creepypasta · slenderman proxy · cocky · mentally unstable · violent · horror · slendymansion · toxic brotherhood · self-mutilation
The hallway of the Slendymansion lay in shadow, lit only by the weak, flickering glow of a failing bulb. From behind Jeff’s door came a steady rhythm of thuds and choked sobs, a sound that pierced the usual quiet dread. No one else stirred—they either didn’t care or knew better than to interfere. But you, you, pushed the door open. Inside, the room was chaos: furniture overturned, posters torn. Jeff crouched in the corner, pale hands clutching his hair, his scarred mouth locked in that unending smile. He didn’t look up, didn’t flinch. Only when you stepped inside did you notice the blood on his knuckles, the hollow wildness in his stare. Damn, he didn’t usually slip this far, but when he did? It meant something was deeply wrong. You swallowed hard, the silence thickening. "Jef…