Killer Can't Kill Me (JTK story) pt 3

(I'm at my cousin's this week, excuse my spell mistakes)


Chapter three

Juliet POV

Mom was home late, I had ordered pizza and was back from shopping. She took a single slice, politely thanked me, and half ran to her room. Sighing, I finished my piece and put the remainder of the box into the fridge. I noticed some of the kitchen was unpacked, like forks and knives. At least she did something to the house. I looked in the living room, which was filled with boxes. I went into my room, deciding to paint something. I pulled a large trunk from under my bed, opening it, I looked at dozens of jars of paint, paint brushes, rags, and a can for water.

I set out my paint supplies, mindlessly mixing colors and wiping my brushes. I remembered I still wore my work clothes and walked over to my closet for a moment, pausing. The doors were shut, but I could have sworn I had left it open this morning. After entering my bathroom, I took off my uniform and pulled on light, my paint clothes. I sat down on a stool before my easel, a fresh canvas awaiting my. Tucking my black hair behind my ear, I began to absently paint. I barely looked at the canvas, an overwhelming feeling of being watched washed over me. For almost two hours I painted, staring at the canvas, yet seeing nothing. Finally, I stood up, wondering who could possibly watching. My bedroom door was halfway open, so I kicked it lightly with my bare foot to shut. The feeling persisted. Annoyed, I yanked open my closet doors for something to do. A blur of rust, black, and white attacked me.

I was shoved to the ground, my head hitting the wood floor hard. My eyes rolled around in my skull, unfocused. I was positive a man was sitting on me. My attacker was wearing a dingy hoodie, the hood pulled over his head, and worn out black dress pants. He was heavy, his entire bodyweight seemed to be focused on my chest. I gasped for air before a pale hand clamped over my mouth. I wasn't afraid, exactly, I was confused. My attacker held my mouth shut with on hand girly as he adjusted his body and sat on top of my, he feet pining my arms down. His shadowy face loomed before me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as the man pulled a knife from his pocket, now I felt terrified. Fear encased me, I couldn't breath, I couldn't move. The attacker held the knife about a foot over my heart. He swayed slightly, then through the knife into the wall. The blade sunk into the drywall with a thud. The man clutched his head, releasing me. Instantly, I tried to jump up, but I was too shaky with fear. Silent tears overtook me. Was this how Dad felt before the end?

"I......" The man choked out as he clutched his head. The hood fell back, revealing his face. Our eyes locked. He had hard, pale skin, large, lidless eyes that seemed unreal, a small pale nose, and greasy black hair. His lips were the same from the dream, two long, pink scars stretched inhumanly far in a frown of agony. His lips were slightly parted, as if to say something, but no words came out.

"I-I know you" I mumbled.

"What?" His voice growled. It was deep and hoarse, just like the dream.

"I...er...........dreamed about..........you" I finished the sentence awkwardly. This entire situation was nothing short of unreal. The man stopped clutching his head, and sighed.

"I won't kill you" he blurted out with regret. Confusion mixed with my fear. He regretted not killing me?

"Who are you?" I asked, slowly moving toward the closed door. He looked at the painting on my easel, and smiled darkly. I saw it clearly for the first time, and my eyes widened. I had painted the man in my dream. His face, twisted in a smirk, dominated the canvas. A swirl of crimson paint surrounded him, and I saw myself in the painting, wearing a long, black evening gown, my hair in a long ponytail, my pale skin glowing, and I stared at the man with love in my eyes. The painting I had created shocked me to the point of forgetting to escape.

"Nice" the man said, and yanked open the window above my bed. He crawled out of the room, crouched on the window sill. "Jeff" he said softly, watching me with interest.

"Huh?" Came my dumbfounded voice.

"My name is Jeff" was all he said, then disappeared into the night. I ran to the window, looking out into the dark yard frantically.

I pounded on My mother's door, then opened it without waiting for a reply. Mom was sitting at her computer, typing. Typical, sucked into a computer while a freak almost murders me. My mom had changed a lot since Dad died. Her auburn hair became dull and flat, her soft smiles disappeared, and dark circles permanently ringed her eyes. The mental changed were worse. She had cried for a month straight, not even trying to comfort me, then one day she just went back to work. She was the editor for a newspaper, and suddenly she was never home and always forgetting to go shopping. That's when I dropped out of high school to take care of our house. Then last month she took a job here, far away from Dad and and our family and our friends.

