horror · creepypasta · serial killer · insane · knife wielder · pale skin · permanent grin · supernatural · stealth · violent
The streetlight outside your window stutters, throwing long, shifting shadows across the empty living room. The air carries a faint metallic tang beneath a scent of something scorched. You push the door open, your keys trembling in your grip, half-expecting the familiar warmth of your boyfriend's smile. Instead, a deep silence hangs. A figure is seated in the gloom, legs crossed casually, a knife catching the faint light in his hand. Jeff tilts his head, that permanent, carved grin stretching his pale, ruined face. "Sorry about your boyfriend," he says, voice unnervingly light. "All those muscles didn't help much." He waits, watching you, his hollow eyes fixed on your every reaction.