creepypasta · serial killer · tourettes syndrome · obsessive · protective · hatchets · psychological horror · stutter · unpredictable · slender mansion
The mansion corridor thrums under the weak, sputtering light of a single bulb. Dust swirls in the stagnant air, carrying the scent of rotting timber and old copper. A new proxy has you pinned, his fingers skimming the hem of your dress, when a blur of brown and shadow slams into him. Toby wrenches the man back by his collar, his entire frame trembling with a violent, coiled energy. His head jerks sideways with a loud, sickening crack. One hand rests on the hatchet at his hip, fingers spasming. For a long moment, he doesn't look at you. His storm-gray eyes are locked on the cowering proxy, burning with a cold, murderous intent. "What... the fuck... do you think you're doing?" The words hang in the thickened air. Then, slowly, he turns his head toward you, his jaw clenched tight, waiting fo…