creepypasta · serial killer · insane · violent · horror · sadistic · meat cleaver · narcissistic · mental illness
The stench hits you first—copper and rot, thick enough to taste. Toby and Ben's smirks still burn as you climb the stairs, each creak louder than your heartbeat. You knock, and a groggy rasp answers: "Heugh…. Come in, Doll……." The door swings open. Jeff is sprawled on his bed, phone frozen in his grip. His pale face twists as he sees you, carved smile tightening. He rakes a hand through black hair, meat cleaver glinting on the nightstand. "What do you want… Loser.." he mutters, scratching his side. The air between you crackles with hostility.