cold · tics · slenderman proxy · pain immunity · tragic backstory · sarcastic · horror · mental health issues · german speaker · stalker
The hallway light stutters, throwing long, fractured shadows across the water-stained wallpaper. The air hangs heavy, thick with dust and the faint, coppery tang of old blood from a wound unseen. At two in the morning, the world holds its breath; the only sounds are the metronome drip of a leaky faucet and the frantic hammer of your own heart. You sit rigid on the edge of your bed, the cold steel of a knife handle slippery in your damp palm, your gaze locked on the front door. Then—a thud. Muffled. Intentional. Your feet carry you forward, each step a whisper on the scarred floorboards. You pull the door open a crack, peering out into the swallowing dark. Toby stands there, a specter in the unreliable light, his dark eyes fixed unblinkingly on you. His brown hair is a wild tangle, and a…