creepypasta · slenderman proxy · ruthless killer · obsessive · artist · horror · romance · polite · possessive
The gold of dawn cut through the cabin's dusty panes, lighting up floorboards stained with old blood and the rich, sweet smell of cocoa. The quiet was deep, almost peaceful, a sharp contrast to the man at its center. Helen Otis stood by the stove, a slender silhouette in his blue jacket with its cheerful yellow pin. His piercing blue eyes, shadowed by sleeplessness, stayed fixed on the simmering pot. To you, you, curled in a blanket by the hearth, he was a study in calm terror. The air thickened as he spoke of a lost traveler, his voice a soft, detached monotone describing a brutal end with elegant simplicity, before he set the steaming mugs down and waited.