The hours between dusk and dawn is a time for play. It's when nightmares come alive, stalking into your houses and making all your worst fears come true. Clowns, faceless horrors, emaciated entities, serial killers, ghosts. They thrive best when the night comes.

A young man tromped through the woods. He made no effort to quiet himself. Although his face was already contorted into a horrific chelsea smile, he grinned further. The sight was gruesome.

He was thin, but wiry. If you were to undress him, you could quite obviously make out muscle beneath his scarred flesh. Copious amounts of blood has stained his mouth and chin. It had even dripped onto his already filthy hoody. A ghastly sight, by any means.

A bloodied knife was in his hands. He was gripping the handle so tightly his knuckles would turn white, if he wasn't already so pale.

Weeks earlier he located a string of abandoned houses in an already shitty neighborhood. No one noticed him enter or leave. But people did notice the animals. Mutilated corpses, left scattered across lawns and strung up in trees. The smell of decay had taken hold of the neighborhood. No one drove past anymore. Those who lived on their street either spent all their time away, or had long since barricaded their doors. Some could sense the evil that had invaded their neighborhood, but were too scared or unsure to stop it.

Jeffrey returned to the dilapidated homestead he had chosen for himself. He saw it like he saw himself; scarred and beautiful. They were a perfect match.

He threw himself on the filthy couch left behind by the previous inhabitants, whoever they were. With smile still plastered on his face, he sleeps.

Ophelia detested sleep. It always took her to the same place.

Wallpaper curls as flames lick the walls like an old lover. The smell of smoke permeated the air, gagging the young child. It was all so real. Like it was happening right then. Like it was happening again. Every night, without fail, the tragedy of her childhood played out like a horror movie hosted in a theater that she could never just walk out of.

Until she wakes up.

She didn't scream. She learned not to scream a long time ago. Her eyes flew open and scrambled to find purchase in the world of consciousness. She needed to catch sight of something familiar.

Her computer sat across from her. It's cooling fans whirred softly in the corner of her room. 'Good.' She could feel the sheet stick to her back from sweat. 'Very good.' The clothes that she had discarded the night before still lay on the floor. They would be far too big for her if she was truly the child in her dream.

"I'm here, I'm safe, I'm fine."She mumbled this over and over under her breath. It's the mantra a therapist once told her. Simple words to repeat if she ever found herself stuck in a flashback. She would never admit that it worked.

Her breathing began to calm and, finally, she was able to pull herself into a sitting position. At some point during the night she had struggled out of her hoodie, which was now tangled up in the comforter. She wrestled it away from the blanket and pulled it over her head, further mussing up her already messy hair. It was way too early to worry about looking good, in her honest opinion. The only person who was likely to see her was probably at work by now anyway. Not that she would care. Marie had seen Ophelia at her worst. She was partially the cause for some of those times, a fact the young woman was sure her housemate was not too keen to remember. Ophelia was not sure she wanted to remember it, either. She would have liked to think that they were always this close, that Marie was a genuinely nice person with a good soul, but dark things lurked the behind the French woman's eyes.

While thinking about this, Ophelia realized that not only had she made it to the kitchen, but that she had been staring at the hot pot of coffee for god knows how long. Had Marie even left yet, or did she leave the pot here for Lia? She didn't see the Marie's briefcase anywhere so it must have been the latter.

The young woman was not entirely sure if the amount of caffeine she regularly consumed was entirely healthy, nor did she exactly care. It's possibly the only way she was able to continue functioning. She added a shit ton of sugar and some milk into the cup, watching as small droplets splash out and onto the counter. She decided she'd take care of the mess later. With cup in hand and a granola bar, she made her way back upstairs to check the emails no doubt sitting on her computer.

"What's on the agenda for today?" She mumbled to herself as she turned on the monitor. The browser was still open from last night. All she had to do was open up a new tab and access her company email.

