The couple was pretty drunk as they stumbled through the door. They were loud, their laughter echoing through the large house. They moved drunkenly up the stairs, to the bedroom door. The man opened the door, expecting to see a dark room.

However, when he opened the door, the lamp by the bed was turned on. Sitting on the bed was a man reading a book. He was wearing a white hoodie, and was his skin completely white, or were they just that drunk? As the couple entered the room, he lowered the book, revealing his deep, sunken-in eyes bordered by darkness and a mouth cut into a permanent smile.

“God, you guys are loud. I can barely hear myself think, let alone read – ” the man turned the book to the front cover. “Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter?” The man threw the book across the room. “ Anyway, hi, what’s up?”

The couple just stared in shock at the man.

The man looked at the bed, then the couple, and then got up.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Here I was, hogging up the bed, while you guys obviously wanted to ‘go to sleep.’” The man chuckled a bit at this, like it was a private joke.

“W-who are you?” the woman stammered out.

“I’m Jeff, Jeff the Killer to the media, and ‘AAAAHHH! PLEASE STOP STABBING ME!’ to my victims.”

The couple stared blankly, not sure how to react.

“That was a joke. But, like all good jokes, it does have a basis in reality.”

“W-what do you want?” the man asked.

Jeff sighed. “Wow, you guys must be really liquored up if you can’t get this.” Jeff took out a knife, and pointed it at himself. “Me – Jeff.” He pointed the knife at the couple. “You – victims.” Jeff made stabbing motions with the knife. “What me do to you.”

“Oh,” the man said, not exactly sure how to react.

“By the way, I’d recommend you guys run now. It won’t make much difference, since I scoped out this big ol’ house and know every nook and cranny of it. But I like to be sporting. Go on, scram.”

The couple ran out. Jeff walked over to the fallen book, picked it up, skimmed a few pages, and threw it aside once more with a, “Meh.”

Elsewhere inside the house, the man ran for his life. He considered running for the door, but he figured this Jeff guy would go there first, since it was so obvious. Instead, he ran without a destination in mind, not caring where it was as long as it was away from that lunatic.

“Keith,” he heard a voice say. He whirled around, but saw nobody.

“Who’s there?” he called out.

The voice sighed. “You really don’t know? Wow, you’re not very bright, are you? Then again, with all the drugs you’ve snorted, I shouldn’t be surprised that your brain’s a bit damaged, should I, Keith Erickson?” Keith looked around, trying in vain to find out where Jeff’s voice was coming from.

“In case you’re wondering, yes, I’m very aware of who you are, Keith. For one thing, your house is decorated with a bunch of pictures of yourself, and your name is everywhere. I shouldn’t be surprised that a spoiled rich kid from a family known for narcissism isn’t exactly humble. Then again, I guess a giant ego is something one gets from a dad that loves himself more than his kid.”

“SHUT UP!” Keith yelled out of a combination of fear and anger.

“Sorry, did I touch a nerve? I would say it won’t happen again, but, considering my line of work, I might be doing so more literally before the night is done. By the way, totally off topic question: who is that lady you brought with you? I don’t really want to kill her or anything, I’m just curious.”


“No, not really. Why do you ask?”


“Maybe you should turn around and face me like a man,” a voice behind Keith said.

Keith whirled, and was staring into Jeff’s deranged eyes. Jeff tapped Keith on the nose with his knife.

“Boo,” Jeff said.

Keith, out of a combination of inebriation and fear, stumbled back and fell on the floor.

“P-please!” Keith said. “Don’t hurt me! I’m rich, my dad’s rich! I can give you a lot of money!”

Jeff looked down at the pathetic mess that was Keith Erickson, then knelt down to face him.

“Keith, I don’t want your money or any sort of item you can give me.”

“What do you want then?”

Jeff’s hand grabbed Keith’s neck and slammed him up against the wall. Jeff held his knife up against Keith’s neck.

“Well, Keith, I keep seeing your face plastered all over every tabloid saying which girl you fucked and how wasted you got. And I said to myself, ‘Self,’ I said. ‘It seems like Keith is doing a lot of tiring activities, but isn’t sleeping. Well, really sleeping. I think I should help him…’” Jeff’s knife tore a gash in Keith’s neck as Jeff let go of his body and let it drop to the floor, bleeding out. “’…go to sleep.’”

Credited to Dorkpool 

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