The pressure was constant on the other side of the door. You stayed quiet, feeling your heartbeat in your chest. It pounded and pounded and pounded, as if it was trying to burst right out of your ribcage. 'Am I gonna die?' Your mind tossed this idea around for minutes as the pounding on the door started. The door shook, rattling you as you pressed yourself harder against it.
"O-open the d-door." A voice came from the other side. It sounded muffled as it stuttered. It was a male voice too, a deep one. It felt threatening. You waited for him to say something else, as your eyes scanned your room for something to protect yourself. "O-open the door before I o-open it m-myself!" The voice said, this time, much more threatening. The pounding on the door continued, that is, until you saw the blade of what looked like, an axe come through beside your shoulder. You backed away, gasping out of shock and fear. Suddenly, you remembered something. The drawer; the knife. Your hands and instincts took control, rummaging through the jeans to find the knife still settled on the bottom of the drawer, but another thought toyed with your mind.
'You wouldn't actually be able to kill someone, right? You promised, remember?' This caught you off guard. You blinked, assuring yourself this was reality. You could feel your adrenaline slowly rise in your body. The door finally broke, as a man around your age, maybe a couple years older, stepped in. You scanned his appearance; two axes were held tightly in his black-gloved hand. He had orange goggles covering his eyes and a mask covering his mouth, which was most likely why his words were muffled. You could see his brown hair, peeking out from right below his blue hood.
"Y-you can't actually t-think you could f-fight me." He said, followed by a chuckle. Your breath hitched, staying quiet. You watched his stance relax as he flipped the weapon in his hand. The bright orange handle caught your attention. "Y-you'd lose." He said.
"You think?" You said, unintentionally. Something else was controlling you, another emotion. "Let's find out then." You rushed him, catching the male off guard, but he moved as you were about to hit him. Your feet slid across your bedroom floor as you turned around to face him again. He chuckled, then outstretching his hand, wielding the axe, swinging at you violently. You ducked, quickly, feeling the breeze from the motion graze your face. Obviously rushing him wasn't going to work, so you went on to plan B. Confuse him with words. Make small talk so maybe at least he can grant you some mercy, then you can call the police.
"You don't even want to know who I am before you kill me? What kind of murderer is that?" You laughed, but in your undertone was the fear from earlier. This seemed to surprise him that you were talking to him. "Murderers and psychopaths normally keep tabs on their victims, you know."
"I'm a-aware. I know wh-who y-you are." He said quickly and bluntly.
"Well I don't know who you are, so introduce yourself. Unless you just want to be rude, because I wouldn't expect anything less from someone trying to kill me." You stood up from the ground, moving yourself to the left, where your bed was, jumping over it.
"My n-name isn't important." You noticed how with every stutter, he seemed to shake, to twitch.
"Why do you do that?" You said, your tone was cool now as your breathing slowed. He seemed to be less violent know. The tactic was working.
"D-do what?"
"That. You stutter."
"It's c-called a d-disorder. Tourettes." This triggered a memory from elementary school. There used to be this kid that you knew, but his name in your mind seemed to be failing you. He had stuttered all the time on the playground, though he wasn't in your class. He was a grade above you, but both of you had the same recess time. He had to be taken out of your school because he was being bullied so much. And that was the end. You never heard from or of him again. That is, until months later when you read about his house catching fire. Reading that never provoked any emotion. You didn't know him; You never had the chance. Logic and common sense had stated he died in that fire, which you easily believed. God, what was his name? "W-why are you even t-t-talking to me?" You watched his head twitch to the side violently, as his shoulders raised quickly, then dropping back down.
"I'm prolonging my life, genius."
"W-well y-you did well with that w-when we were f-fighting. Y-you fight w-well." He said, lowering his weapons and letting his hands fall to his side.
"Thank you. You do as well." There was still a different emotion taking control of you. It felt... different. Weird. This wasn't you, but whatever it was might have just saved you from a sudden death.
"M-most of my victims don't f-fight back. C-cry or p-plead for mercy, moreover. It's rare th-that they fight b-b-back." He twitched again. "I wouldn't w-want to fight s-someone w-with that k-kind of integrity, if y-you know what I m-mean."
"Integrity? It's a fight or flight response." You rolled your eyes, sarcasm in your tone.
"F-fight or flight or whatever it is, I s-still can't leave y-you here. You'd c-call the cops. I'm n-not stupid."
"What if I promise not to call the cops?" You said, though you knew you were lying. Of course you were going to call the cops if he agreed, though the chances of that were slim to none.
"I c-can't trust y-you. You'll have to c-come with m-me. And if you d-don't, I'll force you t-to." His tone lowered again, so you just sighed.
"Tell me your name. I know you said it's not important, but if I'm to trust you, you'll have to tell me." You watched him as he sighed, like he knew something about you and him. Like there was a connection of some sort.
"Toby. My n-name is T-Toby."
Toby. The boy, from elementary school. The boy with tourettes that was bullied so harshly that made him leave your school. The boy who supposedly died in a fire. It all made sense.
"Toby Rogers." You said, in disbelief. He cocked his head to the side.
"H-how do you k-know that?" He said, this time his tone had a touch of nervousness in it.
"I remember you. That's how."
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Hi guys! Hopefully this chapter was okay, I'm in the middle of doing an online class and wrote this in my free time, so yeah. Also... has anyone heard the new Panic! at the Disco album, Pray for the Wicked? It's AMAZING! I put one of their new songs on the top. It's called Roaring 20's and it's my new obsession. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed! Cya next chapter (Hopefully :P)!
-J
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Axe-idental | Creepypasta | Ticci Toby x Reader |
Fanfiction"It's not an axe. It's a hatchet." He said, annoyance very evident in his tone. "What's the difference?" "A lot." ------------------ It's my first x reader, so cut me a little slack There should be trigger warnings in this story, but just in case I...
