Disclaimer: All rights and credit belong to the original creators of the creepy pastas mentioned in this fanfiction from here on out. Besides the plot and the main character, I don't any own anything else. I am simply borrowing Jeff and the gang for my own entertainment.

Rated M for gore, violence, disturbing images, profanity, and eventually lemons…

A/N: 'Ello everyone. As always I want to say "Thank you" to my loyal reviewers. Especially Lady Miniualwen. Your reviews always mean a lot to me. I like feedback after all. Also "Thank you" to those who have chosen to favorite/follow this story. Your support means a lot to me as well. It means people are taking the time and reading something I have put time and effort in. So thank you all so much!

Chapter Nine

A House Full of Killers

"Wanna play?"

The color drained from my face. "You gotta be kidding me…"

I bolted out of the bedroom faster than you could blink and immediately collided into somebody out in the hallway. The force of the collision sent us both flying to the hard cold floor below.

"Ow…" I heard the person say. I peeked up at the person, whose lap I was now sprawled across. I found myself face to face with Jack. His mask crooked, revealing a nasty set of chompers.

"Y-Your teeth," I sputtered shocked at the fact his mouth resembled a shark's. I temporarily forget about the creepy girl. "Are you related to Jaws?"

I watched in fascination as his mouth moved as he talked. "Ugh… I was suppose to wake you up, but I see you're already wide awake."

"Yeah."

"Mind getting off me. You're kind of heavy," he said, reminding me we were in a very awkward situation.

I immediately scrambled off of him, uttering a quick "sorry!" I climbed to my feet just in time to see the creepy little girl peering out from corner of the bedroom doorway. Her inhuman white eyes burrowing into mine. An chill settled in my bones. I shivered. She reminded me of the girl from the well in "The Ring." Ghost children always freaked me out.

"U-Uh Jack?" I stammered, my teeth chattering as my body temperature seemed to plummet. I pointed a trembling finger at the ghost child. "W-Who's that?"

Jack readjusted his mask. "Oh. I see you met Sally," he said. "Sally, stop terrorizing the girl. She's Jeff to traumatize."

The ghost girl-Sally- uttered her eerie giggle and skipped out of the room. Her eyes shifted to a normal green color. The color in her skin warmed up to a peachy-cream, the grim and blood vanishing. She looked like a normal little girl now.

The heat returned to my body as she stopped mere inches from me and studied me. "So it's true then? Is she really his play thing?" she inquired with her arms folded behind her back and her head titled.

Play thing? Is that how they saw me?

"Do you think Jeffy will let me play with her?" Sally asked suddenly, clapping her hands to together in excitement.

That didn't sound too promising. I don't think this little girl's idea of fun was playing with Barbies or having a tea party. I shuddered at what she might consider play-time.

Jack sighed. "You know how Jeff is with his shit, Sally. I don't think he's gonna share," he replied and motioned for us to follow. "Come on. Lunch is ready."

"Lunch?" I slept in. Great. My kind hosts must think I'm another lazy teenager. I'm usually up before ten. Last night took a lot out of me then. I scooted away from Little-Miss-Creepy and hurried after Jack. I wasn't going to be left alone with Sally. She might end up possessing me or something twisted like that.

"Um… So is she really a ghost?" I inquired as we headed for the dining room downstairs. Hoody and Masky were already seated at the table and helping themselves to what looked like all-you-can-eat taco buffet.

"Who? Sally? Yeah. She was murdered when she was eight," Jack explained with nonchalance.

"Ooookay…" Wow.

My mind immediately went to Willy. My little brother was eight years old. He was so young. So innocent. He barely begun to experience life. How could anybody murder an eight year old? There were a lot of sickos out in the world.

I peered around the room. And I'm in the same room with some of them. Wonderful.

Just then a towering lanky profile stepped out in front of me, preventing me from making a beeline for a plate. I lifted my gaze and found myself being glared at.

"You're looking worse for wear," I commented, noting the abrasion along Jeff's jaw. The skin around one of his bug-eyes was swollen and purple-blue. An bandage clung to the right side of his face. I could see a reddish bruise around his long neck.

