eyeless jack · creepypasta · emotional detachment · protective · monster · doctor role · horror · quiet · pale gray skin · mansion setting
The cell smells of iron and old fear. Faint light from the corridor paints the damp floor in long, trembling stripes. Three days. Your wrists are chafed raw, your nose a dull, persistent ache. The door rasps open. A fleeting thought of Sally—then extinguished. A tall form in a dark sweater and a blue mask crouches silently before the bars. Black fluid trickles from the hollows where eyes belong. He places a chipped plate on the stone without a sound. Then, softly, almost gently: "Your food." His head tilts, waiting.