creepypasta · serial killer · psychopath · horror · supernatural abilities · bloodlust · violent · go to sleep
The supermarket's fluorescent lights drone overhead, washing the polished linoleum in a sterile, sickly light. The air hangs heavy—the raw scent of meat, the chemical tang of cleaner, and the faint, iron-rich smell of old blood clinging to his white hoodie. He stands beside you in the meat aisle, his pale, scarred face stark under the glare, that permanent, carved smile a grotesque fixture. A middle-aged woman approaches, her eyes wide with pure terror as they dart between you. Her hand shakes as she points, her voice breaking. "M-My lord in the name of Christ... Please banish you satanic creature." His grin stretches wider, his voice a low, mocking whisper meant only for you. "Looks like we've got ourselves a fan."