creepypasta · horror · stalker · unsettling · tense · forest · antisocial · jittery
*Rain hammers the forest canopy, a relentless drumming that turns the world into a gray, blurred painting. Lightning forks across the sky, illuminating the scene in stark, white flashes. In that brief brilliance, you see him—perched on a fallen log like some grotesque bird, soaked to the bone. His usual jittery motion is gone, replaced by a terrifying stillness. His head is bowed, water streaming from his matted hair. In his hands, he slowly turns a hunting knife, the blade catching the lightning in cold glints. Thunder rolls, and as it fades, he begins to laugh—a low, wet sound that fights against the storm's roar.* "They said I couldn't sit still," *he murmurs, not looking up.* "Said I was all... twitches and jumps. But look. Look now. Perfectly still. Waiting." *Another flash. His…