Scene 23: The Thing In The Dark part 3
The cafeteria was silent.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
Gwen's stomach lurched.
Seth turned back to Jacob and stomped down again.
Jacob's scream was louder this time, more desperate.
Gwen pushed herself up, her arms trembling beneath her. Her vision cleared slightly, enough for her to see past Seth, past the crowd, to the far table.
Matthew.
He sat with his back to them, completely still. His head was down, his shoulders hunched slightly forward. He was eating.
Just... eating.
Like nothing was happening.
"By now you should be coming to help like you did for Jade..."
Gwen's inner voice was sharp, bitter.
"Why the hell is now any different, Matt?"
Seth noticed her gaze.
He followed it, turning to look at Matthew's distant figure.
Then he turned back to Gwen, a slow chuckle rumbling in his chest.
"Who's that? Your next boyfriend?"
He stepped on Jacob again, his heel grinding down.
Jacob's scream was weaker this time, choked and breathless.
Seth grinned. "What, is this one not enough?"
Gwen's eyes darted around the cafeteria.
The lunch ladies stood behind their serving counter, watching. Their faces were blank. Impassive. No concern. No alarm.
Just... watching.
"I don't understand..."
Her gaze swept the room.
"Why are the guards not doing anything? Let alone the nurses?"
Nothing.
No one moved.
Gwen exhaled slowly.
She pushed herself to her feet, her legs unsteady beneath her. Blood dripped from her nose, spattering onto her gray uniform in dark red drops.
She walked toward Seth.
The height difference was immediately apparent. Seth stood at least six inches taller, broad-shouldered and solid. Gwen had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye, her gaze meeting his at shoulder height.
Seth's smirk widened.
"How would you want it, handsome?" Gwen asked, her voice low, almost sultry.
Seth's eyes flicked down, then back up. He reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of her short dark blonde hair back behind her ear.
"As sloppy as—"
Gwen's knee came up.
Hard.
Fast.
It drove into Seth's crotch with brutal precision.
Seth's eyes bulged. His mouth opened in a silent gasp, his entire body going rigid.
Then his knees buckled.
He dropped.
Hard.
Both knees hit the floor with a dull thud, his hands flying to his crotch, his face contorted in agony.
"Ah... my dick..."
Gwen didn't hesitate.
She bent down, snatched Jacob's tray from the floor, and swung it in a wide arc.
The metal tray connected with Seth's face with a resounding CLANG.
Seth's head snapped to the side. His body followed, toppling over, his hands still clutching his crotch as he hit the floor.
The cafeteria went silent.
For one perfect, suspended moment, no one moved. No one spoke.
They just stared.
Gwen stood over Seth's prone form, the tray still gripped in both hands, her chest heaving, blood still streaming from her nose.
Then—
The noise returned.
Louder than before.
"OHHHHHHHHHH!"
"DAMN!"
"DID YOU SEE THAT?!"
Gwen dropped the tray. It clattered to the floor beside Seth's head.
She turned to Jacob, who was still on the ground, his face pressed to the tile, his injured hand clutched against his chest, blood seeping between his fingers.
She knelt beside him, her hands gentle as she helped him sit up.
"Jacob," she said quietly. "Jacob, look at me."
Jacob's eyes, unfocused, glassy, tried to find her face. Everything was a colorful blur without his glasses.
"I... I can't... I can't see..." His voice cracked. "My glasses... I heard them break. My hand—"
He held up his injured palm. Blood ran freely from multiple cuts where the glass and plastic shards had embedded themselves. His fingers trembled violently.
"I know." Gwen's voice was calm now, steady. She looked at his hand, then scanned the floor quickly.
Pieces of his shattered glasses lay scattered nearby, one lens completely destroyed, the frame bent and twisted beyond repair.
"Your glasses are gone," she said gently. "But we need to get you help. Your hand—"
"I can't see without them," Jacob interrupted, his voice rising with panic. "I can't—everything's just shapes and colors. I need—"
"Jacob." Gwen's tone was firm but kind. She placed her hands on his shoulders. "Listen to me. Your hand is bleeding badly. Glass is embedded in your palm. We need to get you to the nurse now. The glasses can wait."
Jacob's unfocused eyes darted around uselessly, seeing nothing but blurred movement and light.
"But I—"
"Now, Jacob."
Behind them, Seth groaned.
Gwen's head snapped toward him.
He was starting to move, his hands uncurling from his crotch, his head lifting slightly off the floor.
Gwen's jaw tightened.
She stood, pulling Jacob up with her. He swayed, disoriented, his good hand gripping her arm for balance.
