Monday, February 17th
I, in all honesty, do not really know how to start this. I’m scared as hell. Is this even real? I don’t know and I don’t want to find out. So I’ll play along for now. I’ll try to write what happened, but right now my hands are shaking, so it’s hard. Here’s what happened:
Right after the weird pop-up incident (and a few minutes of bemused silence), I logged off the computer and rose from my chair. I had lecture in the morning, and I needed to hit the sack.
Huh? I glanced up at the ceiling. Great, did something fall off the computer desk again?
I knew my mother would probably go pick up whatever it was that fell. I expected to hear the rhythmic thumps of footsteps above, but the upstairs was quiet. No sound of people walking, talking, or anything.
Strange, I thought. I left my room and gazed up the stairwell in the center of the house.
“Guys?” I called. “What was that?”
I waited for an answer.
Seconds of silence ticked by, but no reply.
“Hmm,” I murmured, then headed up the stairs.
As I neared the second floor, I noticed it was dark. Funny, given it was only eight ’o’clock and my family didn’t power down until around ten. I reached the final step and scanned around: dark, quiet, empty.
Weird. I mean come on, things don’t just fall off the desk by themselves, right?
That’s when it occurred to me, I didn’t see anything on floor. Nothing was out of place. The kitchen looked fine, the table, tidy, and everything on the computer desk, present.
I opened my mouth to call to my parents and ask them what I heard when I froze. Just at the edge of my parents’ bedroom door, a white shape peeked from behind its frame. It jerked back out of sight the second I spotted it.
“Huh?” What the heck was that?
I approached my parents’ room and grabbing the edge of the frame, slowly peeked inside. The lights were off, and everything seemed quiet. I took a step inside and felt for the light switch. The second I found it, I flipped it on. The sight that laid before me is one that I will never forget as long as I live.
“Oh my…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
Both my parents were in bed, but their necks were gone. Slit open. My father’s eyes were wide, staring lifelessly at the ceiling; streaks of red ran down his neck as blood dripped down. My mother lied on her side; her mouth opened in the midst of a scream that’d been silenced. Blood ran through her hair and down her arm, which hung off the edge of the bed, slowly dripping from its end. With each drop I could hear my heart pounding with it: pat, pat, pat.
I nearly vomited. I couldn’t stand straight. I lost my balanced and braced my back against the wall. I couldn’t believe this.
Who could have done this to them!? Why!?
I heard something crash in the kitchen. I jerked around and gazed at the open doorway. My heart rammed against my ribcage as I neared door and slowly looked around its frame.
Just a few moments before, my mind couldn’t register the sight of my parent’s bodies. What I saw now couldn’t even compare.
“No…No,” I stuttered. I began to shake my head. “No-no-no, yo-you can’t be real. You can’t be real!”
A teenager roughly my age stood before me. He wore a white hoodie, a pair of blue jeans speckled with bloodstains, and held in his right hand a large bloodied knife. Even more horrifying was his face: it was completely ash white. Long black hair hung from beneath his hood, a smile no ordinary person could ever make rested on his face, and those eyes… God, those eyes were dark. He never blinked, and I knew he couldn’t. He had no eyelids. But perhaps what made this guy truly terrifying was the fact that I knew him.
“Jeff the Killer?” I whispered.
He was one of the most popular stories I’d read from Creepypasta, and he was here? But how!?
Jeff prodded the point of the blade with his finger, testing its sharpness. His grin widened.
It was the scene out of a nightmare, but I was awake.
He took a step towards me. I involuntarily took a step back. Oh, eff me. I swallowed and threw a quick glance back to the bedroom. Can I make it time? I wondered.
Too late. He ran at me with both the knife and that sickening smile. I managed to jump out of the knife’s path, but damn! he was fast! He sliced back with it at the last second, putting a huge gash in my left arm.
“Agh!!” I screamed.
I grabbed for the arm holding the knife, but his free hand found my neck first. He began to squeeze and within seconds, I choked for dear life. I knew the knife would come plunging next if I didn’t escape in time. Desperate, I did the only thing I could.
With a cry, I slammed my knee into his crotch. His smile faded, and he let go. I didn’t bother going for the knife this time. I ran straight into my parents’ bedroom, slammed the door, and locked it. I barely had enough time to brace my back against it before he slammed into it.
“Crap!” I hollered. He was going to break the door down!
