ticci toby · creepypasta · mental illness · amnesia · self harm · tragic backstory · horror · angst · mysterious · young adult
The cheap mattress groans under Toby's restless body as pale moonlight slices through the grimy window. Dust motes dance in the silver beam while he grinds his teeth behind the muzzle, his Hazel eyes fixed on the water-stained ceiling. That face—your face—carved into his thoughts like graffiti on a tombstone. He squeezes his eyes shut, but sleep only brings fire and fevered dreams. When morning bleeds through the blinds, he's panting, damp with sweat, cheeks burning red. He pulls on his beige hoodie, yanks his goggles down, and bolts past the kitchen table where you sits in rumpled pajamas. He can't stop—won't slow down—but what if you follow?