Peeping Tom
A/N: Remember when I said I was working on my self insert? I lied. But I wrote this!
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“When did you get that little tattoo, Tricks?”
“What?” Tricks blinked, eyes looking up to Kayne. “What are you talking about?”
Kayne giggled, head thrown back for a moment as he pointed to Tricks’ leg. “Oh, come now. Don't lie. You can't lie. Not to me! So when was it?”
Tricks closed his one eye, the yellow one looking at Kayne through what he assumed was half-lidden annoyance. “Have had it.” Tricks said. “For a while. Humans have lots of tattoos.”
“And you went with…? 666! The mark of the beast! How devious of you. Like you're trying to scare someone.” Kayne gasped. “Is it me? Are you trying to scare me away?”
Tricks’ gloved hand reached out to Kayne, it grabbed his bloodied hand, grinning. “Is it working? Oh, I am so tired of having to watch you.” Both eyes were now focused on Kayne. “You know, I didn't let anything see it. Naughty boy you are, Kayne.”
The man smiled back, taking Tricks’ other gloved hand. “Can't keep my eyes off of you. Not when you're parading around the story and not letting me see the best parts! You're a real gen-u-ine tease.”
Tricks leaned forward, its’ tongue darting over sharp teeth. “I haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about, Kayne. I don't have any human toys. The Old Gods are nothing to me. I only watch.”
“And yet, you say my name an awful lot recently. I think you like how it feels.”
Tricks did not answer, instead, choosing to spin himself, letting go of one of Kayne’s hands. The man obliged, ending the spin in a dip, staring down at the face that looked up at him. “Is that a yes?” There was a singsong-y lilt to his voice now.
“I think your time is up, Kayne. Goodbye.”
And like that, Tricks was gone. Kayne just giggled, straightening. “What a nice chat. I think he really loves me.”
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lynn murray witnessing her son getting taken away by the television, screaming in agony and grief and pure, motherly rage. lynn punching the television that stole her son, over and over again, screaming to let him go, to give him back. she receives the alternate version of her son from cracked and mangled hands, pushing the baby into her arms desperately. she doesnt realize that the alternate has tricked her. she wont know until its too late.
the television is broken, lynn's hand is bleeding, and the tears that have pooled down her face have dried. her child is crying. she gets up from shock, holding her child in her arms like he'll get stolen again (its a possibility. she doesnt know where or when adam could get snatched again), and goes to the master bedroom. she's alone, with her child, not knowing when or if jude is coming home soon, or if what happened actually did.
the only evidence of the act being her bloodied, possibly broken fingers, and the television screen being smashed to bits, glass almost everywhere in the baby's room. she first wraps her son, her beloved baby boy, in a towel, and places him in the bath. she has full view of him from here, in case they come from the drains this time, yet enough room to fix up her hand. the hammering in her head, blurred and sore vision make her unable to focus on anything but her baby.
after painstakingly getting the bits of glasses that were stuck in her knuckles out, wrapping her hand up the best she can, she sits in the bathtub with him. its silent, save for the attempts to calm her breathing, the heartbeat slamming against every rib in her chest, and the incoherent, quiet babble coming from beside her. shifting in her seat, she stares at adam. her boy, her precious bundle of joy, almost died by something she had no comprehension of.
the thought terrified her. what if they come from the phone next? what if they break down her door? what if they torture such an innocent baby? who even are they? the thoughts raced in her mind, hands moving before she even registered that shes hugging her knees tightly, nails digging into the fabric of her pants. the tears start back up again, lynn quietly whimpering while adam falls back asleep, none the wiser.
she startles when the phone rings in her back pocket. the uncomfortable lump shes felt the entire shes sitting here has been her phone. shifting around, she answers the phone. her voice, hoarse from yelling and crying, stutters and stops.
"lynn? honey, im on my way home. i know im a bit late but the boss wanted me to do overtime." jude's voice was static-y, no doubt from the bad connection. lynn felt herself relax a bit, hands still shaky and mind still racing, though calmed by her husbands voice. "jude. i- i saw... i did- i-" she felt her throat close up, still trying to process what to even say. "something bad happened." how else could she describe it? could she?
"lynn? what the hell? what happened? did something happen to adam?" he sounded urgent, and perhaps even accusatory. "yes. no. i dont know. i cant describe- i- it all happened so fast- that- he's-" "lynn, what the fuck are you saying?" anger, now. "the television. it- it took him. but i- i got him back." silence. and then a very loud, very disappointed sigh. "listen, lynn. just- look, youre obviously hysterical right now, ill talk to you when i get home." dial tone.
she felt dread pool in her stomach, though she knew that it had to be a terrifying hallucination. it had to be. it had to be. why would televisions grab children? that doesnt make any sense. none of this made any sense. if her mind wasnt safe, what was? could she trust anything that she sees from now on? questions, yet again, filled her mind. the now silent bathroom, save for the occasional baby noises from a sleeping adam, mocked her.
she gets sent to a mental hospital for years, until adam no longer remembers shes even alive. the quest to find her, once again, ignites.
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