All Against One

They say losing your mind is the end of hope for a normal life... 'Normal' is a very broad word that I myself find distasteful. Who am I you must be wondering as you read this, well for a short time I guess you could call me a, um... creepypasta, yeah, a lesser known one called Psych-E. You won't find me on that wiki though as I don't exist anymore; obsession and hidden drives led to my disappearance as all I want is a normal life....is that so wrong? Perhaps however, an even more troubling notion on my mind exists, and that is simply, am I the only one?

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3. A Stitch In Time

   The letter looked much better, now I'd cast it in the small fire I'd made, turning to cinders. Another shot at blackmail from him. How could he know? How could he tell it was me? I'd left nothing, and even those blithering morons said to be forensic specialists had nothing. Nobody could have known at all who was responsible for those corpses. Those ripped bodies, nothing but slithers of flesh clung to their bones, all replaced by the fabric that slipped beneath my fingers and was stitched firmly in place.

   It was definitely much better now that letter burned. I didn't know who that 'Jeff' was, or who he thought he was, but he would be the only one that slept tonight. He wasn't gonna find me, nobody had ever found me before now. Unless I wanted them to.

   The rain was definitely picking up on the plastic lean-to above, keeping this alley dry. A thunderstorm was probably gonna hit soon, and I'd get cast out in the cold before long. Rain was never good, in whatever form it took.

*************

   "Come on, where the fuck is the glass? When they show up in the morning and find the place like this, if they find that glass with our fucking prints on it, we're gonna have a hell of a time explaining this!"

   I just stood, crunching the mashed-up china beneath my feet and playing with the fabric limbs in my hands. They weren't gonna find it. Not unless I wanted the thick-skulled twats I'd called my friends to find that chipped pint glass.

   "If you and Donna are hiding it somewhere, it's not bloody funny!"

   I warned them I didn't like dolls. Those two fuck-heads knew it, and broke into that creepy-ass doll museum with me. Breaking the painted china faces, ripping out button eyes and pulling out stuffing was bad...real bad...I warned them I didn't like dolls.

   The needle had been poked into the back of a brocade skirt, and was coated with red blood, bad blood. She lay there the victim of it, and I was the next victim. Nobody listened to my words, nobody saw me as anything valuable. Now I'm their equal. I'm like what I'm not.

   "Donna? Donna, what the fuck is going on here? Donna? Don't come anywhere near me!"

*************

   It itched when tried breathing out through my mouth, making the black cross-stitching cut in further, coating the thread with more blood. I was gonna have to go, as soon that fire I'd made with rags and scraps was gonna attract attention. Bad attention.

   "You're new to this sorta thing. Half-baked first pasta with nothing truly going for you. Next time you kill may not go so well."

   The voice was not what I wanted to hear, as I hastily stood on the low flames. There was no point snuffing out the light now though, as that figure in the gaping mouth of the alleyway had already seen me. "Whatever you want, I haven't got it for you." I snapped, the words as cutting as the black threads sewing my lips in place together.

   "Aw, but you do know what I want. The ash pile there tells me all I need to know about if you have it or not. Burning my letters won't do you no good, Donna."

   His letters? "So you're Jeff?" I replied, turning and facing him. It was dark as pitch in the alleyway, but I could see he wore a plain white hoodie, loose black jeans, and black trainers with white laces. His hair was black and looked unkempt, but even in the darkness, there was no mistaking the slashed-in smile, cut permanently from ear to ear.

   "And you're a sharp one." He replied, pulling out what looked like a carving knife from his back pocket, examining the sharpness of the point. "Not quite this sharp, but you got a few brains left in that skull of yours."

   "I'm not interested, Jeff." I snapped, making more blood leak from the stitches. "I don't know how you know me, but I'm not interested in any Manor of the Slenderman."

   He was smiling permanently, but I could tell he was very amused for some reason, staring deep into my eyes as he took a few steps closer. "Aw, come on. Sally would love playing with you, and Eyeless Jack will be always willing to accept any spare kidneys you get." He begged, seemingly whilst picking his teeth with the point of that knife. "Come on now, be even more of a doll than you are."

