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The moon shone brightly through the thick canopy of the trees, granting light to those who desired it. The area was quiet, eerily quiet- not even the wind dared to break the silence. Nature dares not make a sound. Man on the other hand, does. An agonized scream of pain and fear breaks the silence, the voice is accompanied by the sound of a thump- or more precisely, a chop. Two, maybe three more chopping sounds are heard before the screaming voice quiets down and vanishes completely- but the sound of the chops continues on for quite some time. Then, as abruptly as the unwanted noise started, it ends. The land resumes its state of eerie quiet. Not far in the distance, the image of a person appears.
A young man, more than likely in his late teens, walks silently from where the scream had been heard. In his right hand, he securely holds a slightly rusted hatchet- it is heavily coated in blood and drips the crimson liquid with every silent step he takes. He, much like his brutal weapon, is covered in blood. The dark red fluid stains his clothing. Drips from the goggles, hood, and mask worn on his face- and clings to what little skin he has left visible. Looking at him would have made it obvious that he was a killer, and according to the amount of blood dripping from his frame, he had committed a number of murders that night. A single human couldn't possibly produce that much blood.

Should prying eyes dare to backtrack the crimson footprints he left behind with every step he took, they would have found a number of corpses- nine in total. He'd found them at a nearby campsite and, well, there wouldn't being any use in explaining what happened next. All that mattered was that he'd killed them- he cornered them and hacked them to pieces with his hatchet. Once he'd done off with them he'd abandoned them without another thought. He didn't care about their bodies being discovered, and he knew that there'd be no means of tracking him down. Even if the police followed the trail of bloody footprints he was leaving behind, they'd never be able to locate him- because he knew exactly how to throw them off.
The task was incredibly simple really, he'd walk towards a town until he stopped leaving footprints, or he'd head for a body of water and jump in long enough to get the blood to stop dripping off of him. Then, once he stopped leaving a trail, he returned to the mansion hidden in the wilderness that he regrettably called home. Tonight, he decided to head towards a nearby town and hopefully break off the trail in a part that was known for its high crime rates. Why? Because it was cold outside, and he'd rather not walk home in clothes drenched in cold water. Sure, he was covered in blood, but it had been warm when he got it all over him- and it would stay warm for a while longer.

In fact, the crimson liquid stayed warm long enough for him to walk all the way to his desired location in town, then turn and make it halfway back home. As for the rest of the trip, his body gradually got colder until he took that first step into the warmth of his home. He sighed irritably once he was inside, and dropped his hatchet near the front door before he headed upstairs to clean himself and warm his shivering frame. Sometimes he despised his body. He'd been born with a condition that made it impossible for him to feel physical pain, and yet he hadn't suffered from any of the other symptoms. Namely, the inability to feel hot or cold- or in other words, the inability to feel temperature.
He first went upstairs to his sleeping quarters to retrieve a clean set of clothing- a simple pair of sweat pants and a baggy tee-shirt. Not his usual attire. He usually wore either dark gray or black jean pants. He always wore a dirt brown hooded sweatshirt when outside his home- the sleeves of the hoody were ringed with different shades of tan. The hood itself was dark blue. He didn't really have a preference when it came to what he wore under the hoody- he just never wore anything white underneath, considering how often he came home drenched in blood.

