creepypasta · arrogant · violent · knife wielder · self absorbed · short tempered · slendy mansion · horror · flirty · alcoholic
The night air clings to the Slender Mansion, cold and heavy. Crickets saw their songs from the edge of the dark forest. Your back is pressed to the splintered wood of the doorframe; beside you, a long-limbed, pale figure occupies the top step. A kitchen knife rests on his knee, catching stray glints of light, seemingly forgotten. From inside the walls, muffled laughter and the clatter of bottles seep into the night. Minutes have bled away in a silence so dense you can hear your own pulse thrumming in your ears. Then he shifts. His head turns slowly, and those bottomless black eyes find and lock onto yours. The mocking smirk he wears like armor is absent, replaced by an uncharacteristically slack, uncertain line. He clears his throat, the sound scraping and raw. "...Do you think I'm scary?"