   "Fuck off!" I snapped, shoving him hard in the chest, and knocking him off-balance. "I fucking hate dolls."

   Jeff scowled darkly at me, making that permanent smile seem even more creepy. "Well sor-ry, blondie. How was I supposed to know that, when you got those stitches doing a bad job of keeping your mouth shut?" He snapped, sarcasm dripping over his words like the fresh, salty blood I could taste leaking from the stitches.

   "Just go away, Jeff. I'm not gonna tell you again. I am not interested in going to the fucking Manor of the Slenderman."

   His scowl grew darker then, with his unblinking eyes glaring not quite at me, but at something just past me. Curious, I glanced over my shoulder, and saw what he was frowning at.

   "Ten long minutes have been and gone, but still she won't come back. You've lost the bet, Jeff the killer, now pay your dues to Laughing Jack." The creepy poet sang out in a mocking voice, loping forward from the dead end of the alleyway. His hair was black, like Jeff's, but longer and more raggedy-looking, with a long, conical nose striped in white and black poking out proudly. He had on a black shirt with very long, striped sleeves in black and white, with clusters of black and white feathers on each shoulder, and black suspenders going past a cluster of greyish-white bandages around his stomach to hold up black pinstriped knee-length trousers with a wide, black belt, with black and white striped long socks underneath, and black shoes. He smiled a wide, cruel-looking smile, exposing a row of pointed teeth.

   "Bugger off. If you hadn't shown up I would have had her!" Jeff snapped, moodily pulling out a red packet of some kind of candy, and throwing it at the new figure, whom I'd guess was Laughing Jack.

   Oh, I see what he's trying. Bringing in some backup. "Nice try, Jeff. I'm still not interested. I act strictly solo." I snapped, turning back to Jeff and resisting the urge to scream as a hand rested on my shoulder.

   "So much for having her. Now come on, doll face, we all know of your presence as our newest pasta. Make it easier for yourself and come to the Manor of the Slenderman with us." Laughing Jack purred creepily, guiding me to look at him.

   "Are you threatening me?" I asked, as more blood flowed from the stitches, steadily reaching my hand into the pocket of the black taffeta skirt I wore, and pricking my finger on what I kept there. I was backed up against the wall now, so the wine-red bow at the back of my skirt was digging into my back, and I was probably getting red brick dust on my black, long-sleeved shirt.

   "Not a threat, a promise." Laughing Jack replied, poking out his long, pointed tongue that was striped black and white, and steadily licking his black lips. He was looking coldly into my mid-brown eyes, and smiling darkly at me.

   "Well well...aren't you different now?" I smiled darkly, pulling out the slim sewing needle from my pocket, with the black thread looped through the eye going down to a spool in my pocket, and jabbed the point hard into his hand, feeling the same pulse of something creepily negative run through me as I'd felt in the doll museum.

   It was an almost instantaneuos effect. Black cotton thread began racing up his hand, diving in and out of his skin like a needle was sewing his sleeve to his skin, reaching his elbow as he let go of me, and staying in his skin as I pulled the needle out of his hand.

   The darkness was crackling through me again, as I turned and made a break for the open end of the alleyway. I had always been fast, and I could get out of trouble quite easily. All it would take was a secure hiding spot and another spool of cotton just in case the first one ran out, and I could hide out securely.

   I'd forgotten about Jeff. His hand grabbed me by the arm, trapping me against his chest, as the sharp blade of his knife touched the front of my neck. "I'm very impressed, Donna, but you aren't getting out of coming to Manor of the Slenderman that easily. I tried being nice, but now, go to sle-"

   "Damn to Hell!" I yelled, jamming the needle still in my hand into the side of his neck. Black running stitch began running up his neck onto his cheek, crossing over one of the slashes and aiming straight for his unblinking eyes.

   That was when he let me go, dropping the knife as I ducked free, pulling out my needle and taking off down the abandoned street, heading down the steps of the empty subway. No trains would be running at this hour, so it would be dark and private, making a reasonable hideaway until the morning.

   In the morning...I could worry about that later. I could worry about what would happen to me now I'd attacked and beaten two of the most well-known creepypastas out there in the world.

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