Then there were his accessories. He always wore a pair of orange goggles, and a mask which covered the lower portion of his face. The mask was made of the same material used in ski masks, and it had a look to it that tended to remind people of the muzzle worn by Hannibal Lecter. He also wore a pair of black gloves while outside the house- hell, he tended to wear them at home out of habit. Once he had his desired sleeping attire, he strode out of his bedroom and into the nearest available bathroom- which was just up the hall, fortunately for him. Sometimes he came home to find that every restroom in the house was occupied, and when that happened he inevitably wound up standing in his bloody clothes for anywhere between thirty minutes and two hours. As soon as he was in the bathroom he proceeded to strip down so that he could take a shower- a long, relaxing shower.
First went the goggles and mask, then the gloves. Next went the bloodstained hoody and shirt he wore underneath it- the undershirt was black this time around. With his upper body exposed, his face became visible- he was actually an attractive young man. He had coppery brown hair, and pale skin. His torso was littered with a few small scars- the remains of a car crash that had ruined his life and cost him his humanity. His eyes were brown. Next went the shoes- a pair of typical white and black sneakers, and white socks. Before he stripped off what little clothing he had left, he went for the shower and proceeded to get the water running. He only turned on the hot water, so the temperature would be scalding- but as said, he wouldn't feel any pain should it burn him. Once his shower was ready, he removed his pants and boxers in one motion, and climbed under the downpour of hot water. He immediately let out a long sigh of relief- it felt nice having the hot water cascade onto his weary body, it warmed his chilled frame.
He stood virtually motionless for a while, occasionally twitching as he watched the blood clinging to his body get washed down the drain- he didn't actually bother to start cleaning himself until the water lost its red hue. He deftly washed his hair and scrubbed his pale skin, making sure to get every spot of blood off of him. Yes, he was a killer. Yes, he considered himself insane- but he sure as hell wasn't going to get blood in his bed. As soon as he was clean, he turned the water off and stepped out of the shower, then he proceeded to dry himself off. Once dry, he put on his sweats and tee-shirt, collected his soiled belongings, and stepped out of the bathroom. He didn't bother cleaning up the blood he'd left on the bathroom floor- that was someone else's job.

At least he was considerate enough to clean his own belongings. He threw his soiled clothing in the wash, then took his shoes and goggles into the kitchen to clean them in the sink. Before he could finish drying off his goggles, a familiar presence stepped into his lane of vision, and he turned to look at it. Slenderman- A.K.A, the reason he went insane and turned to a life of killing. Twitching violently, he turned enough to face the faceless creature, who motioned for some unseen person to walk into view. A woman, probably around his age, stepped into the doorway and stared blankly at him. An awkward state of silence fell over the room as the now violently twitching male gave the woman a look over- he was, concerned with what he saw. The woman had shoulder length brown hair, slightly darker than his own- her skin was also a little darker than his, but still pale.
She was wearing a plain white spaghetti sleeve shirt that only went low enough to cover her, ample bosom, and her ribcage. Over that she wore a dark blue hooded sweatshirt, but she wore it in a funny way- it wasn't completely on. She had her arms far enough inside the sleeves to keep the sweatshirt on, but she didn't pull it up to settle on her shoulders, so the hood dangled in the middle of her back. She had a pair of black, fingerless gloves on. She also wore a pair of black leather pants and a pair of matching leather boots, but, they looked a tad bit to short for her. The pants didn't even reach high enough to cover her hips- he could clearly see the “V” line of her pelvic area. In other words, the pants only went up high enough to cover the entire area of her crotch and butt- her whole abdominal area was left exposed.

However, her choice in clothing was the last thing he was interested in- he'd honestly seen people walking around wearing worse. Hell, he'd seen people run around naked in this place- so he'd learned not to judge people based off of their choice of clothing. What spiked his attention was her face- all of the things she had purposely done to it as signs of her insanity. The most noticeable facial damage being the stitches that lines her cheeks, creating a permanent smile. What was odd was that the stitches had been put in without requirement, she bore no scars on her face hinting at her mouth being cut or torn open from cheek to cheek. The other spot of damage happened to be her left eye- it had been taken out and replaced with a clock.
She'd more than likely done it herself, because the work was crudely done- what bothered him the most was that he could hear it ticking. Her remaining eye was a deep shade of green that seemed capable of lulling even the wildest of spirits into a trance. Once Slenderman decided that he had been given enough time to examine the woman, he spoke up.

“Toby...” The faceless creature “Said” calmly, catching the twitching males attention.

“Y-yes?” Toby said calmly, though he stuttered somewhat because of his uncontrollable twitching- his spastic movements were really starting to get out of hand. That clock eye of hers, every time he heard it tick he twitched- that was going to be a major problem.

“Do you remember what I told you two weeks ago?” Slenderman asked calmly as he took a few cautious steps further into the kitchen, the clock eyed woman standing next to him following after him without hesitation. Tobi cocked his head to the side, only to have a particularly violent twitch make him abruptly crack his neck loudly. He groaned a little- that actually hurt.

