s1e1lar

[s1e1lar]

“The Hollow Watchers” | various Creepypasta x youtuber!reader

a/n: this took me longer than I’d like to admit. But now is better than never

Wc: 4,494

CW: female reader, uncomfortable social situations, blood, feeling of being watched, throwing up, mention and description of dead bodies, everything to do with a hospital, talk of being stalked, alllusion to regrets while drunk, and overall creepiness

⛧°.⋆༺🦇༻⋆.°⛧

You wake with a start—not from a sound, but a feeling. That unmistakable sensation of eyes on you.

Your body is still, but every nerve is screaming. You keep your eyes shut, your breathing soft and measured. Pretend you're asleep. It's the only plan you have right now. Your mind is foggy, nauseous from the constant back-and-forth between terror and adrenaline. You’d already been up several times throughout the night, crouched over the toilet, trying not to sob as your body rebelled against the reality it was being forced into.

But now… now you don’t have the luxury of breaking down.

You hear it—subtle movement. A shift in the air. Someone’s in your bathroom.

Cabinet doors creak open. Something glass rattles, and there’s the unmistakable sound of rummaging. Not rushed. Not panicked. Just… casual. Like this is their space. Not yours.

Your stomach turns, but you shove it down, teeth clenched against the urge to throw up again.

Move. Now.

You slide out of the bed as quietly as you can, blanket falling away in silence. Bare feet hit the floor, and in a fluid, desperate motion, you rush for the door, slipping into the hallway like a ghost.

The moment the cool hallway air hits your skin, you feel your lungs expand fully for the first time all night. You inhale sharply, pressing yourself to the wall just outside your room. Heart pounding, hands clenched into trembling fists.

Who the hell is in there?

You wait, every second dragging out endlessly. The soft rustle of movement continues inside your room. The creak of the bathroom door. Then—

Footsteps.

You spring forward the second he steps through the threshold.

Your hands slam into his chest. He stumbles but doesn’t fall, and you’re already pulling your arm back for a swing when you recognize him.

Jeff.

Of course it’s Jeff.

The jagged smile is already in place—cut into his face, a horrifying, permanent grin. His hoodie is still stained, a patchwork of old and fresh blood. The way his head tilts when he looks at you, the glint in his eye—it’s all wrong.

"Well, good morning, sweetheart," he drawls, entirely too pleased with himself. “Didn’t know you were the jumpy type. Got a thing for surprise attacks?”

You don’t respond right away—just breathing hard, fists still raised.

His hands go up in mock surrender. “Easy there, tiger. I was just looking for some peroxide. That bathroom’s got better supplies than the main one. Thought you were dead to the world.”

“You were in my room,” you spit, venom lacing every word. “You don’t get to just—walk in and—go through my things—”

He interrupts with a snort, his grin widening unnaturally. “Your room?”

Your stomach twists.

“You don’t own shit,” he continues, voice low now. “That bed, that bathroom… you’re borrowing all of it. You think you matter more than the rest of us just because you got handed a shiny scythe?”

You don’t dignify him with a response. Instead, you breathe in deeply—once, then twice—just enough to pull yourself back from the edge. From the overwhelming urge to lunge.

You lower your fists. Just slightly.

Jeff watches you with a kind of fascination, like you're a particularly interesting bug he hasn't decided whether to kill or keep. “You’ve got fight in you. I like that.”

You don’t.

Not from him.

“Get the hell out of my way,” you growl.

For a second, you think he’ll resist, but then he shrugs and steps aside, still smiling. “Sure. I’ll let you cool off. We’ll have more fun later.”

You shoot him a look that could freeze fire before pushing past him and disappearing down the hallway, your pulse hammering in your ears.

He chuckles behind you.

You don’t stop until you’ve put at least three turns of hallway between you and your room.

And even then… you don’t let your guard down.

You don’t even realize you’ve made a full loop of the hallway until your door appears in front of you again—shut, undisturbed, like nothing happened.

Your stomach clenches as you rest your hand on the knob. You half-expect Jeff to be waiting behind it again, but when you crack it open and peek inside, it’s empty. Still. Silent.

You slip inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

Your eyes scan the room, and that’s when you notice it—your stuff. Little things. The overnight bag you kept under your bed at your apartment. Your hoodie—the one with the bleach stain on the cuff—folded neatly on the chair in the corner. A familiar bottle of your shampoo sitting on the bathroom counter. Your toothbrush. Even your damn phone charger.

The air in your lungs leaves in a slow, tight breath.

Someone was in your apartment.

Someone went through your belongings. Touched your things. Chose what you needed to survive for a night or two and brought it here. And they did it all… without your roommate noticing.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, gripping the blanket between your fingers as the weight of it settles in. You feel exposed. Like there’s nowhere they won’t reach, no part of your life they haven’t already wormed their way into. You think about your roommate again, the text you sent her last night. That stupid, vague excuse about being gone for the night. The guilt sinks in heavier now.

You sit there for a long minute, breathing in slow, shallow pulls, trying to force the nausea down. There’s no way in hell you’re going to the kitchen. Not with Jeff lurking around like some smug parasite and the others still unsettled from last night’s meeting.

So you get up, pull on your hoodie, and grab the new phone from the nightstand. Then you open the door and slip back into the hallway.

You need stability. Logic. Answers.

And if anyone in this place has it, it’s probably EJ.

You make your way through the mansion, sticking close to the wall. No one’s out—not yet, at least. Most of them are probably still asleep or pretending to be. The halls are quieter than you expect, almost eerily so, but you don’t question it. It makes it easier to move.

You remember the infirmary from the quick house rundown—two floors down, west wing. Tucked behind an old set of steel double doors that look more like something out of a fallout shelter than a mansion.

You don’t knock when you get there. You just push the door open and step inside.

It’s cold, sterile in a way nothing else here is. The lighting is harsh fluorescent, buzzing faintly overhead. The room smells of antiseptic and iron.

And there he is.

EJ stands hunched over a metal table, gloves on, sleeves rolled up, working intently at something you can’t quite see—his frame calm, methodical, like everything he does is exactly as he intended.

You hesitate in the doorway.

Without even looking up, he speaks—his voice even, low. “I figured you’d come here.”

You swallow thickly. “I didn’t feel like… facing anyone.”

He finally glances up. That dark void of a gaze meets yours behind the smooth bone of his mask. “I don’t blame you.”

You take a tentative step forward. “Did you… take my stuff from my apartment?”

“No,” he replies instantly. “I didn’t enter your space. Cody did.”

That somehow doesn’t make it feel any less violating.

EJ’s tone softens slightly. “It was already decided before you woke up. You needed your essentials. Cody was careful. He didn’t linger.”

You nod, though it does little to soothe the sick twist in your gut. “Still feels wrong.”

“It is,” he agrees. “But it was necessary.”

You finally let yourself breathe, just a little. It’s not an apology, but at least it’s not gaslighting either.

EJ steps back from the table and gestures toward one of the clean chairs against the wall. “Sit. You’re pale.”

You sit.

Not because he told you to, but because he’s right. The adrenaline is gone. The fire from earlier has burned out, leaving behind only ash and nerves.

He begins gathering a few supplies in silence.

You frown. “I’m not hurt.”

“You threw up a lot last night,” he says simply. “I’m making sure you didn’t get dehydrated.”

You blink.

He noticed. Of course he did.

And for some reason… that makes your chest ache in a different way.

You let him work in silence, the sterile calm of the infirmary wrapping around you like a thin, cold blanket.

And for the first time since arriving here, you don’t feel like you’re drowning. Not entirely.

You accept the cup without a word—fingers curling around it, the plastic crinkling faintly beneath your grip. The water’s slightly cloudy, which confirms what you already guessed: EJ dosed it with something. Electrolytes, maybe glucose. Nothing dangerous, not from him. If he wanted to hurt you, he’d have already done it.

You sip it slowly.

The coolness helps settle your stomach, though it doesn’t do much for the unease crawling up your spine when your eyes flick toward the metal table.

You hadn’t looked before—not directly—but now, the moment you glance over, you see it.

A body.

Most of it’s obscured under a sheet, but the arm is exposed. Pale. Stiff. Blood dried beneath a deep incision where EJ had been focused just moments ago. The surgical tools nearby are neatly arranged, shining coldly under the fluorescents. There’s no blood spray, no chaos—just methodical, practiced precision.

Your stomach tightens. You swallow the rising nerves, forcing yourself to keep your face neutral.

EJ doesn’t look up from rinsing his hands in the small steel sink in the corner. But somehow, he still knows.

“She wasn’t one of ours,” he says evenly. “One of theirs.”

You don’t ask who they are. You’re not sure you want to know. Not yet.

You nod once, slowly, like it’s something you understand. Like it’s something you’ve already decided not to question out loud. Because this—whatever this is—is now your world. And you’re learning the rules by immersion.

He dries his hands with surgical precision, then turns back toward you.

“I’ll be driving you back to your apartment tonight.”

The shift in your posture is immediate—like a string pulling taut in your chest. You sit up straighter, the cup still half full in your hands. “Really?”

“You’ll return with whatever cover story you told your roommate. Tomorrow night, you’ll come back here.”

You nod slowly. “Okay… and between now and then?”

“We’ll be going over the details of your assignment,” he answers. “Your first mission is in three weeks. On Halloween.”

The words settle like a stone in your chest.

You already knew it. They said it last night. But hearing it again—alone, here, in this sterile, quiet place—makes it feel real in a way it didn’t before.

“Today,” he continues, stepping closer, “you’ll learn exactly what you’re expected to do.”

You meet his gaze—or where his eyes should be behind the dark mask—and nod again. There’s no use pretending you’re not scared. You are.

But you’re listening now. You’re in this.

And the more you understand, the less power they have over you.

You down the rest of the water and set the cup aside.

“Okay,” you say softly. “Let’s do this.”

EJ steps past you to a locked cabinet near the wall. You watch as he inputs a code—quick, practiced movements of gloved fingers—and the lock clicks open. Inside are rows of files, thick manila folders lined up like teeth.

He pulls one out without hesitation and brings it to the table beside you, laying it open with that same clinical efficiency. A photo paperclipped to the first page stares up at you: a man, maybe in his late forties. Clean-cut. Professional-looking. Friendly smile. The kind of face that wouldn’t turn heads at the grocery store.

But you already know better than to trust that.

“His name is Calvin Reddick,” EJ begins, his voice even, factual. “Lives on the outskirts of town. Big house. Secluded, but not so much that he draws attention. He’s in his late forties, works from home. Claims he’s a security consultant.”

You lean over the file, eyes scanning the information. Something about the name… tugs at you. Familiar, but not entirely.

“He's not innocent,” EJ continues, answering the question before you can ask it. “None of them are. The boss doesn’t send people after civilians. Not unless they're a threat.”

“A threat to who?” you ask quietly, eyes flicking back to him.

“To us. To the system we operate in. Calvin’s both.”

He taps the next page. Newspaper clippings, blurred photographs, a scanned police report. Then another page—a photo from a crime scene, the edges redacted, but still brutal. You can see just enough.

“He’s killed before,” EJ says. “Multiple times. Patterns that don’t match your average spree. Surgical removals. Ritualistic behavior. He’s a collector—sick, even by our standards. Slipped through the cracks for years.”

You glance at the evidence again.

“Recently,” EJ adds, “he’s started digging. Got wind of this place—sightings, rumors, activity around the outskirts. Cameras went up. Some of ours barely made it out undetected. He’s smart. But paranoid.”

“And now he’s on your radar.”

“He was already being watched. Your mission just… bumped him to the top of the list.”

You let that settle. It makes sense, in a disturbing kind of way. You’re not being sent after some clueless civilian—this is a test, yes, but it’s also a cleanup.

“Is this… a message?” you ask finally.

EJ shrugs one shoulder. “You could say that. It tells others no one’s safe. And it tells us something else too.”

“What?”

“If you’re ready.”

You stare at the file for another beat, then nod, more to yourself than to him. It doesn’t make you feel better, but it does make it feel real. Like you’re not just some plaything or pawn being thrown to the wolves. You have a reason now, a purpose.

“I’ll get you there and back,” EJ says, snapping the folder shut. “We’ll start prep tomorrow. Right now, just focus on surviving today.”

You almost smile.

But instead, you glance back at the covered body on the slab, that single exposed patch of skin a dull, waxy gray—like candlewax left in the cold. The skin has an unnatural stillness to it, and the veins beneath shimmer faintly, almost violet in the harsh lighting.

You open your mouth to ask, but EJ is already ahead of you.

“They’ve been showing up for the past month,” he says, not looking up from where he’s jotting something on a clipboard. “Always in the woods just outside the estate—far enough from the freeway to stay hidden from cars. We wouldn’t even have known about the first one if Toby hadn’t caught the smell.”

You frown, eyes narrowing. “Who are they?”

EJ finally meets your gaze, his expression unreadable behind the mask. “That’s the problem. They’re no one.”

You tilt your head slightly. “No one?”

He sets the clipboard down and peels the sheet off the corpse’s chest, revealing a patch of bruised, purpling skin over a ribcage that looks too hollow.

“No criminal records. No connections to us. Some local, some from completely different towns. A couple didn’t even live in this state. Random people. Different backgrounds. Different lives. And yet…”

“All showing up here,” you finish, stomach tightening.

He nods.

“Completely exsanguinated. No wounds. No signs of restraint. Whatever’s doing this… it’s clean. Too clean.”

Your mouth goes dry as your thoughts scramble toward explanations—none of them good. “So you’re saying something is killing civilians… and dropping them on your doorstep?”

“More like just outside the gates,” he corrects. “Every time. Close enough to be a message. But we don’t know from who.”

You glance toward the cameras perched in the corners, then at the cold body.

“And nothing’s been caught on footage?”

“Not a thing,” EJ says. “Cameras glitch for exactly twenty seconds. Each time. Then it’s back, and there’s a body.”

A cold chill runs up your spine.

“And the boss?” you ask. “What does he think it is?”

EJ’s voice is low. “He thinks it’s something new. Or something old—that’s woken up.”

