Last Winter [JackFrostxReader] Pt.22

Fear.

The word was familiar, yet it was hardly used to describe any of the actions you took or any of the circumstances you were placed under from a young age and so it was hard to comprehend the feeling when it came to you during one of the darkest nights. A night of a new moon, the sky absolutely dark, your mind fighting against what was reality and what was . . . folklore.

Against everything you had been brought up to believe. Against every explanation you could come up with in a second, against the voice of your mother, who decided to spend the night at home, yelling at you to turn the lights off and go to bed, you stayed awake as long as you could with a book open and a lamp on that was the only source of light in the house.

Unknown to you, it was the only source of light for miles into the city.

When you fell asleep, or if you ever did fall asleep, was never going to be properly answered. The factors that would allow you to understand when and if you fell asleep were muddled, unclear, mixed with information that didn’t fit into what you wanted to know.

For starters, it was dark and cold and damp with the walls closing in, but they hadn’t moved an inch around you. Even with the light off, which at the time you hadn’t bothered to question, you could tell that the wall were not what was closing in around you. But it didn’t matter if the lights were off or that the shadows of the walls were closing in, your eyes stayed focused on the page of the book; unblinking, unconcerned for the surroundings,  unwilling to look away from the name Jack Frost that was scribbled on it.

This unruly darkness that came from nowhere and everywhere, extinguishing the lap like, blocking the rays of the moon to this unbelievable extent, it was not enough to eliminate the frosted name of that boy whom you were currently trying to forget with all your might . . . and failing miserably because you never wanted to forget.

After Jack had left weeks had gone by and the New Year had come, yet there was no sign of him. The snow that had been piled outside during his stay had melted the same night he had gone, and though the weather forecast often said it would snow, you knew it was impossible. At least for the moment it was, but it never stopped you from keeping your bedroom window open to the cold winds.

Even now, though you don’t remember standing from your seat and opening it, the window was held against the wall perfectly; the black curtains dancing as the wind blew, but as far as you could remember . . . you had never owned black curtains. Not the kind that pooled onto the floor to create a dark, frozen lake on which you now stood bare foot.

Your eyes never left the dark surface of the lake, moving from the ice to your feet, to the hands you held in front of you to touch the breath that was the only thing that was of another color; a pale white amongst black.

It looked like small clouds had formed around your fingers as you held them above your head as you would when blocking the sun, except there was no light to block. The white smoky clouds circled around your fingers, intertwiningly around them as if they were alive, and then they were alive; changing shape to something recognizable, something familiar.

“Do you enjoy dragonflies?”

It was a strangely alluring voice that came from every inch of the darkness; calming in a way that sent chills down your body and made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You broke out in shivers at the echoes that came with the words.

“Marvelous little creatures . . . beautiful from afar, not so much up close. And especially not when you hear the many myths that surround them.”

The voice was far and yet close, frightening and calming simultaneously. A voice that belong to a man that did everything with precision, planned ahead of time, executed those plans perfectly, and alone you could not hope to challenge him and win. That is what passed through your mind the moment his chuckle graced your ears.

“There is no need to be alarm, princess. I mean you no harm . . . no harm whatsoever.” Your eyes moved to every corner, your body turning slowly and cautiously, but the owner of the voice didn’t come from the far off darkness.
He came from beneath your feet, from your shadow that shouldn’t have been there if there was no light to be offered.

Your shadow grew vertically, losing your figure and growing into an inhumanly tall height. The body now belonging to a lithe man of pale grey skin, slick black hair, and eyes that could burn your own if looked ad directly; it was those eyes that forced your gaze down to the cloak that had been the curtains from before that pooled into the lake beneath.

His finger beckon your attention towards his face, which you refused to do so until a small dragonfly twirled around his finger tips and lead your eyes to his silvery-golden rimmed one. He smiled a gruesomely terrifying, handsome smile that made you want to walk into the darkness behind you. But something told you that would not be a good idea, that no shadow would block you from his sight.

The dragonfly twirled around his index finger once before flying in your direction and landing for a second on your bottom lip before mixing into the breath you breathed out. The man gave another smile, seemingly pleased that the dragonfly had been emitted from the breath that could only come from you.

“Do you know the myths that have given the dragonfly a bad reputation?” he asked, but you kept you lips sealed tight and simply watched him with studious eyes. Even if this was all a dream, you would take mental notes to later jot down when you awoke. “You don’t seem to like me very much. Then again, the only one of us you’ve ever spoken to and acknowledge his existence is Jack Frost.”

At the mention of his name, you grew attentive, your eyes reflecting the man’s smile and the eyes that were so much like your own; filled with fascination and curiosity of what they were looking at. Because to you, he was a strange creature of dreams that couldn’t exist in reality, and to him, you were a fascinating little thing that should stay in reality but whom he wanted badly to corrupt for the pleasure of causing nightmares to them.