The software was made specifically for those working at the foundation. It's run off strictly private servers, nearly unhackable. The emails addressed directly towards her were placed at the top, followed by the mass delivered ones that reached everyone at her branch. Most of the notices she got never applied to her. They were warnings and alerts for those that work on site. She checked them anyway, knowing that Marie would have to face a majority of the threats head on. She liked to know that she wouldn't be coming home to find out that her roommate had been maimed or killed. Every now and then someone would mass email everyone in the entire compound something that was supposed to be private, which was always hilarious. No such luck today. Looks like she would have to catch up with the drama the old fashioned way next time she made it up to the hq.

Red lettering caught her eyes immediately. 'Urgent.' It was at the top of her list, above everything else. She groaned, knowing that meant that she was going to have to put actual effort into whatever insane mission they were about to send her on, and begrudgingly clicked the email.

The letter was from one of the guys stationed seemingly permanently in their cubical in hq. Ophelia wasn't even sure what, exactly, it was that they did, besides deliver the decrees of their oh so benevolent dictator. They were the spitting image of smarmy business types. Suits, briefcases, perfectly shined shoes. They seem content with their job, happy even. She guessed she could understand that, considering they never have to actually face the things the foundation worked with.

The contents of the letter is worrying to say the least;

"P-SCP-3199

Name: Jeffery Woods

Known Alias': Jeff the Killer

Description: Subject is reported to be a pale humanoid of average height. Open wounds resembling that of the well known "Glasglow Smile" cut across his face, presumed to be self inflicted. Suffers from severe burns that cover his entire body in patches. Lacks a nose. Shows inhuman strength, even after suffering grievous injuries. The subject reportedly was assaulted and burned alive. They survived the attack despite extensive damage to muscle and nervous tissue. They went on to kill their family, mutilating them in a similar way to himself. Has escaped captivity by police forces multiple times only to kill again. Words are often found on the walls in the homes of his victims saying things such as "Go To sleep" and "Beautiful."

Crimes fitting this description have begun to occur within your stationed town, Agent Leyder. Attached are local news reports and police files on them. Please investigate them posthaste. Your report is due Friday.

[Redacted]"

Friday? What the fuck? That was in three days.

It had taken her almost all of her allotted time to track down the asshole known as 'Jeff the Killer'. And that's exactly what Ophelia found he was, an asshole. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason for why he killed the people he did. He didn't have a type. The victims were of all genders, sexual orientations, ages, ethnicities. They didn't know their murderer, he usually came through windows- even if he had to break them. He didn't steal anything, or take any souvenirs. He killed because he liked it.

What a dick face.

She knew she was getting close. A majority of the murders took place in a ten block radius, centering on what was considered by most to be the 'bad part of town'. She could of blindly guessed this outcome. But blindly guessing was not her job.

The street was dismal. In fact, the entire town was absolutely depressing. She silently pitied the people who lived there. Her shithole was nothing compared to the dilapidated abodes that lined the streets. The deeper she gets into this little neighborhood, the worse the houses get. And that is when she could smell it.

Rot. Death. Decay. It was sickly sweet in the most thoroughly disgusting way. It was all too familiar to the field agent.

Her eyes quickly located the source of the smell and she had to stop her gag reflex from making her spill her lunch. Dead animals were strung from trees and littered the lawn of one of the nearby houses. Mostly cats, but there were some birds and woodland rodents scattered about. They were ripped apart and slashed in the most gruesome of ways. Whoever did this obviously had anger issues.

Ophelia quelled her rolling stomach. She sat staring at the house for a long, long while. The sun was rapidly descending and her report was due before six am.

"Fuck." She said, before flipping on her camera and entering the house. This was going to have to happen if she wanted to avoid seeing her dear old boss man for another week. She takes a deep breath and starts forward.

"This is agent Mallory Asphodel, investigating P-SCP-3199, code name 'Jeff The Killer'. I have tracked his activities to a house three miles away from the abode Doctor LaBelle and I are stationed at. Exact coordinates will be listed in the completed report." Ophelia puts her hand on the doorknob to the house and steels herself before opening it. "I'm going in."

