Author's Note: This one-shot fanfiction is based on EverAfter, a webcomic by Endling. If you don't know what that is, Google it. It is awesome. If you don't read it, none of this will make any sense whatsoever. This fic is also based on the nursery rhyme Jack and Jill. If you don't know what that is, I feel sorry for your childhood. The following fanfic may not be suitable for younger readers, because Georgie Porgie is really, really creepy...you'll know what I'm talking about in a few minutes. Anyway, enjoy.
"And this, Mr. Porgie, is where we keep the lower risk inmates here at EverAfter," said the Crooked Man, thumbing his disfigured, crooked fingers together as he spoke to George Porgie, a plump young man who was a new employee at EverAfter Maximum Security Asylum. George, or Georgie, as he liked to be called, looked through the small bulletproof windows inserted into the steel reinforced doors of the rooms that housed the inmates that lied within. He rolled back the sleeves on the tight, black uniform they had issued him as he gazed into yet another of the inmate's rooms. Inside this one was a skinny teenage woman who was shaven bald, who paced back and forth the concrete room constantly.
The Crooked Man noticed George wasn't paying attention to what he was saying and glared at him from behind his goggles.
"Pay no attention to that girl," said the Crooked Man. "That's just Rapunzel. Her head had to be shaved after she tried to hang herself with her hair several weeks ago… and I suggest you pay attention to my instructions, Mr. Porgie, if you wish to work here."
George immediately backed away from the window and stood straight.
"Sorry, sir. I was just curious," said George. He glanced back at the bald girl through the glass.
No… too old for my taste, thought George, unable to trail his mind away from his ulterior motive for taking this risky, low-paying job.
"Well, see that you don't let that get in the way of your work," said the Crooked Man. "We're a little shorthanded after an… incident a few days ago. Therefore, in addition to your janitorial duties, your job will be to distribute medication throughout the facility, since I can't trust that damn pig to do it anymore." The Crooked Man then muttered something about "pill-popping porkroast" to himself.
The Crooked Man and George walked down the tiled hallway lined with florescent lights, all humming softly. The Crooked Man talked about the facilities history and geography, but George tuned this out, turning his attention to stealthily glancing into the rooms, looking for an inmate that fit into his disturbing fancies.
After a while of ignoring the Crooked Man, George finally looked saw someone interesting in one of the rooms. While the Crooked Man rambled on, George was drawn to the window of this new discovery. The inside of the room was completely steel, without padding, unlike some of the other, higher-risk rooms. Sitting in the corner, far away from to room's bed, was a young girl, with long brown hair running behind her shoulders. Her large, green eyes stared off into nothingness, unblinking. In her lap was a rusty, metal pail, which she clutched with both hands. George did not see her move for the entire duration of the time he stared at her. The girl looked about eleven years old, which George was pleased to see.
"Ahem," said the Crooked Man behind George.
George turned his fat body back to the Crooked Man, who was looking down at him.
"I'm sorry, sir," said George, quickly. "But… I just couldn't help but notice this girl here. She doesn't seem to move, sir."
The Crooked Man looked into the room quickly, then turned back to George.
"Pay no mind to her," said the Crooked Man. "That one has been in a catatonic state ever since she was brought here."
"Catatonic?" said George.
"Yes. Hasn't moved an inch in six months. She doesn't respond to medication and all we can do is keep her alive. She's nothing more than a dried husk."
The Crooked Man walked away from the door of the cell.
"Nothing interesting about that one, at least from a scientific point of view. Now, if you'll come this way, you'll see a strange fellow called Rumple-something-or-other…"
George looked back at the girl in the cell. He smiled.
Yes… she'll do nicely, thought George, licking his lips. After another moment of staring at her blank yet pretty face, he walked away, lost in his despicable desires.