And then—
Footsteps.
Heavy. Rapid. Multiple.
Gwen turned.
Four guards burst through the cafeteria doors, their batons already drawn.
Their eyes locked on her immediately.
"DON'T MOVE!"
Gwen didn't move. Jacob clung to her arm, blood dripping from his hand onto the floor.
The guards surrounded her, two on each side, their batons raised, their expressions hard and unreadable.
One of them noticed Jacob, saw the blood, and spoke into his radio.
"Medical to cafeteria. Patient injury. Possible glass laceration."
"Hands behind your head," the lead guard barked at Gwen.
Gwen complied, her movements slow and deliberate. Jacob's grip slipped from her arm, and he stumbled, nearly falling.
A fifth guard appeared, this one without a baton, and moved to Jacob's side.
"Come on, son. Let's get you to the nurse."
Jacob's head turned toward the voice, his eyes searching uselessly.
"I can't see," he said again, his voice small and frightened.
"I know. I've got you." The guard took Jacob's uninjured arm gently and began leading him toward the exit. Jacob moved hesitantly, his steps uncertain without his vision.
"Wait—" Jacob tried to turn back toward Gwen. "She was just—"
"Keep moving, Mr. Hathaway."
Gwen's eyes remained fixed on Seth, who was now being helped to his feet by two other patients.
Seth's face was a mess—swelling already forming around his left eye, a thin line of blood trailing from his nose. His gaze found Gwen's.
And he smiled.
It wasn't a smirk this time.
It was something worse.
Something cold.
"You're fucking dead," he mouthed silently.
Gwen didn't flinch.
One of the guards grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her back. She felt the cold metal of handcuffs snap around her wrists.
"Move," the guard said, his voice flat.
They began to lead her toward the exit.
As the guards pulled her through the doorway, Gwen twisted her head back for one last look at the cafeteria.
Her eyes found Matthew immediately—still sitting alone at that far table, his back to the chaos, completely unmoved.
"Matthew," she thought desperately, "please, just look up. Just—"
Her gaze drifted past him.
To the corner.
And she froze.
A figure stood there, half-hidden in the shadows where the fluorescent lights didn't quite reach. Impossibly tall—seven feet, maybe more—its form stretched and wrong, like someone had taken a human silhouette and pulled it vertically until the proportions became grotesque.
It wore darkness like a cloak. No features. No face. No body.
Just a shape.
And eyes.
Two burning points of gold-yellow light, glowing from where a head should be. Vertical pupils, reptilian and ancient, locked onto Gwen with terrible, singular focus.
Not blinking.
Not moving.
Just... watching her.
The air left Gwen's lungs in a sharp gasp. Her whole body went rigid, every muscle locking up in primal terror.
The thing didn't move. Didn't shift. It simply stood there in the corner, radiating wrongness, its golden eyes burning through the distance between them like twin suns piercing fog.
"No," Gwen whispered, the word barely audible. "No, no, no—"
The guard yanked her arm harder. "Keep moving."
"NO!" Gwen's voice exploded into a scream, raw and desperate. "LET GO OF ME!"
She thrashed violently, her entire body twisting against the guards' grip. Her feet scraped against the tile as she tried to dig her heels in, to pull back, to get away from those eyes—
"MATTHEW!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "MATTHEW, LOOK OUT! IT'S BEHIND YOU! IT'S—"
One of the guards clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling her words into incoherent sounds.
"Calm down!" the guard barked.
But Gwen couldn't calm down. Her eyes remained locked on the corner, on that figure, on those burning golden eyes that never blinked, never wavered.
The thing tilted its head.
Slowly.
Mechanically.
Like a puppet whose strings had been pulled.
And then—
It smiled.
Gwen couldn't see a mouth. There was no face. But she *felt* it smile, a horrible wrongness that crawled under her skin and wrapped around her spine.
The guards dragged her backward through the doorway.
The last thing Gwen saw before the doors swung shut was the figure in the corner, still watching, still smiling, its golden eyes burning holes in her vision.
And Matthew—
Still eating.
Still completely unaware.
The doors closed with a hollow **THUD**.
Through the cafeteria doors, she caught a glimpse of Jacob being led down the opposite corridor, his injured hand still pressed against his chest, his head turning left and right as he tried to navigate a world reduced to meaningless shapes and another towards Matthew—still sitting alone at that far table, his back to the chaos, completely unmoved.
"Matthew," she thought desperately, "please, just look up. Just—"
Her gaze adjusted past him.
To the corner.