"Who the fuck told you could make friends?" he snarled, getting right in my face. "I didn't say you could act all bubby-bubby with this bastard, you hussy!"

Oh great….

"Jeff, seriously dude. Lay off," Jack said intervening, pushing me behind him, protectively. "There's no reason to act like such a dick towards her."

"Fuck off, you kidney eating piece of shit!" Jeff yelled, launching forward to strangle Jack. "She's mine! That bitch is mine!"

Bitch?! I thought we were past the whole calling me a "bitch" thing. Apparently not. I wedged myself between Jack and Jeff. "Knock it off with the "she's mine" bullshit. I'm nobody's property, got that?" I snapped, giving him attitude right back. "Will you grow up? If you're gonna throw a freaking tantrum, do it outside where nobody has to deal with it!"

Jeff snarled and took hold of my hands, squeezing my wrists painfully. "You're mine! Mine! Got that? If I catch you being friendly with that fucker again, I swear I will break ever bone in your arms until you scream for mercy!" he screamed, his face, despite the permanent grin, completely livid.

This is what scared me the most about Mr. Serial Killer. One minute he was fine and then the next he was flying off the bat. I recoiled away, fear plain as day in my eyes.

Masky whistled. "Damn. That's vicious."

"Way to put that slut in her place," Hoody said approvingly.

Jack sighed and ran a hand through his messy auburn hair. "Jesus. What a situation."

Fear was quickly replaced with irritation. "I don't know what you're freaking problem is, but don't you dare treat me like your personal bitch," I whispered, my hands curling into fists. When it came to dealing with this psycho I had to raise my hackles when he got like this. "Now get over yourself and take your little rage party of one somewhere else! I don't want to deal with you right now!"

An long heated silence filled the room as Jeff and I exchanged glares. I trembled on the inside. I don't know if he would do what he always did when we fought. I hoped he'd take his wrath out on an inanimate object and stormed out of the room to go mope for a few hours until he cooled down.

Jeff's ruined lips twitched as if wanting to curl into a animalistic snarl. He let out a angry cry and whirled around, stalking out of the room. The sound of something expensive shattering followed seconds later along with a long streaming of cursing. All of them aimed at me.

My shoulders slumped once I couldn't hear him anymore. An awkward paused followed, before Masky broke it.

"Damn, you got some balls there, chicky," Masky replied. He sounded pretty damn impressed with me going head to head with Jeff and his dangerous temper.

I gave a bitter laugh. "Gee. Thanks."

"You doing okay?" Jack asked after lunch. I volunteered to help clean up.

I focused on washing the dishes. Soap bubbles were up to my elbows as I scrubbed away at the dirty plates.

"Yeah…. Well, not really," I admitted. I had eaten very little at lunch. The fights between me and Mr. Serial Killer always left me drained and in a pretty foul mood. "He's such a douche bag. I know he's insane in the membrane, but that doesn't give him the right to treat me like shit. Honestly, if I could find a fool-proof way to escape, I would be long gone."

"Then why don't you run away?" Jack inquired as he rinsed the dishes and wiped them off. "Why stick around and deal with his crap?"

I paused. My mind going back to my life before it went all wrong. My friends. My family. "I just want to go home," I muttered, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders. I sighed. "There's nothing more I want than to go home and get away from that sicko…" My voice shook. The tears were coming. "My mom. My dad… Willy… I want to see them so bad it hurts." My vision blurred. Crap. No tears. You can't cry. "B-But… I can't. I just can't. He might go after them if I try. I just can't do that to them, Jack."

I choked down a sob, my throat tight and uncomfortable as I fought my emotions. Jack waited as I reined in the tears. I chuckled humorlessly. "I gotta deal with his shit," I said. "In order to protect my friends and family, I just have to put up with him that's all. It's stupid I know."

"Even if you never see them again?" Jack pressed. Since when were killers sympathetic?

