It was near midnight, and you couldn’t be any less tired. You spent the entire night on your computer, reading fanfics. Every night you read a fan fiction on one person. You read about the Jeff the Killer.
The story you read had chilled you to the bone, with the main character dying at the end, which disappointed you, because you always seemed to like the ones where they live and fall in love~
You knew you would have trouble sleeping tonight… You’ve always been a scaredy cat.
Jeff has always been your favorite. In your opinion, he’s beautiful. You’re embarrassed to admit that you’ve daydreamed of kissing him. Of being with him. You know it’s dumb, but you’ve always secretly wished he was real, and that he would love you.
You sigh, pushing your laptop aside, and standing up. You stretch and crack your back. You’ve been sitting in the same position for the last… 2 hours. You walk out of the room, the urge to relieve yourself having grown the past few hours until you couldn’t ignore it any longer. You turn the water on, sticking your hands under the faucet. As you do, you hear a noise from your room. Not a loud noise, just a soft thump. You assume something fell over, and walk into your room. Nothing seems to be out of place, nothing spilled on the carpet. You close the door behind you, and walk over to your bed, flopping down with a sigh.
You close your eyes, pressing your hands against your face. That fanfic was very descriptive… There was quite a lot of blood…
You feel a cool breeze, and turn over to face you window, realizing it was wide open, curtains billowing ever so slightly.
Hmm… That’s weird, you could have sworn you closed that earlier. You shrug, standing up to close it. Before you reach the window, you freeze, looking around the room. It feels… Weird in here. Almost like you’re not alone… You must be getting paranoid. It’s fine. Nobody’s here, it’s just your imagination. You’ve been reading to many horror stories before bed, that’s all. You slam the window shut, and almost immediately feel cold fingers wrap around your wrist.
You scream, jumping back, attempting to shake the hand from your wrist. You look down, the hand is a pale white, the skin all leathery. You look up, the intruder is wearing a blood stained white hoodie, black hair frames his pale, wrinkly face, looking as if it hadn’t been brushed in a while. His eyes are wide and blood shot, ringed in a deep shade of black. But most striking of all is the wide, cut in smile, which grows larger at the sight of your terror stricken face. He had been hiding, wrapped in your curtains, which you foolishly hadn’t taken into account.
You know who this is.
Jeff the Killer.
You almost start fangirling, but you realize that if he’s in your house, and he’s real, then there’s only one thing he would want to do, and it doesn’t involve kissing or cuddling.
He’s here to kill you.
He pushes you backwards, and you stumble, tripping over the chest at the foot of your bed. You hit the ground, scrambling backwards until your back hits something… The door. You look up, he towers above you. He smirks at you, helpless and weak.
“This is quite the sight, I love it when they’re so terrified that they can’t even stand,” He laughs, leaning down. You kick out, trying to hit something, but he catches your foot.
“Tsk tsk,” He pulls on your foot, a yelp escaping you. “Pathetic.” He twists your ankle suddenly, and you scream at the unexpected pain. Your ankle throbs, and you’re sure it’s broken. You look up at him, tears in your (E/C) eyes. There’s no mercy in his cold face.
No mercy in the face that, at one point, you had spent hours memorizing.
In the face you had always dreamed of seeing in real life.
The face you had once thought was beautiful.
He reaches out, grabbing your chin, and lifts it up. You’re eye to eye with the killer.
How could you be so foolish, to think that meeting a killer would ever end in romance? He, and the rest of them, would only ever want to kill.
The only lust they feel is the lust for blood.
He presses his knife against your neck, pressing it so beads of blood trickle down your neck. You squeeze your eyes shut, silently muttering pleas, unheard by him. He leans in, so that he’s inches from your ear. A choked sob escapes you, which makes him laugh.
The knife is suddenly plunged into your neck, a scream cut off. His laughter rings in your ears as you open your eyes, struggling to pull the knife out. Blood pours out of your throat, staining your (H/C) hair red with your own blood. Black spots appear before your eyes, and the pain numbs. His face hovers above yours, his lips moving in a motion that shows he’s speaking. You hardly hear the whispered demand as you slip into an eternal darkness…
“Go to sleep…”