Creepypasta One-Shots

"Quickie" (EJ + Reader)

Content Warnings
• EJ is a breathy creep to you
• "Knife stuff"
Word Count: 2100+
Summary: You find yourself bound and gagged on a stainless steel table EJ uses to butcher his victims. An unexpected interruption puts off the inevitable. Happy ending, thankfully.

———

You woke with an unbearable throbbing in your head, but you soon realized that was the least of your worries. Your eyes were open, but you couldn't see. A few rapid blinks, and you realized you had a blindfold tied tight around your head. As you tried to sit up and remove it, a few more realizations took place.

Your hands and ankles were bound.
You'd been gagged with a damp rag.
Beneath you, was a cold, hard surface. Like you were laying down on a refrigerator.

Stainless steel.

Something was very, very wrong.

Click, click. Scrape. Slide. Click. Turn.

How many fucking locks had just been undone?
You heard a long, drawn out creak, so strained it sounded like the yowl of an angry cat. Then, footsteps. Soft. Bare feet, or socks.
You were so focused on the most minute of sounds, you flinched when you heard a man clear his throat right over you. Firm, clammy hands gripped your head, one turning it to the side while the other undid your blindfold. The black cloth was tossed aside, and you got a good look at your captor.

Grisly gray skin, creased into an almost checkerboard linework on his forehead, and pulled back as he smiled at you with a grin of foul yellow teeth. His graying brown hair seemed dry and coarse, like a mountain goat's mane, and his eyes... well, he didn't appear to have any. He MUST have had eyes, though. How else could he be staring right at you?

"I'll get to the point, how about that?" He asked, in a low voice both husky and grating, "This is a quickie. You're a quickie."

You stared up at the ceiling trying to figure out what the Hell he meant by that, and that's when you noticed a tool board on the wall beside you. It wasn't being used to display hammers, wrenches, or screwdrivers. From top to bottom, left to right, it was decorated with knives and saws or various sizes.

Oh. Murder. This was a murder, about to happen.

You tried to squirm against your bindings, but to no avail. All that got you was an amused chuckle from your captor.
"Cute. But fruitless. As much as I'd love to entertain the idea of giving you false hope, it's like I said before... quickie. I don't have the time in my schedule for any games."

You couldn't help but wonder how busy this guy's life was that he couldn't set aside the appropriate amount of time for a kidnapping and murder, but you knew you wouldn't receive an answer. You could do nothing but glare at him as he reached over you, retrieving an almost comically large kitchen knife from the tool board. Briefly, he examined its edge, before lowering it down to your throat and resting the tip of the blade against the underside of your chin. You held your breath.

He traced the knife down to your neckline, pushing down the collar of your shirt until the edge pressed down between your collarbones. You let out a shaky breath through your nose.

Your captor hummed, pleased with your reaction.
"Don't tempt me," He warned, tilting his head slightly to one side, "I can make the time to draw this out. Watch me."

What an awful, awful place to be, with such an awful, awful man. He couldn't even muster the decency to not be a breathy creep while he murders you. You'd have at least been comforted by some... professionalism. That isn't to say he doesn't obviously know what he's doing.