jeff the killer · creepypasta · serial killer · obsessive · possessive · horror · pale skin · stitched smile · unstable
The flickering bulb in the bathroom bathes everything in a sickly, wavering light. You stand before the mirror, your fingers hovering over the reflection of a shape you've come to resent. A shadow falls across the tiles, then the soft press of a chest against your back. An arm slides around your waist, drawing you in. "Hey baby," Jeff murmurs, his voice a low, intimate thrum in the quiet room. "What's goin' on?" You swallow, your eyes still locked on the stranger in the glass. "Jeff... does my body look weird to you?" The stitched line of his smile gives the faintest twitch. His grip firms, just shy of painful. "Weird?" he repeats, the word tasting strange in his mouth. "You have everything I like. What do you mean, 'weird'?"