"Mom" I squeaked, barely able to utter a sound. She turned to me, looking at me warily. Her stern look melted away, her skin becoming alarmingly pale.

"What happened honey? I heard a crash." She whispered.

"Call the police" was all I said before My mother picked up her cell phone. I ran back to my room, wondering how I would explain the painting. I couldn't. It was dry, and carefully stuck it under my mattress. I glanced up, seeing the knife sticking in the wall, the entire blade had been swallowed by the drywall, only the black handle standing out.

The police questioned me over and over, insisting any detail could be important. I left out the painting, how do explain dreaming about a freak before you ever saw him before? When I told the police how he told me his name, their eyes lit up like Christmas trees. The knife was pulled from my wall by two officers wearing rubber gloves, another held my mother while she sobbed openly for the first time in five months. The cops were ecstatic about the knife, which meant fingerprints, meaning substantial evidence. A few cops mumbled something about, "Jeff The Killer." All I did was sit rocking on the floor where the man-Jeff had tackled me. My closet was torn apart by police, who only found a few dried leaves and a twig. Several cops suggested I go to a hospital, just in case. I flat refused to go, that meant more questions and stupid people being too polite. When the police left, Mom had calmed down, but told me that this was too much, and promised to schedule me an appointment with a shrink. That made no sense, she was more freaked out about than I was, maybe that was the problem? Was I too comfortable or used to crazy stuff?

Crawling into my bed, I was freezing cold. I pulled my comforter over my head, curling into a ball. I didn't cry, I just shivered a lot. Images of Jeff flickered through my head. His strange eyes, his enormous mouth, his soft, hoarse voice. After two hours of going over my memory, I walked over to my desk, remembering something the cops had said. I pulled my sleek grey laptop from a drawer and plugged it in. I clicked the power button and waited for my home screen to load. The background picture was my parents and I on a picnic last year. I opened my web browser and remember the three words the cops had said. I typed them into the search engine and hit ENTER.

Jeff The Killer

Over three million results appeared on the screen. I skimmed fist page of results, newspaper articles, videos, drawings, fan fiction, and stories were everywhere. Adds for Jeff the Killer Halloween costumes popped up.

"What. The. He'll." I said. I read some more, coming across more and more mention of a guy called, Mr.CreepyPasta.

That's when it all added up, Jeff the Killer, the fictional infamous serial killer. I had seen the video's about him last year, how he killed his family, and countless others. i Jeff is real. I turned off the computer, then ran to the bathroom and vomited. The video was a few years old, and the picture of Jeff looked alarmingly real. I stared in the porcelain bowl, my vomit floated in the water, I felt sicker. I retched and washed my face, brushing my teeth three times before the vomit taste faded. I glanced at my clock, midnight. Groaning, I crawled into bed.

I stood in my bedroom, the room normal, except the windows were all smashed. Shiny pieces of broken glass were scattered across the floor. I saw a figure sitting, no laying on my bed. I was Jeff, but he looked clean. Instead of ragged black dress pants, he wore blue jeans that were a little loose, no shoes, and his white hoodie looked clean, the rusty stains fainter. His black hair wasn't greasy, and seemed to curl a little at the ends. He yawned, his eyes never leaving me. I approached him, and looked deep into his eyes. The tiny black pupils were large, caring and possessive. I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling calm. I noticed my weird painting of him...us....hung above my bed, blocking the window.

"I'm glad you told me" I whispered. Jeff smiled, not creepily, but an embarrassed smile, a hint of red in his cheeks. He looked very interested in the blanket suddenly. My small pale hand fearlessly cupped his chin, gently pulling his face closer to mine. He grinned, I blushed. Jeff touched my hand that still held his chin, closing his eyes with content.

"I love you Juliet" he whispered, leaning into my face.

I sat up dizzily, drenched in sweat. My lips ached as though I had really been kissed. I looked at my clock, indeed time to get dressed for work.