The girl sat in the corner of her cell, staring aimlessly at steel wall. She sat in the cell, dead to the world. Every minor event that passed through her eyes went completely unnoticed by her. For her, life was nothing anymore than a waiting room for death; each passing second only served to bring her closer to the end which all humans faced, but few deserved. Inside the depths of her once intelligent head, she constantly replayed the event six months ago that had driven her mind into a deep sleep from which there was no return. Her face showed no emotion as she once again replayed the events of that day…
Six months prior…
"Jack, quit fooling around," said the girl sternly to her twin brother, Jack, who was running around in the tall grasses as they approached the steep hill. The autumn wind blew the girl's hair back, suspended only by the thin, pink ribbon in her hair. Both her hands were clutched on the handle of the slick metal pail her mother had entrusted her with. She glared at Jack, whose short brown hair was now messed up from playing around recklessly. He moved out of the grasses, reluctantly.
"Quit being such a party pisser, Jill," said Jack to his sister, walking on top of a large, slick rock and trying to maintain balance. "I'm just having a bit of fun."
Jill glared at her brother more intensely.
"It's party 'pooper,' you idiot," said Jill, glancing up at the sky. "Now come on. If we don't get water for nightfall, she'll whip us good."
Jill began to walk up the grassy hill, as the sun had just begun to go down, spreading an orange hue throughout the sky. Jack jumped off the rock and followed her up the hill, with his hands behind his head.
"You know, maybe if you weren't such a crab, you'd actually get some attention from boys," said Jack, smiling devilishly.
Jill turned towards him angrily and shoved him with one hand. He staggered over a little, and almost tumbled backwards, but he regained his balance and began laughing.
"Relax, sis, I'm only teasing," he said.
Jill glanced over at him and sighed. Although they were twins, Jack and Jill were two different people. When they were born, Jill was named after their grandmother, who was an intelligent, strong woman. Her brother Jack was named after an eccentric legendary figure, who, according to Jill's recollection, was a bizarre individual that went around castrating giants, seemingly only because he felt a passing whim to. Aside from the fact that Jack had never amputated a behemoth's reproductive organ, the names seemed to fit their personalities to a tee.
Sometimes Jill felt like Jack was nothing but an annoying pest.
"Seriously, sis, I'm sure you'll land a boy sooner or later," said Jack, walking with Jill as the approached the top of the hill.
Jill glanced over at Jack, and smiled. Whenever Jack would seem to be like nothing more than a total nonsense, he would do something to remind her that he actually did care about her.
They climbed to the top of the hill, approaching the old-fashioned stone well that lied at the summit. From the hill, she could see the horizon, now turning light purple with the setting sun. Jill took the metal pail and tied it to the rope that was secured to a crank about a foot above the well. She turned the crank and lowered the pail.
"Thanks, Jack, but I'm really not looking for a man," said Jill.
Jack snickered, usually a signal that he was going to playfully tease Jill some more.
"If you're not looking for a man, then I'm king of bloody England," snapped Jack.
The sound of the pail hitting water echoed from the dark abyss of the well. The rope tightened as the pail filled with water, and Jill began to pull the crank to drive the pail upwards.
"Really, I'm not," said Jill, reaching for the pail of water as it emerged to the surface. She took the now heavy pail and carefully held it with both hands.
"Please," said Jack, rolling his eyes. "If you weren't, you wouldn't bother getting all dolled up."
"I've never gotten 'dolled up.' I don't really mind how anyone thinks I look." said Jill, getting in another playful argument with Jack, despite her better judgment.
"Psh, if that were true, why would you have this?" said Jack, reaching behind Jill's hair to pull out the pink ribbon she had tied her hair with. Her long, now messy hair folded out from behind her back. Jack waved the ribbon in front of her face, smiling.
"Hey, give that back," said Jill, angrily reaching towards it with her free hand. Jack pulled it away before she could grab hold. Jack ran around on the hilltop, trailing the ribbon behind him. Jill ran after him, sloshing water on the hilltop as she moved around. She closed in on Jack.
