I am often unsure what to think of the online phenomenon known as “creepypasta.” On the one hand, it’s great to know that there are a lot of other horror fans sitting around on the Internet and wanting to write short stories. On the other, a lot of the stories that actually get popular are, quite frankly, crap.
Jeff the Killer is one of those stories.
I know a lot of people like Jeff, and many consider him truly creepy. To those people, I must ask: have you actually read the creepypasta that he comes from, or is your opinion of Jeff as creepy based solely on this image?
Because if I’m being honest, that picture is the creepiest thing this pasta has, unless you consider terrible writing skills to be creepy.
So without any further ado, let’s grab our sporks and dig into this big plate of pasta!
Excerpt from a local Newspaper:
Why is “newspaper” capitalized?
OMINOUS UNKNOWN KILLER IS STILL AT LARGE.
Not a promising start. “Ominous Unknown Killer”? They haven’t given him some nickname yet? And no, “Ominous Unknown Killer” is not a good serial killer nickname. Why not just say that he’s a serial killer? Or, given the victim we’re presented with in the next line, “Serial Child Killer”? I don’t think any newspaper worth the pulp it’s printed on would call a killer “Ominous Unknown Killer.”
After weeks of unexplained murders, the ominous unknown killer is still on the rise.
Again with the “Ominous Unknown Killer” bit, although not with the caps, which proves it’s not the killer’s press nickname. “Unknown killer” would probably be fine, actually, but what’s with the “ominous”? You can’t build an ominous atmosphere by calling your monster ominous. That’s like writing a scene where a character gives a really shitty speech and then saying, “everyone applauded their eloquence.”
After little evidence has been found, a young boy states that he survived one of the killer’s attacks and bravely tells his story.
That sentence would have been so much better if that “after” was a “though.”
“I had a bad dream and I woke up in the middle of the night,” says the boy, “I saw that for some reason the window was open, even though I remember it being closed before I went to bed.
When you begin another sentence of dialogue after the dialogue tag, you put a period after the dialogue tag. At least there’s no said bookism.
I got up and shut it once more. Afterwards, I simply crawled under my covers and tried to get back to sleep. That’s when I had a strange feeling, like someone was watching me.
Time out, time out. This is supposed to be a “young boy” talking? “Young boys,” or young people in general, don’t typically say “once more,” even if they’re in an interview. The “afterwards” is also weird. This character is speaking in the voice of the surrounding prose with no regard to how the character should actually sound; that’s bad writing, plain and simple.
I looked up, and nearly jumped out of my bed. There, in the little ray of light, illuminating from between my curtains, were a pair of two eyes.
PAGING THE DEPARTMENT OF REDUNDANCY DEPARTMENT! Yes, pairs generally come in twos. Only one of those was necessary, writer. A pair of eyes, or two eyes. Not “a pair of two eyes.”
Also, “illuminating from between my curtains”? Illuminating? I am surprised your thesaurus isn’t pressing sexual assault charges. To make matters worse, the punctuation makes it impossible to tell whether the ray of light or the eyes are doing the illuminating. Either way, it’s wrong, and not just because it’s a dangling participle.
These weren’t regular eyes; they were dark, ominous eyes.
Again with the ominous. Really, creepypasta writer, if you keep doing this, the word “ominous” is going to register about as much as the word “the.”
They were bordered in black and… just plain out terrified me. That’s when I saw his mouth. A long, horrendous smile that made every hair on my body stand up.
That ellipsis is highly unnecessary.
So, this is the description of our killer: a Joker wannabe wearing eyeliner. Also, how is that “when you saw his mouth?” Your last action was seeing his eyes. So you saw his eyes, and that was also when you saw his mouth. There’s no tension at all there! If you wanted to make that intense and creepy, you should have had something happen in between, like having the boy stare at the eyes for what felt like hours. Heck, I’m going to come back to this in a second, because what comes next could easily have led to that.
The figure stood there, watching me. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he said it. A simple phrase, but said in a way only a mad man could speak.
“He said, ‘Go To Sleep.’ I let out a scream,
The kid stares at the eyes, then the killer says “go to sleep,” which makes the kid finally notice his Glasgow Grin. He screams. That is a natural progression, and could have been effective.
This grammar is still atrocious, by the way. “Go To Sleep,” capitalized? And right before that, a sentence fragment, and “madman” split into two words? You didn’t get a beta, did you, pasta writer?
that’s what sent him at me. He pulled up a knife; aiming at my heart.
How can you tell that he’s aiming the knife at your heart? How can you misuse a semicolon that badly? HOW?!?
He jumped on top of my bed.
I think you mean “onto my bed.”
I fought him back; I kicked, I punched, I rolled around, trying to knock him off me. That’s when my dad busted in.
That sounds more like “the figure” is trying to molest this kid than trying to kill him. If the kid is fighting for his life, he should be trying to keep the knife the hell away from him. Punching and kicking won’t do jack squat when there’s a knife coming at your chest.
And again, no good transition for a “that’s when.” “Then” probably would have been a better connector.
The man threw the knife, it went into my dad’s shoulder.
Wait. That comma. That should be a semicolon. If that comma was a semicolon, the sentence would work perfectly fine; it would be one short but complete sentence connected to another, related sentence and it would be perfectly natural. What do we get instead? A comma splice that makes me want to steal Jeff’s knife to gouge my eyes out!
The man probably would’ve finished him off, if one of the neighbors hadn’t alerted the police.
Okay, the dad bursting into the room just in time, I can see. He heard his son screaming and then, presumably, the sound of a struggle. That’s a primal fear right there; he’s immediately up and running on adrenaline, because he heard his kid scream in terror and he wants to save him.
Once this comes in, though, that all breaks down. For the neighbors to call the police and the police to intervene, three things have to happen:
- The neighbors have to wake up and notice something is wrong
- The neighbors have to actually call the police and tell them about the situation
- The police have to drive out to this neighborhood
Even if we assume the police had someone in the area (not unreasonable if there have been random serial murders going on in people’s homes), and that the neighbors called 911 immediately, that still leaves some delay. So either Jeff wasted a lot of time walking toward the dad in order to finish him off, allowing the police to finally get there, or the dad wasted a bunch of time between hearing his kid screaming and running into his room to protect him. Either way, we have a nice, tall glass of Fridge Logic, and it doesn’t taste very good. Or realistic.
“They drove into the parking lot, and ran towards the door. The man turned and ran down the hallway. I heard a smash, like glass breaking. As I came out of my room, I saw the window that was pointing towards the back of my house was broken.
I actually wasn’t going to break here at first, but then I noticed two details: “parking lot” and “house.”
Houses don’t typically have parking lots. The presence of a parking lot would seem to suggest that the boy telling this story lives in an apartment, but all other details seem pretty consistent with his home actually being a house. Details that agree with each other? What are those?
Also, what’s wrong with saying “the back window?” Do you really need to beef up your wordcount, pasta writer?
I looked out it to see him vanish into the distance.
Ignoring the awkwardness of “I looked out it,” I don’t think this kid would be able to see Jeff “vanish into the distance.” It’s night, and the fact that he has neighbors indicates that he lives in an urban or suburban setting, i.e. one with buildings everywhere, as well as all sorts of other obstacles (fences, shrubbery, the like). If he can see Jeff in the darkness, which I suppose isn’t that unreasonable, as Jeff wears a white hoodie, he should be losing track of Jeff behind a tree or a shed, not just “in the distance.”
I can tell you one thing, I will never forget that face. Those cold, evil eyes, and that psychotic smile. They will never leave my head.”