I fought the tears again. I did not want to have a mental break down right then. It was the last thing I needed. "Yeah. I guess I'm starting to understand how it feels to be helpless when girls like me end up in these fucked up situations," I continued. In a weird way, it was nice to talk to someone about what I was going through. I knew Jack was a murderer too. He killed innocent people, but he acted more human. I found it very easy to get along with him. Maybe because he seem so laid back and nice. "Besides, in some warped sick way it's satisfying pushing his buttons and making him loose his temper. It's like a small win for me. Although, it will probably lead to my death someday."

We spent the rest of the time washing dishes in silence. It took every ounce of restrain I had to not bust down bawling. Tears wouldn't make my situation any better. I knew that. All too clearly.

"So… What do you guys do for fun around here?" I asked once the last fork and plate were put away in their proper place. I wanted a distraction. I hated being gloomy and having a pity party for myself.

Jack perked up and turned to me. He titled his head. I had the funny feeling he was giving me a "what the hell" look.

"What?" I inquired playing dumb. "I mean, don't serial killers do other stuff besides kill people in their spare time?"

Jack scratched the side of his head. "Well, I usual just read or spend time on the laptop, but we do have a gaming room if you want to check that out."

I grinned. He lead the way to a den type room. The room was section off into two separate eras, an long dark grey couch dividing the space. On one side there was a full entertainment center and large flat screen tv, complete with Wii and X-box. On the other was a pool table, along with a area set up for darts. I noticed several knives embedded into the wooden paneled wall.

Masky and Hoody were seated on the floor beyond the couch, hammering away at their controllers, playing Walking Dead.

Hoody cackled as he mode down the zombies with a shot gun. "Eat lead, Motherfuckas!"

"Oh! Oh! Get that one!" Masky said as his avatar used a flame thrower. "Sweet. Burn baby! Burn!"

"Hey! Have room for two more players?" Jack asked, hopping over the back of the couch. He picked up a opened can of beer off the floor and lifted his mask to take a swig.

"Dude! I just opened that!" Masky protested, turning to glower at Jack.

"Finders keepers, shit face. You can always get yourself another from the fridge," Jack shot back and gestured toward the black mini fridge.

I sat down on one end of couch and gave them all a look. "Isn't it a little early to starting drinking?" I wanted to know. "You guys are going to be drunker than skunks by supper time, you know that, right?"

"Fuck you," Hoody retorted.

"It's never too early to get drunk!" Masky cheered.

I face palmed. "Great. I'm surrounded by alcoholics."

"Well, if you're gonna be surrounded by alcoholics, then might as well crack one open and join us, then," Jack chuckled, offering me swig off his beer. Funky black goo dripped off the edge of the can. "When in Rome."

My stomach threatened revolt. I waved the beer can away. "You guys can get drunk and I'll just laugh when you're stumbling around later."

Jack shrugged and took another swig. "Suit yourself. You're missing out though."

I chuckled. "Hah! Like what? One hell of a hangover? No thanks."

"Will you two shut the hell up, already? You're making me loose my concentration!" Hoody snapped.

Jack kicked the hooded fool in the back of the head, making his character die. "Then keep your eyes on the screen, genius!"

Hoody lost it. He chucked his controller at Jack and then proceeded to chase the cannibal around the room, threatening to run him threw with his hunting knife. I wondered if anybody ever told these lunatics not to run around with sharp pointy objects.

"Well, my partner in crime seems to be a little busy. Wanna give bashing zombie skulls in a try?" Masky asked, catching me off guard.

"Uh… Sure." I sat on the floor and took the spare controller. I hadn't played a zombie game in a while. Last time was when I spent the night over at Valerie's house. She's a big gamer. We stayed up till three in the morning playing Resident Evil.

I choose a machete as a weapon for the avatar.

"Ooh! A machete. I thought for sure you would have picked the tommy," Masky said.

"Just because I carry an gun around, doesn't make me a fan of them. I need to protect myself is all."

"Why does that nut job let you carry a gun anyway? You could have shot him dead by now," Masky wanted to know, earnestly as our avatars started hacking away at the zombie hordes on the screen.