But you didn’t know that, couldn’t see it in those eclipsing eyes of his. All you knew was that he knew Jack, that he understood you cared for no other mythological creature that wasn’t Jack Frost.

“Who are you?”

He wiggled his finger and made a ‘tsk’ sound, “Manners, my dear, you first have to give an introduction of yourself and wait for the other party to offer theirs. But you maybe be a bit rusty from dealing with Frost . . . I am Pitch Black—”

“Pitch Black is not a real name.”

“Interrupting your elders is also bad manners.” His smile was unnerving, which could only be a signal for you not to irrupt again. “Don’t you know that bad children will get their mouths sewed shut by dragonfly at night when they are asleep. It is common knowledge, my dragonfly princess.”

Foolishness.

Absolute foolishness that was occurring in this black frozen lake, in this shadow filled place, with this nightly born man whose eyes never left your face. He was studying you much like you were studying him, but with the sole exception that he would offer a smile were you would offer a grimace.

“Princess?” you hissed without meaning to, “I hate that word . . . especially when directed towards me.”

He blinked slowly at you, his hands coming up to his lips as he smiled down at you. “I can only say that I am very pleased to meet you in person—so to speak, of course. If I were to meet your real self . . . you would coward in fear beneath your covers. Tell me, dragonfly, why is it you dare not believe in someone other than Jack?”

“I was told not to talk to strangers.” You answered, turning around to walk away, but stopping dead as you were faced with his sickening smile. How did he—?

“You’re not a child.”

“But . . . I’m no adult.” You answered slowly, taking a few steps back when he began to walk towards you, only to stop as you hit a wall. Twirling around at a speed that would have blinded you, you face the man yet again. “What the hell . . . how’d you do that?”

“I can do many, many things,” he purred into your ear, taking a strand of your hair and holding it out for you to see. The color, much to your shock, turned into an inky black that twirled around his entire hand before you pulled away and it returned to its normal form. “But there are thing I can’t do alone. How are you at interpreting dreams?”

“I don’t believe dreams have any deep meaning, if that’s what you mean.” You answered, hands running through your hair to see if it was turning into black ink. “They don’t tell the past, or the present, or the future. I don’t know their function, but I don’t think they show anything relevant to what we go through.”

“Really?” that ghostly smile was back, and you could feel every goosebump rising from every inch of your body. “When was it the last time you dreamt of something, anything? I can let you in on a little secret, my little dragonfly, North was no dream. He was the real deal and with the help of the Sandman, he was able to have you momentarily see him. You won’t be able to find Jack now. As long as he is in the presence of the other Guardians, whom you can’t see, he will be out of reach. You wouldn’t be able to find him even if you looked for him, even if he was standing under you.”

The air chilled, your hair turning back into the inky stuff he had turned it into with his touch, your skin reflecting the color of his; his eyes lead yours to look beneath you, into the frozen lake, to the small source of light that mimicked the moon that was not there. In the center of the light, what made you cry out in terror with tears streaming down your face, was a young boy with brown hair and pale, frozen skin, and eyes shut tightly.

You dropped to your knees, nails digging into the ice as your breath turned into small little insects with irregular wings.

“Jack—?!”

The small dragonfly that had come from your breath cringed at Pitch’s ‘tsk’ sounds, black sand wrapping around them and changing the white to black. In a second they were on you, thousands upon thousands; the stinging, the pain of each little creature driving into your skin was unbearable, but you kept on your knees with nails digging into the ice.

You tried to scream again, as loud as you possible could, but the dragonflies had dug themselves underneath your lips over and over again until they were tightly shut. Your face was damp with tears, a sore throat with unuttered cries and pleads; Jack’s lifeless face was before you, but another image was blurred with his. It was your terrified face with lips sewed tightly shut by thick black thread, or your own inked hair that he had turned it into.

“Would you like to wake up now?”

Your eyes snapped open, your body shooting up so fast that your arm knocked down the lit lamp and cause the bulb to shatter. A heart wrenching scream filled the room, something you had never heard before; a skin crawling scream of terror. It was your voice that forced your mother to come rushing into the room with Ruben on her heels.

Her arms wrapped around you, pushing you back to look into your eyes, calling out your name repeatedly, but your eyes weren’t looking at her or at Ruben who was looking around the room for a sign of an intruder. You kept yelling at them with tears in your eyes and trembling body.

He was there.

He was right there!

Why couldn’t they stop yelling at you to calm down when he was right there, in that dark corner where the light didn’t hit? Why couldn’t they see the sickening smile he was sending your way even though you were pointing at him with a trembling finger?!

“He’s standing right behind you, in that damn corner—turn around!”

“[Name], calm down,” your mother spoke sternly, “Who’s there? Who do you see standing in here with us, [Name].”

“The Boogeyman!”