Again, kind of a weird tone for a young child. Heck, it’s a weird tone for anyone suffering from recent trauma. I would expect this kid to be, say, afraid of sleeping in his own bed, or to say that he’s always going to check the window from now on, not to give some bland description of how creepy his would-be killer’s face was.
Police are still on the look for this man.
“On the look?” Really? “Look” is not a verb that you can use like that, pasta writer. Try “on the hunt.”
Ignoring that, though, why wouldn’t they be? He broke into a house, threatened a kid, and stabbed a guy in the shoulder. Obviously, they would be looking for him.
If you see anyone that fits the description in this story, please contact your local police department.
Here, the “excerpt from a local newspaper” ends, though the story doesn’t say so.
I honestly cannot believe that they would only interview the kid for this article. What about the dad? He saw the killer too; he got stabbed by the guy. As an adult, he’d also be more credible than the child, and probably give a more accurate description. Children are not considered reliable witnesses in court, and for good reason: they are very impressionable, and can get all kinds of crazy ideas in their head surrounding a crime, since they’re not yet equipped to distinguish between fantasy and reality. If this kid saw a pale guy with dark eyes in his room, he could easily blow it out of proportion for any number of reasons. He could identify the killer with the monster in his closet, thus adding monstrous traits to an otherwise normal-looking person; or he could modify his mental image to something non-human after hearing a relative describe the killer as “inhuman.”
To sum up, neither the police nor the press are going to go to the kid for reliable, accurate details. Yes, the press might be interested in telling the kid’s story for sensationalist purposes, but they’re not going to say that what the kid saw is exactly what people should be looking for. It would be much more realistic if the article also listed some description given by the father, and then told the reader to look for someone matching that description.
But no, that would be silly, because Jeff the Killer actually does look like that! Just wait until you see the reasons for that…
Jeff and his family had just moved into a new neighborhood.
And here we start our “Origin Story.” Our pointless, pointless origin story.
This is pretty terribly formatted. There is no transition whatsoever from the excerpt beyond the paragraph break. No horizontal line, no “x years earlier,” not even an extra bit of space before the story of Jeff and his family begins.
This first line could easily be part of the previous article. It would be all too easy to assume that the kid who had been menaced was named Jeff and that his family were recent arrivals in town; it would just be the writer of the newspaper adding background. It would be an awkward place to add background, yes, but considering what we saw up there? Not exactly out of character for whatever fictional journalist wrote that abomination.
His dad had gotten a promotion at work, and they thought it would be best to live in one of those “fancy” neighborhoods. Jeff and his brother Liu couldn’t complain though. A new, better house. What was not to love? As they were getting unpacked, one of their neighbors came by.
To be fair, we would probably realize that this wasn’t newspaper pretty quickly, because that sounds very much like narration. To be more specific, it sounds like piss-poor narration.
Jeff the Killer, the story of two brothers unwittingly forced into the world of neighborhood politics! Brace yourselves, dear readers. Brace yourselves for the incoming tidal wave of stupid.
“Hello,” she said, “I’m Barbara; I live across the street from you. Well, I just wanted to introduce my self and to introduce my son.” She turns around and calls her son over.
That tense shift gave me whiplash, and the splitting up of “myself” into “my self” made my eyes bleed.
Also, Barbara is my stepmom’s name.
“Billy, these are our new neighbors.” Billy said hi and ran back to play in his yard.
Billy’s actions should be in a separate paragraph. As-is, he looks pretty much like an afterthought. That’s probably because he is. Well, maybe he’s important enough to merit the status of “plot device,” considering what’s coming… but he’s really not that vital to the scene, and the writer clearly doesn’t give a shit about him.
“Well,” said Jeff’s mom, “I’m Margaret, and this is my husband Peter, and my two sons, Jeff and Liu.”
Okay. Hold the phone.
The dad is named Peter, the mom is named Margaret, and the sons are Jeff… and Liu.
Why does Liu have a Chinese name?
Considering Jeff’s description later in the story, it’s probably safe to say that he’s white, and not just after he gets bleached to shit. So really, there are two possible explanations for this.
One is that Liu is adopted. This is never mentioned or even hinted at in the story beyond his name, but I could probably accept it. It would be nice to actually explain this a little, though.
The other is that Jeff and Liu’s parents are culturally appropriative fuckwads who gave their son a Chinese name for the hell of it. Outside of the story, that would probably be the author just not giving a shit or using a name they thought was cool and not realizing how it might make their characters look.
Now that that rant is over, I’ll move on, after I point out how weird Margaret’s dialogue sounds. “Well?” Really? Not “it’s nice to meet you,” or some other typical pleasantry?
They each introduced themselves,
We just saw that.
and then Barbara invited them to her son’s birthday. Jeff and his brother were about to object, when their mother said that they would love to.
I guess this constitutes evidence that Jeff and Liu are teenagers. Who else would object to going to a birthday party? FREE CAKE, guys!
When Jeff and his family are done packing, Jeff went up to his mom.
Again with the horrible tense shifts. My neck hurts from that whiplash.
Also, packing? They just got here! I think pasta writer meant to say “unpacking.”
“Mom, why would you invite us to some kid’s party? If you haven’t noticed, I’m not some dumb kid.”
Jeff is apparently not just a teenager, but an asshole, and this is before he becomes a psychotic killer.
This could probably be remedied if we were told how big the age difference is between Billy and Jeff, and if Jeff phrased that a little more diplomatically, e.g. “I’m not a little kid anymore.” As-is, though, he just looks like a jerk.
“Jeff,” said his mother, “We just moved here; we should show that we want to spend time with our neighbors. Now, we’re going to that party, and that’s final.” Jeff started to talk, but stopped himself, knowing that he couldn’t do anything. Whenever his mom said something, it was final.
He knows it’s final… because she just said it was final. Seriously, the pasta writer is a shoo-in for a job at the Department of Redundancy Department. Currently accepting applications now in a local location near you!
He walked up to his room and plopped down on his bed. He sat there looking at his ceiling when suddenly, he got a weird feeling. Not so much a pain, but… a weird feeling.
The writer does not know how to describe feelings.
He dismissed it as just some random feeling.
Jeff needs to be more in touch with his emotions!
He heard his mother call him down to get his stuff, and he walked down to get it.
The next day, Jeff walked down stairs to get breakfast and got ready for school.
Pasta writer, you really don’t need to tell us every time Jeff goes down the stairs. Especially not twice in a row, even if it is different times.
Wait a minute. When Jeff went to his room, it just said he “walked up to his room,” not that he “walked up” or “walked upstairs.” Heck, I just did a Ctrl+F for “walked up,” “upstairs,” and “up stairs,” and the only result I got was from a sentence where he isn’t walking. Why does the pasta writer have such a fascination with walking down stairs as opposed to walking up them? That’s kind of a bizarre fixation to have.
As he sat there, eating his breakfast, he once again got that feeling. This time it was stronger. It gave him a slight tugging pain, but he once again dismissed it.
This “feeling” never gets explained, by the way. The pasta writer probably thinks that it does, and I will point out the attempt, but they really never justify it.
As he and Liu finished breakfast, they walked down to the bus stop. They sat there waiting for the bus, and then, all of a sudden, some kid on a skateboard jumped over them, only inches above their laps.
Their… laps? The kid decided to jump over the bench right above their laps? Why not jump over their heads? That would be far more impressive.
They both jumped back in surprise. “Hey, what the hell?”