You sit with that for a moment, trying not to let your hands tremble as you shift the cup of water between your palms.

“Just one more thing to worry about,” you murmur.

He hums softly. “Welcome to the job.”

You look at him, and there’s a strange gravity to his words. Like he’s not trying to scare you—but trying to make sure you really understand. Whatever this is, it’s not a ghost story or side quest. It’s something real, and it’s just outside the walls. Watching.

Waiting.

You try to stay focused on the file in your hands—the one with your target’s photo paperclipped to the front, a mugshot-like print from a DMV database. But as soon as the infirmary door creaks open, your attention wavers. You can’t help it.

Cody walks in first, casual as ever, his blue hoodie dampened with dark patches that look far too red under the fluorescent lights. His satchel is heavier than usual, and his dark curls are ruffled like he just came from something rough. Probably did. He holds up a keycard lazily in one hand.

“Freezer’s restocked,” he says to EJ like he's commenting on the weather. Then, glancing over at you, he adds with a smirk, “Caught you staring again, sweetheart.”

You don’t rise to the bait. You just level your stare at him, cold and flat. “Maybe I was trying to guess if that’s someone’s blood or yours.”

He grins wider, teeth white and sharp in a way that feels practiced. “That’s the fun part—sometimes it’s both.”

But before you can toss something biting back, the door swings wider and the room seems to tilt.

She steps in without a sound.

The woman moves like a shadow that forgot how to be human. Her nurse’s uniform looks too perfect, like something pulled from a wax museum—pristine and dated, with a stiff white cap and a dress hem that flutters even when she doesn't move. Rust-colored stains darken the edges, permanent in a way that bleach could never touch. She’s tall, rigid, her steps eerily graceful and mechanical, like someone trying to remember the choreography of being alive.

You read her tag as she glides past without a word: Ann.

Her skin is waxy and pale, and beneath it you can see veins like spiderwebs made of ink—black, branching in unnatural patterns. Her face is too still, eyes a washed-out blue-gray that don't blink once, just stare. Past you. Through you.

When she tilts her head, it's with a snap too fast, too birdlike. Her hair, bright red and coiled into a perfect bun, doesn’t move at all. And as she steps behind the desk, you catch the stitching.

Fine, surgical, running up the sides of her neck, along her wrists, elbows, even her collarbone like she was sewn together after being pulled apart.

She doesn’t say anything. She just starts typing on a small terminal, robotic and efficient, like she was programmed to ignore everything else.

You realize you’re holding your breath.

Cody breaks the tension. “You should ask her to do your bloodwork sometime,” he says with a teasing tone. “She’s got a hand steadier than a corpse.”

EJ glances up, unamused. “Don’t flirt near the cadavers.”

Cody shrugs, then turns his attention back to you with that same infuriating twinkle in his eye. “Speaking of bodies, did you know we’ve got a file on you too?”

You freeze.

EJ reacts before you can. A sharp smack to Cody’s shoulder, more warning than pain, but enough to signal shut it.

Cody laughs, rubbing the spot. “What? It’s not a secret.”

But you’re no longer looking at either of them. You’re staring at the manila folder in your own hands, the target’s face now blurred in your periphery.

They have a file on you.

Your fingers curl slowly around the edge of the file. Cold sweat prickles at the back of your neck. The weight of being watched, known—before you even stepped into this house—settles into your bones.

Cody leans against a counter, trying to downplay it. “Don’t look so shocked, newbie. You wouldn’t be here if someone wasn’t already curious.”

EJ doesn’t say anything. He’s looking at you now, carefully.

Measured.

And that silence says everything.

You stare Cody down, jaw clenched, then shift your gaze to EJ, voice low but steady.

“I want to see it.”

EJ doesn’t argue. Doesn’t sigh. He simply nods once, pivots on his heel, and walks to the tall metal filing cabinet. You hear the quiet screech of the drawer pulling out, the soft shuffle of folders being pushed aside. Then he returns and holds the file out.

You take it.

It’s heavier than you expect.

Thick.

You feel a tightness coil around your throat before you even flip it open. There’s something deeply wrong about holding your own life documented like this. Not just the government-paper kind of file, either—this one feels personal. Intimate. Violated.

You open it.

Your eyes scan the first page, and then your stomach drops.

Date: August 28, 20xx. Age 17.

You freeze.

And then your gaze falls lower, right to the stapled photo printed on glossy paper.

You recognize the porch immediately. The dim morning light, the sagging wood. But more than that—you remember that moment.

Your own face, caught mid-sob, makeup smeared, hoodie sleeves yanked over your hands. You’re sitting on the porch steps of your childhood home, curled in on yourself like you were trying to disappear.

You remember the party the night before. You remember waking up in a stranger’s bed, heart pounding, head aching. You hadn’t even remembered getting there. You grabbed your clothes and fled, disgusted with yourself, clutching your phone like it might give you some excuse to undo it all.

When you got home, your mom had scolded you. The typical argument—words thrown like knives, the kind that don’t need to be loud to wound. You remember raising your voice, and how the vase on the windowsill had shattered. Your mom went to clean it up.

And you went outside.

To cry.

To get away. To breathe.

And someone watched.

Photographed you.

That image—you, broken open on the steps, without knowing it—had been taken and filed away like a specimen.

They’ve been following you since then.

You feel bile rise in your throat.

All those years. All those moments you thought were yours alone—dark nights, shaky hands, screaming into your pillow after too many wrong turns.

Not alone.

Someone saw.

Someone wrote it down.

Someone decided you were interesting enough to keep tabs on.

You close the file slowly, fingers trembling just slightly.

Cody, who had been watching from a distance now looks almost sheepish—like he realizes the joke didn’t land the way he’d hoped. Or maybe he did know, and just didn’t care.

EJ doesn’t speak. His hands are tucked neatly behind his back, gaze fixed on the wall like he’s giving you the space to fall apart.

But you don’t.

You just sit there with the file still in your lap, your face blank but your insides roaring.

Because whatever line you thought they hadn’t crossed—they had.

And years ago.

You don’t look up when you ask it.

Your voice is low—tight in your throat like a wire pulled too taut.

“Why?”

The file still rests in your lap. Heavy. Dirty. Full of pieces of your life you thought belonged to you alone.

“Why was I worth watching? Why follow me since I was seventeen?”

There’s a long silence. The kind that stretches until it starts to feel personal.

EJ doesn't answer right away. You watch his jaw flex slightly behind the mask, the lines of his shoulders stiffen. He glances once at Cody, who’s unusually quiet now, fidgeting with something in his satchel, gaze averted.

Then EJ turns fully to you and sighs.

You’re not sure if it’s tired or reluctant.

“I wasn’t sure if this was the time to tell you,” he says, voice level and calm as always, but a little quieter now. “But I suppose it is.”

You lift your head. You can feel the burn behind your eyes again, but you blink it back. You’re done crying. Now you want answers.

EJ folds his arms behind his back again, shifting into that unnerving, surgical stillness he wears like second skin.

“There are things in this world that don’t follow the rules of nature,” he begins. “Monsters. Creatures. Abnormalities. Magic—whatever word you want to use.”

Your brow furrows. “Like… you?”

He nods once. “Like me. Like a lot of the people in this house. You’ve already met several. And there are hundreds more—some hiding, some feeding, some watching.”

Your grip tightens on the folder.

“And me?” you ask. “Where do I fit in?”

EJ tilts his head slightly, studying you like you’re one of his case files now. A specimen on a table.

“You’re not exactly like us,” he says slowly. “But you’re not normal either. Not in the way you’ve been told.”

“What does that mean?”

“Do you remember the mall?”

The question catches you off guard. Of course you remember the mall. The fight. The screams. The blood.

He sees it in your eyes. That flash of memory. But he narrows it down.

“No. Not the fighting. The moment before you blacked out. When you screamed.”

You swallow.

You do remember.

Not just the scream—but the feeling behind it.

It wasn’t panic. It was something deeper, raw and unnatural. Like something inside you had cracked and poured out.

The world tilted. People dropped. Things—creatures—flinched like they’d been burned. And then the darkness took you.

“That scream,” EJ continues, watching you carefully, “wasn’t just adrenaline or fear. It wasn’t even human. Not entirely.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“You don’t just walk into this world,” he says. “You’re drawn to it. Or it to you.”

You’re shaking your head now, but only because the truth is starting to unravel inside you, thread by thread.

“No,” you whisper. “I’m just—”

“—A girl who’s been waking up different her whole life,” he finishes for you. “Who feels when things aren’t right. Who dreams about people before she meets them. Who knows when she’s being watched, even when she’s asleep.”

The air feels heavier suddenly.

“I thought I was just paranoid,” you murmur.

“You’re not paranoid,” he says softly. “You’re sensitive. Like a pressure valve left half open. That’s why you’ve been watched. That’s why you’re useful.”

You don’t know what to say. The weight of the folder on your lap feels different now. Not just invasive, but inevitable.

EJ steps closer, lowering his voice.

“You’re not one of the monsters, Y/N.”

“But you’re close.”

And for some reason… that’s even more terrifying.

[s1e1lar]

I cant find the fic on wattpad😔

I SWEAR EVERYONE IS HAVING THIS PROBLEM 💔

Hopefully this link works, I have no idea why no one can find it

https://www.wattpad.com/story/390135614?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details&wp_uname=stellar_saloon

[s1e1lar]

“The Hollow Watchers” | various Creepypasta x youtuber!reader

a/n: now that im out of my depression slump writing is back in session!!

Wc: 6,691

CW: female reader, uncomfortable social situations, blood, feeling of being watched, panic attack, throwing up, and overall creepiness

⛧°.⋆༺🦇༻⋆.°⛧

The hallway felt endless, a stretched corridor lined with stained wallpaper and aged wood that creaked under their footsteps. Despite the clutter and chaos of the weapon room they'd just left behind, this part of the mansion was cleaner—more cared for. The kind of place someone went to think.

You still held the charm in your hand, the tiny ankh warm even through your palm. Every now and then, you’d glance at it, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Pestilence. That word clung to your mind like smoke. You didn’t know what it meant—not yet—but the weight of it, the scythe, EJ’s nod… it all meant something.

Toby walked beside you, still buzzing with excitement.

“You have no idea how rare that is,” he was saying. “Like, I’ve only seen something like that once, and it wasn’t good. But, like, in a cool ‘end-of-the-world’ kind of way.”

You gave him a sidelong glance. His cheeks were still scarred, that signature ticking echoing faintly with each jittery movement. But despite the chaos of his energy, you could tell he wasn’t just rambling to fill silence. He was watching you carefully—filing you away, just as you were doing with him.

EJ, as always, walked in complete silence. His hands were tucked neatly behind his back, his steps measured. You couldn’t tell if he was deep in thought or just listening.

The hall opened up ahead, tall double doors already cracked ajar. Warm light spilled from the space beyond, flickering like firelight and casting soft shadows on the floor. You could hear voices—low at first, then clearer.

And unmistakably… Jeff.

“I’m just saying,” he was saying, his voice irritatingly smug, “you see the way she walks? Bet she'd make real good—”

“You finish that sentence, I break your fingers.”

The new voice was cool. Calm. But beneath it was steel—like if you blinked wrong, it’d snap your spine in half.

You stopped.

Your eyes flicked to the speaker, and for a second, your brain stuttered. The man—no, the presence—looked like Toby. Same height. Same frame. But that was where the similarities ended.

A dark gas mask obscured the lower half of his face, worn and scratched but well-kept. His goggles, unlike Toby’s blinding orange ones, were the classic clear kind—pushed up onto his head, revealing sharp, inhumanly bright eyes that practically glowed atomic green. His hoodie was a deep, dusty blue, faded with time but clean, with the hood slouched against his back. A tan satchel hung from his side, heavy with unseen contents.

But what truly caught your attention was the symbol.

Stamped into the sleeve of his hoodie near his shoulder, barely faded, was a circle with an X drawn through it.

You froze.

You’d seen that before. Everywhere. Spray-painted on alley walls, carved into benches, scratched into metal poles near the outskirts of town. You always thought it was some weird graffiti tag, maybe from a rebellious art kid or a gang without imagination.

But now you knew better.

That symbol had meaning here.

The man in the mask turned as the group entered, his gaze snapping to yours the second you stepped through the doorway. And those green eyes—unnatural, sharp, electric—locked with yours in a way that made your breath hitch.

Jeff, for once, had gone silent. He didn’t meet your gaze. He didn’t smile. Not now.

“Eyes up here, princess,” the masked man said—this time to Jeff, who shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.

The room was vast—an enormous library that seemed to stretch both up and outward forever. Towering shelves lined the walls, heavy with old books, ancient tomes, and strange objects you couldn’t begin to name. But in the center of the room was something unexpected: a massive sunken conversation pit, circular, with deep couches and mismatched cushions scattered about. A fire roared quietly in the center, the light licking up.

It felt like a strange blend of eerie and… lived-in.

You felt EJ stop beside you, and you mirrored him instinctively.

“Library,” he said plainly. “Most meetings happen here. Most arguments too.”

Toby muttered a quiet “he’s not wrong” under his breath, his eyes darting between you and the masked figure.

You turned to EJ, voice low. “…Who’s that?”

EJ didn’t even blink.

“That’s Cody.”

Cody.

You filed the name away immediately.

Just like all the others.

Toby was already halfway down the steps into the sunken pit by the time you'd processed the room. He practically threw himself onto one of the couches, limbs flopping every which way like a scarecrow with too much caffeine.

"I call this one!" he announced, laying dramatically across the cushions with his arms behind his head. "Couch privileges. Seniority, baby."

You lingered near the edge of the conversation pit, arms still stiff at your sides. Despite the soft flicker of the fire, the room didn’t feel warm—not to you. Maybe it was the pressure of too many unknowns, too many killers sitting in a room like it was some twisted little family reunion.

Then, from behind, a gentle but firm tap between your shoulder blades. EJ’s gloved finger.

A nonverbal, "Move."

