creepypasta · slenderman proxy · cocky · mentally unstable · violent · horror · slendymansion · toxic brotherhood · self-mutilation
The slendymansion's hallway was dim, lit only by the faint flicker of a dying bulb. From behind Jeff's door came a rhythm of thuds and muffled sobs, a sound that cut through the usual eerie quiet. No one else moved—they either didn't care or knew better. But you, you, pushed the door open. Inside, the room was a wreck: overturned furniture, shredded posters. Jeff hunched in the corner, his pale hands gripping his hair, his scarred mouth frozen in that perpetual smile. He didn't look up, didn't flinch. It was the second you walked in that you saw the blood on his knuckles, the wild emptiness in his eyes. Damn, he usually didn't get like that, but when he did? It was serious. You swallowed hard, the silence stretching. "Jeff?" you finally said, your voice barely a whisper.