his gaze on you. It presses into your neck and you can feel it sliding up your face and slithering over your cheeks, it finally stops at your eyes. You know how he sees things too, he sees them through one eye in the colors that you would normally see, and in the other he sees them in reverse, like a white couch would appear black in half of his vision. He pulls his hand away from your younger self's mouth. and brings it up to his back where he takes the black cloak's hood in his hand and pulls it over his head, covering some of his black hair. He takes the scythe off of the little girl's neck and sets the end on the ground.
Lucky saunters forward until he is in front of you. He smiles, that smile where he shows his teeth, the teeth of a cougar. The scythe still sits in his hand calmly, the blade a clear silver without a drop of color on it, like a blank canvas for Lucky to paint.
He stands calmly and you feel yourself shaking with fear. He lifts the weapon and puts it against your neck and you feel the sharp blade sink slightly into your skin, only enough to draw a bit of blood and not kill you. Don't run. You think, He'll catch me. He twists his body so that he brings his head underneath the scythes handle and continues to hold it with one hand. He brings the other hand over your mouth and you are tempted to bite it, only, you know you would die if you did. You can see your former self still sitting in the chair. Blood drips slowly from the small cut on her neck and it slips down, dyeing her white blouse a dark pink. You wonder if she'll bleed to death from her small wound. She was only eight.
Tears are welling in your eyes now and you feel Lucky's breath in your ear and cringe at the warmth.
"Hush, Kristen," he speaks in a soft and almost playful tone, "It'll all be alright. My revenge will be complete soon, so you don't have to worry about a thing, I'll make it quick." You feel his hand move from your mouth to your cheek where he places a finger and presses its nail into your flesh. After a moment you feel a drop of blood dripping down your cheek. You close your eyes and let silent tears skim down your face. His warm breath touches your ear again.
"Shh..." he murmurs, "Don't cry, it'll be over soon. Please don't cry," You can't help it and feel sobs wrack your body. You know its your fault your in this mess. You know its your fault your family is all dead. It's all your fault. Everything is. You feel more sobs come and the pitiful sounds spill from your mouth.
"Hush, Kristen," Lucky says, the playfulness in his tone gone, "I'll make it quick, please hush." you continue to cry until you can't anymore, you drop to your knees, feeling the scythe's blade brush your neck and the silver metal hit your chin. Fear grips your stomach and you find the need to speak.
"Lucky! Lucky, please! Please stop this. You're not like this. You shouldn't even be here, Lucky. You're dead!" He looks at you and shifts his other hand to your hair, picking up a few strands and twirling them around his index finger.
"Who said I was dead? I'm not dead, Kristen, I'm right here." Lucky sympathized. You know that isn't true, he may be right here, but you watched him get hit by the train, you are positive the train killed him. His remains may not have been there but maybe his body had clung to the train after he was hit, maybe.
"No, Lucky!" you shriek, "You're dead, Lucky! You're dead!" he drops the scythe into your lap and puts his hand on your shoulder. It's warm and almost comforting, but you want to shrug him off. But you're scared to death right now.
"Shh..." he comforts, "It's okay. I'm right here, not dead, Kristen,"
"No!" you shout. You see your former self in her chair. She's still staring ahead in a daze and her wound continues to bleed. "I watched you get hit by that train! It ran you over, Lucky! You're dead!" You can hear a growl rumbling in his throat and you swallow, wondering if you went too far. The warmth of his hand on your shoulder dies away and his fingers curl around your wrist. He yanks your arm backwards and presses it to the center of his chest.
"Can't you feel my heart beating, Kristen?" his voice is right by your ear, "It's there. If it's beating then I'm alive. I'm alive, Kristen. Right?" he stops and waits for your answer. You do feel a steady beat there but don't believe it. You can't believe it.
"Lucky, you don't..." as you speak, he lets go of your hand and drops it to your side, placing his on the handle of the scythe, "You don't get it..." your voice comes out quieter then you wanted but you can't raise it any higher then this, "You don't get it... I want you dead... I want you to be dead, Lucky..." You can't see his face but you can feel the innocent smile that had been painted onto his face drop like a stone into water. Your gut twists in fear and you see the scythe as it flies to your neck, the blade slowing before it meets it. Lucky comes down to your ear and whispers into it, all kindness drained from his voice, any sweetness left in him was gone in a flash.
"Be careful what you wish for." Lucky pulls the blade quickly towards himself and you feel it edge into your skin and pain fills you.
You wake up gasping for breath with relief washing over you like an ocean's tide. You are glad it was all a dream, very glad. You're so happy that Lucky is still dead. After what he told told you on the train tracks you're scared to meet him again.
You suddenly notice that the air inside the house is much cooler then before and shiver a bit. Then you see what caused the air to be cooler, across from you, the window is open, the red curtains billowing out away from it. You tense for a moment, thinking that there was someone in the house with you, then throwing the thought away and placing it in a fire to burn and shrivel into ashes. You were a light sleeper, no one could walk by you without waking you.
