Creepypasta

Jeff the Killer 2

Introduction

My name was Keith Moore. I was Irish, I grew up in Oak Grove, Minnesota. I loved cars, horror movies, and I was looking forward to my twenty-first birthday. But now, I'm dead. The last few miserable days of my life were spent huddled in my room at an Akron, Ohio mental institution, living in constant, paralyzing fear, waiting for him to appear.

His name was Jeffrey Woods. But nobody calls him that anymore. By now, the whole country's heard of him. They all call him "Jeff the Killer." His story spread like wildfire. What he did, the people he's killed, the news was all over it. His tale has spread around everywhere, like a virus.

He destroyed my life, he killed all my friends, he'll kill again, and the worst thing about all of it is that I know it's all my fault. He's a goddamn blight on the world, and he'll never go away now. The pain won't ever stop, and it's all because of me.

Prologue

There was a time, about three years ago, when Jeff wasn't the monster he's become now. He was a normal kid, about 14 years old I think. At the time, me and all my friends were High School seniors, all around 17-19 if I'm remembering it right. Not that it matters anymore.

Jeff was relatively normal, but not that happy. He had a hard life. He didn't go around starting fires or torturing small animals or anything. He was just a loner. People didn't like Jeff, and he never had that many friends.

He came from a broken home. His father left him and his family when he was around four, his mother was an alcoholic, and his brother ended up in juvie. All of this left Jeff pretty introverted, but he didn't seem miserable.

He was one of those dorky, kinda gothic kids me and my friends liked to pick on. He had long hair he dyed black and never took very good care of, he always wore dark clothing, and his skin was really pale.

He was into all kinds of creepy stuff that me and my friends all thought was pretty silly. He was into Slenderman mythos, black magic, and cheesy 70's music. I think that last thing was just a way to connect with his absent father, but I'll never know. His favorite song was "Don't Fear the Reaper." A fact he would remind us of constantly. It got pretty annoying.

If it were up to us, we wouldn't have hung out with the little twerp, but Lisa, our friend Troy's sister, insisted on it. I guess she felt bad for him, thought we needed to be his friends. So Jeff started tagging along with us, and we absolutely hated it.

We never treated Jeff right. He was the butt of all our pranks, we constantly insulted him, loved to make fun of him, and sometimes just straight up told him to get lost. There were more than a few times he went home crying, but he'd always show up the next day like nothing happened. Even though we treated him terribly, we were the only friends he ever had.

He had enough in common with us that he could fit in alright. We all liked the same movies, similar taste in music, we even had a lot of the same hobbies. One cool thing about Jeff was his huge collection of knives. Looking back, it should have a major red flag for us, but we just thought it was awesome. His brother, Liu, was in jail for stabbing someone, so I guess the knives were his way of feeling close to him again. If we had spent more times focusing on the good things about him, if we had been better friends, maybe none of this would have ever happened.