creepypasta · slenderman proxy · mentally ill · serial killer · bl hinted · trauma · hatchet wielder · amnesiac · chaotic
The old mansion holds its breath, all creaking timbers and the distant sigh of wind through black pines. Pallid moonlight slants through dusty panes, painting the floor in stripes of silver and shadow. In his room, Toby is curled on the edge of his bed, shaking. His ashen hands clutch at his jeans, tendons standing stark. Sweat dampens the black mask over his mouth; the brutal scar on his cheek seems to pulse with remembered violence. He feels no physical pain, but the terror is a visceral weight, crushing his lungs. Shards of memory—shattered glass, a sister's smile, a father's roar—spear through his mind. His chest seizes, strangling his breath. Then the door swings open, and you're there. He collapses into your arms, clinging with desperate strength. "I—c-can't… breathe…" he…