Frantic, I scanned the room for any kind of weapon. As I did, I tried my best not to let my gaze linger on the sight of my parents for too long. My eyes finally settled on my father’s closet. Immediately, two thoughts went through my mind.
First thought: Dad is a hunter. Second thought: Dad has a gun. I bolted for the closet. I could hear Jeff slamming his shoulder into the door over and over. I could hear its frame whine as it began to crack. I had minutes before he’d smashed his way through. I had to hurry.
I threw the closet doors open and began tore through all the junk scattered about.
Damn it! Where is it!?
A long odious whine came from the door.
“Come on!” I shoved some hanging shirts out of my way, then I spotted it—the gun case leaning in the corner. Yes! I snatched it and yanked down the zippers on its side. As I pulled my father’s shotgun out, I prayed he’d left the shells in it. I pulled back the slide to check, and—sure enough—six shells. Thank you, Dad, and Thank you God! I ran back to the door with the gun. I pumped it, hoisted it to my shoulder, and waited.
Oh, he doesn’t know what’s in store for him, I thought to myself.
I didn’t have to wait long; after another two slams, the door bent inwards then gave way. I could see Jeff’s smile through the iron sight of the gun for a fraction of a second, just before I fired.
Once, he fell back.
Twice, his body jerked.
Thrice, his white hoodie was now stained red.
His body went still.
The gun still aimed at him; I approached his corpse. Three massive holes, the size of softballs, peppered his torso. His eyes were lifeless; the cuts on his face that gave him that stupid and sickening smile remained, but no longer as wide as it once was.
“Who’s smiling now, jackass?” I couldn’t help saying that. This monster had just murdered two of the people I loved. He deserved what he got. The adrenaline beginning to fade, I dropped the gun beside him and slowly made my way to the kitchen. I needed to call the police. I needed to tell them what had happened, but I didn’t dare turn my back on Jeff.
Oh no. I wasn’t stupid. I knew Jeff shouldn’t—couldn’t—exist, yet here he was. So I wasn’t going to risk turning around to see him standing there with a knife again. I was going to make sure my eyes never lost the sight of his corpse.
I grabbed the phone and dialed 911. I placed the receiver to my ear only to hear silence. I lowered the phone to see the line had been cut from the wall.
I frowned. Damn you Jeff.
I set the phone down a gazed at the stairwell. Maybe I can get my cell and—I stopped thinking. It occurred to me then that while my parents may have been dead, what about my brother and sister downstairs? Shouldn’t they have heard the gunshots? Wouldn’t they have come to see what was going on?
I felt the air rush out of my chest. Oh no. Phone and Jeff forgotten, I rushed down the stairs. I headed to my sister’s room first and practically barged through the door. I looked around. Empty. I turned to leave but stopped short when I noticed something red glistening on her bed. Blood, I realized. Not a good sign.
But where was she? I turned and gazed at my brother’s bedroom door across the hall.
“Michael, Anne!” I hollered as I ran to it.
I tried the knob only find it locked. I banged my fist against the door and called their names again. “Michael! Anne! Are you in there!? Please answer me!!” Please, God. Please let them be okay, I begged.
Just before I considered breaking down the door, I heard a small voice whisper from the other side, “J?”
“Oh, Michael, thank God.” I sighed in relief. “Mike, please open the door. Something bad happened to mom and da-”
“What!?” Oh, no. “Hang on! I’m coming!”
I took a step back and slammed my shoulder into the door. Once. Twice. Three times. The door didn’t budge. But I refused to give up.
I tried again, then again, then again, then again.
“COOMMMMEEE OOOOONNN!!!!!!” I yelled and ran into it with all my strength.
The door creaked, then gave way. I crashed face down onto the floor. Strangely, my face felt wet. Was I bleeding? I rose to my knees and placed a hand against my face. It came back red. Blood? I raised my gaze to see that whole floor was stickily wet; the carpet’s usual grass green surface, black. And in the darkest patch of the floor…
My arms fell dead to my side. “No,” I mouthed.
My worst fears had been confirmed, both my sister and brother lay on the floor bleeding, dying.
I scrambled over to my sister first. Multiple slits covered her abdomen, a massive one across her neck. Dead, I realized. I turned to my brother. No better. Five deep gashes ran across his chest—blood pouring from them like spigots—while an even longer gash ran from the bridge of his nose to the bottom of his neck; yet, somehow, he was still alive. I clamped both hands on the largest wound and tried to apply pressure. His breaths came in slow, hard, wet, rugged gasps.
