This isn't really fan fiction and I apologize in advance, however I find that it reads and flows like most fan fictions do. You could say this is Jeff the Killer fanfic, if Jeff the Killer in some parallel universe is the second personality of someone suffering from split-personality disorder. Which now that I think of it is what fanfic is. This is the first chapter and I'm still playing around with it a lot. I hope you enjoy this my fellow freaks.

P.S. The following chapters will have much more mature content and could be told from a different characters point of view each chapter, still not sure

I sat across from her in the dark room watching the heavy breathing motion of her chest. The room was hot so she was dripping with sweat and blood. I get up and push her long, wet, smooth and now dirty black hair out of her face. "Gonna wake up, beautiful?" I say softly as I check the duct tape holding her to the chair. "Hey!" I start to get frustrated that she isn't waking up, I am not a man of patients and neither is he. Besides, I didn't hit her that hard, did I? I smack her gently with the back of my hand. She suddenly wakes up screaming and tries to get away. I almost fall backwards in shock. "Where the hell am I!?" she yells frantically. I grab my knife that I had sharpened while she was asleep and presses it to her beautiful, blood stained lips. I let my shaggy black hair fall in front of my eyes and smile devilishly. The fear in her eyes and in her voice makes me feel powerful. She shuts up and just sits there shaking in terror, her eyes filled with tears that seem to be afraid to come out themselves. I speak gently and reassuringly to her, deepening my voice so I don't sound so young. "Don't worry, sweetie, you will be okay,"I rest my other hand on her cheek, "we won't hurt you unless you make me," I know I'm lying but that's what I'm good at. As I pull my knife away she bursts into tears, for a minute I actually feel bad. What did she do to deserve this again? I forget important things like this sometimes, my brain doesn't work like everyone else's. At least that's what every doctor I ever saw told me. I guess it isn't normal the way my brain functions but Jeff says they are wrong. Jeff never lies to me. I remember, or he reminds me either way, I remember all those times she picked on me. Pushed me into lockers, shoved my face into the water fountains while I was getting a drinking, taunting me for hours at a time, passing me disgusting notes about what I supposedly do at night with various creatures and/or family members and all because I had an "imaginary friend". Suddenly the guilt is gone and replaced by anger and steaming rage. This is good because I don't like feeling guilty, I don't like the way it makes my stomach feel. I press my knife to her breast bone looking dead into her eyes, my eyes wide and black with hate. I tilt my head to the side and smile a big, toothy grin. She whispers hoarse from screaming, "I'll do anything please don't kill me." The complete and utter terror in her voice is so real it turns me on. It's nothing like how I thought it would be from the movies, it's so much better. I hide my erection suddenly shy and embarrassed, this is the real me I think, I start to take the cold metal of the knife off of her chest but then Jeff takes over.