“Yes. Y-you told me t-to prepare another b-bed, and get a n-new dresser.” Toby said, his twitching starting to get on his nerves. If this kept up, then he may very well storm over to that woman with the clock eye and rip the confounded devise out of her skull. Slenderman nodded, and moved a long, thin arm to the side to put it on the womans back. He gave her a gentle push forward so that she stood directly in front of Toby. Great, now he could hear that infernal clocks ticking more clearly- to make matters worse, he started twitching for frequently.

“Good. I won't have to waste time telling you what to do then...” Slenderman said calmly.
“Toby, this is Natalie, she-” “Call me Clockwork...” Natalie- or Clockwork as she preferred to be called, interrupted Slenderman before he could finish his statement. The faceless creature sighed irritably then continued.
“As I was saying. Toby, this is Natalie- if you interrupt me again I'll see to it that your mouth is sewn shut!” Slenderman said, breaking his train of thought when he sensed that the clock eyed woman was about to correct him again- he wasn't going to waste his time introducing her by a nickname she'd given herself. He coughed, taking a moment to compose himself, then he continued.
"Toby, Natalie, is going to be your new roommate, and your new partner. I expect you to show her the ropes and answer whatever questions she may have-” “B-but-!” Toby tried to interrupt. “No buts! Now goodnight...” Slenderman said before he vanished, putting his teleportation ability to use so that he could end the conversation without fear of argument. This left Toby and Natalie to discuss whatever they deemed necessary. The twitching man sighed irritably, before turning around to grab his goggles and his shoes, then he turned back to the clock eyed woman- he popped his neck again.

“I-I'll show you t-to your r-room...” Toby said slowly, trying to prevent his constant twitching from making him stutter to much- he succeeded, in a sense of the word. Then, he cautiously walked out of the kitchen and started towards the stairs that would bring him- bring them to their room. Natalie followed him, going so far as to walk directly beside him- then it became apparent that she was in the mood for a conversation.

“Whats with all the twitching? You got Tourettes or somethin?” Natalie asked while giggling as she walked alongside Toby, who's twitching only seemed to get worse now that she was talking to him. Little know fact about Tourettes- stress, or negative emotions in general, tended to make symptoms worsen.

“Y-yes actually, a-and I'd ap-apreciate it if you d-didn't bring this t-topic up a-again.” Toby stuttered, irritation becoming evident in his tone of voice. His condition had caused a few, problems when he was younger, so it tended to be a touchy subject. The clock eyed woman only laughed and ignored his request.

“Awe~ No need to get mad, I'm just curious!” Natalie laughed, her green eye darting to the side to cast a glance at the twitching male- he was scowling, and trying to get his spasms under control.
“So tell me, what was is like? Growing up surrounded by people who didn't understand you?” She said with a cold smile. Toby opened his mouth as if to speak, but she beat him to it.
“I'll bet they teased you~ Oh, now I wonder what kind of names they called you!” She laughed again, her voice growing cruel. She continued to watch him out of the corner of her eye- his scowl had turned into an all out grimace. He was grinding his teeth and digging his nails into his palm. Her smile took on a more sinister look- good, he was suffering. She liked it when they suffered.
“I'll bet they called you Twitch- did they call you Twitch? Or Spazz did they call you that? Oh wait, I remember now! There was a whole story about you on the news a while ago-” She paused for a moment to turn her head enough to face him properly, her constantly ticking clock eye becoming visible.
“They called you Ticci Toby-!” If she'd planned on adding more to her statement then she was never given the chance, because the moment those last two word passed her lips, Toby turned and attacked her. He wrapped his free hand around her throat and shoved her against the wall, more than likely waking up whoever slept behind it.

“Don't you ever, call me that again...” Toby snarled as he tightened his grip around Natalie's throat, and he bent his head enough to peer into eyes. Or rather, to glare at her single eye and the clock she'd replaced the other one with- he couldn't prevent himself from twitching every time he heard the damned contraption tick. Then, much to his surprise, the woman laughed...