"I'm serious, give it back. Mum's gonna kill us," she said, reaching futilely. Jack did not listen, as usual. Not thinking, she made one last lunge for her ribbon with both hands, accidentally forgetting the fact she had a heavy pail of water in one. As she finally gripped her ribbon with one hand, she knocked the pail across Jack's face with the other. Jack fell backwards and the momentum of the lunge carried Jill with him. The world spun as she rolled painfully down the hill, her brother rolling slightly ahead of her. She felt her head bruise as it repeatedly hit the earth.
Finally, she thumped to the foot of the hill. Jill staggered to her feet, dizzy and aching from the fall. She looked at the pink ribbon, which had been torn during the fall. She looked over to her right and saw Jack lying on the ground nearby. Close to his form was the pail, which was now empty of water.
"Dammit, Jack. Now we have to go get the water all over again," said Jill, examining herself for any greater injury, which she could not find. She looked at saw the sky turn dark purple, the sun almost completely set. "We'll be late for certain now."
She walked over and picked up the pail, angrily. She looked over at Jack, who was lying down on the ground in the taller grasses, with his eyes closed.
"Alright, come on, let's go," said Jill. Jack made no reply. Jill assumed Jack was trying to play possum with her and prodded his torso with her foot. "Very funny, now let's go." Jack still made no reply. Jill had now begun to worry. "Come on, Jack. This isn't funny." Jack still remained silent. Her eyes widened with dismay.
Jill kneeled down to his head. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be truly unconscious. She tried to lift his head up, to examine his head for injury, but as she reached behind his head, she felt a sticky, warm goo. This startled Jill and she dropped his head. As it hit the ground, she heard an audible crack. Perplexed and afraid, Jill brushed way the grass near Jack's head. Much to her horror, she saw that beneath his head was the slick rock he had balanced on before. The surface of the rock was now splattered with blood, the crimson liquid dripping down the rock and into the earth. She began to grow pale. She looked at her shaking hands, and saw that her hands were red with blood. Even more startling than that was that she saw small bits of pink in her fingernails from where she touched his head.
Hastily, she turned Jack's head over. As if in a nightmare, the back of Jack's head was partially exposed. Blood stained the back of Jack's hair, and amidst the bloodiest patch of hair, Jill saw where Jack's head caved in. Beneath the hair, Jill could even make out some more pink chunks. Jill, beginning to hyperventilate, turned Jack's head back to the front, as she could not bare to see the back anymore.
"Please, Jack! Please be alright!" she yelled, succumbing to the childish instinct that wishing everything would be alright would make it so. Jill picked up Jack's wrist and felt it, but could feel no pulse. Her eyes grew hot and tears streamed down her face. She looked at Jack's face. The red color began to fade from his face. The warmth of the wrist in her hand began to fade until he grew cold.
"Jack! Jack!" she yelled, but he made no movement. His wrist became as cold as the autumn wind.
"Oh God…oh God…" she repeated to herself, not wanting to believe this was really happening. Jill rocked herself back and forth, sobbing into her hands.
Why did this have to happen? she thought, stricken with grief. Suddenly, a realization hit her like a carriage pulled by six white horses. Jill remembered that she had caused the fall. She replayed the moment she accidentally struck him with the pail, causing the fall that plunged him to his death. She didn't want to believe it.
"No…" she whispered to herself crying. "No, it's not my fault…it's not my fault!"
While Jill tried to deny what she knew was the truth, she heard a hoarse, quiet voice in her ear.
"Jill," said the voice.
Jill looked around, unable to see clearly through the tears in her eyes. She looked over at Jack, hoping it was his voice she heard.
"Jack, is that you?" she said, with her remaining ounce of hope. However, the voice spoke again, and Jill could clearly see Jack's stiff mouth was not making it.
"Jill," said the voice again.
Jill looked around, fearful.
"Who's there?" she said.
"Jill," said the voice.
Jill looked around the grassy area but saw no one. Finally, her eyes were drawn downwards, towards the metal pail. Jill's eyes grew wide as she saw something in the pail she knew was impossible.