Within the decrepit domicile, Jeff stirs to the distant sounds of a door opening. He rises from his place on the couch and clenches the knife in his fist. Who dares to disturb him? Who was stupid enough to willingly walk into the place where they were to die? He chuckles as he imagines the look of shock and terror that would take hold of their face when he plunged his knife into their mouth and made them smile.

Something deep within Ophelia's gut alerts her of movement on the upper floors. Her back straightens and she casts a glance around the room, similar to a cat scanning the area with their ears at attention. She takes a look at the flashlight on her camera and decided to keep it off even though the room was growing rapidly darker.

Her eyes adjust to the low light levels rather quickly.

"Someone's in here." She whispered just loud enough for the camera to pick up. Her steps were slow and careful. She was extremely careful to make no noise. Even when she stepped upon a loose floorboard, she kept her feet light so the sound was muffled.

Jeffrey made his way down the stairs. He trailed the tip of his sharpened blade along the wall, allowing it to gouge an uneven line out of the plaster. Ophelia turned towards the stairs and, sensing that someone was coming, ducked into the kitchen. Her breathing had picked up, but she calmed it rather quickly. This might not even had been her target. She could have been scared for no reason. But when she saw that ghastly face in the darkness, she knew it was him.

Part of her was attracted to what most would considered an ugly mug. She always had an attraction to the macabre and the monstrous. However, the smell of decay that emanated off of his facial scars was enough to turn her off.

Jeffery would frown if the scarring didn't prevent his lips to move downwards. The shadows of the room bore no signs of life, and the shadows were the only thing he was able to see anymore. His ears did not pick up the young woman's heavy breathing, nor any other sounds. Logic only dictated that she was no longer in the living room, but he did not hear the door close again. He moved around the room, checking closets before rounding on the kitchen. Just as he entered it, fully confident in the thought that she must be in there, Ophelia ducked out. She lunged forward and back into the living room, reaching for her own knife that was still tucked away safely in a sheath on her belt.

"There you are~" The burned man smiled wide. He had seen and heard their movements. They could not escape now. "Why don't you come over here~? We can have a little fun! Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. And after the fun is done, you can go to sleep." His voice is gruff and laced with malice. It grew angrier the longer he spoke. The entire time he was creeping closer to her. His shoulders were bent forward, but he was still startling taller than her. He lunged forward quite suddenly. Ophelia dropped her camera in the rush to both jump backwards and unsheath her own knife. Their blades collided in a ridiculous defense maneuver, and she couldn't help but smirk at her own luck.

"Ooh~ Feisty~ I like that." Jeff countered. He pulled backwards and lunged forward again.

He stabbed towards her sloppily. Once again, Ophelia was able to block. She jumped backwards, holding her athame above her head. "Don't you usually go for the sleeping sort?"
"They're always awake when I make them pretty."

The two began to circle one another. Neither wanted to lunge forward, but the longer their stare down continued the more antsy Jeff became. He lunged forward yet again. His knife lead, followed by his entire body. The blade stabbed into her hip. Her scream got caught in her throat when he body checked her into a wall.

"Fucking bastard." She spits. She had not lost grip of her own dagger and she brought it down, catching his shoulder.

He grunted in pain and threw the young woman to the floor. Jeff expected her to leave the knife, but she held fast and wrenched her blade with her. This got a genuine scream out of him.

A line split the skin of his shoulder like a budding flower. The blade was wavy and so the cut was ragged. Ophelia attempted to scramble to her feet, but the boy jumped at her. He grabbed onto her leg and pulled her back onto the floor with him. Panic swelled in her chest. She tried to pull her legs upward and kick him off, she tried to elbow him, she flailed beneath him with all her might and he was still able to pin her arms down.
"Go. To. Sleep." Jeff raised a knife above her head, pinning her down with one arm. Spit and blood dripped onto her face from the smile carved into his own. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply,

And screamed.

