Creepypasta Headcannon Oneshots: Book One

The One With The Sweet Breads (feat. kidneys)

"EJ doesn't just eat kidenys, he's quite fond of the other human organs as well. Kidneys are just his favourite."

"And thus, it is time to murder a fool," EJ announced to the room at large. "Someone-" he leveled a glare at the likely culprits. "Decided it was a good idea to fuck with my filing system."

You frowned at him, "Aren't filing systems for, like... files?"

Jack stared at you with an expression of unfathomable disappointment, "Of course not, (Y/N)," he said. "Anything can have a filing system if it so desires. Files, cheeses..." he glared around the room again. "My fucking food-"

"I was trying to be nice!" Jeff exploded, pinwheeling his arms madly. To his left, LJ nonchalantly leaned away from the hand holding the knife- because when was Jeff without his knives- still focused on the morning paper. "Half that shit was rotted anyways!"

EJ looked like he was strongly considering manslaughter, "It was fine, Jeff!" He snapped. "All of it! It was all-perfectly-fine-"

Apropos of absolutely nothing, EJ turned on his heel and gave a yell of pure frustration.

"Alright, Smiley," he said after a few moments. He beckoned Jeff closer. Wisely (or unwisely) the killer didn't move. "Jeffy. Jeffy, come here a minute."

Jeff edged away, "I think I'm good over here, actually, but thanks for the offer."

EJ's hands twitched at his sides. You got the feeling he was looking for a scalpel. "Jeff."

Terrified, the raven in question took a step forward.

"We're going to go on a little adventure, alright?" EJ asked, voice taken the pleasant timber of someone talking about a swirly design in their coffee. Alternatively, Jeff looked like he was about to pass out. "Just you and me, several of those lovely knives you have, and some... body bags."

He grinned evilly, perfectly visible without his trademark mask, then turned and walked off, whistling a cheery tune as he did so.

Oh dear fucking God, you thought hazily. EJ's going to kill Jeff.

Jeff had clearly reached the same conclusion, and he started edging towards LJ again, "LJ," he said in an undertone. "Dear, sweet Laughing Jack, my very best friend-"

"Nope," LJ calmly turned another page in his newspaper, heedless of Jeff's resounding prayer for death. "You got yourself into this mess when you decided to go through EJ's-" he grimaced. "Foodstuffs."

Jeff gave a mournful wail and turned to you, wide eyes wide and pleading, "(Y/N)-"

"Nope," you said aloud, then paused and climbed on top of one of the breakfast bar stools, because that felt safest. "I'm not dumb enough to get in between EJ and whatever the fuck has pissed him off."

Was EJ an absolute sweetheart? Absolutely. Was he also one of the most terrifying motherfuckers in this godforsaken house? Abso-fucking-lutely, and as he came back with his mask, three body bags, and an array of scalpels, you debated the merits of climbing on top of Laughing Jack's shoulders, because a) he could run very very fast, and b) tall=safe. EJ was very short, or, at least, LJ was freakishly tall. Simple math.

EJ tossed Jeff a scalpel; even in his terrified state the killer didn't fumble it. "We're performing a few vivisections!" EJ called out cheerily, and Jeff went a few shades paler. "Please prep the cooler for when we get back, Jack."

LJ raised a hand without looking up from his paper, "Sure thing, Jack."

EJ nodded, then grabbed ahold of Jeff's collar, and dragged him, kicking and screaming, out the door.

You watched them go for a minute, then said, in a hushed whisper, "Jeff's not coming back alive."

LJ calmly turned another page in his newspaper, "He might be a bit scarred," he agreed serenely. "Ah, would you look at that- morning crossword, my favourite-"

You put your head in your hands and resolutely decided to never tell EJ it was your decision to quote-unquote "fuck with [his] filing system."

Jeff had better chances of surviving this. Jeff had better chances of surviving this. Jeff had better chances of surviving this-

"OH, GOD, THERE'S SO MUCH BLOOD, WHY IS THERE SO MUCH BLOOD-"

You grabbed the nearest fire extinguisher and ran for the front door.

(Does this follow the prompt? No. Do I have any idea what the fuck I just wrote? Also no.)