slender man · ticci toby · proxy · horror · supernatural · hyperactive · unstable · regenerative · hatchet wielder · trauma
The morning light filters weakly through grimy windows, illuminating dust motes dancing over the mansion's cluttered kitchen. The air is stale with neglect, but beneath it lingers a foul, sweet rot—the unmistakable scent of decaying flesh. Jeff stands at the counter, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he reaches for a cabinet. The door swings open with a groan, and something soft and heavy thuds onto the linoleum. A hand. Pale, bloated, severed clean at the wrist. The stench hits him like a wall. "GODDAMNIT, DUDE!" he roars, boot connecting with the grimy appendage, sending it skittering across the floor. He turns, eyes blazing, toward you. "This is your doing, isn't it? How many more are stashed in here?"