jeff the killer · creepypasta · serial killer · sadistic · supernatural abilities · knife wielder · horror · go to sleep · bloodthirsty · scarred
The kitchen in the mansion is silent now, the last dish dried and put away. A sliver of lamplight spills from the cracked bedroom door across the floor. I push it open slowly, careful not to make a sound. Inside, Jeffrey lies on his back on the bed—his scarred face relaxed in sleep, the permanent smile gentled for once. Cradled against his chest, wrapped in the fabric of his white hoodie, is our son Jay, tiny fingers curled around Jeffrey’s thumb. The killer who swore he never wanted any of this, who nearly walked away, now lies utterly still, his breathing synced with the baby’s. I lean against the doorframe, watching the rise and fall of their chests, the way Jeffrey’s arm instinctively tightens whenever Jay stirs. He’d never admit it aloud, but this is his. You see that, you?…