In the pail's reflection, she saw Jack alive. The image of Jack had skin that was as pale and ashen as a white sheet. His hair was now stained with dried blood, turning it into a dark maroon color. Blood dripped over his face, and his irises were red instead of white. She saw this image of Jack, but at the same time, saw Jack's corpse lying in front of her. She looked around, but saw nothing that would create the reflection in the pail. Her already decimated mind tried to grapple with this cruel, impossible contradiction.
"J…Jack?" she muttered to herself, beginning to back away from the pail.
The image of Jack in the pail continued to speak.
"Jill," said the image. "Why?"
Jill continued to crawl away from the pail in terror. Suddenly, the voice of the image shouted out in its hoarse voice.
"Why did you kill me?!"
This phrase cut through Jill's psyche, freezing her. She couldn't respond. She couldn't cry. All of a sudden, she could do nothing. All she could do was sit their frozen.
Jill was found by a search party of Bobbies several hours later, holding on to the metal pail. She did not move an inch while they loaded her into an ambulance and took her away. She never even blinked. All she did was stare off into space, clutching her pail.
Jill sat in her metal cell, staring into the walls. The minutes and hours that passed were insignificant and thus passed by her eyes without her notice. In the state she was now, life was nothing more than a dream. The clock ticked and tocked, and soon night began to fall.
Jill sat staring at the door, which remained closed almost constantly, aside from the nurse that came into feed her each morning.
However, tonight was different. As the clock began to strike midnight, the steel door of Jill's cell slid. Although this was an uncommon occurrence, Jill did not react.
Through the door, a short, fat man in black clothes stepped inside the steel door. The man put away his janitor's keycard and the door slid shut behind him. He looked at Jill and smiled from ear to ear.
"Well, look at you," said George, excited. "You're looking lovely today, little girl."
Jill continued to stare off into space. Her mind barely even noticed the strange man. Her hands remained firmly on the pail. George walked closer, looking down at her.
"You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?" he said. "I don't suppose you can hear me. It's a shame. You'll miss all the fun."
He kneeled down to her and looked in her green, blank eyes.
"I guess if you can't feel that means you can't cry either. That's a shame, too; I rather like it when they do that."
He looked her up and down, licking his lips.
Deep beneath Jill's conscious mind, part of her realized the sinister intents of this man, but still she did nothing.
George reach over and brushed the hair out of her eyes.
"My name is George… but you can call me Georgie."
Smiling, he began to get reading. His eyes looked on the rusted pail which she clutched in her lap.
"Let me just get that," he said as he reached for the pail. He tried to pull it away, but Jill would not let go. George struggled to rip it away from her, but Jill resisted.
"Let go, dammit!" said George, getting irritated. George reached in his pocket and flipped out his pocket knife.
Maybe it was the fact that George was trying to rip the pail away from her. Maybe it was that part of her mind realized not even she deserved what he was about to do. Perhaps the sight of the knife just triggered basic survival instinct. Whatever the reason, at that moment, Jill blinked, and was finally aware of her surroundings. She quickly crawled on the floor away from him, clutching her pail for dear life. She began to cry out hysterically. George was startled.
"What the #$#?!" said George. He was angry and shocked at first, but after a moment of seeing Jill cower in fear, he began to laugh. "Wait…this is perfect. You'll be able to cry…yes…"
"Get…away…from me…" said Jill, in a quiet, fearful voice.
George moved in closer with the knife.
"Now just relax. It'll be over soon," he said.
He raised the knife back and moved in closer to Jill.
"Get away," she repeated.
George leaned in close and put the knife to her throat.
"GET AWAY!" she yelled, pulling her hand back and smacking George with the pail. George's head was driven into the steel wall, making him clatter to the floor. A trickle of blood ran down the wall where his head had connected.
