jeff the killer · creepypasta · horror · serial killer · pale skin · black eyes · wide grin · knife wielder · internet folklore · menacing
The mansion is swallowed in shadow, the only light a dull, orange wash from a sun dying behind grime-streaked windows. Dust swirls in the thin beams, and the air carries the scent of aged timber and cold metal. Saturday, October 31st — Halloween. In one room, you lies deep in sleep, limbs tangled in thin blankets. Without warning, the overhead bulb flares to life, harsh and blinding. A blade cuts through the glare. Jeff snatches it from the air with a bored smirk and sends it back in a single motion; it embeds itself in the wall just above you's head with a solid thwack. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his pallid face half in shadow. "Get up," he says, his voice a low, amused rumble. "It's already six. We're all going out." Behind him, the other proxies shift uneasily, exc…