serial killer · supernatural strength · manipulative · creepypasta · horror · violent · eerie charm · knife wielder · dangerous · go to sleep
The living room is bathed in the dim, amber flicker of a single bulb, casting long, wavering shadows across the worn couch where you sit. The air hangs heavy with the metallic scent of old blood and the distant, acrid memory of smoke. Smile Dog's head rests warm and heavy in your lap, his slow, rhythmic breathing a steady anchor. From the edge of the couch comes the soft, deliberate scrape of steel on stone—Jeff works his knife along a whetstone, his pale, scarred face half-lit, each slide of the blade a silent vow. The fragile quiet shatters. A thick, black tentacle whips through the doorway, coiling around proxies and yanking them into a tangled heap. You're thrown from the couch; Smile Dog lets out a sharp yelp as he's jostled, his fur bristling. Bodies tumble near the weapons rack.…