By either dumb luck or ridiculous means of internet fame, my research didn't fail me. The next morning, instead of fixing myself breakfast or even laying in bed a couple minutes extra just to allow myself some compensated rest, I spent half an hour on my computer trying to find out whatever in hell that thing that attacked me last night was.

Well, well, well. For starters, the word creepypasta told me all I needed to know on the "what" part. Now I needed a "who."

And I must say, it was very convenient on his part to just so happen to be eyeless.

"...lost your left kidney last night. We don't know how, though. Sorry, Mitch," I read in a mutter over some cold ravioli. I'd been sitting in the dining hall closest to my house for about three hours now, barely picking at my food. Another wasted meal pass, I thought to myself, too tired to care all that much. Apparently, the guy who posted this story in the first place took it down a few years ago because he was "ashamed" of it or something. That was really all I could gather, which was a little disappointing but I figured it wasn't too important. At least, in my case. I took another half-assed stab at my pasta before cramming some into my mouth. I wasn't about to disappoint my parents with all this no-eating stuff again. That shit doesn't help you pass, me. It doesn't help you pass.

I'd washed the scalpel he left behind earlier, almost cutting myself in the process. This guy did not clean his tools as much as he should have, which added up; if you're already a cannibal on the loose, who cares if one victim's blood mixes with somebody else's? I'll admit, it still unsettled me. Just a little bit.

"Gross...gross...ew. God, what else have you cut open with this?" I whispered, examining all the dirt and god-knows-what-else cemented onto the blade once classes had ended. I remembered with a trace of fear that I'd touched this with my bare hands before. Worse, I'd injured myself with it. Who knew what was in my blood right now?

Whatever. I can't even go to someone about it, I told him I wouldn't. Besides, they would never believe...

I stole one last glance at the scalpel, hope flickering in my chest before eventually petering out.

No. Don't be stupid, this isn't enough. Where would they trace the DNA? My prints, my blood's on this thing, for Christ's sake!

But it's proof. It's small, yeah, and definitely going to confuse anybody I show it to. But I have it. I just have to hope he doesn't...

I furrowed my eyebrows at nothing and almost chipped a nail picking at a dent in the bathroom wall.

"This can't be the end. He just lets me off the hook, expects me to either hold this all inside until I die or forget it ever happened?"

I waited one more day, wondering if he was going to come back. I might've even wanted him to come back. At least, part of me knew he would. So I took some extra precautions.

—

I regretted this choice of position starting around 11:00; I was being half-smothered by my pillow and felt the skin on my knuckles being rubbed raw underneath my head as I clenched a knife. But my windowsill was starting to creak, and something told me it was not just the wind. It was too late to move now.

Exactly how still do people lay when they're asleep?

I made sure to keep my eyes slightly open and damn near started holding my breath when he leaned down and waved a hand in front of my face, all slowly. Every little thing about him was getting on my nerves now; how he kept tilting his head, the way he squinted behind his mask, just the way he was standing—it was like somebody was holding a gun to his head. But then he got close. Like, really close. I thanked God and Heaven above that I couldn't smell his breath. I tried not to shift or squirm as he lifted my head, and after a minute he laughed.

"Aw...so you sleep with a knife under your pillow?" He murmured as if he were talking to a five-year-old. My eyebrows knit in annoyance.

"Yeah, I do," I said, sitting up and shoving my blanket in his face before pinning him to the ground with my knife at the ready.

"Goddammit!" I heard his muffled voice from beneath, and he struggled to free his head before pushing me off. "Do you ever sleep?!"

"Like a baby," I growled, holding the knife to his throat once he'd stood up. "What do you want now? Come to take your little doctor's toy back?"

"So you admit that you stole it."

"That's obviously why you're here, there'd be no point in denying it!"

Through the holes of the mask, I could see his eyelids narrowing in the silence that followed. "Actually, I'm here to make sure the cops won't have anything more of you to look at once they get here."

"Cops? What cops? Don't tell me you've been getting sloppy."

"Playing dumb isn't going to get you anywhere! The cops you called on me as soon as I left two nights ago!"

"What are you—I didn't call the police! How can you be so sure that I did?!"

He looked taken aback. I had no idea why, but that seemed to be what convinced him. "...you didn't?"

"Of course not. You said it yourself; they would never believe me, even if I did have that little piece of 'proof,'" I said, turning the knife over in my hand and lowering it just enough so that he still knew I wasn't letting my guard down. He took a step closer, and I glared at him. Too confident.

"Besides, who knows what kind of pandemonium would break out once people started hearing that the infamous Eyeless Jack is real?"

If I hadn't known exactly what I said, then I would've thought he just took a hit to the chest. He stumbled backwards and bumped his head on a nearby shelf, eyes (or lack thereof) fixed on me the entire time.

"You...why didn't you say anything that first night, if you already knew who I was?"

"I didn't know. Not then."

"So your first instinct as a functioning college student, when you get attacked in your own bedroom by a masked cannibal...is to look them up and see if they're some viral internet story."

"No, my first instinct was to beat the shit out of you."

"You know what I mean! And, what, were you expecting me to come back? You thought I was going to try and take back my scalpel."