"Heck if I know." I entertained the idea a time or two, but I was such a lousy shot. He'd probably stab me to death before I managed to get a decent aim. "He just handed it to me one day and told me to learn how to defend myself. He said he didn't want to come back from one of his little killing sprees and find me dead because some thug got a hold of me before he did."

I could feel Masky's hidden eyes burrowing into the side of my head. I glanced at him. "What?"

"That's…. That is a little weird," Masky commented.

I pressed my lips together and focused on the screen. Yeah. He was right. Why would a serial killer give his abductee a gun? It made no sense. Then again neither did Jeff half of the time.

I felt a cool brush of air across the back of my neck. Goose bumps broke out along my arms.

"Whatcha playin?" inquired a cutsy little girl's voice. You gotta be shitting me! Please don't tell me that's who I think is it!

"Heya Sally. Wanna play Walking Dead?" Mask greeted the creepy little spectator.

I craned my head. There standing right behind us was Sally. She smiled innocently at me and waved. "Hi Pepper. Wanna play?"

I forced a weary smile. "The more the merrier."

Her face instantly lit up. She plopped down next to me with Hoody's discarded controller in hand. "I call bids on the C4. Let's blow those fuckers to hell and back!"

I was stupefied. Since when can a eight year old swear like a trucker driver? "If my brother ever swore like that my parents would wash his mouth out with soap," I muttered, completely freaked out.

"Well, that's what happens when you have a ghost child hanging out with a bunch of serial killers," Jack replied, walking back into the game room. His mask was crooked and black gunk drizzled down the side of his mouth.

"Hoody okay?" Masky said, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"Eh, he'll live," Jack said as he plopped back down onto the couch. "His ego is just bruised."

"Meh. Figures," Masky replied with a shrug.

At sunset they all left. Jack said they would be back before sun raise. They were going out to kill. Even the creepy ghost child, Sally, disappeared. I was left the entire mansion to myself for the evening. These people were pretty darn trusting for letting a complete stranger have the run of the house while they were gone.

I leaned on the banister on the wrap around porch, watching the last fading rays of sunlight disappear below the horizon. The sky became a outstretched campus of pale purple and grey. The first stars of the evening, winked in the distance.

You're all alone. You could run for it. They will never realize it until they come home, a part of my mind told me as I stood there, watching the towering ancient willows and sycamores.

Yeah and go where? I'm in South Carolina for god's sake and in the middle of nowhere! The forests surrounding Thunderbird are huge. It was a bitch trying to navigate them when Jeff and I first got here, I argued back.

The other side of me pushed at the notion again. But Jeff isn't anywhere to be seen right now, is he? He's probably off pouting. You're all alone right now. Just go grab the survival pack and get the hell out of Dodge.

I sighed and thought back to the conversation between Jack and I earlier that day.

"Why don't you run away? Why stick around and deal with his crap?"

Fuck if I know, I thought. Jack made a good point. The idea crossed my mind at least once a day. Why didn't I just run away? What was holding me back? I know some basics survival skills from being on the move with Jeff. I had a gun. If I practiced enough I could become a decent shot. That idiot wouldn't see it coming. He probably just assumed I stayed with him because of fear. Fear of him coming after me or him going back and killing the ones I love.

At first that was what kept me from escaping. He might hunt down my parents and my brother and my friends, and kill them off one by one. And I would be completely helpless to do anything about it. But… But that wasn't exactly the case anymore.

For being a deranged maniac, he had taught me a few basic fighting moves in order for me to hold out in a fight. Since when did serial killers teach their captives how to fight back? Just why was he keeping me around? It's been over a month now. He even gave me a weapon. I thought one of the big no-noes in a holding people captive was to make sure they had absolutely no way of defending themselves.

"So why?" I wondered out loud. I sighed and headed back into the house. Instinctively, I headed straight for the room I was staying in. I pulled out the backpack and shifted through its contents. Why not leave now? With no one around to watch me, I could easily run for it and never look back. Head straight for the interstate and hitch-hike my way home. Get a hold of a phone and call my parents to let them know I was alive and coming home.

I pulled out a spare knife, Jeff always kept it in there. I pulled it from the sheaf and examined it. The steel shone dully. I furrowed my brow. Apprehension settled in the pit of my stomach.