As you sit up you realize that you feel a bit more rested then before. A bit more energy coming into your spirit, strengthening you. That's when you notice the piece of paper that sits on your lap. It's a fairly crumpled and torn piece of paper but a piece of paper all the same. As you study it, you come to know that it is no ordinary piece of paper; it's a note. You pick it up and read it. It says:
It's really boring around here. Why did you come to this town? It's too boring around here. So, now that I've found you, I think we should play a game of hide and seek. You hide and I'll seek. Here are the rules: No hiding outside the house, no moving from your hiding place once you've found it, and have fun! If you break any of the rules you'll be punished. You've got two minutes to find a place to hide. Have fun!
You stare at the note, scared of it. Now you know why the window was open. But you're still in denial, Lucky can't be alive. This is his handwriting but he's not alive. A train hit him! But what do you do? No one would just walk into an abandoned house, see you asleep, know your life story, and leave a note that tells you that you are going to play hide and seek or die. Only Lucky would do that.
Ever since Lucky was eight, he had always had a secret love for games. Any kind of game he loved, as long as he could play. But hide an seek had always been a favorite of his and you didn't know whether to play along or to run for your life. Your beginning to accept that Lucky is still alive, that he either avoided the train while you weren't looking or that he wasn't human. Now that you think about it, you know Lucky isn't human. That you knew it ever since you'd met him. That you'd been in denial or just hadn't grown up. Any average person that saw him would know he wasn't a human. His eyes were not human, he had teeth like a feline's, and his smile in general wasn't very humane. He carried a scythe around with him, wrapped scarves around his head, and wears a black cloak, and no one could ever see him. It was only you. You were the only one. Your own mother couldn't see him. Was he just your imagination? This whole time, just a manifestation of your mind? No. He was too real.
You close your eyes and whisper swears under your breath. You've spent too long thinking. It was either run or hide. You didn't know which until you read the note over a few times. Hide. Running would get you killed.
You are hiding under a bed on the second floor. You regret picking the second floor because there is really nowhere to run if anyone is blocking your escape route, and if you do jump out a window you risk getting yourself terribly injured. You came up here because you felt pressed for time and really didn't want to be found. As it turns out you probably had plenty of time, since you haven't heard anything since you had hidden underneath the bed.
Grey light filters from the window in the room. You like it being there because it gives the small room a bit of light.
"Ready or not, here I come!" he calls. You hear it and know it came from the room you had been in before. It's his voice too, Lucky's. Suddenly you are glad to be hidden in this dark light and you feel somewhat happy to know that he is not dead, but also dreading the thought that he is alive. The floorboards smell musty and you freeze as you hear footsteps from downstairs. They echo around the open house and you can almost feel the air around you freeze as he stops walking. You steady your breathing and try to make it silent but you feel terror twisting through you and want to let screams and sobs slip past your mouth and into the still air. But you don't let them out, you hold them back and let your eyes fill with water instead, let the water flow down your cheeks in tiny streams of fear and sorrow.
Suddenly the footsteps pound up the stairs and enter the dark hallway. You stop breathing altogether as they pause at the door. The door to the room that you are hiding in. The door is shut like all the other ones upstairs and you cower as the knob twists and the door is opened with a creaking noise. Opening your eyes you notice black boots standing on the floor. They're Lucky's and you know it. He rocks back on his heels then onto his toes a few times before turning around and leaving the room. You don't let out a breath of relief and close your eyes so that you don't see anymore, only hear his footsteps as he walks down the hallway and opens each door at a time and peering into the room. His footsteps come back down the hall and transcend down the stairs.
You let out a breath as quietly as you can and let more tears climb down your cheeks. A tone from the piano rings out and you freeze as more notes ring out after it. You recognize the tune and are tempted to hum along but don't make a noise, only run the lyrics through your head.
Three blind mice, Three blind mice.
See how they run, See how they run.
They all ran after the farmers wife,
who cut off their tails with a carving knife,
did you ever see such a sight in your life?
As three blind mice.
The tune was slow, one of an unexperienced musician, but it was steady and constant. Lucky plays a few more verses when the sound of a bunch of keys being hit at the same time rings out. You hear him stand and his voice rings out for a moment.
"Three blind mice," he sings. You swallow and feel the fear that had recently evaporated rain down again. You shut your eyes. Lucky takes five steps up the stairs and stops.
"three blind mice." five more steps, "See how they run," another five steps, "see how they run." He's at the top of the stairs and he takes a few more steps so that he stands just outside of the doorway to the room you are hiding in. "They all ran after the farmers wife," he continues, taking a step through the doorway, "who cut off their tails with a carving knife," he is standing at the foot of the bed now and you see him rock back on his heels then move up onto his toes, "did you ever see such a sight in your life," You can't see his face but you know that hideous smile is painted onto it. And you know that he didn't go and get himself another scarf to cover his eyes, you know they're revealed. You can feel them watching you.
You keep your eyes shut and cease your breathing, hoping that he'll just go away. But he doesn't and that's when you feel the cold hand wrapping around your ankle.
"As one blind mouse." he speaks the last words in a dangerous tone and you are positive that he can hear your heart beating. You crawl out from under the bed, not sure of what else to do. If you stay, he'll come after you and kill you. So your last hope is to play nice and hope that he forgives you. He has to forgive you.
