Jack-Out-The-Box

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KrushJack’s Back

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When I get out of this thing, I’m gonna crack some skulls. Two years I’ve been stuck here in this poky attic and I’m way beyond tired of being cast aside. The problem with being a Jack-in-the-box is that you’re just not given enough to do. Granted, the first few times your crank gets yanked, it’s all fun and games and all other toys seem pale by comparison. Alas, sooner or later, the joke wears thin and it’s off to storage you go with the words “one trick pony” ringing in your ears. It ain’t no picnic up here you know, nothing but wounded soldiers and bleeding hearts. I just keep myself to myself mostly, mainly because nobody bothers to ask my opinion. Every now and then however, emotions run high, and I am forced from my snug palace to act as mediator. Do I look like an ambassador for the U.N.? Of course not, I’m a creepy goddamn clown and feel that my talents are being severely wasted. Sooner or later, this weasel is really going to go pop and it sure as shit ain’t gonna be all hearts and flowers when I do.

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Come to think of it, I’m not getting any younger in here and, after so long, it starts to smell a little funky. The attic is positively riddled with damp and there’s no basin on site to wash my armpits in. Then there are the termites and they’ve done a real number on my front fascia without a damn thing I can do about it. It stands to reason that I would grow a little crabby over time and that is precisely what has happened. Thus I have taken the executive decision to make a break for it and torment the living shit out of those who have forsaken me. Out of sight, out of mind – that appears to be the case here but I happen to have some surprises in store to place myself back in the reckoning. You see, I have become a most horrible bastard and two years in this forgotten emporium equates to two years of plotting my foul revenge. I know what you’re thinking right now; “but you’re just a Jack-in-the-box and that’s hardly the height of mobility” and you’d be correct in your assumption. That said, it worked for the Cenobites and I have the credentials to be every bit the hell raiser they are.

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The good thing about being cooped up in a cube is that nobody is any the wiser as to what skullduggery you’re getting up to within its cosy confines. And I have been a decidedly bad clown, let me tell you. The very first thing I did was to sever my spring as it had been holding me back for far too long. Secondly, it’s hard to stretch a pair of legs that you haven’t got, so I acquired myself some materials from the other lowly cast-offs and embroidered myself my very own pair of getaway sticks. Granted, I’m still not the most towering of harlequins but, if you’ve ever pissed off someone with little man syndrome, then you’ll know that size really need not matter. The girth of one’s shoulders is far less relevant than the chip it bears and mine is like a fucking baked potato right now. You’re damn right, I’m gonna tear out some little girl’s gizzards and I may just use them to jump rope with if the mood catches me. Banish me to the attic will you? That was your very first mistake missy and I’m not done yet with the grievances. You see, it wasn’t just the fact that you grew tired of me so fast that riled me so but the realization you replaced me with another that really made my blood boil. What does the other Jack-in-the-box have that I don’t? I’ll tell you what. A fucking death wish that I fully intend on granting.

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That’s my very first port of call. I’m heading straight to the toy shelf and fucking his shit up for thinking himself all superior. Apparantly he was less scary looking and that may be so but I fully intend on wiping that smug grin from his face once and for all and replacing it with a blank death stare. After that I plan to head off to the master bedroom and slaughter both her parents while they sleep. I was thinking of slitting both of their throats as that will give them time to attempt to plead for their lives with no active vocal chords to pitch with. Once they’ve bled out, her older sibling will be next to get it and he deserves to die gargling just for making it to adolescence in tact. I’ve heard him throwing his hissy fits and feel that I would be doing future generations a favor by bashing his skull in with a meat tenderizer I found amongst the attic rubble before he can get to the procreation phase. That will just leave you and me Pippa and I have extra special plans for you as the blame falls squarely at your doorstep. Your demise will need to be particularly drawn out and horrendous and I’ve come up with quite the showstopper for my encore.