The kid landed and turned back to them. He kicked his skate board up and caught it with his hands. The kid seems to be about twelve; one year younger than Jeff. He wears a Aeropostale shirt and ripped blue jeans.
TENSE SHIFT, RARGLEBLARGLEARRRGGGHHHH!
Also, hey, we finally got some character ages! Bummer we only get them for Jeff and Sk8er Boi there, though I guess we could extrapolate that Sk8er Boi’s flunkies are around the same age.
“Well, well, well. It looks like we got some new meat.” Suddenly, two other kids appeared. One was super skinny and the other was huge.
There really should be a paragraph break after that line of dialogue.
“Well, since you’re new here, I’d like to introduce ourselves, over there is Keith.” Jeff and Liu looked over to the skinny kid. He had a dopey face that you would expect a sidekick to have.
“I’d like to introduce ourselves.” Apparently number agreement between subject and reflexive pronoun is for suckers who aren’t X-TREME enough.
Also… Keith is my dad’s name. STOP STEALING NAMES FROM MY LIFE, PASTA WRITER! AND STOP APPLYING THEM TO REALLY BAD CHARACTERS!
“And he’s Troy.” They looked over at the fat kid. Talk about a tub of lard. This kid looked like he hadn’t exercised since he was crawling.
The Fat Joke: guaranteed to alienate readers and make you look like either a bully or a self-hating fat person since “skinny” became desirable!
“And I,” said the first kid, “am Randy.
I’m still gonna call you Sk8er Boi.
Now, for all the kids in this neighborhood there is a small price for bus fare, if you catch my drift.” Liu stood up, ready to punch the lights out of the kid’s eyes when one of his friends pulled a knife on him.
‘90s Bullies: too X-TREME for age restrictions on buying knives!
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, I had hoped you would be more cooperative, but it seems we must do this the hard way.” The kid walked up to Liu and took his wallet out of his pocket. Jeff got that feeling again. Now, it was truly strong; a burning sensation.
Depending on where that sensation is, you should either take some Tums or see a doctor.
He stood up, but Liu gestured him to sit down. Jeff ignored him and walked up to the kid.
“Listen here you little punk, give back my bro’s wallet or else.” Randy put the wallet in his pocket and pulled out his own knife.
Is a thirteen-year-old really going to call his brother his “bro” in a stressful situation? I submit that he would not.
Also, at this point I must ask: which one is older, Jeff or Liu? It’s pretty much impossible to tell from the text, and knowing might help us understand certain bits of the story (e.g. the dynamics in Jeff and Liu’s relationship as brothers, which ends up being pretty central to a lot of this ridiculous horror-less shit). I guess the author didn’t think it was important.
“Oh? And what will you do?” Just as he finished the sentence, Jeff popped the kid in the nose. As Randy reached for his face, Jeff grabbed the kid’s wrist and broke it.
Sk8er Boi should get checked for osteogenesis imperfecta (brittle bone disease). That’s not normal.
But hey, we might actually get Jeff being a killer!
Randy screamed and Jeff grabbed the knife from his hand. Troy and Keith rushed Jeff, but Jeff was too quick. He threw Randy to the ground. Keith lashed out at him, but Jeff ducked and stabbed him in the arm. Keith dropped his knife and fell to the ground screaming.
If this is Jeff’s killing rage, which I’m pretty sure was what the author was going for, why isn’t he, you know, killing? The writer would probably point to a thing later… so I guess we’ll get to that.
Troy rushd him too,
Blatant typos that could be easily fixed by spellcheck! Clearly this is a polished work of horror fiction worthy of its widespread fame and memetic status.
but Jeff didn’t even need the knife. He just punched Troy straight in the stomach and Troy went down. As he fell, he puked all over.
Vomit Indiscretion Shot from the fat kid. Stay classy, Jeff the Killer…
Liu could do nothing but look in amazement at Jeff.
I think if a member of my family flipped out and beat up some knife-wielding muggers, I would have a little more to do than stare in amazement at them.
“Jeff how’d you?” that was all he said.
That may be the worst dialogue tag I’ve ever seen. I mean… look at that. Just look at it. Let it burn into your eyes until you, like me, feel the creeping urge to reach through the screen and slap the writer of this creepypasta with a book of basic grammatical rules.
They saw the bus coming and knew they’d be blamed for the whole thing. So they started running as fast as they could. As they ran, they looked back and saw the bus driver rushing over to Randy and the others.
Way to look even guiltier and not be able to defend yourself to the bus driver, guys!
As Jeff and Liu made it to school, they didn’t dare tell what happened.
How did they manage that? If they weren’t on the bus, chances are they arrived pretty damn late, and since they were running, they’d be panting and tired. Their teachers are probably going to question them about that.
All they did was sit and listen. Liu just thought of that as his brother beating up a few kids, but Jeff knew it was more. It was something, scary.
Something so scary that he had to add an unnecessary comma!
As he got that feeling he felt how powerful it was, the urge to just, hurt someone. He didn’t like how it sounded, but he couldn’t help feeling happy.
This is supposed to be where Jeff starts to unwillingly embrace his psychopathic nature. Instead, readers with any knowledge of grammar are going to be annoyed by yet another poorly-placed comma.
He felt that strange feeling go away, and stay away for the entire day of school.
And the author immediately destroys all tension by having “that feeling” just go away. Wait, pff, what am I thinking? Like there was actually any tension to begin with.
Even as he walked home due to the whole thing near the bus stop, and how now he probably wouldn’t be taking the bus anymore, he felt happy. When he got home his parents asked him how his day was, and he said, in a somewhat ominous voice, “It was a wonderful day.”
Hey look, he said it! Ominous! It’s coming full circle!
Really, though, I have to point something out here. This whole attempt at building something up is completely wasted, because we already know that Jeff is going to become the “Ominous Unknown Killer” from the start of the story. Why? BECAUSE YOU NAMED THE STORY “JEFF THE KILLER,” PASTA WRITER!
Seriously, this is worse than Twilight spoiling the “vampire” reveal on the back cover. It’s in the goddamn title!
Next morning, he heard a knock at his front door. He walked down to find two police officers at the door, his mother looking back at him with an angry look.
…and no conjunctions!
“Jeff, these officers tell me that you attacked three kids. That it wasn’t regular fighting, and that they were stabbed. Stabbed, son!” Jeff’s gaze fell to the floor, showing his mother that it was true.
Again, missing paragraph break. Heck, the last part of this paragraph probably should go with the next line:
“Mom, they were the ones who pulled the knives on me and Liu.”
Which you could have told the bus driver if you’d stayed at the bus stop.
“Son,” said one of the cops,” We found three kids, two stabbed, one having a bruise on his stomach, and we have witnesses proving that you fled the scene.
*points up at previous comment*
Now, what does that tell us?” Jeff knew it was no use. He could say him and Liu had been attacked, but then there was no proof it was not them who attacked first. They couldn’t say that they weren’t fleeing, because truth be told they were. So Jeff couldn’t defend himself or Liu.
All unnecessary, because, well… you know why, because I just explained it, and honestly, you probably figured it out on your own too.
“Son, call down your brother.” Jeff couldn’t do it, since it was him who beat up all the kids.
“Sir, it…it was me.
Honest for a psycho, isn’t he?
I was the one who beat up the kids. Liu tried to hold me back, but he couldn’t stop me.” The cop looked at his partner and they both nod.
“Well kid, looks like a year in Juvy…”
That’s “juvie” to you. And what, no trial? Not even a hint of investigation? Nothing?
