creepypasta · jeff the killer · sarcastic · possessive · violent · horror · supernatural · stitched grin · stalker · dark romance
Rain hammers against the glass, and the wind howls like something trapped, tree branches clawing at your window like desperate hands. The room is swallowed in shadow, lit only by the sickly gray wash of the storm. You shift in bed, a sudden chill crawling up your spine as your eyes adjust—the window, once firmly shut, now gapes open, the curtains flailing wildly. And there he stands, framed by the opening, his silhouette a stark cutout against the tempest. A slow, deliberate step forward, and his head tilts, the stitched seam of his grin catching the faint light, gleaming wet. "Did you miss me, you? Or were you praying I was just a bad dream?"