Sanity is Just a State of Mind (18+_A Jeff the Killer fan fiction)

Chapter 3: The Right State of Mind

Jeff's Point of View

I've been here for three days now and am going stir crazy being cooped up in this house. I'm almost out of food, as well.

"Ugh!" I grab my head as it starts to throb.

That familiar uneasy feeling is surging through my brain making it hard to think straight. I'll have to go into town tonight. I have no choice. Starting to get ready to head out, I lace up my boots and strap my knife on. As the sun sinks below the horizon, I sling my backpack over my shoulder and leave the house.

Entering the city limits, I walk down Main Street toward the downtown area. A ways in, I stop in my tracks. I find myself standing in front of the house where the red jeep is parked in the driveway. My chest tightens and anxiety overtakes my entire being. Standing there for several minutes glaring at the house, I make my decision.

"I'll be back for you later." I growl under my breath. Clenching my fists, I storm away from the house.

Once I reach the downtown area, I take a right going down a street that leads to the middle-class neighborhood. I come across a two-story house that looks promising. There's a faded blue 1970's Volkswagen Beetle sitting in the driveway. Making my way around the side of the house, I slip through the privacy fence gate into the backyard. I reach the sliding glass door, and to my luck, it's unlocked and slides open without a sound. Stepping inside the dark house, I close the door behind me. Letting my eyes adjust, I set my backpack on the floor and pull out my knife. I pass through a large kitchen and into the living room. There's a dim light coming from atop the stairs. Creeping up the stairs and down the hall, I stop just outside the door where the light is illuminating from. I can hear soft music being played, 'Pink Floyd's, Dark Side of the Moon'. Peering inside the room, I see lava lamps, black lights, a disco ball, a beanbag chair, and various psychedelic posters that adorn the room, making it look like a scene straight out of a 1970's movie. There sprawled out on the beanbag chair is a young man with long, stringy blonde hair in his early twenties. He is wearing a black Metallica tee shirt and ripped blue jeans. He's staring blankly up at a large black velvet painting of the Pink Panther. A black light shines down on it bringing depth to the painting. There's a very strong smell emanating from the room and sitting on the floor next to the beanbag chair is a large glass water pipe. The young man sits upright slightly, a lighter in one hand, he reaches over for the bong with the other. All of a sudden, he jumps with a start as his half-closed eyes land on me.

"Whoa! Dude, where'd you come from?!" He exclaims. Then, as if he just realized something, he continues. "Oh man! What happened to your face, dude?"

"What's the matter? Aren't I beautiful?" I smirk mischievously.

"Umm..." He seems to be at a loss for words. Instead of answering, he lifts up the bong, holding it and the lighter out to me. Here, looks like you could use a hit.

"No. It will only dull my senses." I have no desire for what he's offering.

"That's the whole point, dude. It'll take your mind off things."

I just shake my head without saying another word. The young man simply shrugs as he brings the pipe to his lips. He strikes the lighter, puts the flame to the bowl and fills the chamber with smoke. Letting the flame die, he pulls out the stem and inhales deeply. Blowing out the contents from his lungs, a cloud of smoke hangs in the air.

'I've had enough of this fool,' I think to myself scowling. Knife in hand, I advance. Coming down on the glassy eyed man, I place the tip of the blade to his neck. With a wicked grin, I speak in a low deep voice. "It's time for you to...go to sleep."