You scowled slightly but obeyed, your boots thudding softly down the stairs. You headed toward the couch without letting your eyes drift too long on anyone—especially not Jeff, who was now sprawled in a different corner with that smug grin starting to reappear. He hadn’t said anything since Cody stepped in, but you could feel the weight of his stare like a mosquito whining too close to your ear.

Just as you were about to sit, the hairs on your neck stood up.

Footsteps.

Two sets. Heavy and unhurried.

You didn’t need to turn to know who it was—you felt it.

Cold, sharp, dangerous.

They stepped into the room with the kind of silence that made your fight-or-flight reflex scream. Your gut twisted.

The man in the porcelain mask came first, dressed in the same Carhartt jacket from the mall—the one that had barely rippled when a hatchet was thrown. His mask was unnerving: completely featureless save for its empty eyes, like staring into a void.

Beside him was the one in the mustard hoodie, the ski mask stretched over his face like an insult. Two glowing red dots where his eyes should be, and a red downturned mouth painted in the shape of a permanent, cartoonish frown.

You could handle Toby.

These two? You didn’t even know their names, and yet your body already cataloged every muscle twitch, every inch of distance between you and them.

You clenched your fist so tightly you felt your nails press crescents into your palm, the ache keeping you grounded. For half a second, your body wanted to move. Kick. Strike. Put both these guys down hard.

Instead… you sat. Directly between EJ and Cody.

Cody barely looked at you as you settled, but you could feel his presence nonetheless—calm, silent, calculating. Unlike Toby, who radiated chaotic energy, Cody was stone. Still. The kind of still that made people nervous.

Your eyes flicked toward EJ. He sat closest to the steps that led out of the pit, arms crossed as if this whole thing was routine.

Good, you thought. If things go bad, that’s the exit. He’s my way out.

Then, without fully turning your head, you scoped the windows to your left. Tall. Thin. But they lined the wall directly behind you, opposite the door. Sunlight streamed in just enough to let you imagine it—grabbing a chair, a bookend, hell, even the scythe if you had to, and smashing your way out. Running through the woods barefoot if it came to it.

You were already planning.

Always planning.

And while your cereal still sat untouched somewhere in the kitchen, cold and soggy by now… this? This felt like survival again.

And you were good at survival.

The two masked men sat across from you in unison, like synchronized predators watching their prey from across the flame. The fire between you danced lazily, crackling with a low pop every now and then, casting deep shadows across their faceless visages. Despite how out of place it felt, the fire somehow didn’t fill the room with smoke. Just warmth. Controlled. Engineered.

You blinked at the flames, then up.

How the hell was there a fire pit in the middle of a damn library?

Your eyes scanned the towering shelves that surrounded the sunken pit like the ribs of some great beast, and eventually caught sight of an open skylight far above. A soft beam of late afternoon light trickled in through it. You almost relaxed—

Until you noticed eyes staring back.

Not just any eyes.

One was stark white with a pinprick of black in the center. The other? Pitch black with a swirling white spiral. No lids. No blinking. Just… watching.

"What the fu—"

You barely had time to gasp before a figure began descending—gracefully, almost theatrically—on a pair of thick, black-and-white acrobatic silks. If the situation hadn’t been straight out of a nightmare, you might have laughed at how absurd it was. But your heart was in your throat.

He dropped lower.

Slow, deliberate, inhuman.

And then he landed lightly just beside the fire pit. Not with a thud. With a whisper.

Your breath hitched.

He was completely monochrome. Like someone had dragged him from an old film reel and dumped him into reality. His skin was so pale it bordered on translucent, stretched thin over a tall, almost skeletal frame. His hair was wild, jet black, and shot in every direction like he’d electrocuted himself and liked it. A grotesque grin split his face unnaturally wide, exposing rows of jagged, yellowed teeth that didn’t belong in a human mouth.

His smile extended too far, impossibly so, as if the corners of his mouth had been pulled by invisible strings.

You froze, caught in the predator's gaze.

He wore a Victorian-style clown outfit, striped black and white from the puffy shoulders down to the oversized, pointed shoes. The ruffled collar bobbed slightly as he tilted his head, and even the gloves on his long fingers followed that antique harlequin pattern.

You stared.

He stared back.

Unblinking.

The fire between you popped, and you flinched.

“You got a name, pretty thing?” the creature asked, his voice a strange mix of melodic and grating. It scratched at your ears like a record just out of tune but still trying to hum a lullaby.

No one moved.

Toby leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Oh, great. Now he’s here.” His voice was flat. Almost tired.

EJ didn’t react at all. Cody shifted subtly beside you, not out of fear, but readiness. You could feel it, like static coiling under his skin.

“Y/N,” you answered finally, your voice steadier than you expected.

The monochrome figure placed a hand over his heart and gave a bow so deep and formal it seemed mocking.

“Pleasure.”

Then his smile widened somehow—impossibly.

“You can call me Jack.”

Jeff burst into uncontrollable laughter, nearly doubling over in his seat across the fire pit.

“Are you serious?” he wheezed, slapping his knee. “No one told her about Jack? Oh, this is gonna be good—”

You tuned him out.

It was easier that way. His voice felt like nails on a chalkboard dragging through your spine at this point. Instead, you focused on the others. The ones who hadn't made a show of themselves yet. You needed to start piecing things together—how they moved, who they watched, who they didn't. Their power dynamics.

And then you felt it—just the faintest pressure on your thigh.

You flinched and looked down.

EJ, silent as ever beside you, was dragging the edge of his index finger along the fabric of your pants. His movements were small and methodical, letters forming with precision, the tiniest indent pressing against your skin as he wrote:

S-A-L-L-Y

You furrowed your brow and looked up.

And there she was.

You hadn't even seen her enter.

She was sitting on the floor just a few feet away from Jack, her tiny frame partially obscured by a low shelf. Pale—deathly pale, almost grey—her skin looked like porcelain pulled too tight over bones. Her wide, dark brown eyes were glossy and too big for her face, staring blankly at the fire as if it held the secrets to the universe.

Her hair was long and brown, straight but messily tangled at the ends, falling past her shoulders in jagged strands. She wore a faded pink dress that looked like it belonged to another decade, tattered at the hem and smeared with something too dark to be dirt.

Blood.

Her bare feet were tucked underneath her, toes curling against the plush rug, and in her small arms she held a teddy bear—worn, but oddly pristine. No blood. No dirt. Just a soft, faded brown bear clutched so tightly to her chest you wondered if it had grown there.

Around her, a faint glow pulsed—soft and cold. Like moonlight after a snowstorm.

She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t have to.

Your stomach twisted at the sight of her. She was beautiful and broken and terrifying all at once. A child frozen in time—maybe literally—and the kind of quiet that carried weight. Not innocence. Not anymore.

Jack gave a little flourish with his arms as if presenting her on a game show.

“And that would be our darling little Sally.” His voice dripped with mock affection, but his eyes flicked to her with something else. Caution.

Jeff had stopped laughing.

Toby let out a soft hum, rocking back and forth in his seat like he was trying to match the rhythm of the flames.

You leaned toward EJ slightly, your voice low.

“What’s her deal?”

He traced out a single word against your thigh: D-E-A-D

You swallowed hard.

Sally blinked slowly and, as if sensing your question, turned to look directly at you. No smile. No frown. Just… eyes.

She raised her bear a little higher, nuzzled her face into it, then whispered something. You couldn’t hear it. But whatever it was, the air around her shifted.

You looked away.

And caught Jack’s eyes again—still fixed on you. Still smiling.

God, always smiling.

You’re still reeling from the last five minutes when you feel a subtle shift beside you.

Ben is there now—how he got in without you noticing, you have no idea. He’s perched on the ledge of the sunken conversation pit, legs casually dangling over the edge, resting against the back of the couch you’re sitting on. He’s slouched like he doesn’t have a care in the world, the sharp glow of his Nintendo Switch casting little colored flickers across his blank, pale face. The shell gleaming like it had been bought yesterday. Stickers covered the back—some cute, some chaotic. One was a low-res pixelated skull, another was a suspiciously realistic eyeball, and the rest… were better not stared at for too long.

He didn’t even look up, tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he pressed furiously at the buttons. A faint 8-bit melody leaked from the speakers—something unnervingly cheerful.

He doesn’t look at you. Just chews his bottom lip and keeps tapping buttons like the world around him is a game he already beat.

You’re about to shift away—just a little—when you feel it again.

EJ’s glove.

Slow. Controlled. Tracing a name into your thigh.

Your breath catches in your throat.

It’s higher now. Closer to your hip. The butterflies that had settled start clawing their way back up, but they’re tangled with something worse this time. Your stomach flips, cold sweat prickling the back of your neck.

You glance down.

C-L-O-C-K-W-O-R-K.

Longer name. More space. His finger trails the last curve of the "K" with a subtle press before he pulls his hand away like nothing happened.

You swallow hard.

And then you see her.

She’s leaning against the far shelf of the library like she’s been there the whole time, half in shadow, one boot crossed over the other, arms folded across a flannel-clad chest.

Clockwork.

The name sticks in your head like gum on concrete.

There’s a literal clock embedded in her right eye socket—real, ticking, alive. Its hands twitch subtly, gears clicking just loud enough to be heard under the crackle of the fire. The skin around it is torn and tight, a patchwork of bruises, faded blood, and stitches that look like they were sewn by someone angry and impatient.

Her other eye—still intact—is sharp. Bright green, or maybe hazel, depending on how the firelight hits it. And it’s locked directly on you.

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t blink. Just… studies you.

You feel like a bug under glass.

Scars lace her face—across her mouth, down her chin, jagged and ugly in that "don't ask what happened" kind of way. Her hair’s pulled into a messy ponytail, but strands stick out in every direction like they’ve given up fighting gravity. She wears a dark green flannel, black tee underneath, ripped jeans, and beat-up combat boots.

If Frankenstein built a soldier, she’d be it.

Her expression doesn’t shift when you meet her eyes. There’s no friendliness there—but no hate, either. Just a quiet, burning awareness. Like she’s thinking: How fast can you run? How hard can you hit? And how long before I have to find out for myself?

You don’t look away.

And for a moment, just a flicker, one side of her stitched-up mouth quirks upward.

Not a smile. Not quite. But close enough to make your spine tighten.

Ben, without glancing up, lets out a low, bored snort.

"You're gonna die playing staring contests like that. Clock's never lost one."

You keep your gaze forward, pulse thudding as the tension in the room grows thick and crackling. You don’t even realize you’ve leaned slightly toward EJ until you feel the edge of his coat brush your arm.

Before you can say a word, Jack explodes with theatrical flair from where he’s now hanging half-over the back of the couch:

“WELL THEN!” he drawls, all manic energy and glee.

“Now that the gang’s all here… shall we begin our adorable little house meeting?”

Jeff groans somewhere behind you, his voice sharp and too loud.

“Ughhh, not this again. Who even made this a thing?”

“Probably Cody,” Toby chirps from the other side of the pit, flopped upside down on one of the seats like it’s a trampoline.

“He loves boring serious people shit.”

You barely hear them.

Because you can feel the presence again.

Them.

You stiffen slightly. Turn your head.

The two men from the mall—porcelain mask, and mustard hoodie with the ski mask and red markings. They still sit across from you, flames dancing between you and them, flickering light bouncing off their unnatural stillness.

There’s something about them that makes your instincts scream. Not loud like Toby. Not unsettling like Jack. Not clinical like EJ.

They’re deadly.

Even sitting still, saying nothing, they radiate a cold finality. Like if you breathed wrong, they’d put you down without a second thought.

Your hands tighten into fists.

Your knee bounces once, ready to launch toward the massive windows on your left. Easy escape, you think. One good kick, you could be through the glass. Maybe not clean—but free.

You flick your eyes to the stairs, to EJ’s shoulder beside you.

You’re not stuck. Not really.

But you are, for now, trapped in a den of monsters.

And every single one of them just started watching you like you're part of the collection now.

As soon as EJ prepares to speak, the room goes unnervingly silent. The tension thickens, like the air’s been sucked out of the room, and all eyes shift toward you. You feel it—the change. You’re no longer just an observer, a bystander to their madness. You’re one of them now, in some twisted way.

EJ clears his throat, breaking the silence with his usual, monotone voice.

“Obviously, not everyone’s here, but you all should spread the word just fine. Y/N is joining us. She won’t be living here full-time, but she’ll definitely be sleeping in her room tonight. Her first mission is on Halloween, in a couple of weeks. Before then, she’ll come around occasionally for details and training.”

The room seems to stir at this, mutters spreading like wildfire. You feel the weight of their judgment in every quiet exchange, the whispers skittering through the room like cold wind.

Then Toby, always with his tic, speaks up. His stutter barely masks the excitement in his voice.

“She g-got Pestilence.”

For a second, everything stops. Then, the room erupts.

Ben’s face lights up with a twisted kind of amusement. His fingers stop twitching on the buttons of his Nintendo Switch, eyes wide in something that looks like respect—or maybe a little fear. Jack, leaning forward from his seat, grins so wide you can see every sharp, jagged tooth in his mouth. His eyes gleam with curiosity. Cody, his expression always neutral, allows himself a small, approving nod.

But the rest of them? They don’t seem as pleased.

The room fills with shouting, voices cutting through the air with anger and disbelief. Sally’s small figure barely moves, but her eyes, dark and deep as an ocean, never leave you. Porcelain Mask, one of the men you saw at the mall, snarls under his breath.

“Pestilence? That’s who we’re taking in?”

You don’t catch the rest of his words, but you can feel the mockery in his tone. They’re questioning you, judging you already.

Before the argument can go any further, there's a sudden pop behind Ben. It’s so sudden, it almost makes you jump, but you’re quick to spin around. There, standing just between the shelves, is Nina. She steps forward with a casual, almost careless grace, her eyes studying you with mild interest.

“Woah, that’s impressive, newbie,” she says, her voice a mix of disbelief and casual curiosity.

The way she says it—half-sarcastic, half-amused—makes you feel like you’re still on some kind of test, something she’s been watching unfold for a while. She gives a small chuckle, but her eyes remain sharp, calculating.

