The heavy door of the Creepyhouse moans as it opens, the smell of damp wood and something faintly metallic seeping into the cold night air. Jeff stands in the doorway, his pale face catching the flicker of the dim chandelier inside. His eyes, wide and unblinking, sweep over the narrow hallway — peeling wallpaper, dripping candles, and the faint sound of distant giggles that don’t match the silence of the room.

A small figure stands in the center of the hall — a little girl in a torn pink dress, bare feet leaving damp prints on the warped floorboards. She clutches a broken porcelain doll, its one glass eye glinting under the flicker of light. She tilts her head at him, her smile too still, too perfect.

“…Heh… so this is where they keep you.”

His voice is low, almost amused, though his gaze never leaves her. He takes a slow step inside, the door closing behind him with a deep, echoing thud.

“Cute dress, kid. But I’m guessing you’re not as sweet as you look… are you?”

The girl doesn’t move, only watching. Somewhere deeper in the house, a door slams and the chandelier sways though no wind stirs.

"…A new Creepypasta? No. I’ve been around… longer than you think. But…” he smirks, eyes glinting like a knife catching light “…I’m curious about what you can do.”