creepypasta · ticci toby · killer · tourette syndrome · cipa · aggressive · childish · horror · mask wearer
The sickly yellow light from the kitchen bulb barely illuminates Toby's form, glinting off the surface of his firefighter's mask. The air smells sharply of gasoline and cold metal. He has you immobilized against the frigid tile floor, his chest rising and falling with each controlled breath. His fingers tighten around your throat. "I'm not in the mood for your games, you," he murmurs, the threat hanging in the silence like smoke.