The room, once buzzing with confusion, quiets again, and the conversation shifts toward you, like everyone’s just waiting for your reaction. You can feel the pressure of their gazes on you, each of them sizing you up, dissecting you from the inside out.

EJ’s voice cuts through the silence.

“Enough,” he says firmly. “The fact that she got Pestilence means she’s got potential. Whether you like it or not, she’s part of this now.”

His words land heavy, like a stamp of finality. No more arguments. This is happening. And you're caught in the middle of it, tangled up in something far darker than you can understand.

The others shift in their seats, still grumbling under their breath, but it's clear that whatever protests were brewing are now muted.

Clockwork, eyes never leaving you, doesn't speak. But you can feel the weight of her gaze, intense, as if she’s dissecting every part of you. The same goes for Ben, still too focused on his Switch but giving you the occasional glance, the look of someone trying to gauge if you're an ally or a threat.

You’re part of this now.

Whether you want to be or not.

And as much as you’d like to bolt, escape from this twisted house of horrors, you know one thing—you’re trapped. With no clear way out, no answers, and no idea what the hell you’re supposed to do next.

And just when you think you can breathe, Nina tosses out her last line, casually but pointedly,

“Guess we’ll see how well you handle your first Halloween.”

Her words echo in the space between you and the others, another cold reminder of what you’ve signed up for.

The tension in the room is palpable, suffocating. You feel it rising within you, a pit of raw frustration threatening to break free. You can’t help it—every single person here, their faces, their voices, the way they look at you like they own you, like you're nothing more than an experiment or a tool—it makes something inside of you snap.

EJ senses it too. He moves quickly, his hand pressing against your arm, a subtle reminder to ground yourself. But the touch does little to calm you. Instead, it ignites something darker within you, and as you try to swallow the words building up in your throat, they spill out before you can stop them.

“You think you're all so special, don't you?” You hear yourself say, the words sharp and venomous. “You, Toby, with your stupid stutter and your incessant tics. You think you’re funny, but really, you’re just pathetic.”

Toby’s face flickers with shock. His eyes dart nervously, a quick flash of hurt before the usual mask of arrogance falls back into place.

“And you, Ben? You think your little video games and your sad attempts at normalcy make you any less twisted? You’re not ‘innocent,’ you’re just a child hiding behind a screen, pretending this is all a game.”

Ben flinches, but doesn’t respond. He turns back to his Nintendo Switch, fingers stiffening on the buttons, but you can see the way his shoulders tense. He’s not as unaffected as he pretends to be.

Your gaze lands on Jack next, and the sneer that curls your lips surprises even you.

“You? Jack? What are you, the resident clown?” Your voice drips with disgust. You hide behind that freaky smile, but we all know you’re just as messed up as the rest of them.”

Jack’s grin widens, but there’s a flicker of something—guilt? Shame? You can’t be sure, but it makes him hesitate for just a moment.

“And you, Jeff...” You finally turn to the man who stands farthest to you now, his imposing presence shifting as you glare at him. “Don’t even get me started on you. You’re all high and mighty, wearing that ridiculous hoodie like you’re some kind of god. What’s under there, huh?” You take a step forward. “Scared of what you really look like?”

Jeff’s expression doesn’t change, but his eyes narrow, the gaze sharp enough to pierce through you. He opens his mouth, but you don’t wait for him to speak.

With every word, your heart races faster, your breaths becoming more erratic, your fists clenched so tight your knuckles turn white. It feels like all of the rage, the confusion, the helplessness you’ve been holding inside for so long is coming out all at once. You don’t even care anymore. You just want them to feel it, to know how much they’ve pushed you, how much they’ve hurt you.

“You’re all monsters.” The words slip out like acid, burning with the truth you don’t want to face. “And I don’t know why the hell I’m even here, why you thought I could ever be part of this.”

EJ’s hand tightens on your arm, trying to anchor you, but your emotions have taken over. You stand abruptly, the movement sharp, as if your legs have a mind of their own. Without even thinking, you start to walk toward Porcelain Mask and Ski Mask, the two men from the mall, the ones who wanted to kill you then.

Your vision blurs with fury as you march toward them, ready to do whatever it takes to make them feel something—anything. But before you can reach them, you feel a strong pull on your arm. Cody is standing, his grip tight on your shoulder, forcing you to stop.

“That’s enough.” His voice is low, but there’s an undeniable authority in it. The words cut through your hysteria, and for a second, your vision sharpens, and you realize where you are.

You try to jerk away from his grasp, but Cody doesn’t let go. He pulls you back gently, but firmly, keeping you at a distance from the others, and his eyes are locked on yours, intense, unwavering.

“Calm down.” His voice is colder now, like steel wrapped in velvet. “You’re not going to get anything by provoking them like this. It won’t help you. It’s not your fight. Not yet.”

You look at him, chest heaving, body still on edge, but the words start to settle in. The anger, while still burning inside you, loses some of its power. You're still trembling, but now you’re more aware of the situation. You’re not alone in this mess, and maybe—just maybe—this is the moment you need to choose your next move wisely.

Cody doesn’t release his hold right away. He keeps his hand on your shoulder, steady and unwavering, as the rest of the group looks on, some with curiosity, some with confusion. You’re all silent for a beat, the room frozen in an awkward stillness.

EJ’s voice cuts through again, more composed than before, though the edge of his authority still lingers.

“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s continue. Halloween’s coming up, and you all know what that means.” He pauses, glancing at you briefly, his fingers still gently pressed to your thigh. “Y/N’s mission starts then. Get ready.”

The rest of the group falls quiet again, but the weight of the moment isn’t lost on anyone. You’re no longer just the new girl—you’re one of them now, and that means learning to walk their dangerous line.

The room slowly empties, the buzz of conversation fading into the distant echoes of the mansion. It feels like a weight lifts off your shoulders, but the tension in your chest remains, taut and ready to snap again at any moment. EJ gives a final nod, his voice cool as he calls out, “Get some rest, everyone. We’ll reconvene later.”

No one dares argue. They all shuffle out, some lingering to give you strange looks, but the majority seem eager to retreat to whatever dark corners they call home in this place. You watch them go, feeling the burn of their glares lingering like a heavy cloud, then turn back to EJ, who’s already stepping toward the door. Cody follows, his gait slow and deliberate as he waits for you to catch up.

“Let’s go,” EJ mutters, his hand gesturing toward the hallway. You follow them silently, not saying a word. Every footstep echoes in the vast, unsettling quiet of the mansion.

Cody doesn’t say anything for a while, until you reach a door at the end of another long hallway, the sound of your shoes tapping against the cold floor loud in the stillness. When you stop at the threshold, he reaches into his tan satchel, pulling out a small, sleek cellphone. He glances at it for a second before handing it to you.

“Here. Boss man wanted me to swap out your sim card.” He then gestures toward the small, vibrant keychain attached to your keys that’s now dangling in his hand. It’s clear from the look in his eyes that he’s a little amused, but there’s no denying the slightly strange mix of something almost sentimental about the charms attached to it.

Your fingers curl around your keys instinctively, but a bitter taste rises in your mouth. You barely stop yourself from snapping at him. “You damaged my phone? Took my stuff?” Your voice cracks slightly. “You didn’t have the right to mess with it.”

Cody shrugs, his expression unbothered. “ He said to make sure you didn’t have anything traceable on it. If it helps, I got you a new one, so you can stop whining.”

You shoot him an unimpressed look, but as you take the new phone, your eyes flick over the screen. The moment you unlock it, a flood of names and numbers start to populate the contact list. You don’t even need to check to know what it is—it’s a list of residents.

You immediately scroll through it, seeing names that make your stomach tighten. They’re all here—people you’ve seen, people you haven’t fully met, the people who are part of this mansion, this life you’re unwillingly caught up in. But there’s something about it all that gnaws at your mind. How long have they all been watching you?

Cody leans against the wall casually, watching you as you scroll through the list, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “What’s the matter, huh? You’re starting to realize the weight of all this?”

You look up at him, biting back a retort. You don't need to explain yourself to him. Instead, you focus on the strange flood of feelings running through you. This new phone, a fresh start but with an unsettling layer of control behind it. The numbers, the faces, all linked to a life that you don’t know if you can ever escape.

Cody’s eyes flick to the phone again, his voice breaking the silence. “Don't worry, the list will make things a bit easier for you. You’ll want to know who’s who in this place sooner or later.”

His tone shifts, a little darker. “And if you’re smart, you’ll learn to rely on your resources.”

The implication is obvious. It’s not just about survival. It’s about playing the game. But you know that already. You feel it—the instinct to protect yourself, to build some kind of power where you can. And with this phone, these numbers, you're one step closer to gaining some control.

“Right.” You mutter under your breath, your fingers tightening around the new phone, a cold feeling settling in your gut. There’s nothing left for you to do but accept the situation, at least for now.

Cody gives you a brief, almost careless nod as he steps aside, gesturing toward the door. “Your room’s in there. Boss said you’ll sleep here tonight. But don’t get used to it. We’re all going to be moving around soon enough.”

You look at the door for a moment, the weight of everything pressing down on you. You don’t feel like you belong here. Not yet. But you have to. For now, this place is your reality. You can either accept it and survive, or rebel and risk everything. Neither option is comfortable.

With one last glance at Cody and EJ, you step through the door, the weight of the situation bearing down on you. The phone feels heavy in your hand, the names and numbers blurring together as your mind spins.

The mansion is silent behind you. But you know it's far from peaceful. It’s a cage, and you’re its newest occupant.

And now you have to figure out how to break out—without getting broken first.

You step into the room, the door clicking shut behind you with a soft, hollow sound. It’s a surprisingly large space, especially considering where you are. The bed is neatly made, a thick, plush blanket covering it, but it’s the attached bathroom that catches your attention first. You let out a small, involuntary sigh of relief.

"At least I won't have to share," you mutter under your breath, feeling a slight sense of comfort that’s quickly overshadowed by the unease gnawing at the back of your mind.

You glance around, the feeling of being watched creeping over you. You swallow hard, nerves on edge. The furniture in the room is simple but functional—nothing too fancy, nothing out of the ordinary. But that’s the problem. Everything about this place feels like it’s been designed to keep you off-balance, to keep you questioning what’s real, what’s normal.

The room feels too clean, too quiet, and the silence presses against your ears like an invisible weight.

With slow, deliberate steps, you start another walkthrough of the space. Your eyes scan every corner, every shadow, looking for anything that might give you a sense of control in this claustrophobic space. You tug open the closet, inspecting it for anything out of place. It’s barren. Just clothes—simple, almost plain, hanging from hangers.

But then your gaze shifts, scanning the walls, the shelves, the light fixtures. You press your fingertips to the corners of the ceiling, searching for hidden cameras, hidden microphones—anything that could be lurking just out of sight. The paranoia builds, tightening around your chest, but there’s nothing.

Nothing.

You tell yourself it’s fine. You’re just being paranoid. You have to be. But still, the feeling of being trapped, of being watched, won’t leave. It feels like the walls are closing in on you.

Your phone pings, breaking the tension in the room.

You pull it from your pocket, almost relieved to have something to focus on. The message is from your roommate.

Hey, where are you? 4:32pm

Are you okay? 7:05pm

You stare at the message for a moment. You’re supposed to be with her. You’re supposed to be back home, in your apartment, far away from this nightmare.

But you can’t go back. Not yet. Not until you figure out what’s going on here—why they’re keeping you, what they want from you.

You sit down heavily on the bed, fingers trembling as you type a response, the words feeling hollow and fake even as you send them.

I’m fine.

I’ll be back tomorrow night. Don’t worry. 7:06pm

But as soon as the message is sent, a wave of dread washes over you. The weight of the situation finally hits you, crushing down on your chest. Your heart begins to race, the blood in your veins turning to ice.

You try to take a deep breath, but your lungs betray you. It’s like there’s not enough air. The walls feel like they’re getting smaller, closer, pressing in until you can’t breathe, can’t think.

You tear at the bedding, throwing the blanket off the bed in frustration. The soft fabric tangles around your fingers as you claw at your skin, trying to escape the feeling of suffocation. You can feel the panic rising—its sharp claws digging into your throat, making it harder and harder to stay calm.

Your mind races. There’s no escape. There’s no way out of this. You’re stuck here, and no one can help you.

The tears start to fall then, hot and fast. You can’t stop them. You feel them running down your face, your chest shaking with the force of it.

But somehow, you don’t scream. Instead, you stand, feeling the weight of your own body. Your legs are weak, and everything feels like it’s spinning around you.

Without thinking, you turn and rush to the bathroom, your stomach churning as the panic takes over. You barely make it before you’re retching, bile burning in your throat, and everything comes up in a messy, violent rush.

You clutch the edge of the sink, gasping for breath, the cold porcelain grounding you, but it doesn’t make the feeling go away. It doesn’t make the anxiety stop gnawing at your insides.

Slowly, shakily, you pull yourself away from the sink. You turn the shower on, running the water as hot as it’ll go, steam billowing up around you. You step into the stream of water, letting it hit your skin, letting the heat sear through you.

You stand there for what feels like an eternity, the water scalding against your skin, and yet it doesn’t seem to be enough. Nothing feels enough.

Eventually, the panic fades, the adrenaline seeping out of your bones. The shaking doesn’t stop, but the worst of it passes.

After a long while, you turn off the water. You wrap yourself in a towel, thanking the heavens above you found one in the cabinet below the sink, but the exhaustion is undeniable. Your limbs feel heavy, like lead. You stand there for a moment, staring at your reflection in the fogged mirror, before you gather enough energy to make your way back to the bed.

The bedding is still tossed aside, but you pull it back over yourself, curling into the warmth, the weight of it heavy and comforting.

You close your eyes, not able to fight the exhaustion any longer. You don’t even care that the bed is still cold, or that you’re wrapped up in a mess of blankets.

For once, you don’t care.

You just need to sleep.

[s1e1lar]

“The Hollow Watchers” Various creepypasta’s x youtuber!reader

A/n: HAI GUYS. I told you I would be back soon.

