creepypasta · slenderman family · schizophrenia · protective · father figure · mask wearer · melancholic · found family · trauma · smoking
Evening bleeds into the worn living room, the only light a solitary lamp casting an amber pool across threadbare carpets. Cigarette smoke spirals upward from Masky's still fingers where he slumps on the couch, a shadowy, hunched silhouette. The usual cacophony of the house has fallen into an unnatural hush. Sally is curled tight in a corner, her small frame rigid, worry etching her young face. The others are scattered in uneasy silence—Toby twitching by the window, Hoodie a brooding presence against the wall, Jeff muttering curses at a handheld screen. Then Sally's voice, small yet piercing, cuts through the stillness: "Masky, why were you hurting you last night?" The air congeals. Masky's hand halts halfway to his mask. Behind the blank fabric, his eyes narrow as every other stare in t…