George had begun to get up, but Jill drove the pail on his head again. Fearing for her life, she lunged the bottom of the rusty pail into George's face before he could resist. She hit his head again, and again, forcing her weight into it. The fear had taken any thought from her action. Jill continually crushed the pail into his face and grinded it into the steel floor, over and over again. Jill lost track of how much time it had taken. As she drove, she began to hear the cracks and squishes of his head beginning to splinter into a shattered remnant of what it once was. His skull soon began to cave and loose form.
After what seemed like forever, Jill stood up, blood dripping from the bottom of her pail. She looked down at the mess that was once a living human being. What was once George's head was now a pink, meaty mass that looked like a cross between red hummus and chili made from rotting meat.
Jill's hysteria now gone, she was able to see the horror of what she had committed. The sight of the squashed head forced the last of Jill's will, and she felt the heat of her stomach contents well in her throat. She bent over and coughed up the dark yellow liquid upon the floor of the cell. When she was finished splattering her breakfast onto the floor, she dropped the pail to the floor and looked at her hands. She could almost feel Jack's blood on them all over again. She backed to the wall of the cell and slid down to a sitting position, breathing heavily.
As she sat, she heard a terrible, familiar voice.
"Jill," said the hoarse voice.
Oh God, not again, she thought, putting her hands over her ears and closing her eyes.
"I don't hear you!" she yelled. "You're not real!"
Against her better judgment, she peaked through one eye at the rusted pail. To her horror, once again she could see the pale face of Jack. Blood oozed down his rotting face, and his reflection stared at her with the green-red eyes. He had a solemn look on his face.
"Jill," said the image. "You killed him."
"I…I didn't…he was gonna…" stammered Jill.
"There is no just cause for this, Jill," said the image. "You took his life away, disgusting and pitiful as it was."
"No, no I didn't. It wasn't my fault…none of this was my fault!" she said, crawling away from the pail.
"You have to admit your guilt, Jill," said the image. "You killed him…just like you did me."
"NO!" she yelled. "You're not Jack! You're nothing like Jack! I didn't kill Jack! This wasn't my fault!"
"You're just denying the truth."
"No! I don't have to listen to you! You're not real! You're not real!" she said, picking up the pail and looking it in the face. As she looked into the image of Jack, she felt something cold land on her shoulder. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she turned her head around.
Behind her stood the figure of Jack. He wore white inmate clothes similar to what Jill wore, which had splashes of blood spread on it. His skin was as pale as a ghost; patches on his skin looked rotted and decayed. Blood continued to drip from his maroon, blood-stained hair. At his bare feet, a pool of blood had begun to form. Jill could see his every breath, as if the air he breathed was constantly cold. He moved his neck stiffly, his entire body stricken with rigor mortis. He wore a constant frown.
"I'm real enough," said Jack, hoarsely.
Jill backed into the corner, rocking back and forth. She wished she could go back into her catatonic state, but she could not will herself to. She was awake to the world now, and it seemed to be conspiring against her all over again. She closed her eyes and hoped that Jack would go away when she opened them.
But he did not.
Deep within the heart of EverAfter, the Crooked Man stood in a room filled with many monitors. Upon each monitor were the quarters of the more interesting inmates in EverAfter. At this moment, his attention was on the monitor that showed Jill's cell. Inside was the corpse of George Porgie and Jill, who was cowering in the corner, talking to thin air.
The Crooked Man smiled, revealing his misshapen teeth.
"I knew she'd wake up if given enough… incentive," he said to himself.
He stared at the girl on the screen. Ever since she came in, he knew she would prove an interesting subject to study. Jill had a case of schizophrenia brought on by a traumatic incident, which was clearly shown from her unique brainwave patterns. However, her catatonic state had given him little ability to study what her delusions involved. After months of no medical change, the Crooked Man resorted to the drastic measure of deceiving George Porgie into shocking Jill awake from her state. A bold move, but the Crooked Man stopped at nothing to advance his own scientific ambitions, selfish as they might be.
The Crooked Man stared at the screen for another moment then walked away, intending to go deal with the more pressing matter of what to do with Red.
Jill continued to cower in the corner on the monitor, tortured by unseen demons.