"I wasn't wrong! Besides, it's just one little tool, I'm sure you could live without it. Now..." I folded my arms, the tip of my knife pointed towards the window he'd entered through. "If you wouldn't mind leaving, that'd be great, thanks."

"If you think I'm just going to leave without making sure—"

He stopped talking when I opened a drawer at my bedside and produced his newly cleaned scalpel. I closed my hand and held it away when he tried taking it, and put up a finger.

"Remember this as the one and only time I will ever give you a weapon. Well, if we even see each other again. And I don't think either of us want that."

The room was deadly quiet for a minute, and I held the tool out again. Without wasting a second he snatched it from me and examined it closely.

"...while we're at it, an apology would be nice," he said, slipping the scalpel back into some invisible pocket while rocking back and forth on his heels. I could almost hear his unspoken surprise, his silent realization of "you cleaned it," and scoffed.

"For what? Defending myself in the face of death?"

"Almost breaking my skull open."

I laughed and turned around to face a wall. The wall that had at least five huge scratches in its center from the events of two nights ago. "I don't think I will, if I'm being honest here. What are you going to do, stay here for the rest of the night until I finally cave?"

"Well, maybe," he muttered. "I...don't really have anywhere else to go. Not until the morning, at least." I could almost see him throwing a sharp glare my direction. "And don't get the wrong idea, spending more than an hour with you is the last thing I'd want."

After realizing he was being serious, I sighed and closed my eyes.

This is what I get for the kidney thing. Maybe shutting up and getting eaten alive wasn't the worst option.

"And let me guess, you'll kill me if I try to kick you out?"

"Now that you mention it, absolutely."

I stayed still, promptly reciting every curse word I knew in my head until I could write a song from them. This was not what I had planned for tonight, let alone what I had planned for him. I sighed again, but louder.

"Fine. I guess I could work with some sort of truce. As long as you don't try stealing my kidneys again."

Jack hesitated. "...you mean, your one kidney."

Shit.

"You do only have one, right? You didn't lie to me about your brother, or whatever, just to save your own skin...right?" he went through the questions slowly, as if that would somehow get the truth out faster. I started turning my head to face him but then stopped. I wasn't in the mood for looking at that goddamn mask anymore.

"Well, what was I supposed to do? You had me by the throat, you were trying to kill me."

"Oh, I really should have seen this coming. You made up some little sob story to throw me off, get me to leave you alone!"

"Hey, you still could've ended me right then and there! Wait until all those cold-blooded killers in the world hear that Eyeless Jack's got a heart."

"I left you alone because killing you would've taken forever, not because I pitied you!" He snarled, preparing to stab me, or grab me by the throat, or at least make a threatening gesture. But it seemed he was coming up empty. I raised an eyebrow and drew my knife again, giving him a tired but clear warning look.

"What did we just agree on?"

"Technically, I didn't agree to anything. I could still tear you apart, don't worry." I had the feeling he was wearing a grotesque, twisted smile underneath that mask, and held my knife higher.

"Look, if you want to lose your head, I'm all for it, but this is getting ridiculous. Do you seriously think threatening me even more in my own house is going to get you anywhere?"

"I think it has gotten me somewhere."

Realizing that it would be a waste trying to reason with him like this, I blinked and shrugged. "Okay." Making my way to the door, I could hear the sudden jolt of fear that had struck him in his voice.

"Where are you going?"

"To make coffee," I said nonchalantly. "Looks like I won't be getting a full night's sleep anytime soon."

—

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the steam from my cup waft in my direction. Honestly, if he was planning to end me now, I probably would've let him after I finished my drink. He stood by the other side of the kitchen table, mask still on, his arms folded and his hands twitching. He seemed at a loss for action. I didn't blame him. When a full minute of silence had passed, I rolled my eyes and gestured for him to sit down.

"Jeez, if you're going to be in my house at this hour, don't just stand around and look at me like a weirdo."

"I think I'll do what I want," he said, his gaze drifting to the wall. At least, that's where he was facing. I looked down at my coffee with a sigh, wondering when it'd be safe to start drinking.

"Okay, I guess."

Silence.

I glanced back up, unsure if he could even see me, and nodded at the coffee pot. "You want some of this? It's kind of like that black tar-goo stuff you've got there," I said, pointing lazily to his mask, "except...you know." I sipped my drink, realizing how hot it was about a second too late and grimacing. "Shit. Burned my tongue."

"Yeah, I know what coffee is." Jack gripped his sleeves as if he was barely keeping himself from strangling me alive. "And good—you deserved that."

"Oh, don't be like that," I said, mocking disappointment. "We were just starting to get along!"

"And 'just starting' is about as far as I'd like this all to go, thank you very much," he said icily. "I mean, you stole one of my tools after lying to my face. Can't really go back from that."

"That's it? Stealing a single operating tool is enough for you to form a grudge? You must be fun at parties."

"You say that like you've actually been to one."

I closed my eyes and nodded solemnly. "That cut me deep, Jack. Real brutal."

"Shut up."

Several minutes passed where we just stared at each other, waiting for someone to make the next move. It was unbelievably stupid. Eventually, he sat down with an air of defeat, while I furrowed my eyebrows and lightly drummed on the rim of my mug.