“Wait!” says Liu. They all looked up to see him holding a knife. The officers pulled their guns and locked them on Liu.
“It was me, I beat up those little punks. Have the marks to prove it.” He lifted up his sleeves to reveal cuts and bruises, as if he was in a struggle.
TENSE SHIFT! OMGWTFBBQ! Kill it with fire.
Is the implication there that Liu cut and bruised himself to protect Jeff? That’s… disturbing. The writer would probably try to say that he feels grateful to Jeff for standing up for him, but for fuck’s sake, it was a wallet, and I don’t think they even got the wallet back! That’s not worth “a year in juvie!”
“Son, just put the knife down,” said the officer. Liu held up the knife and dropped it to the ground. He put his hands up and walked over to the cops.
“No Liu, it was me! I did it!” Jeff had tears running down his face.
“Huh, poor bro. Trying to take the blame for what I did. Well, take me away.” The police led Liu out to the patrol car.
Again with the “bro,” which probably bothers me more than it should, but is still completely obnoxious and should be called out regardless. I mean, seriously? Did kids in the ‘90s really talk like this? My age was a single digit in the ‘90s, but I don’t recall anyone ever saying “bro.”
As for the police, why are they so willing to believe Liu? He’s clearly got an ulterior motive for saying that it was him; namely, he wants to protect his brother. The witnesses might not have actually named Jeff as the attacker, but they probably would have given some description of the kid who beat up and stabbed the X-TREME ’90s Bully Gang, which would necessarily match Jeff more than Liu. And yet, Liu stands at the top of the stairs with bruises, cuts, and a knife and says that he did it, and they’re all ready to take him to juvie (which I must again point out that they are doing without due process)? Did this town’s police department put out an ad that said “Incompetent Help Wanted,” or something like that? Heck, Liu’s willingness to be taken away alone should give them pause. He is way too eager to actually be the culprit.
“Liu, tell them it was me! Tell them! I was the one who beat up those kids!” Jeff’s mother put her hands on his shoulders.
“Jeff please, you don’t have to lie. We know it’s Liu, you can stop.”
Less than a page ago, she was convinced that Jeff did it based on his guilty look. Why does she believe Liu? Is Liu the Unfavorite?
Jeff watched helplessly as the cop car speeds off with Liu inside.
I wonder how many horrible tense shifts there have to be before I can sue the pasta writer for whiplash.
A few minutes later Jeff’s dad pulled into the driveway, seeing Jeff’s face and knowing something was wrong.
“Son, son what is it?” Jeff couldn’t answer. His vocal cords were strained from crying. Instead, Jeff’s mother walked his father inside to break the bad news to him as Jeff wept in the driveway.
Okay, what kind of thirteen-year-old who refuses to go to a birthday party on the grounds of “I’m not some dumb kid” weeps openly in the driveway? Jeff should be crying in his room, or in the hall where he was when Liu got taken away. The writer just put him in the driveway so that his dad could see him and go “what’s wrong?”
Which brings up another point: the police didn’t tell the dad? What the hell?
Wait… Jeff was just coming down the stairs (AGAIN) in the morning right before all this happened… and then a few minutes later, his dad comes home? Unless the dad works the graveyard shift, which I highly doubt considering the promotion at the beginning of this ridiculous origin story, that’s some seriously bad continuity.
Pasta writer, you need help. Perhaps an English tutor.
After an hour or so Jeff walked back in to the house,
That’s one word, pasta writer. “Into.” ONE. WORD.
seeing that his parents were both shocked, sad, and disappointed. He couldn’t look at them. He couldn’t see how they thought of Liu when it was his fault.
Again, pretty empathetic for a psychopath. Oh, wait, according to the stuff that comes later, he isn’t a psychopath yet… *sigh* We’ll take it as it comes.
He just went to sleep, trying to get the whole thing off his mind.
Seriously, Jeff? You’re not even going to TRY to get the police to investigate it again?
Two days went by, with no word from Liu at JDC. No friends to hang out with. Nothing but sadness and guilt. That is until Saturday, when Jeff is woke up by his mother, with a happy, sunshiny face.
“Jeff, it’s the day.” she said as she opened up the curtains and let light flood into his room.
Well, she sure got over having a son taken to juvie without due process quickly. I think someone should call child protective services…
“What, what’s today?” asked Jeff as he stirs awake.
TENSES… HRRRNNNNGGGGH, MY HEART…
“Why, it’s Billy’s party.” He was now fully awake.
“Mom, you’re joking, right? You don’t expect me to go to some kid’s party after…” There was a long pause.
“Jeff, we both know what happened. I think this party could be the thing that brightens up the past days.
Lady, your son is telling you that he doesn’t want to go to a party because he feels sad about his brother being taken to juvie. It’s not “I’m not a dumb kid” anymore; it’s “I would rather not because I’m still upset.” Let him process things. I’m surprised you still want to go, since it’ll no doubt involve explaining why Liu isn’t there. Having a son get taken to juvie will not make you popular with the neighborhood moms.
Now, get dressed.” Jeff’s mother walked out of the room and downstairs to get ready herself.
Honestly, pasta writer, the only thing that would make your walking-down-stairs fascination acceptable would be if you were setting up a scene where someone falls or is tripped down the stairs. Even then, though, this is really getting annoying.
He fought himself to get up.
*sigh* Why did I decide to snark this?
He picked out a random shirt and pair of jeans and walked down stairs.
Oh god, the writer can’t even keep “downstairs” as one word anymore? ABANDON SPORK! ABANDON SPORK! *jumps out the window*
*bursts in through the other window* Fuck. I forgot I constructed this reality so that I couldn’t leave until the allotted snarking was done.
He saw his mother and father all dressed up; his mother in a dress and his father in a suit. He thought, why they would ever wear such fancy clothes to a kid’s party?
Concurrent adult party, perhaps? I don’t know. I just don’t want to look at that horrible use of a semicolon.
“Son, is that all your going to wear?” said Jeff’s mom.
Hey, would you look at that! A your/you’re error! Kill me.
“Better than wearing too much.” he said. His mother pushed down the feeling to yell at him and hid it with a smile.
I think you mean “urge,” and there should be a paragraph break after “he said.”
“Now Jeff, we may be over-dressed, but this is how you go if you want to make an impression.” said his father. Jeff grunted and went back up to his room.
“Overdressed” doesn’t need a hyphen. At least the pasta writer didn’t completely rip the word into its component parts this time.
“I don’t have any fancy clothes!” he yelled down stairs.
“Just pick out something.” called his mother.
This is a patently obvious way to get your character into his signature outfit. Really, why do we need this? We don’t.
He looked around in his closet for what he would call fancy. He found a pair of black dress pants he had for special occasions and an undershirt. He couldn’t find a shirt to go with it though. He looked around, and found only striped and patterned shirts. None of which go with dress pants. Finally he found a white hoodie and put it on.
Missing commas and sentence fragments, oh my!
“You’re wearing that?” they both said. His mother looked at her watch. “Oh, no time to change. Let’s just go.” She said
If your dialogue tag is “she said,” put a comma at the end of the preceding dialogue. The stuff in the quotation marks functions as the direct object of “said.” When you punctuate it like this, you get a sentence fragment.
as she herded Jeff and his father out the door. They crossed the street over to Barbara and Billy’s house. They knocked on the door and at it appeared that Barbara, just like his parents, way over-dressed.
“And at it appeared that.” Fuck, the grammatical mistakes are getting so bad that I’m starting to just not care anymore. I mean… what is that sentence? What is it?