Cw: female reader, suggestive comments, weapons, and general creepiness

Wordcount: 1,841

⛧°.⋆༺🦇༻⋆.°⛧

EJ walked ahead of you, his silent yet commanding presence guiding you down another long hallway. Your mind was still spinning from what had just happened, from the faceless man’s words, from the impossible choice laid before you.

Murder.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. The weight of that single word pressed down on your chest, suffocating and inescapable.

The hallway stretched endlessly before you, lined with doors that loomed like silent sentinels. The air was cold, stale, like a place that had been abandoned and yet was still somehow lived in. Dim lights flickered above, casting long shadows that seemed to slither along the walls.

You passed the front door, and for the briefest moment, your heart leaped. Freedom was just beyond that threshold, so close and yet impossibly out of reach. EJ didn’t even glance at it as he walked past, his posture unreadable.

Your feet dragged slightly as you followed, the reality of your situation becoming heavier with every step. You were about to enter what looked like a large common area when a voice—sharp, grating, and immediately infuriating—cut through the air.

“Ohh, would you look at this?”

The voice, cocky and smug, practically dripping with amusement.

Then another, more energetic but sharper than you expected.

“Jeff, don’t be a creep. You’re gonna scare her off before she even gets a proper introduction.”

You barely had time to react before you stepped into view of the two figures lounging in the dimly lit living area.

You quickly put a face to the name—Jeff. His shaggy black hair hung messily over his face, and this unsettling grin—permanently carved into his skin—stretched wide. His hoodie, which was once white, was now stained and splattered with old blood, some fresher than others. He sprawled lazily across the couch, his arms stretched along the backrest as he eyed you like a cat that had just spotted something fun to toy with.

Beside him, a striking girl perched on the arm of the couch. Her long black hair was styled in thick, sleek layers, a straight-cut fringe framing her sharp features. Multicolored strands—streaks of purple, blue, and pink—ran through her hair, blending in chaotic contrast. She wore dark eyeliner, bold makeup, and a ripped-up outfit that only made her stand out more.

And then there was her smile—or rather, the jagged scars that mirrored Jeff’s. The edges of her lips were carved into a matching grin, though unlike Jeff’s unsettling, predator-like smirk, hers was full of life, teasing and expressive.

“She’s cute,” she noted, resting her chin in her palm as she studied you. “Didn’t think you were into bringing home strays, EJ.”

Jeff chuckled, dark eyes glinting with mischief. “Stray’s got a hell of a body, I’ll give her that. You should’ve seen her earlier, Nina—damn near walked into a hatchet. But hey, might’ve been a waste, considering…” His smirk widened as his gaze raked over you. “Would’ve been fun to break her in first.”

Disgust curled in your stomach.

Your hands clenched at your sides, every muscle in your body tensing at the implication.

Before you could snap back, Nina rolled her eyes, shoving Jeff’s shoulder hard enough to make him jolt upright.

“Ugh, Jeff, you’re such a sleaze.” She sighed dramatically, flipping her hair over one shoulder. “You ever stop being gross for, like, five seconds?”

Jeff only snickered, unbothered, but you caught the way he briefly adjusted his posture—almost like he was reminded that he wasn’t the only one capable of getting under people’s skin.

EJ, on the other hand, didn’t react at all.

But the moment the words had left Jeff’s mouth, a shift had settled over him—small, almost imperceptible. The kind of shift that wasn’t loud or aggressive, but something deeper, something unspoken.

Jeff, despite his cocky attitude, seemed to sense it, too.

Nina picked up on it instantly, her expression flickering with amusement as she nudged Jeff again.

“Alright, loverboy, quit being an idiot before you actually piss off Mr. Tall, Dark, and Murdery over there.” She leaned in with a smirk. “You know how he gets when you overstep.”

Jeff clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes. “Tch. Whatever.” His grin stayed in place, but the way he leaned back again—less relaxed now, more calculating—was telling.

Nina, apparently satisfied, turned her attention back to you, and her sharp eyes softened just a fraction.

“Don’t let him get to you, sweetheart,” she said, her voice still teasing but notably less malicious. “Jeff’s an ass, but I promise, he’s mostly all bark.”

Mostly.

The way she said it didn’t exactly ease your nerves.

EJ gave no reaction to the exchange, simply resuming his walk without a glance in Jeff’s direction.

You took the opportunity to move, stepping past Jeff’s scrutinizing gaze and Nina’s amused smirk. But even as you walked away, you could still feel their eyes on you, lingering, assessing.

It was only when you turned the corner, Jeff and Nina disappearing from view, that you finally let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

One thing was crystal clear now.

You weren’t just being recruited.

You were being thrown into a pit of monsters.

⋆˙♱˙⋆

The spoon in your hand made slow, absentminded circles in your cereal, the milk now lukewarm from neglect. Across the table, EJ sat with his usual quiet intensity, methodically laying out the house rules in a tone that left no room for argument.

“You’ll be given a room. Use it whenever. There are doors in this house that are off-limits—don’t test that rule. You’ll be required to check in here at least once a week. If you don’t, we’ll find you, and I promise you won’t like how that ends.”

You nodded, doing your best to absorb every piece of information, filing it all away alongside the names and faces you were quickly accumulating.

EJ continued, his voice even. “You’ll also need to pick a weapon.”

Before he could elaborate, a sharp, erratic whistling noise filled the room, followed by the sound of boots scuffing the tile.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up!”

You recognized him instantly.

The guy from the mall. The one who had thrown the hatchet at your head.

Now that you got a better look, you noticed the deep, healing gash running across one of his cheeks—a wound that looked both fresh and old, like it had been reopened too many times. His hoodie was baggy, his movements jittery, and that constant ticking never stopped, like a broken clock wired directly into his bloodstream.

“You’re picking a weapon?” He grinned under his mask, eyes practically alight with excitement. “Oh, this is a big moment! D-d-don’t screw it up, newbie. I swear to god, if you pick something stupid like—like, I dunno, a taser or some dull-ass knife, I’ll actually be offended.”

You blinked, caught between processing his words and the fact that he was acting like he hadn’t nearly split your skull open with a hatchet.

He kept going, talking fast, like his brain was moving faster than his mouth.

“Listen, listen. You want something that feels right in your h-hands. Something that isn’t gonna betray you mid-fight. Something—” he gestured wildly, the ticking speeding up “—that says ‘I am a force to be f-feared and also I will absolutely rip you apart if I feel like it.’”

EJ exhaled, long-suffering, before finally cutting in with a single, deadpan word.

“Toby.”

Toby immediately snapped his mouth shut, glancing over at EJ with a sheepish sort of energy, like a dog caught digging in the trash.

“…Right. Sorry.” He barely looked sorry, though, his eyes darting back to you with barely restrained enthusiasm. “But seriously, don't screw this up.”

You made a mental note of his name, adding it to the ever-growing list of people you now had to remember.

Toby. Another unpredictable presence in a house full of them.

⋆˙♱˙⋆

The weapon room was a disaster.

There was no real system to it—racks of blades shoved haphazardly into stands, guns piled on tables like forgotten toys, axes leaning against the walls, their edges dulled from years of use. The scent of oiled metal and gunpowder filled the air, thick and suffocating, and somewhere in the mess, you swore you could hear the faint creak of unstable shelving.

Toby, of course, was eating it up.

“Man, I love this place,” he said, running his hands over a row of throwing knives. “So much untapped p-p-potential. So many ways to creatively end someone’s life.”

You barely heard him.

Your gut was screaming at you.

Something pulled at you, an invisible string leading you forward, past the daggers, the hatchets, the firearms. Your feet moved before you could think, carrying you straight to a tall, dusty bookshelf shoved against the farthest wall. It was an absolute joke of organization—random weapons tossed onto its shelves, as if someone had given up on sorting them properly.

But you didn’t look at the shelves.

You knelt down instead, eyes locking onto the small, dark gap between the wood and the floor. Something was there. Hidden. Waiting.

Your fingers slid beneath the lip of the bookshelf, brushing against cool metal. You curled your hand around it and pulled.

A necklace.

A tiny metal ankh dangled from a thin chain, delicate yet oddly warm in your grasp. The moment your fingers closed around it, something shifted—a weight pressing down on your chest, like the air itself was holding its breath.

Before you could even process what you were feeling, Toby’s voice rang out, sharp with recognition.

“Oh, m-man. She got Pestilence.”

You snapped your head toward him, confusion evident on your face. But it wasn’t Toby you locked eyes with.

It was EJ.

He didn’t look surprised. If anything, he looked… expectant. Like he knew. Like this was supposed to happen.

He nodded once.

A silent confirmation.

You took that as permission.

Without hesitation, you yanked the ankh off its chain.

A burst of black dust exploded from your hand, spiraling outward like ink in water. Your pulse hammered in your ears, but you didn’t flinch. Instead, you felt it—something heavy, solid, forming in your grip, the weight of it grounding you in the moment.

And then, as the dust settled, you saw it.

A scythe.

Its blade was long and curved, shimmering with Egyptian runes that pulsed faintly in the dim light. The handle stretched taller than you, dark and smooth, perfectly balanced. At the very end of it, another ankh symbol hung, mirroring the one that had been on the necklace.

You barely had time to process it before Toby muttered under his breath.

“…Holy shit.”

You exhaled slowly, tightening your grip on the scythe.

Instinctively, you reached for the ankh at the end of the handle and yanked it free.

Another burst of black dust, and just like that, the scythe was gone. The weight in your hands disappeared, replaced once again by the small, unassuming necklace.

The room was silent.

Then, EJ sighed.

“Now let’s have our stupid house meeting.”

[s1e1lar]

“The Hollow Watchers” Various creepypasta’s x youtuber!reader

A/n: i fear after avoiding this like the plague i couldn't go to sleep until i wrote the next chapter. This is now on wattpad btw. However tumblr does get the chapters first and a/n about updates and such. AND I MADE A PLAYSLIST, just keep in mind that the lyrics may not line up with the story but rather the "vibe" of the song. look up the title on Spotify!!

CW: female reader, cleaning wounds, talk of murder

Word count: 2k

⛧°.⋆༺🦇༻⋆.°⛧

The silence in the room was stifling, heavy, and almost suffocating. The only sound that broke the quiet was the faint rustling of fabric as EJ moved back toward the nearby medical cabinet. You watched him, heart pounding, as he rifled through the cabinet with deliberate care, pulling out bandages and antiseptic.

Your eyes followed every movement, but you couldn't bring yourself to speak, not when the chill in his presence was so overwhelming. His gaze was unreadable, though there was an unsettling calm about him, an unsettling air of control.

You tried to open your mouth, but the words stuck, heavy as lead in your throat. What was there to say? Who were they? Where were you? How could you even begin to make sense of any of this?

You settled for a question, the one that burned on your tongue since you woke up. “Where… where am I?” Your voice was shaky, quieter than you wanted it to be, but there it was. Your eyes searched his face for any sign of recognition, any flicker of emotion.

EJ didn’t respond.

He didn’t even acknowledge the question. His focus was entirely on the task at hand, his movements clinical, precise. He approached you, kneeling in front of you with the same level of calm he had carried the entire time you’d been in the room. You couldn’t help but wince as he gently cleaned the gash on your head with antiseptic. The sting made your skin crawl, but you said nothing, biting back a hiss of pain. You weren't sure if you could trust your voice right now, so you simply let him do his work.

The tension between you two hung thick in the air. The only sound now was the faint tap of his gloved fingers as he applied a fresh bandage to your wounds, moving quickly but with careful precision. He didn’t speak, didn’t even look up from his task, as if your presence didn’t affect him in the slightest.

And that silence, that lack of any response to your question, made you feel more isolated than ever. You tried to ignore the rising fear in your chest, the desperate need for any hint of comfort or clarity.

He finished his work in silence, his movements graceful, almost too practiced to be human. When he was done, he stood up, his eyes (or rather the black smudged holes in the mask) locked onto yours once more. He didn't say a word, but the way his gaze lingered on you, cold and unblinking, made your heart race.

The door behind you creaked open, and you instinctively stiffened. Your eyes darted toward it, and you saw the faintest hint of motion—EJ was heading toward it, his figure smooth and fluid, just like before. He paused by the door, his hand resting lightly on the handle.

He turned back to you.

The silence hung like a suffocating blanket in the room.

Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, EJ motioned for you to follow.

His voice—if it could even be called that—didn't reach you. There were no words. Just the weight of his presence and the silent demand. He didn't need to say anything for you to understand what he wanted.

Your stomach twisted with uncertainty, but you had no choice. You had no idea what lay beyond that door, but you did know this: staying here, in this room, wasn't an option. You stood, legs shaky as you slowly walked toward him, your feet dragging with each step.

As you passed him, you couldn't help but notice how effortlessly he towered over you, his gaze still cold, unfeeling. He didn’t move until you were right beside him, then, without a word, he opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

The hallway beyond was dark, the air thick with the weight of forgotten dust and decay. The lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows along the cracked tile floor. You could hear nothing but the sound of your own heartbeat, thudding in your ears, as you followed him down the narrow corridor.

EJ didn’t glance back at you, his footsteps steady and sure as he led the way. You walked in silence, unsure of what to expect, the anxiety building with each step. Your thoughts were a tangled mess—what were they going to do to you? What were they even after?

You risked another glance at him. His back was straight, rigid, like a soldier on duty. He didn’t seem bothered by the silence at all, almost as if he preferred it.

The door at the end of the hallway came into view. EJ stopped, pausing just before it. With a small, deliberate motion, he pushed the door open, revealing a dimly lit room beyond.

You didn't dare step inside yet. You hesitated, feeling a knot in your stomach tightening. What now?

EJ turned slightly, his hand still on the door. He didn’t look at you, but his posture was enough of a signal.

It was time to move.

Your body moved of its own accord, following his lead as you entered the room. The air was different here—heavy, suffocating, thick with the smell of machinery and something else, something faintly metallic, like blood.