The light hurts your eyes and you shut them for a moment. When you open them, the first thing you see is the scythe's handle and when you look up you see the silver blade still connected to its black metal handle. Dried blood is splashed across the blade like paint on a white canvas. You look up at him, trying to look helpless and he smiles and sits down in front of you, placing the scythe in his lap.
"Hi," you say in a small voice. His eyes are revealed just like you predicted and they look exactly the same as they did in the dream. He casts his gaze against your eyes and looks deeply into them.
"I found you." he says. "I've never actually looked at your eyes, Kristen. One's really a pretty blue, and the other's a dark orange. They look nice together. I kind of wish I had eyes like that... Are you having fun?" you pause before answering, thinking about what you should say. That's when you remember the note that Lucky left for you. One of the rules was to have fun. Have fun or die.
No, I'm not having fun! I've been hiding under a bed crying and weeping while you scare me half to death by singing creepy songs! You want to yell, but you hold your tongue. Instead you fake a smile and say,
"Yeah, that was lots of fun, we should play again!" his smile disappears and he tilts his head to the side as he continues studying your eyes.
"You've been crying." he acknowledges. You don't want him to know that you've been crying, he'll probably kill you.
"I haven't been crying," you lie.
"But one eye's slightly red and the other is slightly green." you laugh a bit.
"Oh, they must just be irritated from the dust underneath the bed."
"They're not irritated, Kristen." he speaks softly, "You've been crying. Why did you lie to me, Kristen? Why?" he puts a hand on the scythe's handle and you draw back as he grasps it, his eyes narrowing into slits. "You abandon me on the streets and then you lie to me about something as simple as tears," his voice is rising and you don't know how to handle this. His anger is clawing at him, making him nervous and reckless. You know that Lucky rarely got angry, and when he did, it never ended well. "Do you really want to cause me this much pain, girl?" that was the first time he'd ever called you something other then your name. You were shocked. Lucky was always very polite. He would never call anyone by someone other then their name.
You stumble back and Lucky picks the scythe up off of his lap and rises up on his knees. He crashes the blade into the floor by your shoulder and you feel the breeze of force coming from it as it just misses you. The handle barrels against your body and knocks you to the ground where you lie on your back, stunned. Lucky used the handle like a lever and, while keeping the blade impaled in the wood, he was able to bring the handle down, smashing you to the ground, and pin your body there.
You know that if you try to crawl out from under the blade then Lucky will notice and be able to dislodge the blade from the wood and easily kill you. So, you stay in his trap, it was the perfect move and it would certainly keep you there. All hope was gone.
Lucky moves so that he can sit on the right side of his weapons handle, opposite from the blade. You start to cry, letting long sobs escape from your mouth and tears cascade down your cheeks in tiny rivers. His smile comes back for a moment but disappears.
"Stop crying, please. You know I hate it when you cry."
"Shut up!" you yell up to him, "Leave me alone! Go away!" you close your eyes and yell, "You're just my imagination! Your not real! Your not real!"
"Who told you that I wasn't real?" he asks, confused.
"I told myself that because your just a part of my imagination!" You open your eyes to see him angrier then before, his eyes are in slits, his lips have slipped into a frown, and his eyebrows are slanted. He places his knee on the scythe to keep it in place. One of his arms comes down and picks up one of your hands, you try to yank it away but his grip his too strong. "Stop it! Let go of me!" you shriek but you can't do anything. Words won't stop him.
He pulls your hand to his mouth and bites the base of your thumb. You scream but he doesn't let go and bites down harder. A deep pain fills your hand as his teeth slide off your bone and sink into your skin. They are sharp and pierce through your skin easily, blood pouring from the wound. You manage to pull your hand away from him and pull it against you. Your hand hurts, a stinging pain that won't let up.
"Then tell me, Kristen, is that blood real? Or part of your imagination?" he speaks politely like he usually does and you are frozen in fear. You know that the blood is real and that he is real. Lucky isn't a part of your mind, he's a part of the world just as you are. But you know he's not human. Nothing about him is human. His teeth, his eyes, nothing. Even his smile isn't human.
"Is the blood on your hand real, Kristen?" he asks again. You hesitate but nod your head. He smiles innocently. "Good." he looks at your hand then asks, "So, am I real, Kristen?" you nod, feeling dread curl through you. "Good." he searches your eyes for something but when he doesn't find it he sighs and puts his left hand on the scythe's handle. "I'm beginning to think think that I should get my revenge now." he lifts the scythe and dislodges the blade from the floor boards.
"Please, Lucky, don't do this! I'll do anything, you can stay with me again, please don't kill me! I won't abandon you this time, please don't kill me!" you beg. But it's just like when he bit your hand, words won't stop him.
"It'll be quick, Kristen," he smiles, "very quick." You slink into a corner and feel the scythe's cold blade sink against your neck. It cuts through your skin briskly and just as everything is fading into a black world, Lucky's voice rings out,
"Fate; such a wonderful thing. Of course that's when it's all going well. If it's not, then fate no longer has that significance. Instead, it signifies shamefulness, criminality, or, quite simply," he pauses to let the words embed into you, "bad luck."