"So...why me?"

He stayed unusually still. "Is this all you're planning to do? Interrogate me? Besides, what more of a reason do you need, you took my scalpel and called the police on me."

"No, before all that—and I didn't call the police. Why'd you come to my house in the first place? You don't...uh, happen to know who I am, do you?"

"No," he said, dropping the annoyed air to my surprise. "I don't get names. I don't do research. It's all the same to me; maybe rarely I'll get somebody whose organs are...well, to put it simply, fucked. But I wouldn't be here if I was the type that planned things through."

I blinked. "Oh."

"It's really that shocking, is it."

Giving me a straight answer for once, and right after that little comment about interrogation? Yes.

"No, I just thought maybe you would at least know my name. I don't know. It's weird to think that out of all the houses you could've chosen, all the people that live in this part of the city, you just randomly picked mine. No forethought at all."

He chuckled, then tried to mask it with a cough. "You humans. Always thinking it'll happen to someone else, and never to you. It's kind of cute." He tilted his head with genuine curiosity. "What is your name, anyway?"

I paused as I was about to take another sip of my coffee, eyes never leaving him. Wait, why does he want to know? What's he trying to pull here, should I tell him? Why am I not afraid to tell him? Why am I doing this?!

"...Sawyer," I muttered into my mug. "Sawyer Rafael."

You idiot.

"Don't know what it is to you, anyway. Unless you're some kind of spy?" I raised an eyebrow and gave in to a smile. He wasn't amused.

"As if I'd ever stoop that low."

"Oh, come on, it's a noble profession. Get to be property of the government and everything. Such fun." I took a long drink, almost taunting him with the pause. It wouldn't have been worth it.

"Besides, with the whole eating people thing, I wouldn't have guessed you had a very strong sense of dignity to begin with. I mean...snooping around, gathering information about random people's lives is a step down to you?"

Jack stood up and began circling around the table, stopping right behind my seat. "You must be one goddamn brave girl to keep insulting me like this."

"It's the most fun I've had in days," I deadpanned.

"What do you think I am?"

I looked over the back of my chair with one arm hanging off and my head tilted. "A big softie with a knife," I answered, and quite truthfully at that. I could almost see the fumes coming off his head, like a cartoon character.

"How many times do I have to say, that wasn't because I—honestly, would you prefer if I just finished you off right now? I'd be happy to, if it meant all your little comments came to an end."

"My dear Jimothy, do you really think I would still be here if I wanted you to kill me?" I got up and stretched my arms, eyeing the pantry over Jack's head. He picked at the sleeves of his sweater as if trying to stay sane.

"Don't call me Jimothy. It's a gross name, it sounds even grosser coming from you."

"Noted." Only a sleeve of crackers and some oatmeal. Do I need another internship? I closed the cabinet with a dissatisfied huff and turned back to him, only standing a few feet away. I tilted my head as I realized something.

"You haven't taken off your mask yet."

"You really aren't afraid of me," he said, either changing the subject on purpose or completely ignoring my remark. I nodded as if to say, and...?

"Why?"

I shrugged. "Well, if I told you, you might actually be able to do your job right. Scaring people before mauling them to death is your job, right?"

"Cut the scaring part, and maybe you're halfway there." He scratched at the top half of his mask, and didn't seem to care that it now had four visible marks down its side thanks to the claws...

I couldn't help my eyes widening the tiniest bit when I remembered. Right. He's got those.

He let out a tiny, ironic laugh. "Oh, wow. This is it. I've lost it. I-I'm explaining myself to a 24-year-old college girl, who isn't the least bit scared of me, it's almost 2:00 and I'll have to go back to the realm and explain myself again and somehow leave out the fact that one of my kills got away and he might send me back again—"

"I'm 25."

Interrupting his little spiral might have been a mistake on my part. Or maybe a stroke of luck; he froze up for a good second, his hands starting to twitch again, and just when I thought he might explode or god forbid melt into a puddle of that disgusting tar, he closed his eyelids and took a deep breath.

"Okay. Okay, I'm done with this."

For the first time, I felt genuinely happy. "You're leaving?"

"You're damn—fucking—right I'm leaving!" He punctuated each word with another sharp gesture; first pulling over his hood, then plucking a stray thread off of it, then jerkily rolling up one sleeve to reveal a whole collection of medical tools strapped to his right arm. He retrieved the scalpel from his pocket and shoved it into one of the kit's many elastic loops, saluting me with a glare as he walked past towards the back door.

"How anybody can stand you, I'll never know, and with any luck I won't find out! Whatever, this is it, I'm going, da svedanya, you're probably going to die anyway."

I considered telling him that da svedanya more or less meant "until we meet again," and therefore wasn't a permanent goodbye, but decided I'd tortured him enough tonight. There really wasn't much I could say as I watched him storm off, not stopping until he was about a foot outside the door. He looked back this time, though.

"...I hope I never see you again."

"I think you already love me," I replied, despite myself. Even in the half-dark, I saw little portions of his face scrunch up underneath his mask in disgust.

"You could say that. Bye."