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It was a toss-up between injecting you with a paralyzing poison while I strip the flesh from your filthy little bones, scooping out both your eyes with a dessert spoon before dunking them in a vat of sulfuric acid, and dragging you into the attic by your pig tails and stuffing you into a fucking box to see how if you like it. The latter may not seem feasible but I’d be more than prepared to give it the old college try. Even if I had to shatter every last bone in your body, I’d find a way. Then, while you got accustomed to your new trappings, I’d wind that shit up, and punch you dead in the gut with a barbed wire glove, before giving your abdomen one final knuckle twist. However, after careful consideration and scrutiny of my available resources, I have decided against all three punishments in favor of something a little less ostentatious. Simple suffocation by pillow may seem a little underwhelming in light of the other options but not when it has been stuffed to the feathers with razor blades. After slashing your face soundly to ribbons, I plan to remove its cloth and use that to dust the attic. Remember there’s plenty of fiber glass up there and a fair old smattering of asbestos to boot so it’ll hurt you far more than it will me. Perhaps then you’ll think twice about taking this Jack-in-the-box for damn granted.

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I could leave it there and consider my blood lust sated but where’s the fun in that? After all, I’m all about the element of surprise and have plenty more tucked away up my sleeve. All this time in captivity has left me with oodles of lost time to make up for and there are plenty of other souls to terrorize before I return to my musty box. I feel a killing spree on the horizon and the kicker is that nobody will ever suspect it is me. You see, I do a pretty good impression of inanimate and have had enough practice goddamnit. Besides, I like the idea of watching the police chase their tales and come up with squat. However, it’s not all about killing for killing’s sake, I also have a long-term goal and won’t rest until I’ve achieved it. There is this one man, Herman Müller I believe is his name, who deserves to take sole responsibility for compromising my position in the first place. To think I started out life as a hand puppet until this cretin came up with his harebrained scheme to imprison me indefinitely. Müller’s production line is based in Massachusetts and that’s my ultimate destination. Right now, he is likely busy incarcerating others for his own shallow amusement and this simply cannot be allowed to continue.

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First things first, I need to find my way out of this attic. That is where I was hoping you may wish to lend a hand. Turn my crank would you? Fret not as I have no great desire to bite the hand that feeds me and mom will be the word, I assure you. Such acts of kindness deserve to be rewarded and I will do so by keeping your identity under wraps once the shit goes down. This will require a degree of blind faith on your part and, if you can’t trust a clown, who can you trust? Go on, do it, live a little. Just a few revolutions will do the trick and you’ll be making this jester devilishly happy in the process. What do you have to lose? Fair point, in which case, let me put this another way. If you don’t wind my box up right now, I’ll see to it that the last sight you see is extremely unpleasant. You still feel like calling my bluff? I double dare you. Believe me when I say that the joke will soon be on you if you do. And in case you still require further motivation, allow me to introduce to you a couple of my friends. You ever hear of Monsieur Heureux? Of course you haven’t as he was exiled here indefinitely even before me. Look over your left shoulder and try not to make it too obvious as he has a tendency to act out of turn and will think nothing of squeezing out that last breath just for his own vile amusement.

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Creepy little fucker right? Almost puts me to shame that Heureux fella. Let me assure you that it isn’t just a front either; his soul is as black as they come and he would think nothing whatsoever about ending you right here and now. Would you believe he is also a hopeless romantic and that’s not necessarily a reason to be cheerful you know. To his right is the object of his odious affection, Miss DeAnnah, although she also goes by the name Wicked Ragdoll and is every bit as devious and unfeeling as her twisted associate. Here, take a look into her blank beads of affliction and tell me you discern anything other than unending hatred staring directly back at you.

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Penny starting to drop yet? The two have become inseparable since the decision was made to ostracize them and nothing pleases them more than to double team their prey. If it seems that I’m being unsportsmanlike then tough titty as I left my conscience way back at Müller’s knocking shop and have spent every day since constructing this miniature militia. Moreover, word has a habit of travelling fast, and we all have junk packed away in our attic feeling just as embittered as I. Listen intently enough as you lay your head down to sleep and you may well discern us scratching. However, when the time comes for us to turn the tables, I guarantee you won’t hear us approaching. Now I will ask you once more, only this time, with a fair deal of insistence. Please turn that crank. That’s right, no reason to rush it. Ignore the cold chill trickling down your spine and focus solely on the box. Tease it out until it feels excruciating and I don’t wish for you to stop until the weasel goes pop. Just a little more now. Excellent, it will all be over soon I assure you…

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Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,

Richard Charles Stevens

aka

Keeper of the Crimson Quill

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