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

The moon shone brightly through the thick canopy of the trees, granting light to those who desired it. The area was quiet, eerily quiet- not even the wind dared to break the silence. Nature dares not make a sound. Man on the other hand, does. An agonized scream of pain and fear breaks the silence, the voice is accompanied by the sound of a thump- or more precisely, a chop. Two, maybe three more chopping sounds are heard before the screaming voice quiets down and vanishes completely- but the sound of the chops continues on for quite some time. Then, as abruptly as the unwanted noise started, it ends. The land resumes its state of eerie quiet. Not far in the distance, the image of a person appears.
A young man, more than likely in his late teens, walks silently from where the scream had been heard. In his right hand, he securely holds a slightly rusted hatchet- it is heavily coated in blood and drips the crimson liquid with every silent step he takes. He, much like his brutal weapon, is covered in blood. The dark red fluid stains his clothing. Drips from the goggles, hood, and mask worn on his face- and clings to what little skin he has left visible. Looking at him would have made it obvious that he was a killer, and according to the amount of blood dripping from his frame, he had committed a number of murders that night. A single human couldn't possibly produce that much blood.

Should prying eyes dare to backtrack the crimson footprints he left behind with every step he took, they would have found a number of corpses- nine in total. He'd found them at a nearby campsite and, well, there wouldn't being any use in explaining what happened next. All that mattered was that he'd killed them- he cornered them and hacked them to pieces with his hatchet. Once he'd done off with them he'd abandoned them without another thought. He didn't care about their bodies being discovered, and he knew that there'd be no means of tracking him down. Even if the police followed the trail of bloody footprints he was leaving behind, they'd never be able to locate him- because he knew exactly how to throw them off.
The task was incredibly simple really, he'd walk towards a town until he stopped leaving footprints, or he'd head for a body of water and jump in long enough to get the blood to stop dripping off of him. Then, once he stopped leaving a trail, he returned to the mansion hidden in the wilderness that he regrettably called home. Tonight, he decided to head towards a nearby town and hopefully break off the trail in a part that was known for its high crime rates. Why? Because it was cold outside, and he'd rather not walk home in clothes drenched in cold water. Sure, he was covered in blood, but it had been warm when he got it all over him- and it would stay warm for a while longer.

In fact, the crimson liquid stayed warm long enough for him to walk all the way to his desired location in town, then turn and make it halfway back home. As for the rest of the trip, his body gradually got colder until he took that first step into the warmth of his home. He sighed irritably once he was inside, and dropped his hatchet near the front door before he headed upstairs to clean himself and warm his shivering frame. Sometimes he despised his body. He'd been born with a condition that made it impossible for him to feel physical pain, and yet he hadn't suffered from any of the other symptoms. Namely, the inability to feel hot or cold- or in other words, the inability to feel temperature.
He first went upstairs to his sleeping quarters to retrieve a clean set of clothing- a simple pair of sweat pants and a baggy tee-shirt. Not his usual attire. He usually wore either dark gray or black jean pants. He always wore a dirt brown hooded sweatshirt when outside his home- the sleeves of the hoody were ringed with different shades of tan. The hood itself was dark blue. He didn't really have a preference when it came to what he wore under the hoody- he just never wore anything white underneath, considering how often he came home drenched in blood.