As they walked inside all Jeff could see were adults, no kids.
Again with the redundancy. If all he could see was a bunch of adults, then it’s obvious that there are no kids; you don’t need to tack that on and abuse another comma to do so.
“The kids are out in the yard. Jeff, how about you go and meet some of them?” said Barbara.
Jeff walked outside to a yard full of kids. They were running around in weird cowboy costumes and shooting each other with plastic guns.
So, cowboy-themed birthday party. Fair enough. I thought parents in the ‘90s were really strict about gun stuff, though. My parents didn’t even like me to make “gun signs” with my hands. School was even stricter about that; we weren’t even supposed to say “gun.”
He might as well be standing in a Toys R Us.
Toys”R”Us has a lot more variety in their toys than we see here, and typically isn’t filled with kids playing with the toys. Instead, it’s full of kids screaming at their parents to buy them toys. Unless it’s the holiday season, in which case it’s full of desperate parents fighting over the best gifts.
Suddenly a kid came up to him and handed him a toy gun and hat.
“Hey. Wanna pway?” he said.
That is cloying, annoying, and awful.
I completely loathe the device of transcribing small children’s lisps. It comes across as the writer trying to be cute and detouring somewhere in the Valley of Saccharine Hell.
Now that we’ve established that Billy and his friends are very young children, though, I have to point something out. Barbara, why on earth did you invite young teens to your toddler’s birthday party? It would have been much more reasonable to invite the neighbors over to dinner sometime, or to a neighborhood barbecue, or some other mixed-age social function where the teens won’t stick out like sore thumbs in a mass of tiny children. I mean, sure, I wouldn’t have turned down a birthday party when I was a teenager (see “FREE CAKE”), but seriously. That’s just bizarre.
“Ah, no kid. I’m way too old for this stuff.” The kid looked at him with that weird puppydog face.
“Pwease?” said the kid. “Fine,” said Jeff.
Again with the cloying, plus an omitted comma and two more places where there should have been a paragraph break. Also, “puppy-dog” should be hyphenated.
He put on the hat and started to pretend shoot at the kids. At first he thought it was totally ridiculous, but then he started to actually have fun. It might not have been super cool, but it was the first time he had done something that took his mind off of Liu.
Well, you sure got your mind off your wrongfully-incarcerated brother easily.
So he played with the kids for a while, until he heard a noise. A weird rolling noise.
It’s Sk8er Boi. Obviously. We could see that coming miles away, pasta writer.
Then it hit him. Randy, Troy, and Keith all jumped over the fence on their skateboards.
Even Troy? Come on, pasta writer, you missed an opportunity for another fat joke!
Jeff dropped the fake gun and ripped off the hat. Randy looked at Jeff with a burning hatred.
“Hello, Jeff, is it?” he said. “We have some unfinished business.” Jeff saw his bruised nose.” I think we’re even. I beat the crap out of you, and you get my brother sent to JDC.”
The poor paragraph breaks, so neglected, so unused…
Those quotation marks need to be attached to the dialogue they’re quoting, dammit. This pasta was clearly not proofread, or if it was, it was proofread very poorly.
I also have to point out that last time Jeff and Sk8er Boi fought, Jeff broke Sk8er Boi’s wrist. It’s been only a few days, not even close to the amount of time a broken bone needs to heal. He should have a cast. Yet here he is with only a bruised nose and a grudge.
Randy got an angry look in his eyes. “Oh no, I don’t go for even, I go for winning.
Stereotype bullies are stereotype.
You may have kicked our asses that one day, but not today.” As he said that Randy rushed at Jeff. They both fell to the ground. Randy punched Jeff in the nose, and Jeff grabbed him by the ears and head butted him.
Aw, come on, guys. Not in front of the kids.
Jeff pushed Randy off of him and both rose to their feet. Kids were screaming and parents were running out of the house. Troy and Keith both pulled guns out of their pockets.
Wait, what? Okay, the knives, maybe I could buy. The bullies could have stolen them from their parents. But guns? Seriously? Pasta writer, do you honestly expect me to believe that these twelve-year-old barely-pubescent kids somehow got their hands on guns? No matter how X-TREME your ‘90s bullies are, pasta writer, there are limits. Twelve-year-olds are not going to have access to guns.
Not to mention that putting guns in pockets is horrible gun safety and would probably have resulted in at least one of these kids shooting himself in the leg while skateboarding, because I seriously doubt that these kids know what the safety is, let alone how to use it.
“No one interrupts or guts will fly!” they said. Randy pulled a knife on Jeff and stabbed it into his shoulder.
At this point, the parents should be calling 911.
Jeff screamed and fell to his knees. Randy started kicking him in the face. After three kicks Jeff grabs his foot and twists it, causing Randy to fall to the ground. Jeff stood up and walked towards the back door. Troy grabbed him.
Again with the random present tense. Bloody hell, I’m already running out of typical American swear words to the point where I have to dip into the British ones.
“Need some help?” He picks Jeff up by the back of the collar and throws him through the patio door. As Jeff tries to stand he is kicked down to the ground. Randy repeatedly starts kicking Jeff, until he starts to cough up blood.
It seems the present-tense hiccups have grown powerful enough to consume the story and make it entirely present tense. I do not approve of this, for two reasons. First, we know that this is a flashback, since this is the origin story of our creepypasta killer. Second, present tense is incredibly hard to do right, and with an incompetent writer like this? Yeah, it’s not gonna go well.
“Come on Jeff, fight me!” He picks Jeff up and throws him into the kitchen. Randy sees a bottle of vodka on the counter and smashes the glass over Jeff’s head.
Wait, the adults have vodka just standing out at a birthday party? Barbara, I know the kids are outside, but you could at least try to hide your alcoholism, especially with your neighbors over.
“Fight!” He throws Jeff back into the living room.
Jeff must be anorexic, or these kids must be fucking Superman-level strong, because I sure as hell couldn’t throw another kid around like a ragdoll when I was twelve. Plus, I could only imagine how much harder it must be to throw someone with a broken wrist.
“Come on Jeff, look at me!” Jeff glances up, his face riddled with blood. “I was the one who got your brother sent to JDC!
I didn’t really point this out when Jeff said it, because I had horrible proofreading errors to focus on, but I need to say it: why are they suddenly calling juvie “JDC?” “Juvie” is a perfectly fine way to say it, and in fact it takes fewer syllables, so it sounds much more natural in conversation than “JDC,” especially in a heated situation like a fight. Plus, when you use “JDC,” you’re abbreviating “Juvenile Detention Center,” which I’m pretty sure means you need a “the.”
And now you’re just gonna sit here and let him rot in there for a whole year!
Under normal circumstances, I would say that there’s no way Liu is gonna stay in juvie with you yelling like this and pretty much telling everyone in this house that Jeff was the one who beat you up, but considering how this town is apparently patrolled by the Complete Incompetence Police, I’m just not sure anymore. We are too divorced from reality for me to apply that kind of logic.
You should be ashamed!” Jeff starts to get up.
Again, lack of a paragraph break. Ffffffffff…
“Oh, finally! you stand and fight!” Jeff is now to his feet, blood and vodka on his face. Once again he gets that strange feeling, the one in which he hasn’t felt for a while. “Finally. He’s up!” says Randy as he runs at Jeff. That’s when it happens. Something inside Jeff snaps.
It was his ribs. He had brittle bone disease too.
His psyche is destroyed, all rational thinking is gone, all he can do, is kill.