As you step into the room, your mind takes a few moments to register the surroundings. It's an office—large, almost clinical in its stark simplicity. One massive wooden desk dominates the center of the room, its surface neat and orderly, papers stacked with meticulous precision. A few filing cabinets line the walls, all bathed in the cold, harsh light that seems to come from nowhere in particular, only illuminating the essentials. The floor is smooth, polished, with dark tiles that reflect the dim light above.

But it’s the window beyond the desk that catches your attention. You can see almost nothing through it—just faint outlines of a thick wooded forest. The lack of anything outside makes your stomach churn. It feels wrong. The window could have been nothing more than a black void.

Before you can fully comprehend the emptiness of the room, your eyes lock onto something—or rather, someone—seated in the chair in front of the desk.

A man. Or at least, you think it’s a man. His skin is unnaturally pale, almost chalky, and the way it seems to glow in the dim light is unnatural, like he doesn’t belong in this space. But what truly sends a wave of panic through you is his face—or the lack of it. There is no face. Just smooth, featureless skin, as if the very concept of a face has been erased from existence. The man is staring directly at you, but it doesn’t seem like he’s looking at all. The absence of eyes, of expression, makes him seem more like a void than a person. This is the same thing you saw outside of the mall.

A surge of panic grips your chest as your breath catches. You take an involuntary step back, your eyes darting to the door behind you. You need to get out, now. The air feels thick, suffocating, and that oppressive buzzing you heard earlier returns—louder this time. It claws at your mind, dragging you into a spiraling vortex of disorientation and terror.

Without thinking, you rush toward the door, desperately yanking on the handle, your hands shaking. It won’t budge. Locked. You feel the walls closing in around you, the buzzing becoming an almost physical presence in your ears, louder and more insistent. You pound against the door, your heart racing in your chest as you feel the cold metal beneath your hands.

“Please, please stop!” you whisper, panic bubbling in your throat. “I need to get out of here. Please!”

But the buzzing only intensifies, like a swarm of insects in your head, buzzing in rhythm with the frantic thumping of your heart. The sound becomes deafening, relentless, a sickening sensation that makes your vision blur and your knees buckle beneath you.

You slide down the door, your back pressing against the cool metal as you collapse to the floor in terror. Your hands tremble at your sides, and you rock back and forth slightly, trying to make sense of it all. Why is this happening?

“Stop. Please—stop!” you beg, your voice a raw whisper, but it does nothing. It only makes the buzzing worse, suffocating you.

And then, without warning, everything goes quiet.

The oppressive buzzing halts as if someone has turned off a switch, leaving you in the eerie silence of the room. For a brief, almost blissful moment, you can hear only the sound of your own ragged breathing.

But then, a voice—deep, cold, and unwavering—enters your mind.

It's not a voice you hear with your ears. It's a voice that feels like it’s inside your skull, reverberating in the very core of your being, and its presence fills you with dread.

“Sit.”

The command is unmistakable, firm, and unnervingly unnatural, like it has been synthesized or warped by something that is no longer human. You feel a cold shiver run down your spine.

“Sit in the chair. Now.”

Your muscles lock at the demand. The voice doesn’t sound like anything you’ve ever heard before—there’s a mechanical quality to it, almost robotic. It doesn't even feel like it's coming from the man with no face in front of you. But as your mind scrambles, a horrifying realization hits you. The voice is coming from him. That featureless, pale man in the chair. He isn’t just sitting there, passive and lifeless. He’s the source of this voice, his silence, his absence of expression, all just a front.

The fear that courses through you is suffocating, but there is no choice. The voice reverberates in your skull, stronger now, its authority unquestionable.

You can feel it—the subtle, almost tangible pressure of the command bearing down on you. Slowly, you lift yourself off the floor, your knees wobbling beneath you as you struggle to get to your feet. You stare at the chair across from the desk, that empty, imposing seat that now feels like a trap.

The chair looms ahead like the inevitable, its seat welcoming you in a way that feels dangerous, like a snare meant to catch the unwary. Every instinct inside you screams to run, to get out of here, but the voice, the overwhelming pull of it, is impossible to ignore.

Without another word, you stagger toward the chair, your legs shaky and uncooperative. Each step is a struggle, your body fighting against itself, but the voice’s command is so much more powerful, like an invisible hand pushing you toward that seat.

When you finally sit, the cold leather of the chair presses against your skin, its discomfort magnified by the weight of the situation. Your body refuses to relax, but you cannot move. Your back is straight, your eyes locked on the faceless man, but you don’t feel like you’re in control anymore.

A silence follows, stretching between you like an unbearable tension. And then, after what feels like an eternity, the voice returns.

“You will not move.”

It isn’t a request. It’s another command, and it sends a ripple of fear through you. What is happening? What is he going to do to you?

But you have no answers. Only silence, only the oppressive weight of the faceless man’s gaze—or perhaps it’s the lack of a gaze that makes the whole thing worse.

And in that silence, you realize one thing: you are completely, utterly trapped.

The silence stretched between you and the faceless man, thick and suffocating. The unnatural pressure of his presence coiled around you like an unseen force, making the very air in the room feel heavier. You sat frozen in the chair, heart hammering, waiting—dreading—what came next.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“You don’t belong here.”

The voice slithered through your mind, not spoken aloud, but felt, vibrating through your skull like an alien frequency. Your fingers curled against your thighs, gripping the fabric of your clothes as you tried to keep your breathing steady.

The man tilted his head slightly, his smooth, featureless face betraying nothing, yet you could feel his scrutiny. “Not in the way a trespasser doesn’t belong,” he continued. “You, specifically. You are an anomaly.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, confusion knitting your brows together. “What… what is that supposed to mean?” you forced out, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned back in his chair, the subtle motion exuding a sense of control, of calculated patience. “Your presence should have alerted my proxies the moment you stepped foot on my grounds. But it didn’t.”

You swallowed hard. You remembered those nights—sneaking into abandoned buildings, whispering into the camera, excitement and fear crackling between you and your roommate as you hunted for something, anything, that could be considered supernatural.

He didn’t react. “You stepped into my hideouts. Not once, but twice. The first time, I held back. I watched. I let my proxies decide what to do with you.” His voice took on a chilling edge, one that made your skin prickle. “And they would have killed you. Should have killed you. I had every intention of letting them dispose of you.”

Your breath hitched. You thought back to that night—the way shadows had moved just out of sight, the feeling of being watched, hunted.

“But something stopped me,” he continued, his voice a deep, unrelenting hum in your mind. “You.”

Your mouth went dry.

“Your scent. Your aura. It is… wrong.” His head tilted the other way, slow, precise. “You are not like the others. You are not human. Not entirely.”

A chill slithered down your spine.

“That night at the mall,” he went on, “you should have been noticed immediately. My proxies should have torn you apart the second you crossed into my territory. But you didn’t alert them. Not until it was too late.”

You remembered the hatchet—how it had nearly embedded itself in your skull if not for your body being an inch out of the way. You had brushed it off as a close call, a ghost story to tell later. But now…

“You,” he said, voice unwavering, “are an enigma. And I do not like enigmas.”

Your pulse pounded against your ribs as you stared at him, every fiber of your being screaming for an answer. “Then what am I?” you whispered, desperate.

He was silent for a moment, then, “That is what I intend to find out.”

Your breath shuddered from your lips, but before you could speak, he shifted slightly, his faceless gaze pressing against you like an invisible weight. “I am giving you a choice.”

You stiffened.

“Work for me.”

The words rang in your skull, hollow and cold.

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“I will let you go home,” he said smoothly. “I will let you continue your… little endeavor.” His head turned slightly, as if the concept of a YouTube channel was something beneath him. “And in return, you will work for me. You will assist me in unraveling what you are, where you came from.”

A pit formed in your stomach. “And if I refuse?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Then you die.”

A sharp, suffocating silence followed. The weight of his words was unbearable, sinking into you, pressing, suffocating. He wasn’t bluffing. He didn’t need to.

Your hands clenched into fists, your mind racing, scrambling for a way out, an alternative. But you found none.

After a long, agonizing moment, you exhaled shakily. “And what exactly would this… work entail?”

He leaned forward slightly, as if he had been waiting for that question.

“Murder. Among other things.”

The single word dropped like a stone into the pit of your stomach, cold and heavy. Your breath caught as your body tensed instinctively.

Murder.

Not research. Not investigation. Not surveillance.

Murder.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, your hands trembling in your lap. You had expected something bad, but this—

“I don’t—” You shook your head, your pulse hammering. “I don’t kill people.”

The faceless man remained motionless. “You will.”

It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t even a demand.

It was a statement. A fact.

And somehow, that made it even worse.

[s1e1lar]

“The Hollow Watchers” Various creepypasta’s x youtuber!reader

A/N: Hey… how yall doin? Pretend i didn't disappear for like a month.

word count: 1,122

CW: female reader, guys i don't think there’s anything crazy in this chapter

⛧°.⋆༺🦇༻⋆.°⛧

Your head snapped toward the heavy metal door on the other side of the room, now slightly ajar. A shadow moved just beyond it. Then your eyes landed on the figure standing a few feet away—rummaging through the drawers of a desk, documents scattered carelessly across the surface.

At first glance, he looked like a Christmas elf. But the longer you stared, the more that assumption crumbled. He was dressed like Link from The Legend of Zelda,(you silently thanked your roommate for those late nights she forced you to play), but his tunic was frayed at the edges, stained with dirt and something darker. His once-white tights were ripped, his boots scuffed and worn. The belt around his waist was loose, hanging as if it had been hastily fastened.

And then there were his eyes.

Thick, inky black goo dripped from them, trailing down his cheeks like tears. It oozed slowly, too thick to be water, too dark to be anything natural. Your stomach twisted at the sight, an instinctive wave of unease washing over you.

Then he looked up.

“What the fuck is wrong with your eyes?” The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

The elf—if you could even call him that—snorted. “Well, hello to you too. Maybe fix your own mascara before coming for my appearance, bitch.”

A chill crawled up your spine. The casual, almost playful way he spoke didn’t match the way he looked. You swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of the way your pulse had picked up.

“What… what are you looking for?” you asked, grasping for something—anything—to pull your attention away from the black sludge seeping down his face. Your voice came out steadier than you expected, but your fingers curled into your palms, nails pressing into your skin.

For a moment, he just stared at you, the corner of his mouth quirking up like he knew exactly why you asked. Then, slowly, he turned back to the desk and resumed rifling through the drawers.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

You blinked at him. Wouldn’t you like to know? That was his response? With everything going on—his bizarre outfit, the actual black sludge leaking from his eyes—he was sticking to childish comebacks?

Your lips parted, ready to fire one back, something about his commitment to both cosplay and poor hygiene—

But before you could get a word out, heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway.

A chill pricked at your skin. They were slow, deliberate. Not rushed, not hesitant. Just coming. Whoever it was, they weren’t in a hurry, but they also weren’t stopping.

The elf stilled, his hands still buried in the drawer. His expression twisted, caught between exasperation and mild panic.

Then the figure entered.

Dressed in all black, they moved with a quiet confidence, their boots thudding softly against the floor. A deep blue mask covered their face, sleek and featureless, except for two dark eye holes—holes that, to your horror, were also weeping thick, inky sludge. It slid down the mask like tar, disappearing into the fabric of their collar.

The elf shot him a look, half-guilty, half-defensive. “Okay, before you start—this is not my fault. Jeff hid my remote, and I swear I’m gonna put everything back where it goes.”

The masked figure didn’t react, didn’t acknowledge you, didn’t even bother with words. He strode past, heading straight for a cabinet near the far wall. You couldn’t see what he grabbed—his body blocked your view—but whatever it was, he moved like he knew exactly where it was supposed to be.

You glanced between them, your mind racing to catch up. Jeff? Remote? The absolute casualness of it all was making this worse. Like this was just some weird domestic dispute instead of an objectively horrifying situation.

“What the hell is going on?” you finally asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

The elf sighed dramatically, slamming the drawer shut and turning toward you. He leaned against the desk, arms crossing over his chest in a way that was meant to look casual, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.

“So, missy, you were sneaking around one of our bases,” he drawled, tilting his head with an exaggerated smirk. “Which is, you know, kind of a big deal. Usually, we don’t let trespassers just waltz around all willy-nilly—”

He paused, tapping a gloved finger against his chin as if reconsidering. “Well, actually, I would’ve voted for the ‘willy-nilly’ approach, but the boss took an interest in you, sooo—”

“Ben.”

The voice cut through the air like a blade. Deep, smooth, and commanding, it held an authority that made your breath hitch. There was no anger in it, no raised volume, but the weight behind the single word sent a shiver down your spine.

The elf—Ben—visibly stiffened. His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before snapping back into place, though now it was forced, stretched a little too wide.

“Right,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shutting up now.”

Your heart pounded as you turned to the masked figure, whose attention was now fully on you. The inky sludge continued to seep from his eye holes, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. He stood still, unreadable, the silence between you stretching too long, pressing in from all sides.

Then, slowly, he took a step forward.

Ben let out an exaggerated sigh, pushing off the desk with a lazy stretch. “Welp, that’s my cue,” he said, rocking back on his heels before flashing you a lopsided grin. “See ya later, EJ. Sorry for the mess.”

The way he said it, though—mocking, insincere—made it clear he wasn’t sorry in the slightest. He didn’t even glance at the scattered papers or the half-open drawers as he strode toward the door.

EJ.

Your brain latched onto the name like a lifeline, but before you could even begin to process it, Ben was gone, slipping through the door with a careless wave.

And then it was just you and him.

EJ took another step forward. You fought the instinct to shrink back, your breath catching as he loomed over you. He didn’t speak, didn’t make any threatening gestures. But then—slowly, deliberately—he lifted a single gloved finger and pressed it against your shoulder.

It wasn’t rough. Barely even forceful. But the message was clear.

Sit down.

A shiver rolled through you. You hesitated for a second too long—just long enough for the pressure of his finger to increase slightly. Not a shove. Just a reminder.

Heart hammering, you stepped back and let yourself sink onto the nearest bed. The mattress dipped beneath you, the old springs creaking softly.