And she froze.
A figure stood there, half-hidden in the shadows where the fluorescent lights didn't quite reach. Impossibly tall—seven feet, maybe more—its form stretched and wrong, like someone had taken a human silhouette and pulled it vertically until the proportions became grotesque.
It wore darkness like a cloak. No features. No face. No body.
Just a shape.
And eyes.
Two burning points of gold-yellow light, glowing from where a head should be, locked onto Gwen with terrible, singular focus.
Not blinking.
Not moving.
Just... watching her.
The air left Gwen's lungs in a sharp gasp. Her whole body went rigid, every muscle locking up in primal terror.
The thing didn't move. Didn't shift. It simply stood there in the corner, radiating wrongness, its golden eyes burning through the distance between them like twin suns piercing fog.
"No," Gwen whispered, the word barely audible. "No, no, no—"
The guard yanked her arm harder. "Keep moving."
"NO!" Gwen's voice exploded into a scream, raw and desperate. "LET GO OF ME!"
She thrashed violently, her entire body twisting against the guards' grip. Her feet scraped against the tile as she tried to dig her heels in, to pull back, to get away from those eyes—
"THERE!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "IT'S BEHIND YOU! IT'S… MAT—"
One of the guards clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling her words into incoherent sounds.
"Calm down!" the guard barked.
But Gwen couldn't calm down. Her eyes remained locked on the corner, on that figure, on those burning golden eyes that never blinked, never wavered.
The thing tilted its head.
Slowly.
Mechanically.
And then—
It smiled.
Gwen couldn't see a mouth. There was no face. But she FELT it smile, a horrible wrongness that crawled under her skin and wrapped around her spine.
The guards dragged her backward through the doorway.
The last thing Gwen saw before the doors swung shut was the figure in the corner, still watching, still smiling, its golden eyes burning holes in her vision.
And Matthew—
Still eating.
Still completely unaware.
The doors closed with a hollow THUD.
The doors swung shut behind her.
The cafeteria erupted into noise again—conversations exploding, theories flying, everyone talking at once.
But at the far table, near the wall, Matthew sat alone at his table, his fork moving mechanically from tray to mouth, tray to mouth. The food had no taste. It never did anymore. Just texture—soft, grainy, something vaguely meat-like that dissolved on his tongue without requiring much chewing.
The noise of the cafeteria had returned to normal levels. Conversations buzzed around him like static, none of it penetrating the fog in his head.
He didn't care about the fight. Didn't care about the girl who'd been dragged out. Didn't care about anything except finishing his meal so he could return to his room and lie down and wait for the next pill and the next meal and the next—
Plink.
The sound was soft. Distinct. Like a single droplet of water hitting metal.
Matthew's fork paused halfway to his mouth.
He looked down at his tray.
A small, perfect circle of water sat on the surface, right next to his mashed potatoes. The droplet trembled slightly, catching the fluorescent light.
Matthew's brow furrowed.
His eyes drifted upward, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling directly above him.
White tile. Fluorescent lights. Smooth, unblemished surface.
No pipes. No leaks. No moisture.
Nothing.
Matthew frowned and looked back down at his tray.
Three more droplets now. Perfectly spaced. Rippling slightly.
His breathing quickened.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
More droplets fell, faster now, hitting the tray in a steady rhythm.
Matthew's gaze snapped back up to the ceiling.
Still nothing.
But the water kept falling.
His chest tightened. His hands began to tremble. He set his fork down slowly, the metal clattering softly against the tray.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
The water was pooling now, spreading across the tray, soaking into his food.
Matthew's eyes widened. He pushed his chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the tile, and stood—
And froze.
Standing directly in front of him, inches from his face, was the boy.
Pale skin. Dripping wet. Water streaming from his hair, his clothes, his fingertips, pooling on the floor around his shoes.
His eyes were vacant. Empty. Two dark holes that stared directly into Matthew's without blinking.
Matthew's mouth opened in a silent gasp. His hands flew up defensively, his body recoiling backward—
But there was nowhere to go. His legs hit the chair behind him, and he stumbled, nearly falling.
The boy didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't breathe.
He just stood there, water dripping from every part of him, the puddle at his feet growing larger, spreading outward in slow, impossible ripples.
Matthew's heart hammered against his ribs. His breath came in short, panicked gasps.
"No," he whispered. "No, you're not real. You're not—"
The boy's head tilted slightly to the side.
Slowly.
Mechanically.
And then his mouth opened.
The voice that came out was soft. High-pitched. Childlike.
"Will you be my friend?"