This is your big “Jeff becomes Jeff the Killer” moment, and you go and ruin it with poorly-placed psychobabble and an ungrammatical comma.
That is just sad.
Don’t get up and leave yet, guys, because this demands a lot more analysis. The pasta writer pretty much just said that Jeff became a psychopath because he was unrealistically beaten up by X-TREME ‘90s bullies. Um, pasta writer? Psychopathy doesn’t work that way. Getting horribly beaten up by bullies can result in all sorts of problems, yes, but psychopathy is not one of them. Anxiety, depression, maybe even PTSD given the extreme danger that these kids are pushing on their victims by using actual lethal weapons, but not psychopathy.
At this point, the pasta writer would probably bring up something that I mentioned a while ago: that the “weird feeling” was foreshadowing that Jeff would respond to stress like this, i.e. by becoming a psychopath. To that I say, bullshit. The beginnings of psychopathy are not random quasi-supernatural premonitions that can be dismissed as a “weird feeling.” If you are going to portray a “crazy” character, do it in a way that indicates that you actually know something about human psychology, for fuck’s sake. Not doing your research into psychological disorders is the very best way to end up writing something wholly unrealistic, blatantly inaccurate, and offensive to people who know about human psychology and/or struggle with a disorder themselves — simply put, it’s one of the very fastest ways up your own ass.
Jeff’s psychotic break here is completely unrealistic, on a level with Sk8er Boi and his gang having access to guns. It is complete and utter fail.
He grabs Randy and pile drives him to the ground. He gets on top of him and punches him straight in the heart. The punch causes Randy’s heart to stop.
This is kind of interesting, because a heart stopping because of a blow to the chest actually is something that can happen. It’s called commotio cordis, and it most often happens in teenage boys and young men, usually when they’re playing sports. Sk8er Boi is on the young side of that range, but it’s actually fairly plausible that he could get commotio cordis from being punched hard enough in the chest. Such a pity that this random accuracy is pretty much an accident. I’m convinced at this point that the pasta writer just wrote it because it sounded cool, scary, and near-supernatural.
As Randy gasps for breath. Jeff hammers down on him. Punch after punch, blood gushes from Randy’s body, until he takes one final breath, and dies.
This, however… in contrast to the commotio cordis above, this is just inexcusable. This reeks of the pasta writer watching too many bad horror movies. I could see punches resulting in some blood from Sk8er Boi’s mouth, if the punches broke some ribs that punctured the lungs, or if a few ended up on his face, but he wouldn’t have blood “gushing from his body.” That’s just ridiculous.
Everyone is looking at Jeff now. The parents, the crying kids, even Troy and Keith. Although they easily break from their gaze and point their guns at Jeff.
Why are Troy and Keith introduced with an “even?” That implies that it wouldn’t be expected for them to be looking at Jeff. Jeff just killed their friend; I would be surprised if they weren’t looking at him!
Training their guns on him, though? Probably a bad move, and I don’t think it’s quite in-character for the X-TREME ‘90s Bully Flunkies. When the leader goes down, the flunkies tend to drop everything and run like hell.
The only time that there should be an apostrophe between “see” and an S is when you’re talking about See’s Candies.
the guns trained on him and runs for the stairs. As he runs Troy and Keith let out fire on him,
The guns were actually flamethrowers? Cool!
That, or the pasta writer messed up the phrase “opened fire.”
each shot missing. Jeff runs up the stairs. He hears Troy and Keith follow up behind. As they let out their final rounds of bullets Jeff ducks into the bathroom.
It seems like commas mysteriously vanish from places in this story where they’re needed, and show up where they aren’t. This is, sadly, typical in amateur writing. Heck, sometimes it’s typical in published writing. I’m looking at you, E.L. James. *brandishes a riding crop*
He grabs the towel rack and rips it off the wall. Troy and Keith race in, knives ready.
Troy swings his knife at Jeff, who backs away and bangs the towel rack into Troy’s face. Troy goes down hard and now all that’s left is Keith. He is more agile than Troy though, and ducks when Jeff swings the towel rack. He dropped the knife
…which was a stupid move, considering that his opponent was armed, angry, and bigger than he was.
Also, hey, the past tense is back! Kick that present tense back into the abyss, past tense!
and grabbed Jeff by the neck. He pushed him into the wall. A thing of bleach fell down on top of him from the top shelf.
It cracked his skull open, because liquids are fucking heavy.
It burnt both of them and they both started to scream.
Bleach doesn’t usually burn you right away. It takes a while for it to start really stinging. Of course, stronger bleach solutions burn faster, but in that case, what the fuck is Barbara doing with industrial-strength bleach in her bathroom? And why is it open?
Also, that’s “burned,” pasta writer, not “burnt.” “Burnt” is the adjective.
Jeff wiped his eyes as best as he could.
Now, that actually should burn. In fact, Jeff should be sustaining permanent eye damage right now, especially if the bleach is strong enough to burn his skin immediately upon contact.
He pulled back the towel rack and swung it straight into Keith’s head. As he lay there, bleeding to death, he let out an ominous smile.
How does a towel rack make someone start bleeding to death? You’d think it would just bash Keith’s head open, killing him before he even hit the floor. That’s one sharp towel rack you’ve got there, Barbara.
“What’s so funny?” asked Jeff. Keith pulled out a lighter and switched it on. “What’s funny,” he said, “Is that you’re covered in bleach and alcohol.” Jeff’s eyes widened as Keith threw the lighter at him.
Bleach isn’t flammable.
Okay, it can be, but not on its own. Bleach is pretty much just a solution of chlorine in water; it won’t be flammable unless you mix it with something that reacts with the chlorine to become something flammable. Alcohol is not on that list.
Actually, bleach and alcohol mixed together make chloroform, which you may recognize from those rags that people in movies use to knock each other out. If Jeff is suffering any ill effects from what’s been dumped on him, those effects should be some skin bleaching, severe drowsiness, possible fainting, and organ damage if he inhales too much chloroform for too long.
Chloroform, by the way, isn’t flammable either.
As for the alcohol, it should pretty much all be used up by the reaction with the bleach. Vodka is usually about 35% to 50% alcohol, which is kind of a lot, but when you consider that the ratio here is one bottle of vodka to a whole “thing” of bleach? Yeah, there should be a whole lot more bleach than vodka. The amount of alcohol on Jeff should be totally negligible.
So of course this works out exactly as Keith intended.
As soon as the flame made contact with him, the flames ignited the alcohol in the vodka. While the alcohol burned him, the bleach bleached his skin. Jeff let out a terrible screech as he caught on fire.
The bleach should already be bleaching him. Bloody hell. This is just made of fail.
Wait. Wasn’t Keith supposed to be the stupid one? How come he’s the one who does the “clever” trick of throwing a lighter on Jeff? I guess it must be because he’s the only one left.
He tried to roll out the fire but it was no use, the alcohol had made him a walking inferno.
Which, again, it shouldn’t have done, because it would have mostly evaporated already or reacted with the bleach to make non-flammable chloroform. This is stupid.
Also, “roll out the fire?” What is that? He tried to stop, drop, and roll? There were, like, a million better ways to say that, pasta writer.
He ran down the hall, and fell down the stairs. Everybody started screaming as they saw Jeff, now a man on fire, drop to the ground, nearly dead.
I wouldn’t exactly call a burning thirteen-year-old boy a man on fire, pasta writer.