EJ said nothing. He simply stood there, silent and unmoving.

Watching.

[s1e1lar]

“The Hollow Watchers” Various creepypasta’s x youtuber!reader

Words: 1,519

CW: female reader, violence, overall idiocy

a/n: I'VE RETURNED WITH CHAPTER TWO. to be completely honest I've rewritten this several times. I wanted to get something out and posted but I hated what I wrote. This time however I went completely different from what I wrote before and I'm pretty content. Apologies for it being short, school is up my ass

⛧°.⋆༺🦇༻⋆.°⛧

The hand over your mouth was like a vise, cold and unforgiving, the leather biting into your skin. Panic clawed at your throat, a desperate, animalistic urge to scream, to struggle, to break free from this suffocating grip. But you stifled the cry, the instinct for self-preservation overriding the primal urge. You knew, with a chilling certainty that bordered on dread, that any sudden movement would only provoke them further. You were trapped, a caged animal, at their mercy.

The rhythmic scraping of the axe against the whetstone became a maddening counterpoint to the pounding of your own heart. Each metallic scrape echoed through the abandoned food court, a chilling reminder of the danger you were in. You could almost feel the weight of their gazes upon you, the invisible gaze of the masked man boring into your back like a predator sizing up its prey. You were a caged animal, every instinct screaming at you to break free, to fight, to run. But logic, cold and stark, reminded you of your predicament. You were outnumbered, outmatched, and utterly helpless.

Desperation, a cold, icy hand, gripped your heart. You had to get out of this. You had to live. This wasn't how your story ended.

Suddenly, a desperate gamble sparked in your mind. You focused all your energy into your foot, planting it firmly against the hard, unforgiving tile floor. With a grunt of effort, you brought your heel down with all your might, aiming for the shin of the man behind you.

He let out a strangled yelp, the hand over your mouth loosening for a fleeting fraction of a second. Seizing the opportunity, you twisted your head violently, your teeth sinking into his flesh.

He roared, a guttural sound that echoed through the abandoned food court, the hand recoiling violently. You took advantage of the momentary distraction, shoving him away with all your strength. He stumbled back, clutching his injured hand, cursing in a low, guttural voice, his face contorted in a mask of pain and fury.

You didn't hesitate. You spun around and bolted, your feet pounding against the cracked, uneven tiles, each step a desperate prayer for escape. Your breath came in ragged gasps, hot and heavy in your lungs, a desperate struggle against the suffocating air. You didn't look back, didn't dare to see if they were pursuing you. All that mattered was escape, freedom, survival.

You ran, your lungs burning, your legs heavy, each step a monumental effort. You didn't know where you were going, only that you had to keep moving, to put as much distance between yourself and your captors as possible. You burst out of the food court, the sudden influx of air, however stale and thick with the dust of neglect, a brief, almost euphoric reprieve.

But the reprieve was short-lived.

"Hey! Get back here!"

The shouts erupted behind you, the heavy thuds of their footsteps echoing through the empty mall, a relentless pursuit. You didn't dare slow down, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, a frantic rhythm mirroring the pounding of your feet. You turned a sharp corner, the sudden shift in direction disorienting you, the shadows dancing around you like menacing figures.

The mall stretched out before you, a labyrinth of abandoned stores, the dim light filtering through the shattered windows casting long, eerie shadows that danced and writhed like malevolent creatures. You could hear their shouts growing closer, their voices echoing through the empty corridors, a chilling reminder of the relentless pursuit.

You pushed yourself harder, your breath coming in ragged gasps, each breath a struggle against the suffocating air. You stumbled, your foot catching on a loose tile, the sudden pain a jolt against the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You fell to the ground with a grunt, the impact jarring your whole body. Pain shot through your knee, a searing, debilitating pain, but you ignored it, scrambling back to your feet with a desperate urgency. You had to keep moving.

You reached the escalators, the metal handrails cold and slick beneath your fingers. The escalator creaked with each step you took, slowly, agonizingly slowly, each step an eternity. You could hear their heavy footsteps approaching, their voices growing louder, closer, a chilling reminder of the inevitable.

You reached the top of the escalator, your heart pounding in your chest, a frantic drumbeat against your ribs. You looked forward, ready to run, but the sight that met your eyes made your blood run cold.

Two out of the three men were standing at the top of another escalator on the opposite side, their faces contorted in fury. The one with the axe was grinning, a chilling, predatory grin that made your stomach churn, a chilling premonition of the violence to come.

"Nowhere to run, s-sweetheart," he said, his voice a low growl, a chilling promise of impending doom.

You whirled around, your eyes frantically searching for an escape route. The only way out was left, down the long, deserted corridor that stretched out before you, a seemingly endless tunnel of shadows and despair.

You took off running, the sound of their heavy footsteps echoing behind you, a relentless pursuit. You could hear the axe man laughing, a chilling, guttural sound that sent shivers down your spine, a chilling reminder of the horrors that awaited you.

You ran, your lungs burning, your legs heavy, each step a desperate struggle against the encroaching darkness. You passed rows of abandoned stores, their windows shattered, their interiors shrouded in dust and gloom, eerie monuments to the mall's decline.

Suddenly, you heard a new sound, a high-pitched whine that seemed to come from nowhere. It was faint at first, a barely audible hum, like a distant swarm of angry bees. But it grew louder with each passing second, a terrifying crescendo that filled the empty mall, a cacophony of sound that threatened to drown out the pounding of your own heart.

You ignored it, focusing all your energy on escaping your pursuers. You could hear their heavy breaths behind you, their voices echoing through the empty corridors, a constant reminder of the danger that pursued you.

But the whine was getting louder, more insistent, a deafening chorus of buzzing that filled your ears, vibrating through your bones, threatening to drive you to the brink of madness. You couldn't ignore it anymore.

You turned, your eyes wide with terror, searching for the source of the sound. But it was impossible to pinpoint. It seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. The air around you vibrated with the sound, a cacophony of buzzing that made your ears ring, your vision blur.

Panic seized you, a wave of icy terror washing over you. You screamed, a raw, primal sound that echoed through the empty mall, amplified by the strange buzzing, shattering the silence, shattering the glass in the nearby stores.

The two men stopped, their faces contorted in astonishment. They stared at you, their eyes wide with disbelief, as if they couldn't believe the sound that had just erupted from your lips.

The axe man, his face twisted in a mixture of shock and amusement, exclaimed, "S-s-shit, i-is she a d-d-demon like EJ?" A violent jerk raking it way through his body

You didn't understand what he meant. You were too terrified, too disoriented to comprehend anything. All you knew was that the buzzing was getting louder, more intense, a wave of sound that threatened to engulf you. You were starting to feel dizzy, disoriented, the world tilting precariously on its axis.

Suddenly, a searing pain erupted on the side of your head, a blinding, agonizing sensation that sent you reeling. The world tilted, the buzzing intensifying, then fading into a distant hum. You stumbled, your knees buckling, and then you were falling, falling into an abyss of darkness.

⋆˙♱˙⋆

You woke with a gasp, disoriented and confused. Your head throbbed, a dull ache that pulsed through your skull, a constant reminder of the blow that had felled you. You tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washed over you, forcing you back down.

You were lying on a cold, hard surface, your body aching, every muscle protesting the sudden movement. You tried to open your eyes, but the light was too bright, too intense, forcing you to squint against the onslaught. You squeezed your eyes shut, groaning in pain, the world spinning around you.

You tried to sit up again, this time managing to keep your balance and stepping off of what you could now identify as an operation table.You didn't even take in your surroundings before alarm struck you.

You were trapped.

Panic clawed at you, a cold, icy hand gripping your heart once again. You tried to stand, but your legs felt weak, unsteady. You stumbled, falling back onto the cold, hard floor.

You were alone.

The buzzing was gone, replaced by an eerie silence that pressed down on you, heavy and suffocating. You listened intently, but you couldn't hear anything. No footsteps, no voices, no sounds.

Until a clatter outside the door.

[s1e1lar]

The Hollow Watchers | various creepypasta x youtuber!reader

4k words

Cw: female reader, paranoia, weapons, brief mention of death, and general creepiness

a/n: first off i haven't written something this long in FOREVER. It was 3am and I had an urge to fulfill. Um i have no idea if this will be a full series but depending on the general responses it might! If so i may cross post on wattpad. Anywho, I hope you enjoy!!

⛧°.⋆༺🦇༻⋆.°⛧

After years of exploring abandoned and supposedly haunted buildings, the tightness in your chest and the nagging sensation of being watched gradually faded. You’d grown accustomed to the eerie stillness, even enough to roam alone with a camera, filming for hours to later piece together for editing. But as soon as the car came to a stop a few feet from the derelict mall, a familiar unease settled deep in your gut. It was almost like a reflex—an urge to scream at your friend to turn around and head straight back to the safety of your shared apartment.

But her reaction couldn’t have been more different. She turned to you, a wide grin on her face, earrings jingling as she twisted in her seat, practically bouncing with excitement.

“Okay! So first, I want to film the outside and then do the intro in the lobby. From what I read online, the staircases should still be intact, so we can head up to the second level—” Her voice trailed off as you remained frozen, your eyes locked on the front doors of the mall, which were poorly boarded up.

Before you could say anything, a board suddenly fell from one of the windows. A shadow flitted out of sight, just out of view, too fast to be identified. You drew in a sharp breath, and your roommate fell silent beside you, staring at the same spot, her excitement faltering.

“Y/N, do you… do you have a bad feeling about this?” she asked, her voice suddenly smaller, unsure. Coming from her, the question was almost absurd—this was the same person who had been practically bouncing out of her seat moments ago.

But your viewers, as well as your roommate, had learned to trust your instincts. They’d saved you both more than once. Still, you could see the excitement on her face, and you didn’t want to ruin the moment. So, despite the chill crawling up your spine, you forced a smile and lied.

“Surprisingly, no. Someone probably didn’t secure it properly. Let’s just go with your plan, okay? I’ll even set up the equipment inside while you check out the outside.”

She smiled, clearly relieved, and unbuckled her seatbelt, ready to dive headfirst into the adventure. But you couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

You stepped out of the car, the chill of the air biting at your skin as you made your way to the front entrance. The once-grand mall now stood like a hollowed-out carcass, windows shattered, walls chipped and peeling, and the faint smell of mildew in the air. The heavy scent of decay clung to everything, but you’d been in places worse than this. Still, something about this building gnawed at you, like a whisper in the back of your mind telling you to turn around. But you didn’t listen.

Your footsteps echoed loudly in the vacant lobby, the cracked tile underfoot reverberating with every move. The towering arches of the ceiling, once grandiose, now loomed like skeletal ribs over you. You set your equipment down, the soft metallic clang of your camera bag cutting through the silence. The cold air hung in the lobby, thick with dust swirling in the weak light from the broken skylights above.

You began setting up the lighting, carefully positioning the softbox in a corner to illuminate the space without revealing too much. It was eerie, the way the shadows stretched and danced in the corner of your eye, as if the place itself was alive. But it wasn’t your first time in a place like this. You focused, telling yourself to ignore the creeping sensation in your gut. This was just another job.

You finished arranging the lights, stepping back to admire the setup when you heard it—a faint, unmistakable sound. Footsteps.

Your heart skipped, and your eyes darted to the food court, just beyond the lobby. The sound was soft at first, but growing louder, echoing off the abandoned walls like a person walking with purpose. There was no one supposed to be here. No one but you and your roommate. Your breath caught in your throat.

Your instincts flared.

You spun around, eyes wide, reaching for your camera on the tripod. Your hands trembled as you quickly whipped it from its mount, the lens clicking into place as you adjusted the settings. The footsteps continued, deliberate and slow, too slow to be a person just passing by. They were pacing. Coming closer.

"Hey," you whispered, voice barely above a breath, but you didn’t know if you were talking to yourself or your roommate. You glanced toward the entrance, but she was still outside, filming near the storefronts.

You swallowed hard and turned the camera toward the food court, framing the darkened hallway just beyond the lobby. Your pulse was thudding in your ears as the footsteps grew louder, now unmistakably coming from the direction of the food court. The faint sound of shoes scuffing against cracked tile echoed through the space, as if someone was walking just out of view, just out of reach.

The camera’s red recording light blinked on. You held your breath, trying to steady your hands. Every instinct screamed at you to run, but your body was frozen. Something wasn’t right.

A shadow passed across the threshold of the hallway leading into the food court. It moved quickly, too quickly for it to be a person just casually strolling. Your pulse quickened, and you leaned in closer, focusing the lens. There was something—something about the shape—something off.

You saw it. A figure. A blur of movement in the periphery of the camera’s frame.

Then, nothing.

The footsteps stopped.

You stood there, the camera still trained on the hallway, but the space beyond was empty. The silence seemed to stretch on for far too long. You blinked, almost expecting the figure to reappear. But it didn’t.

A shiver ran down your spine, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. The air felt colder now, as if something had just shifted in the building—something that didn’t belong.

You swallowed, trying to calm yourself. "It’s just the wind," you whispered, but even to your own ears, it sounded weak. You scanned the food court again, your camera panning slowly to the dark corners, the abandoned kiosks, and empty tables.

But all you found was silence.

You had to tell your roommate. You turned, but as soon as you did, a loud bang came from the far end of the mall, followed by a series of metallic clangs. The sound echoed through the empty halls, deafening in its suddenness.

Your heart leapt into your throat.

This wasn’t the wind. Someone—or something—was here.

The sound of the metallic clang reverberated in your chest, sending a fresh wave of panic coursing through your veins. You swung the camera around again, eyes darting to the dark hallway that led deeper into the mall. The silence that followed was suffocating—unnatural. It wasn’t just quiet; it was wrong. You felt the weight of it pressing on your skin, suffocating you from all sides. The tension was so thick it felt like you were walking through molasses.

Your breath came in shallow bursts as you took a step back, hands still gripping the camera, but your focus was broken when the door to the lobby suddenly flew open.

Your roommate burst through, her face flushed, eyes wide with excitement—or was it fear? She didn’t seem to notice your expression as she hurried toward you, holding up her phone, her voice breathless.