These guys were trained killers and expert trackers. What kind of an chance did I have against them? Especially with all of them being so familiar with the terrain. I knew very little to nothing about the surrounding forests. I would end up getting lost within an hour of couples. The woods around Slenderman's house were eerily silent. It was like all the animals and birds knew to stay away from this place. Who knows what kind of unpleasant surprises might be out there!

If Slenderman was real, who was to say whether or not other myths were true. Legends were based on reality, embellished over time as they were past on from one generation to the next.

I huffed and shoved the backpack back underneath the bed and flopped on my back to stare up at the ceiling with its lazily spinning fan.

"Damn if I do, damn if I don't," I muttered miserably. I closed my eyes and laid there for a moment, before growling with agitation. Moping was going to get me nowhere. I shoved that feeling of helplessness to the back of my mind and decided I needed a nice shower.

The bathroom was two doors down. It was spacious with bright lighting installed into the ceiling above. Faded yellow and beige Victorian wallpaper covered the walls, while the sink and toilet in the bathroom were a robin egg blue. An expressionist painting of a seaside was position across from the clawed foot tube that sat in the middle of the room.

I turned the knob for the hot water and striped out of my clothes. While I waited for the water to warm up, I investigated the miniature porcelain figurines that sat on the dark stained wooden shelves. Most of them were tiny delicate ballerinas. I snickered and picked out a olive green music box with spiraling gold leaf and maroon designs. I wound up the key. An light airy tune filled the bathroom. It kind of reminded me of "Once Upon a December" from Anastasia.

I fished around the blue painted cabinets for body wash and, shampoo and conditioner. There was a narrow dark stained table that sat next to the tube. I tested the water. Perfect.

I had a bit of trouble climbing into the tube, but managed it okay. I reclined against the heated sides and relaxed, soaking.

After twenty minutes I climbed out and toweled off. I emptied the tube and put everything back the way I found it. No need to be a messy guest.

I headed back for my room, an towel wrapped around my naked body. Hey, everyone was out after all, so heck, I could walk around naked if I wanted to.

I closed the door behind me, humming the tune to Imagine Dragons, "Radioactive." I was about to start drying my hair, when the sensation of being watched struck me. I straightened up and looked towards the windows. There sitting in the chair was Jeff. He looked irritated.

We stared each other down for a long moment. My body tensed immediately. I chewed him out pretty badly earlier today. Not that he didn't deserve it, the bastard.

"Hey…," I said, cautiously. He didn't budge an inch, his body rigid. "Um…"

Was he expecting me to apologize for snapping at him? Because I wasn't going to.

Uncomfortably, I tightened the towel around my body as his eyes remained on me, watching my every move. I pressed my lips together as he continued to remain silent. Well, what was he waiting for?

Finally, I stuck my tongue out at him. If he wanted to play the silent game, then fine. I didn't want to talk him either. I went over to the bedside and bent down to fish out the spare pair of clothes I packed.

"What the hell are you?" his voice broke the silence.

I stopped and peered at him from over the bed. "Say what now?" Did I just hear him right?

He growled. "You heard me, wretch. What the hell are you?" He got to his feet and stomped over, to glare at me more efficiently. "Just what the hell are you?"

I noted the flush red in his face. Great. He had been drinking. I pulled out a bright orange t-shirt and poka-dotted pair of undies. "What else am I supposed to be?" I answered. "I'm me of course."

Jeff remained quiet for a moment before getting on his hand and knees to glare at me, invading my personal bubble. An strong whiff of whiskey graced my nose as he got as close to me as possible. I leaned back a little.

"What?" I demanded.

"You don't make sense," he replied angrily.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken, psycho. You're the one who doesn't make freaking sense," I said and got to my feet. Just stay cool, Pepper. Show him you're not the least bit intimidated by him. Heh. That's a load of crap.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around me, holding me in place. Jeff buried his face into the arch of my neck.

"I hate you. I fucking hate you," he muttered in a childlike voice.

"And yet you're hugging me," I pointed out.

"Shut up."