Then there were his accessories. He always wore a pair of orange goggles, and a mask which covered the lower portion of his face. The mask was made of the same material used in ski masks, and it had a look to it that tended to remind people of the muzzle worn by Hannibal Lecter. He also wore a pair of black gloves while outside the house- hell, he tended to wear them at home out of habit. Once he had his desired sleeping attire, he strode out of his bedroom and into the nearest available bathroom- which was just up the hall, fortunately for him. Sometimes he came home to find that every restroom in the house was occupied, and when that happened he inevitably wound up standing in his bloody clothes for anywhere between thirty minutes and two hours. As soon as he was in the bathroom he proceeded to strip down so that he could take a shower- a long, relaxing shower.
First went the goggles and mask, then the gloves. Next went the bloodstained hoody and shirt he wore underneath it- the undershirt was black this time around. With his upper body exposed, his face became visible- he was actually an attractive young man. He had coppery brown hair, and pale skin. His torso was littered with a few small scars- the remains of a car crash that had ruined his life and cost him his humanity. His eyes were brown. Next went the shoes- a pair of typical white and black sneakers, and white socks. Before he stripped off what little clothing he had left, he went for the shower and proceeded to get the water running. He only turned on the hot water, so the temperature would be scalding- but as said, he wouldn't feel any pain should it burn him. Once his shower was ready, he removed his pants and boxers in one motion, and climbed under the downpour of hot water. He immediately let out a long sigh of relief- it felt nice having the hot water cascade onto his weary body, it warmed his chilled frame.
He stood virtually motionless for a while, occasionally twitching as he watched the blood clinging to his body get washed down the drain- he didn't actually bother to start cleaning himself until the water lost its red hue. He deftly washed his hair and scrubbed his pale skin, making sure to get every spot of blood off of him. Yes, he was a killer. Yes, he considered himself insane- but he sure as hell wasn't going to get blood in his bed. As soon as he was clean, he turned the water off and stepped out of the shower, then he proceeded to dry himself off. Once dry, he put on his sweats and tee-shirt, collected his soiled belongings, and stepped out of the bathroom. He didn't bother cleaning up the blood he'd left on the bathroom floor- that was someone else's job.

At least he was considerate enough to clean his own belongings. He threw his soiled clothing in the wash, then took his shoes and goggles into the kitchen to clean them in the sink. Before he could finish drying off his goggles, a familiar presence stepped into his lane of vision, and he turned to look at it. Slenderman- A.K.A, the reason he went insane and turned to a life of killing. Twitching violently, he turned enough to face the faceless creature, who motioned for some unseen person to walk into view. A woman, probably around his age, stepped into the doorway and stared blankly at him. An awkward state of silence fell over the room as the now violently twitching male gave the woman a look over- he was, concerned with what he saw. The woman had shoulder length brown hair, slightly darker than his own- her skin was also a little darker than his, but still pale.
She was wearing a plain white spaghetti sleeve shirt that only went low enough to cover her, ample bosom, and her ribcage. Over that she wore a dark blue hooded sweatshirt, but she wore it in a funny way- it wasn't completely on. She had her arms far enough inside the sleeves to keep the sweatshirt on, but she didn't pull it up to settle on her shoulders, so the hood dangled in the middle of her back. She had a pair of black, fingerless gloves on. She also wore a pair of black leather pants and a pair of matching leather boots, but, they looked a tad bit to short for her. The pants didn't even reach high enough to cover her hips- he could clearly see the “V” line of her pelvic area. In other words, the pants only went up high enough to cover the entire area of her crotch and butt- her whole abdominal area was left exposed.

However, her choice in clothing was the last thing he was interested in- he'd honestly seen people walking around wearing worse. Hell, he'd seen people run around naked in this place- so he'd learned not to judge people based off of their choice of clothing. What spiked his attention was her face- all of the things she had purposely done to it as signs of her insanity. The most noticeable facial damage being the stitches that lines her cheeks, creating a permanent smile. What was odd was that the stitches had been put in without requirement, she bore no scars on her face hinting at her mouth being cut or torn open from cheek to cheek. The other spot of damage happened to be her left eye- it had been taken out and replaced with a clock.
She'd more than likely done it herself, because the work was crudely done- what bothered him the most was that he could hear it ticking. Her remaining eye was a deep shade of green that seemed capable of lulling even the wildest of spirits into a trance. Once Slenderman decided that he had been given enough time to examine the woman, he spoke up.

“Toby...” The faceless creature “Said” calmly, catching the twitching males attention.

“Y-yes?” Toby said calmly, though he stuttered somewhat because of his uncontrollable twitching- his spastic movements were really starting to get out of hand. That clock eye of hers, every time he heard it tick he twitched- that was going to be a major problem.

“Do you remember what I told you two weeks ago?” Slenderman asked calmly as he took a few cautious steps further into the kitchen, the clock eyed woman standing next to him following after him without hesitation. Tobi cocked his head to the side, only to have a particularly violent twitch make him abruptly crack his neck loudly. He groaned a little- that actually hurt.

