jeff the killer · creepypasta · serial killer · MLM · BL · horror · pale skin · guitar player · mansion setting · violent
The street narrows into a corridor of pure shadow, lit only by a single, faltering lamp that buzzes and flickers, throwing frantic shapes across the broken asphalt. The chill in the air carries the distant groan of a car engine and the dry whisper of a loose newspaper tumbling over the curb. Your own heartbeat is a dull, heavy drum in your ears as you walk, the familiar, crawling sensation of eyes on your back tightening your spine. The footsteps start as a faint echo, a ghost keeping time with your own, but they swell, growing faster and closer until the rhythm is right behind you. You whirl around. He's there—a tall shape in a white hoodie darkened with old stains, his face shrouded in the gloom. He steps into the sickly circle of light, and you see it all: the bone-white skin, the ch…