Shouldn’t these people have been screaming earlier? Hell, shouldn’t they be doing something? The way it’s written, it looks like the people were just standing around and watching as Jeff brutally murdered two boys. Sure, they were threatened at gunpoint to get them to stay out of it, but Troy and Keith were pretty focused on Jeff once the fight with Sk8er Boi started, and they’re fucking twelve; even if they have guns, an adult jumping on one of them from behind is gonna overpower them. Even allowing for the guns, which I am still not ready to accept at all, this story pretty much relies on the bystanders being unrealistically stupid and useless.
The last thing Jeff saw was his mother and the other parents trying to extinguish the flame. That’s when he passed out.
Another “that’s when” that would have been much better as a “then!” Joy of fucking joys.
How exactly can Jeff see all this? I mentioned earlier that he should have sustained permanent eye damage from the bleach. Add the fact that he’s currently on fire, and he shouldn’t really be registering much of anything, especially not images. His eyes should be totally fucked to shit.
When Jeff woke he had a cast wrapped around his face. He couldn’t see anything, but he felt a cast on his shoulder, and stitches all over his body. He tried to stand up, but he realized that there was some tube in his arm, and when he tried to get up it fell out, and a nurse rushed in.
Since this is apparently close third person and he just registered what is clearly an IV as “some tube,” I’d like to know how Jeff knew that “a nurse rushed in.” Of course, considering the general ineptitude we’ve seen thus far (random tense swaps, anyone?), I shouldn’t really be surprised that the pasta writer couldn’t keep the point of view consistent.
“I don’t think you can get out of bed just yet.” she said
Again with the period at the end of dialogue where there should be a comma. At least the dialogue tag isn’t capitalized. I’ve also been pleasantly surprised by the lack of said bookisms, although that’s probably more of a symptom of the writer’s, er, lack of advancement in the field of writing than a positive point. It doesn’t really seem to be the writer’s style, either; the prose here is really quite beige.
as she put him back in his bed and re-inserted the tube.
Speaking of the tube, how did that fall out? I don’t think IV’s fall out that easily. I guess the tube attached to the needle got dislodged, but in that case, how did Jeff feel that?
Jeff sat there, with no vision, no idea of what his surroundings were.
Jeff was very dull; any other kid would assume that he was in the hospital.
Finally, after hours, he heard his mother.
“Honey, are you okay?” she asked. Jeff couldn’t answer though, his face was covered, and he was unable to speak.
I guess we can see where he gets it. Seriously, Margaret, your son is covered in bandages. Of course he can’t answer you.
“Oh honey, I have great news. After all the witnesses told the police that Randy confessed of trying to attack you, they decided to let Liu go.”
At least the Complete Incompetence Police seem to have recognized their mistake. No mention of Sk8er Boi talking about it being Jeff that beat him up, though. Perhaps Margaret has grown a sense of tact and isn’t telling Jeff that he’s going to be tried as an adult for the murders of Sk8er Boi, Troy, and Keith… or perhaps the pasta writer simply forgot about that, because it would be inconvenient to this killer origin story.
Then again, considering that the X-TREME ’90s Bully Gang was threatening Jeff and everyone else at the party, Jeff probably could get off on self-defense, or at least have the charges downgraded to manslaughter.
This made Jeff almost bolt up, stopping halfway, remembering the tube coming out of his arm. “He’ll be out by tomorrow, and then you two will be able to be together again.”
Jeff’s mother hugs Jeff
Careful with that tube. And your tense.
and says her goodbyes. The next couple of weeks were those where Jeff was visited by his family. Then came the day where his bandages were to be removed.
Well, now the timeskips are giving me whiplash instead of the tense shifts. Progress? I don’t know.
His family were all there to see it, what he would look like.
Horrible grammar. Moving on.
As the doctors unwrapped the bandages from Jeff’s face everyone was on the edge of their seats. They waited until the last bandage holding the cover over his face was almost removed.
“Let’s hope for the best,” said the doctor. He quickly pulls the cloth; letting the rest fall from Jeff’s face.
He looks awful. He looks like the “Ominous Unknown Killer” in the “excerpt from a local newspaper.” We know this because, again, you titled this story “Jeff the Killer.” We know that Jeff is going to become the killer!
Jeff’s mother screams at the sight of his face. Liu and Jeff’s dad stare awe-struck at his face.
It is generally poor writing to end two sentences in a row with the same word, and even poorer writing to end them with the same two words. We also have yet another instance of the author bifurcating words into their components with the unnecessary hyphenation of “awestruck.” It’s getting to the point where I want to punch something every time I see it.
“What? What happened to my face?” Jeff said. He rushed out of bed and ran to the bathroom.
He slipped and fell on the way, because his muscles had atrophied and he wasn’t ready to get back on his feet yet.
He looked in the mirror and saw the cause of the distress. His face. It…it’s horrible.
The ellipses are coming! THE ELLIPSES ARE COMING! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!
His lips were burnt to a deep shade of red. His face was turned into a pure white color, and his hair singed from brown to black.
Uh. No. None of this is right.
The bleaching, I could kind of get, if not for all the burns. In real life, Jeff probably would have needed skin grafts. Considering the extent of the burns, they probably would have come from a donor; thus, they wouldn’t be bleached. It’d look pretty awful for a while, but it would not look like this.
The lips… would probably be mostly scar tissue. I’m not an expert on how lips heal from burns, but burned red? No. I am pretty sure that’s not how it would work.
As for the hair, the doctors probably would have had to shave him to get to his burned scalp, and then put skin grafts on it if it was really bad. So, whether temporarily or permanently, Jeff should be bald or have very, very, very short hair. Even if the doctors left his burned-up hair on for some unfathomable reason, the hair would still grow in brown — which means that he would have a tangled mess of burned black hair suspended on top of brown roots. Lovely.
(By the way, DON’T do an image search for “skin grafts.” That shit will haunt your nightmares.)
He slowly put his hand to his face. It had a sort of leathery feel to it now. He looked back at his family then back at the mirror.
“Jeff,” said Liu, “It’s not that bad….”
Behold, the mysterious and magical Four-Dot Ellipsis! Beware, for if you find it in your own writing, it signifies seven years of bad luck.
“Not that bad?” said Jeff,” It’s perfect!”
That comma after Jeff’s name should be a period.
His family were equally surprised.
Jeff does not seem very surprised. I think the pasta writer was trying to say that Peter, Margaret, and Liu were all surprised to the same degree, but that was a very poor way of writing that; as-is, it looks like their reactions are being compared to Jeff’s.
Jeff started laughing uncontrollably His parents noticed that his left eye and hand were twitching.
The pasta writer is clearly trying to speed through this and get to the gory details. What other excuse is there for missing a period?
Oh, wait. There’s no excuse. There’s no excuse for that, ever.
“Uh… Jeff, are you okay?”
“Okay? I’ve never felt more happy! Ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaa,
I am not a fan of laughter being transcribed, especially since we’ve already established that he’s “laughing uncontrollably.”
look at me. This face goes perfectly with me!” He couldn’t stop laughing.
Again, pasta writer, you have established that he’s in the middle of a gigglefit. WE KNOW ALREADY.
He stroked his face feeling it. Looking at it in the mirror.
Another redundancy, seeing as he was doing this just a few lines of dialogue ago. Is it too much to hope that this piece was actually the pasta writer’s attempt to get hired by the Department of Redundancy Department?
What caused this?
Oh, hey, we’re about to get some hand-holding!
Well, you may recall that when Jeff was fighting Randy something in his mind, his sanity, snapped. Now he was left as a crazy killing machine,
I already went into how much fail this was when it happened. Goddammit, pasta writer, have some faith in your audience’s ability to remember things! We do not forget everything we just read every ten seconds.
that is, his parents didn’t know.