“Yes. Y-you told me t-to prepare another b-bed, and get a n-new dresser.” Toby said, his twitching starting to get on his nerves. If this kept up, then he may very well storm over to that woman with the clock eye and rip the confounded devise out of her skull. Slenderman nodded, and moved a long, thin arm to the side to put it on the womans back. He gave her a gentle push forward so that she stood directly in front of Toby. Great, now he could hear that infernal clocks ticking more clearly- to make matters worse, he started twitching for frequently.

“Good. I won't have to waste time telling you what to do then...” Slenderman said calmly.
“Toby, this is Natalie, she-” “Call me Clockwork...” Natalie- or Clockwork as she preferred to be called, interrupted Slenderman before he could finish his statement. The faceless creature sighed irritably then continued.
“As I was saying. Toby, this is Natalie- if you interrupt me again I'll see to it that your mouth is sewn shut!” Slenderman said, breaking his train of thought when he sensed that the clock eyed woman was about to correct him again- he wasn't going to waste his time introducing her by a nickname she'd given herself. He coughed, taking a moment to compose himself, then he continued.
"Toby, Natalie, is going to be your new roommate, and your new partner. I expect you to show her the ropes and answer whatever questions she may have-” “B-but-!” Toby tried to interrupt. “No buts! Now goodnight...” Slenderman said before he vanished, putting his teleportation ability to use so that he could end the conversation without fear of argument. This left Toby and Natalie to discuss whatever they deemed necessary. The twitching man sighed irritably, before turning around to grab his goggles and his shoes, then he turned back to the clock eyed woman- he popped his neck again.

“I-I'll show you t-to your r-room...” Toby said slowly, trying to prevent his constant twitching from making him stutter to much- he succeeded, in a sense of the word. Then, he cautiously walked out of the kitchen and started towards the stairs that would bring him- bring them to their room. Natalie followed him, going so far as to walk directly beside him- then it became apparent that she was in the mood for a conversation.

“Whats with all the twitching? You got Tourettes or somethin?” Natalie asked while giggling as she walked alongside Toby, who's twitching only seemed to get worse now that she was talking to him. Little know fact about Tourettes- stress, or negative emotions in general, tended to make symptoms worsen.

“Y-yes actually, a-and I'd ap-apreciate it if you d-didn't bring this t-topic up a-again.” Toby stuttered, irritation becoming evident in his tone of voice. His condition had caused a few, problems when he was younger, so it tended to be a touchy subject. The clock eyed woman only laughed and ignored his request.

“Awe~ No need to get mad, I'm just curious!” Natalie laughed, her green eye darting to the side to cast a glance at the twitching male- he was scowling, and trying to get his spasms under control.
“So tell me, what was is like? Growing up surrounded by people who didn't understand you?” She said with a cold smile. Toby opened his mouth as if to speak, but she beat him to it.
“I'll bet they teased you~ Oh, now I wonder what kind of names they called you!” She laughed again, her voice growing cruel. She continued to watch him out of the corner of her eye- his scowl had turned into an all out grimace. He was grinding his teeth and digging his nails into his palm. Her smile took on a more sinister look- good, he was suffering. She liked it when they suffered.
“I'll bet they called you Twitch- did they call you Twitch? Or Spazz did they call you that? Oh wait, I remember now! There was a whole story about you on the news a while ago-” She paused for a moment to turn her head enough to face him properly, her constantly ticking clock eye becoming visible.
“They called you Ticci Toby-!” If she'd planned on adding more to her statement then she was never given the chance, because the moment those last two word passed her lips, Toby turned and attacked her. He wrapped his free hand around her throat and shoved her against the wall, more than likely waking up whoever slept behind it.

“Don't you ever, call me that again...” Toby snarled as he tightened his grip around Natalie's throat, and he bent his head enough to peer into eyes. Or rather, to glare at her single eye and the clock she'd replaced the other one with- he couldn't prevent himself from twitching every time he heard the damned contraption tick. Then, much to his surprise, the woman laughed...