Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26027963-20150510044047

The statement of Jeff the Killer-

I found this statement on a page in a blog I’m no longer able to find. Is pretty interesting, and the scary thing is that the writer’s username was only USER J, as far as I can remember.

This story was posted about one month ago, and no one see the user anymore, after and before that.

Hi everyone,

You probably know who I am, but you surely didn’t met me anytime, for your luck.

My name is Jeff, and in the last years my story went out all over the world, becoming little less than a legend.

I have read many blogs and false reports about the alleged “Jeff the Killer”, but almost all were completely or largely false. Despite everything, I enjoyed very much to see the fake photos and all those myriads of fan-art and fan-fiction that have swarmed on the web like a swarm of flies.

Writing this I’m running a grave risk, because the police could trace my computer, but after I told you what I have to, I will disappear from internet, and this PC will be burned.

A few days ago I have read for the ‘nth time the one that everyone believes the “story of how I became a killer.” I would like to like to point out one thing: part of that story is absolutely true, but some things are downright false.

You may wonder how the one who shared my story knew so well how I felt, the details as accurate like the names of the people I met and especially the “strange feeling”, as he says, that was burning inside me.

The explanation is that I met the writer in person: a boy named Simon, one of those nerds who usually love paranormal and strange stories, which I met in an online chat. I told him everything, but a few weeks later, October 3rd, 2008, it appeared that video on Youtube uploaded by Sesseur which told my supposed history, naming me as “Jeff the Killer”. I liked it so much that name, and from then on I decided to leave it as a track, every time I killed someone. So, since then, people knew me in that way.

In the story that Simon has passed there were changes and absurd inventions, which left me very disappointed, but I didn’t go anyway to visit my…biographer…becaus­e I was still grateful to him for to have spread my story. After that comings and goings of terrifying news, my victims would surely fall in the oblivion of terror they deserved…but first I have to clarify what is right and wrong in the story of “Jeff the Killer”…

The first part is all true.

I moved with my family because of my father’s work. Liu and I did not like to leave our home and our friends, so we were a little angrily toward that new city that have to accommodate us all. And of course, as you already know, the “acceptance” was not the best.

When that bastard Randy and his two minions attacked us, I admit to having taste an infinite pleasure to thrust the knife into the arm of Keith, and I regret not to finish what I had started then. When I heard the bones of Randy break in my hand, my heart cracked of pleasure, and even the punch that I gave to Troy was able to give me a morbid joy.

I calmed that instinct that had flared up inside me until I saw the horrified gaze of Liu. I loved my brother, and for nothing in the world I would hurt him or let someone to did.

Imagine, then, what I felt when I saw him take all the blame and leave on the police car! The indescribable pain that I felt began to lacerate my heart and my mind. And what I brooded in the days after was ready to explode like a destructive fire.

The birthday of little Billy was one of the last hopes I had to mend my wounds, but life was too cruel even in that case.

I tried to desist from fighting against Randy, when he broke into the midst of the party. I let him kicking me without reacting, but when that bastard provoked me mentioning Liu, my soul was torn beyond repair.

It wasn’t the mere madness or the thirst of death that took possession of me, but a mixture of both under a single, large and irresistible desire: the revenge!

I had to avenge the evil, the resentment and the pettiness that the world and the life had dumped on me, and the only way to wash away the sadness was the blood.

I killed.

I killed everything that did not allow me to be happy. And after killing I was content.

An huge ecstasy came over me after the taste of death that I’d spread in the house, but Keith put the end to my happiness making me go to fire.

At the hospital, after weeks of treatment, I slowly began to regain all the senses.

When I removed the bandages, I saw my parents around me. Their faces, however, were not like I’ve imagined. There was no joy, understanding or love in their eyes. Only terror.

The only person who stood by me, concealing a sweet indulgence, was my brother Liu, who said “It’s not that bad.”.

I ran to the bathroom, and as soon as I saw how I had turned I could not love my new face. It was really perfect!

I spontaneously laugh, laugh out loud, because finally, after many sufferings, I had had my revenge and I was finally happy. The wounds that I carried on my skin were the trophies for my victory, and they would have been the manifesto of what evil can do.

And what then it follows, of course.

At home happened a whole other thing, compared to what Simon said.

Of course my biographer added an effect final, which leaves the reader a bad taste in the mouth and the fear of waking up in the night seeing an inhuman monster that whispers him “Go to sleep!” before killing him.

