Creepypastas Storys

Jeff The Killer Goes To Sleep

Jeff crawled silently through the bedroom window of his latest victim and gradually crept over the the foot of his bed. His last encounter hadn't gone so well; the kid's father had intervened and Jeff had lost one of his favorite knives when he threw it at the old man whom had startled Jeff when he brandished his shotgun at him (so it was his fault, really).The knife had missed its intended target and embedded itself into the David Bowie poster that hung on the boy's bedroom wall. Just one of life's little ironies Jeff thought, chuckling to himself.
Luckily, he had remembered to bring a spare with him this night and, hiding behind a bush, he applied his hourly eye-drops, which were the only way for him to keep his eyes moist since that night when he had removed the lids with a craving knife (it seemed like a good idea at the time). He applied a few extra drops this time as the last struggle, followed by the long hard run that it took to flee the scene had dried up his eyes significantly, to the point where he had almost gone blind.
"I'll get them latter." He muttered to himself shortly after the escape. After all, his father had always told him to finish what he had started; then again, ol' dad gotten himself carved into coleslaw, so how smart could he have been?
Jeff was feeling hopeful about this next venture though and he raised the knife high above his head, taking a moment to savor the murder he was about to commit as he liked to treat every slaying like a Thanksgiving dinner, but as he was about to plunge the knife into his helpless victim, revel in the sensation of his hands submerging themselves in a freshly opened stomach and giggle at the pitiful gasps of shock and pain that usually followed, he heard a voice that made him stop in his tracks, "Hi there, Smiley," the voice said, "It sure took you long enough to get here."
It was the voice of the man in the bed. It spook in a soft but level tone, without a hint of fear. "Go to sleep!" Jeff demand, in his own grainy and intimidating voice; the voice that stuck helpless terror into the hearts of victims all over town, but this man just chuckled casually. "I'm afraid you're in no position to give orders, son." He said, reveling a very subtle southern draw that Jeff had not noticed a moment ago.
Jeff remained frozen. Now he wanted more then anything to kill this man and get it over with, but he could not move; for the first time since acquiring his deformity and finding employment as the local homicidal maniac, Jeff had felt the icy grip of fear clutch at his spine.
"I-I said, go to sleep!" He bellowed. His voice was shaking as was his entire body. He was shaking so violently that he couldn't hold onto the knife and it dropped from his hand.
Suddenly, the man sat up. The movement was so sudden that it startled Jeff and he stumbled back a couple paces. Jeff still could not make out any of the man's features, only a vague outline of his upper body. It was as if the man was deliberately shrouding himself in darkness. The figure turned to face Jeff and, although he could not see them, he could feel the man's eyes staring directly at him, penetrating into the deepest regions of his being. "You may not know who I am, but I've been waiting for you for quite sometime." The figure said, "You see, I've known about your little reign of terror for quite a while now and I intend to put a stop to it tonight, but before you die, perhaps I should take a moment to introduce myself. My name is..." A cold shiver ran through Jeff's entire body upon hearing the man's name; a name consisting of what Jeff immediately recognized as the last two words he would ever hear, "...Chuck Norris."