Why did you introduce this with a “that is?” It doesn’t follow with what came before it at all.
“Doctor,” said Jeff’s mom, “Is my son… alright, you know. In the head?”
Unnecessary capitalization and loss of a question mark. Also, Margaret? If you can’t tell that Jeff is fucked in the head, I have serious doubts about your ability to function as an adult.
“Oh yes, this behavior is typical for patients that have taken very large amounts of pain killers.
Someone fire this doctor.
If his behavior doesn’t change in a few weeks, bring him back here, and we’ll give him a psychological test.”
I think you mean “psychiatric.”
“Oh thank you doctor.” Jeff’s mother went over to Jeff.” Jeff, sweety. It’s time to go.”
Jeff looks away from the mirror, his face still formed into a crazy smile. “Kay mommy, ha ha haaaaaaaaaaaa!”
Again with the annoyingly- and unnecessarily-transcribed elongated laughter, and also a lack of apostrophe to note that “‘kay” is a contraction of “okay.”
his mother took him by the shoulder and took him to get his clothes.
The capitalization seems to have taken a day off.
“This is what came in,” said the lady at the desk. Jeff’s mom looked down to see the black dress pants and white hoodie her son wore. Now they were clean of blood and now stitched together.
Uh, I’m pretty sure Jeff’s family should have brought in clothes for him. Like the scene where Jeff has to pick out fancy clothes, this is a baldly transparent way of getting the main character into his signature outfit, only this time, it’s all ~significant~ because the clothing has a ~history.~ Yes, it’s the hoodie and dress pants that he made his first kills in, whoop-dee-fucking-doo. It’s also unrealistic.
Plus, those clothes should look nothing like they did when he arrived at the party. Let’s recap what happened while Jeff was wearing that outfit, shall we? He was stabbed, he beat someone up, he got a bucket of bleach dumped on him, and he was burned severely. If we assume that they managed to get the bloodstains and soot out of the hoodie, which is a very charitable assumption, those clothes should have been burned beyond repair. Even if they did somehow manage to salvage them, the pants should no longer be fully black: the bleach would have removed the color.
Jeff’s mother led him to his room and made him put his clothes on. Then they left, not knowing that this was their final day of life.
And the pasta writer again spoils the story for us!
Now, to be fair, there are some published authors that do this. Stephen King himself is pretty well known for slapping in little comments of “they would be dead two hours later,” or the like. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, and it can be used to build tension. We know that a character is going to die, but we still don’t know how and when, and the anticipation can be wonderfully thrilling. Here, though, it just falls flat and just reads like the writer is desperately grasping for some kind of horror. There is zero doubt about how these characters are going to die, because the writer established very early in the story that Jeff is a psycho killer and his preferred method of killing appears to be stabbing. We know exactly what is going to happen to his family.
Later that night, Jeff’s mother woke to a sound coming from the bathroom. It sounded as if someone was crying. She slowly walked over to see what it was. When she looked into the bathroom she saw a horrendous sight. Jeff had taken a knife and carved a smile into his cheeks.
Jeff’s mother then ran down the stairs, locked herself in the other bathroom with a phone, and called 911. The police showed up, and Jeff was committed to a mental institution.
Or at least that would be how it ended if anyone in this story had a shred of fucking sense.
“Jeff, what are you doing?” asked his mother.
Jeff looked over to his mother. “I couldn’t keep smiling mommy. It hurt after awhile.
So to avoid your face hurting from smiling too much, you go and carve a Glasgow Grin into your cheeks, severely injuring yourself in a location with lots and lots of nice, sensitive nerve endings.
Now, I can smile forever. Jeff’s mother noticed his eyes, ringed in black.
She was horrified: not only had the quotes taken an unexpected vacation, but her son was becoming an EMO!
“Jeff, your eyes!” His eyes were seemingly never closing.
This is just unfathomably awkward writing. Pasta writer, if you wanted her to be horrified at his eyes, why did you neglect to describe how horrifying they were in full before having her express that horror? Alternately, you could have her express horror at his eyes, and then describe exactly what prompted that response. But splitting up the description? That just makes the whole thing clunky and annoying.
“I couldn’t see my face. I got tired and my eyes started to close. I burned out the eyelids so I could forever see myself; my new face.”
Remember the ocular damage I mentioned when there was bleach in Jeff’s eyes? Remember how I said that his eyes should be pretty bad now?
Yeah, this just makes that a whole lot worse.
Jeff, you need your eyelids. You need them to wash ocular fluid over your eyes and keep them from drying out. Without your eyelids, your eyes are going to hurt like hell, your corneas are going to get inflamed, and you’ll develop all kinds of nasty problems. You’ll never be able to see your new face if your eyes dry up and rot out of their sockets, Jeff.
Again, flawless logic.
Jeff’s mother slowly started to back away, seeing that her son was going insane.
You only just now realized this? I find that very difficult to believe.
“What’s wrong mommy? Aren’t I beautiful?
The quotation marks really are taking a lot of vacations, aren’t they?
“Yes son,” she said, “Yes you are. L-let me go get daddy, so he can see your face.”
She ran into the room and shook Jeff’s dad from his sleep. “Honey, get the gun
“Get the gun.” Um, what about, you know, calling the police? I guess she realized after the Liu incident that they were the Complete Incompetence Police, so she and Peter have to take the law into their own hands.
Behold! The fabled Five-Dot Ellipsis, Harbinger of Horrid Writing! It only appears when the story is the most absolute bullshit ever! WEEP, DEAR READERS. FALL DOWN ON YOUR KNEES AND DESPAIR.
She stopped as she saw Jeff in the doorway, holding a knife.
“Mommy, you lied.” That’s the last thing they hear as Jeff rushes them with the knife, gutting both of them.
Apparently Jeff is telekinetic, or else he would have to gut them after he rushed them instead of while he rushed them.
His brother Liu woke up, startled by some noise. He didn’t hear anything else, so he just shut his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. As he was on the border of slumber, he got the strangest feeling that someone was watching him. He looked up, before Jeff’s hand covered his mouth. He slowly raised the knife ready to plunge it into Liu. Liu thrashed here and there trying to escape Jeff’s grip.
“Shhhhhhh,” Jeff said,”Just go to sleep.”
The return of the catchphrase, and the end of our story, with a missing space and unnecessary capitalization. I guess that is a fitting way to wrap this up.
For all the flaws in the actual story, Jeff the Killer took the internet by storm. The photoshopped image referenced at the beginning of this post has achieved memetic status, along with the catchprhase “go to sleep.” Beyond that, the pasta has spawned fanart, YouTube videos, and even fan games.
Still, there is some hope. Phelan Porteous, better known by his internet handle of Phelous, dedicated the third episode of “Old Man Reads Creepypasta” to making fun of Jeff the Killer, and the Creepypasta Wiki has actually removed the Jeff the Killer story for not measuring up to their content standards. It’s good to know that at least there are some people who look at the story as well as the creepy image.
Speaking of the image, I must close this sporking by noting that since reading the accompanying story, I no longer find any depictions of Jeff creepy in the slightest. Sure, they might plug into the primal fears a bit with their gross mockery of a face, but that’s only a tiny component of being creepy, and knowing that the story behind that face is this poorly-written and nonsensical completely neutralizes that fear response. No matter how bizarre the image or how deep in the Uncanny Valley it falls, its ability to keep someone up at night can be killed with horrifying efficacy by some truly bad writing.