In the reality that night I could not sleep. I was glad of the murder that I had accomplished, but there was still something wrong ,something that did not make me be completely happy.

During the night it is normal that thoughts are more liquid and alienated than on the course of the day, and mine were much more insane than those of a normal person. Taken from the madness I told myself that, one way or the other, I had to smile, despite that nagging disappointment that still felt.

Yes, it’s true: I went into the bathroom and engraved my cheeks with a kitchen knife. I did not feel pain, because of the facial numbness caused by the fire and chemicals, and continued to affect a fake smile on my face, hoping, in my madness, that with it would come back even the happiness.

I didn’t burn my eyelids…I was not mad to that extent…but my eyes were even surrounded by a black halo because of the burn, and they would have been the same during my entirely lifetime. After all the eyes are the mirror of the soul…and my soul was now burnt and black as the most pure terror.

When I understood that I could not be happy even if I had a permanent smile, I realized that there was only one thing that could still give me that happiness that I was looking for. Again, it was the revenge.

I promised myself to avoid the innocent boys what had happened to me. I had been an innocent boy too, but the pain had turned me into a monster.

I could not go back …well: that monster is! All the cruel, unjust or bad persons should have been eliminated from the face of the earth. And the last image that they would have seen is who have suffered their wickedness on his own skin!

That was my goal, that was the only way to get out of my unhappiness: kill the evil with the evil.

My mother, of course, took me for a madman when she saw the horrible way I was scarred myself. She went into the bathroom, but did not say anything. I did not calm her: it was normal that she was afraid of the monster I had become. But I did not even frighten her further, and certainly did not say ” What’s wrong mommy? Aren’t I beautiful?”. It was obvious that I would not have been beautiful for no one, except for myself.

My mother was terrified, and she did not made a single sound. She ran in her room and tried to wake my father. I knew that they would not allow me to implement my revenge and that now, for them, I was no longer a child, but only a monster.

I was frightened, and after I let the bloody knife fall to the ground, ran to the room of my parents, and before either of them could stop me I locked them in, throwing the key away.

I wrote a letter in a hurry, where I explained that it was too late to turn me back, that it was useless to look for me, and that, anyway, I still love my parents and my brother.

I picked up the knife from the ground and I went up in the room of Liu.

It was my brother, I loved him more than myself, and I cannot believe that people really think that I killed him, excluding the madness.

I heard the police sirens: of course my parents had called for help…

Liu awoke with a start.

With the days he had spent in prison he was probably more afraid of the police than I had to.

I went close to him, and when my brother saw me, he could not repress a cry.

I put my hand over his mouth, and said that famous (and misunderstood) phrase:

"Shhhh. Liu…go to sleep. Just go to sleep…"

I said it just to reassure him: they didn’t search for him, this time.

My brother seemed again to be the only one to understand me. He was silent, and stared at me with compassion rather than fear.

I gave him the letter, and quickly opened the window that overlooked the rear of the house, where the cops could not see me.

"Jeff, I…" Liu tried to stop me with a worried whisper.

"Go to sleep." I said, looking at him for the last time.

I lowered myself from the window until I touched the roof of the ground floor. From there, after finding that there were no agents, I jumped on the ground and went beyond the fence, disappearing forever from the lives of those who were my parents, and that of my beloved brother Liu.

This is the true account of what happened in those days. This is the story of why they call me “Jeff the Killer”. This is the reason why I kill a specific kind of persons, and why I feel a great pleasure in doing that.

I did not write the truth because I want you to pity me, or rather: I am the one that pity you, if you are bad person and are reading this story…

I’m not a heroic avenger, I’m not a hero. The heroes are good and valiant, I do not have neither of these characteristics. I’m cruel to those who are cruel, and not concede the escape to even the more desperate pleas. I’ve thirst for bad blood and I have a tremendous ecstasy at seeing it slide out of the battered body of those who deserve it.

Slenderman, Eyeless Jack, Ben drowned and all the other cute characters that now people call “creepypastas” are invented. I, unfortunately, are as true as death itself…and only with it will end my revenge.

If the killers terrorize the world, its because the world has terrified them.

Have a good night sleep everyone.

Now... Go to sleep, since I still have much work to do.

-J.

This took a while, so how do I improve? 