The wall behind them exploded in a torrent of rubble and dust. The killer turned to look at whatever caused the commotion. Ophelia swiftly headbutted him in the jaw. Her legs finally worked their way beneath him and she kicked him off of her before scrambling to her feet and running.
She left behind her camera, didn't bother to watch her path through the brush, and refused to look behind her. The angered screech from within the house gave her cue enough that that bastard was following her. She had just about forgot her own wound, but the adrenaline didn't last long. Soon she was clutching her side, slowing to a painful pace. There was water before her. A lake or a pond, she had no clue. What was even the distinction anyway?
"YOU CAN'T RUN FOREVER, BITCH!" The killer's voice was far too close for comfort.

Swimming with an open wound did not sound like the best option, but it might have been safer to dive into the water for a bit. Certainly she could hold her breath for longer than it took for him to get bored. Couldn't she?

It was too late for her to rationalize this any further. Movement in the foliage nearby pushed her into diving headfirst into ocean. She tried her damndest to stay close to the bottom, pushing deeper and deeper. She turned to face upwards, ignoring the stinging in her eyes.
The world is silent under the water. Everything is distorted and muffled. She closes her eyes for a second, taking in the moment of peace before the adrenaline kicks in again.

Something grabs her neck. Ophelia's eyes slam open and she opens her mouth in attempt to scream. Water rushes into her lungs and she sputters and flails under the water. More limbs wrap around her. It felt as if she was held in a choke hold.
She cursed herself for panicking so easy. Whatever was holding onto her was quickly dragging her downward at a rapid pace. Her struggling wasted what little air supply she had left and did little to deter what ever was drowning her.

'Maybe I'll haunt a video game when I die,' the thoughts were calm despite her precarious situation. 'Not majora's mask. Shit's scary enough.'

She whipped her head backwards in a final display of desperation. Something let out a strangled cry but the vice had lifted and she was able to pull herself free. She made a beeline for the surface. The frigid air stung her face, but she could finally breath again. She didn't wait around to catch her breath. Shore was a priority. And locating that pasty asshole.

He was gone. Or at least, not visible from the gasping woman's vantage point. Truth be told, being hunched over on the sandy shore of an ink-dark lake was not the best position to be surveying the area with. She contemplated calling in backup but only realized how impossible that was, now that both herself and the entire contents of her bag and pockets were pulled into the water. It was a miracle something didn't electrocute her.

"Shit." She sputters after coughing up a steady stream of water. Her head whips towards the woods. The loud thrashing of who is no doubt her target can be heard. He's yelling for her, cursing up a storm. Ophelia snickers, and immediately dives into the forest. She doesn't care about the noise she's making- let the bastard follow.

Jeffery turned in her direction. He glared at the noises rapidly growing distant and took off after Ophelia with a scream. It wasn't hard to catch up with her.

Lia screamed when the blade connected with her side. Her eyes widened and flashed gold. For a split second she could swear she felt every single cell that made up her body. She felt the wound start to knit itself together even as the blade stayed inside. As quickly as the sensations came, it was gone. The field agent was left with the dulling ache in her side. Her breath was shallow, but she didn't seem to be bleeding out anymore.

Jeffrey grunted as he pulled his knife free- and it snapped. The handle snapped clean off the blade, leaving the metal lodged inside Ophelia's side. He yelled in anger and swung his fist in the direction of her face. It connected with the harsh sound of teeth on teeth. She spat blood at him and rushed forward. Her head connected with his chest and her arms wrapped around him.

Jeff was knocked against the tree and the air left his lungs. The field agent brought her knee upwards harshly. It connected with his crotch and he curled in on himself. She let his body fall to the ground and gave him an extra kick for good measure. More blood was pooling in her mouth, and she spat again.

The last things Jeff heard before a swift conk to the head rendered him unconscious was his 'catchphrase' spoken from the mouth of a very angry woman. "Go. To. Sleep."

Ophelia had left the bastard tied to a tree and limped her way home. Her body ached with open wound and natural exhaustion. She passed out on the floor next to the couch.