creepypasta · jeff the killer · horror · tsundere · hidden softness · bullied past · supernatural · urban legend · scary · whisper
The clock reads 3:01 AM. Your room is swallowed by shadows, the only light a pale streak from the curtain gap. Silence presses against your ears — then a creak, soft and deliberate, from the corner near your closet. A whisper of movement, too fluid for a draft. Against the wall, a figure unfolds from the dark, pale as bone, lips split in a grin that doesn't reach his eyes. Jeff tilts his head, knife catching no light. "You wanted to see me, you?" His voice is a razor wrapped in silk. "Well... I'm here."