As if he had leapt between shadowy worlds, Sean suddenly found himself in a place completely different from where he had just been. He rubbed his eyes, desperate to wake up from what he hoped was just a nightmare. He even pinched himself, trying to confirm that this was just a bad dream—one he urgently needed to escape.
But Sean realized the truth.
He had crossed into another dimension, one eerily similar to the previous one.
The place was dark—pitch black, in fact. The only light on the street flickered intermittently, refusing to stay still long enough to illuminate any particular spot. There was just one lamppost on the road where Sean stood.
All around him, despite the existence of a street, there was nothing.
Sean swallowed hard, his nerves getting the better of him.
Each step he took echoed dully, as if he were wearing a woman's high heels, clicking harshly against the pavement.
The air was thick and heavy, like invisible smoke slipping into his nostrils, forcing him to cough with every breath. It gave him the unsettling impression that his lungs wouldn't last long in this oppressive atmosphere.
Goosebumps prickled his skin endlessly.
His feet felt as if they were sinking into quicksand—soft, yet somehow consuming—though he had never experienced such a thing before.
And then, he heard it.
A low, slithering laugh, rising from the throat of something not entirely human.
It was a wicked laugh—one Sean had never heard in his right mind.
"Do you want to wake up too?", whispered a male voice from within the swirling darkness.
Sean spun around at the sound, heart pounding violently against his ribs as if trying to shatter them. Under the unstable flicker of the lamppost, a silhouette materialized out of nowhere. It didn't walk. It didn't crawl. Not only that, but it was just there, as if it had always been watching—waiting. Yet somehow, Sean hadn't noticed its presence until it spoke.
The light blinked once more, then died.
And in that final second before the darkness swallowed him whole, Sean saw it.
A white, cruel smile, carved into flesh.
Lidless eyes, round and eternal, glowing like burning coals in the night.
Jeff the Killer's pale face emerged from the shadows, almost floating in the void like a corpse suspended in a pool of ink.
"Go to sleep…", Jeff murmured, his voice soft—almost maternal. A whisper spoken like a command, one Sean would regret disobeying.
Sean instinctively stepped back, but his legs wouldn't respond. He remained frozen in place, even though his instincts screamed at him to run. He didn't know what would come of this nightmarish encounter.
Of course, Sean recognized him. Just like Slenderman, Jeff was a figure he and his friends admired from their obsession with horror. But he had never imagined that everything they knew—everything they'd read—could turn out to be real.
Terror gripped his body, his soul, his thoughts. And then… things got worse.
Jeff extended a hand—not to kill—but to touch Sean's forehead with one cold, bony finger.
In the blink of an eye, the world shifted again.
A jolt, like an electric shock, ran down Sean's spine. He collapsed to his knees, instantly disconnected from reality. Disturbing images exploded in his mind—mouthless faces screaming in silence, bodies twisted in impossible positions as if possessed by a merciless demon, clocks ticking backwards while bleeding thick black blood.
Jeff was showing him something.
A gift. A power. Or a curse.
Sean tried to scream, but his voice never left his throat. The scream was trapped between worlds, locked in his mind, as if Jeff had ripped it from him and swallowed it with that damned smile that had made him a terrifying creepypasta icon.
"You're not dreaming, Sean," Jeff hissed, his voice like poisonous wind. "But now you see like I do. Now you know what's underneath all of this. What no one else sees."
And then, with a flash—white like a blade in the sun—Jeff vanished.
The lamppost flickered back on. Sean was alone again.
Or so he thought.
Until he noticed that the shadow on the ground… was no longer his.
Without hesitation, Sean shut his eyes tight, whispering—then begging—desperately for God to let him return to his world. He didn't belong in this one. This dark, terrifying world was not his. Of that, he was certain.
When he opened his eyes again, Sean was still there—standing on that same dark, quiet, and lonely street. But Jeff was gone. No longer there to torment him.
What Sean hadn't realized, however, was that while Jeff distracted him with his madness, he had completed his true mission: he had marked Sean's face with a symbol—one that would never fade, a permanent reminder that this encounter was far more real than anything he'd ever known.
The mark stood out clearly. Not even the darkness could conceal it.
Sean would have to find a way to cover it—before it ruined his life forever.
And he would.
Suddenly, a portal appeared before him.
As he looked into it, Sean knew he had to go through. When he stood up, he felt it—his face had changed. A burning sensation spread across his cheeks. He felt tightness there, as if his skin had fused together and nothing could separate it again.
Without thinking twice, Sean stepped into the portal—moving like a zombie—but in the end, he made it through.
Sean crossed the portal.
He didn't walk. He slid.
His feet didn't touch the ground normally. Instead, they glided over a slick surface—like thick oil or congealed blood—making it nearly impossible to stay upright. He didn't understand why, but his body no longer obeyed him. Everything he had once known—gravity, space, time—had twisted into a tunnel of nonsense.
On the other side of the portal, silence awaited.
But not an ordinary silence.
It was a silence that weighed. That hurt. That had teeth.