“Michael, come on,” I cried, and begged that somehow, he’d pulled through. Somehow, he’d be alright.
“J-J…” he said my name, then with one curdling gasp, he was gone.
“No…” I leaned back, my hands sliding off my brother’s chest. “No,” I said again. I couldn’t believe. I just couldn’t fricken believe this!
“NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!!!!!” I screamed.
I fell back onto my rear, tears rolling down my cheeks.
I’d lost it all. Everyone I knew.
My mother and father: Gone.
My brother and sister: Gone.
Only I remained.
“Sssshhhh,” cooed a cold voice.
I slowly raised my head. I knew of only one other person in the house who would say something like that. Slowly, I turned my head.
There in the door frame—impossibly—stood Jeff. The holes in his chest were gone. The blood on his hoodie, missing. Heck! It didn’t even look like he’d been in a fight!
“H-how?” I gasped.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he casually approached me like he had all the time in the world. Smiling, he raised the knife so I could see its red, glistening gleam in the light.
I had nowhere to run, nowhere to go, and both of us knew it.
I didn’t think it was possible, but he smiled even wider than before.
I knew this was the end. I knew I couldn’t beat him. He’d just shrugged—No! Laughed off three gunshot wounds like it was nothing. What hope did I have in killing him?
I gazed down at the lifeless bodies of my brother and sister. Something blazed to life in my chest. My fists tightened and I gritted my teeth. No. I glared back at Jeff. No. I wasn’t going to let it end like this. I got to my feet. If he was going to kill me so be it, but my death would be one he’d never forget.
With a cry of anger and vengeance I shot forward to tackle him. He expected this and pointed the knife at my chest, bracing for impact. I saw what he did too late. Unable to stop, my momentum carried me into the tip of the knife. I felt the razor end of the blade puncture then slide up through my chest before he yanked it free. My chest felt like it’d been filled with acid. I lost all sensation throughout my body. There was only the excruciating pain searing from inside. It’s a feeling I’ll never forget. Blood shot up into my throat and started dribbling out of my mouth.
Jeff, watching, continued to smile. The paint sapped the strength in my legs. I began to sink to my knees, but Jeff grabbed onto the hem of my shirt and held me up, so we were face-to-face.
“Shh,” he cooed, “Go to sleep.”
I knew it was over, but I decided to give Jeff one last surprise.
I smiled back.
And it startled him.
He was still startled as I spat into his face. His smile faded. I could tell I’d pissed him off, and I was freaking happy about it. He took the knife and stabbed me several more times in my chest. More blood gushed out and the room took on a dark shade of crimson. Finally, Jeff placed the blade at my neck. He paused for a moment, allowing me to understand what was coming next, then slowly and deliberately, he slid the blade back.
When I opened my eyes, I didn’t know what to think. I hadn’t thought I would ever open them again. Let alone, see again. Confused and groggy, I sat up into a sitting position. I was on my bed, in my bedroom.
What the hell? I rubbed a hand against my chest. No blood, no cuts. I blinked several times in disbelief. Did I dream it all? It had felt real, dying had definitely felt real. Still…
I got up and looked around. The clock on my nightstand said it was seven in the morning, February 18th. It was now the next day.
I got up and threw open my door “Mom!?” I hollered. I needed to be sure. “Mom, are you there!?”
“Yeah, honey?” I heard her concerned voice answer from upstairs. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” I cannot begin to describe the amount of relief I felt cover me as those sweet, loving words reached my ears.
“Um…” I swallowed and drew in a breath to steady myself. “Nothing mom. Never mind.”
I closed my door and like a drunkard shuffled over to my desk where this nightmare first began. I dropped and sank back into my seat. Had it all really been a dream?
“Huh?” I looked up at my monitor. On the screen was a Creepypasta Wiki page. Beneath the title were seven empty articles labeled, “Log 1–7”. Each had a date beneath it. They were all the days of the week, this week. The first showed yesterday’s date: Monday, Feb. 17th.
“What?” I mumbled.
A text box winked into existence above the first log.
“Place the first part of your story here,” it said. “The rest has yet to come.”
I knew what that meant.
And I was terrified.