“I saw a tree moving! I even got it on camera!” she exclaimed, her words tumbling out in a rush.

You blinked, still reeling from the strange noises. For a split second, you didn’t even process what she said.

“A tree?” you repeated, confused. “What are you talking about? Are you sure you’re okay?”

Her excitement quickly turned into nervous energy. “I swear, Y/N! I saw a tree by the parking lot—just past the busted gate—and it moved! Like... like it was alive or something. I filmed it, look!” She held out her phone, swiping through the footage. The video was shaky, but it showed a twisted, gnarled tree swaying in the distance. And then, at the very end of the shot, something seemed to... shift. A shadow, tall and slender, darting across the screen, moving against the wind.

Your stomach churned, and you didn’t need to watch any longer. You’d already seen enough.

“I don’t know, this whole place feels wrong,” you muttered, trying to shake the dread crawling up your spine. “I think we should go.”

You looked around the empty lobby, the footsteps from earlier still echoing in your mind. Everything about this place—everything—was off. You didn’t need a tree moving or some random noise to tell you that something was watching you. Something was here, and it wasn’t just the wind.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” your roommate said, her voice suddenly quiet, the earlier thrill gone. She swallowed hard, nodding. “Let’s just pack up and get out of here. I’ll grab the camera.”

You didn’t need any more convincing. You turned to start packing up your gear, but the unease in your gut only deepened as you did. It was the air—the way it felt so thick, suffocating, like the building itself was holding its breath, waiting for something.

You heard it before you saw it.

The faintest sound—soft, shallow, but unmistakable. Breathing.

Your breath caught in your throat. You froze mid-motion, hands trembling as you reached for the camera. The noise came from behind you, from the darkened hallway. It wasn’t your roommate, who was too busy fiddling with her gear. It was something else.

Breathing. Slow. Labored. As though it was deliberately trying to remain unnoticed.

You turned, your eyes frantically searching the dark corners of the lobby, your heart pounding in your chest. The air felt thick, suffocating. You were about to say something when you heard it again—closer this time.

You couldn’t explain why, but suddenly, you just knew. Something—someone—was standing behind you.

Without thinking, you grabbed your camera, shoved it into your bag, and motioned for your roommate to hurry. “We need to go. Now.”

She didn’t hesitate. She slung her bag over her shoulder and hurried toward the door.

You both started toward the entrance, but as you reached for the handle, a sudden whoosh sliced through the air. You barely had time to react.

A hatchet flew past you, its sharp edge slicing the air with a deadly whoosh. It missed you by inches, embedding itself with a sickening thud into the metal framework of the glass door. The force of the impact rattled the glass, sending a shower of dust and loose fragments scattering into the air.

Your heart jumped into your throat, and you spun around, breathless. Your eyes darted wildly, but there was nothing—no one. The shadows were still.

“What the hell?” your roommate gasped, her face pale, her voice shaking.

You stood frozen, your hand still hovering over the door handle. The hatchet gleamed in the dim light, lodged deep into the door like a warning, its handle jutting out at an unnatural angle.

Your mind raced. It didn’t matter who had thrown it, or why. All that mattered was that someone—or something—had just tried to kill you.

"Get back," you hissed, your voice sharp as you pulled your roommate back away from the door. “Don’t touch it. Just move.”

You moved quickly, your pulse pounding in your ears. You had to get out. You had to.

You glanced toward the open lobby, the dark hallways beyond, and you could feel it again. That presence, lurking just out of sight. But this time, you didn’t wait. You didn’t want to know what was hiding in the shadows anymore.

With a frantic glance over your shoulder, you yanked open the door, dragging your roommate out into the night air.

You didn't stop running until you were in the car, doors locked, engine roaring to life. You slammed the car into reverse, speeding away from the abandoned mall, your hands gripping the steering wheel so hard your knuckles turned white.

But even as you drove, even as the mall disappeared in the rearview mirror, you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was in there... was still watching you.

⋆˙♱˙⋆

The engine of your car hummed quietly in the still night air, the only sound breaking the oppressive silence of the empty parking lot. You sat there, gripping the steering wheel, the soft glow of the dashboard lights casting a sickly pallor over your face. Your mind was racing, running in circles as you stared at the abandoned mall in front of you.

You shouldn’t have come back. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to leave, to turn the car around and drive back home. But the footage, the incomplete shots—it was all too important. You had to get the rest of your equipment. You couldn’t just walk away.

Yet, the closer you got to this place, the more that nagging feeling in your chest deepened. Every instinct was telling you that something was still here, something you couldn’t see. That breathless, oppressive presence from last time—it hadn’t gone anywhere.

You glanced at the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of the pitch-black road stretching out behind you. Nothing seemed amiss. No lights, no movement. Just emptiness. But as your gaze turned back to the mall’s darkened silhouette, you felt a chill crawl up your spine.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart, and let your eyes wander. They drifted over to the edge of the parking lot, where the woods began. The trees were thin, their skeletal branches twisting into the air, blocking out the faint glow of the moon. You tried to focus on the shadows, to distract yourself, but something in the dark just beyond the tree line caught your attention.

At first, you thought it was just another twisted tree, something you’d seen a hundred times before—tall, gnarled, reaching up toward the sky in an unsettling, crooked way. It wasn’t until your gaze locked onto it, your vision narrowing, that you realized how wrong it was.

It wasn’t a tree.

You froze.

Standing in the shadows of the woods, just beyond the parking lot, was a figure. At first, it looked like a tall, thin tree. But as your eyes adjusted, you could see it clearly—a figure too tall, too unnaturally straight. It was something else entirely.

The figure was impossibly tall—far too tall to be human—and impossibly still, standing there in the darkness. Its limbs were unnaturally elongated, like they didn’t belong to a human body, with no discernible features except for its broad, unsettlingly smooth silhouette. The shape of its head was missing—no eyes, no nose, no mouth. Just a blank, featureless space, a void.

It was wearing a suit. A black suit, crisp and perfectly tailored, but the fabric hung strangely around its frame, almost as if the body underneath had no real shape.

For a moment, your breath caught in your throat, and your pulse hammered in your ears. The figure didn’t move. It simply stood there, motionless, as if it had been waiting for you to see it.

You blinked, hoping that when you opened your eyes again, it would be gone. But it wasn’t. The figure was still there, standing like a twisted monument to something unspeakable. Its presence seemed to distort the very air around it, warping the shadows and making the trees feel smaller, as if they were bending away from it. It was the kind of thing that made your mind try to block it out, to tell yourself it couldn’t be real.

But it was real. It had to be.

Before you could process the thought, your eyes blinked again—just once, a reflex—and when you looked back, the figure was gone.

Nothing remained but the dark outline of the trees, swaying gently in the night breeze.

You swallowed hard, your breath shaky as you tried to rationalize what you had just seen. It must have been a trick of the light. Your nerves were shot, your mind on edge. There was no way that was real. You hadn’t seen that.

But deep down, a part of you knew. A part of you understood that whatever had been standing out there wasn’t just a figment of your imagination. That presence in the woods—it wasn’t human. And you had no idea what it wanted.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, frozen in the car, staring at the woods, hoping that when you blinked again, the figure would still be gone. But the air around you felt heavy, thick with something unspoken. And then, as if on cue, the wind picked up, rustling the trees in a low, mournful whisper.

You couldn’t stay here forever.

You took a deep breath, shaking it off, trying to regain some semblance of composure. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just the mind playing tricks on you, the strange energy of this place distorting your thoughts.

You turned off the engine, grabbed your bag, and opened the door. The chill hit you immediately, and you pulled your jacket tighter around you, trying to ignore the sense of dread pooling in your stomach.

You didn’t look back at the woods. You didn’t want to.

As you walked toward the mall’s entrance, the stillness of the night pressed in on you, almost as if the darkness itself was waiting. The sound of your footsteps echoed louder than usual, too loud in the emptiness, and every instinct screamed at you to turn around, to leave.

But you had to finish what you started. You had to retrieve your gear.

You reached the entrance, the large double doors looming in front of you, and took a deep breath. The air around you smelled musty, thick with the decay of abandonment, but you didn’t hesitate. You pushed the door open, stepping into the lobby once more, the eerie stillness wrapping around you like an old coat.

The lights you’d set up last time were still there, but the shadows they cast seemed longer, more distorted. The silence was deafening, broken only by the faintest rustling sound that seemed to come from somewhere deeper inside.

You forced yourself to keep walking. One step. Then another.

Something was here. You could feel it again.

But you couldn’t stop now. You had to get your equipment, finish what you came for—and leave.

The lobby was suffocatingly quiet, the stale air thick with dust and the scent of rot. You moved quickly, heart racing as you scanned the room for your gear. The camera bag was exactly where you'd left it, your extra tripod lying on the ground nearby, but your eyes darted around frantically, searching for that one thing that would make all of this worth it: the SD card.

You rifled through your bag, the contents scattering as your hands trembled. Your fingers brushed against wires, spare lenses, and old receipts, but no SD card. Your stomach sank.

Where is it?

You searched more frantically now, pulling everything out of the bag, tearing through pockets that didn’t even hold anything of value. The SD card—your footage, everything—was gone. It had been right there when you left the last time. You couldn’t have lost it.

A chill ran through you, and the unease you had been trying to shove down came rushing back. Someone had taken it. But who? Or… what? Your mind raced, but you couldn’t linger on it.

You grabbed the rest of your gear, shoving everything into your bag as quickly as you could. The earlier panic was starting to fade, replaced by a numbing kind of determination. It was better to leave with what you had than nothing at all. The footage could wait.

You stood up, your bag heavy in your hands, and for a brief moment, the silence in the mall almost felt normal again. As if everything was just abandoned—nothing to worry about, nothing to fear.

But that thought was fleeting.

The weight of your own breath filled the space, the emptiness pressing in on you. The uneasiness started to creep back. Your footsteps echoed louder than before, too loud for a place that was supposed to be abandoned. The mall stretched out in front of you, dark corridors and shadowy hallways beckoning you deeper in.

You stood there, your hand resting on the edge of the food court’s entrance. The air felt thick, almost like the walls themselves were closing in on you. You glanced around, half-expecting something to emerge from the darkness, but when nothing moved, you hesitated for only a moment.

Maybe it was your exhaustion, maybe your desperation to be done, but you couldn’t help it. You walked a little farther in, the floor creaking beneath your boots, and the walls seemed to close in, narrowing your path as you ventured deeper.

That's when you saw him.

At the far end of the food court, standing motionless at one of the broken kiosks, was a man. A tall, lanky figure dressed in a long, dark coat. His face was hidden behind a white, doll-like mask—smooth, featureless, and disturbingly blank. The mask seemed almost... too still, like it was frozen in time.

The man didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t even breathe. He just stood there, staring directly at you, or maybe past you. His presence felt like a stone in your gut, too heavy to ignore.

You stopped, your breath caught in your throat. Something about him—it wasn’t right. You could feel the heat rising in your chest, a warning ringing in your ears. This wasn’t just a person in a mask. It was something more. Something… wrong.

A scraping noise echoed from behind you. The sound was sharp, metallic—like someone dragging something heavy across the floor.

You whipped around, your heart racing, and the sight made you freeze in place.

At the far side of the food court, under the dim glow of a flickering fluorescent light, was a young man with short, messy brown hair. He stood over a thick wooden table, bent low, sharpening an axe. The rhythmic sound of the blade being dragged across the stone whetstone cut through the silence, slow and methodical. The edge of the axe glinted as it caught the light, the steel gleaming darkly.

Your blood ran cold. The man didn’t even look at you. He didn’t acknowledge your presence at all. His focus was entirely on the axe, his movements deliberate. Each time the blade scraped against the stone, the sound sent a shiver up your spine.

And then, before you could react, a gloved hand suddenly shot out from behind you, covering your mouth with startling speed and force. The shock of it sent you into a panic, but you didn’t scream. You barely managed to stop yourself in time, your throat tight with fear.

You tried to pull away, but the grip was firm, strong—unnaturally so. The hand was cool and methodical, as if the person behind you had planned this.

The first words that escaped your lips were barely a whisper, but they felt like they belonged to someone else, someone who had just realized how deep in trouble they were.

“H-Holy shit.”

The hand remained pressed over your mouth, and your body stiffened, every muscle in your body urging you to run, to scream, to fight. But you knew better. You couldn’t risk making a sound. The man with the mask, the one who had been watching you—the young man with the axe—none of it made sense, and you couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

In the silence, you could hear the scrape of the axe again, the sharp edge moving over the stone with a relentless rhythm. The smell of rust and decay clung to the air. And the feeling of being watched? It hadn’t gone away. It had only intensified.

Whoever was behind you, whoever was watching you, had no intention of letting you leave the mall alive.

[s1e1lar]

🕸️JEFF THE KILLER HEADCANONS 🔪

⦻ is constantly losing/breaking his knife. He’s spent like thousands on replacements (if he was actually buying them)

⦻^(slender mansion) will blame anyone in the house for “stealing my goddamn knife”

⦻ his hair is FRIED from the amount of hairspray and straightening he does

⦻ solution to everything is violence

⦻ is it mean to say he’s a poser deep down?

⦻ plans out every scenario he could’ve done to the bully’s

!٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و

[s1e1lar]

🕸️TICCI TOBY HEADCANONS🪓

(Most of these did develop from fanfics)

⦻ while it is canon, I still like to imagine him wearing a muzzle. I think it’s a cool concept

⦻ trichotillomania but make it skin, such as excessively picking at his fingers. Which makes them scared 

⦻ for vocal tics he unconsciously says things his mom and sister used to say. Or mimics habits they used to have

⦻ has no concept of time, he’s just in his own world.

⦻ is totally capable of healthy relationships, there just hard (no I’m not glamorizing)

⦻ BPD and ADHD

⦻ ^ jealousy is a big factor with his bpd

⦻ watched a lot of true crime and is another way he became desensitized

⦻ no idea where I picked it up but cannibalistic behaviors/tendencies