In My Head | Male Reader x Creepypasta Girls

Plans

For the first time in over a year, you woke up without an alarm. It wasn't some ungodly hour, it was near enough noon and that feeling was foreign to you, just like the scenery you found yourself in. Your childhood bedroom.

It almost sent you reeling, staring up at that same white ceiling, band posters peeking out the corner of your vision. The house was deathly silent now, indicating that your parents had gone to work. Deciding to confirm that theory before you aimlessly walk out of your room, you peek out your bedroom window. The car was gone. Great.

Reaching for your phone, you firmly grip it and begin thumbing through songs to start your day to. This was pretty much ritual at college, and not once did you ever miss a morning without music.

Screwy People by Alex G. Perfect. It seemed like Alex G was slowly becoming the soundtrack to your life, but you didn't mind.

Finally, deciding to get out of bed, you slump to the bathroom like a zombie, rubbing your tired eyes and stretching, a satisfying pop gracing your ears. You brushed your teeth, washed your face, and fumbled around in your bag for a pair of clothes. You still needed to unpack.

Pushing that thought out of your mind, you aimlessly descend the stairs, doom scrolling through your socials to see what your friends had posted. All typical stuff. A couple had gone on vacation to some tropical country. A few, like you, had returned home but were seemingly posting pictures 24/7, something that caused you to roll your eyes. Then, you scrolled a little further, a video of a familiar garage appearing on your feed. In the video, Johnny, Craig, and an unknown drummer were playing one of their songs. You couldn't lie. It was straight ass. Chuckling to yourself, you round the corner into the kitchen.

Like always, you had absolutely nothing cohesive in to eat. You forgot that your parents were ingredients people and the last thing you wanted to do right now was cook, so you just settled on the idea of heading to the diner, after all, you'd missed their food. So, grabbing your jacket and slipping on your shoes, you open the front door and head out into the cool morning, this time, remembering to take a spare key.

Tall evergreen trees, their branches heavy with rain from the night prior, or maybe the morning, lined the road, and the crisp, damp air filled your lungs.

As you strolled down the street, you couldn't help but notice how little your hometown had changed. The quaint storefronts and cosy cafes still stood, and the local diner, "Mossy's," was as inviting as ever. You had a yearning for some comfort food and  knew that Mossy's would deliver, as if always had.

Pushing the glass door open, you were immediately hit by the warm, comforting aroma of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee. The place was nearly empty, with only a few regulars scattered at the counter and in the cosy booths along the walls. Your eyes scanned the room, spotting a few locals but no one noteworthy in particular.

As you were scanning said room, you felt a pair of arms snake around your chest from behind, notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. You knew who it was instantly from that all too familiar perfume. You'd always loved it. Turning in place slightly, you bring Emma into a strong hug. This was the first time you'd seen her in her work clothes.

(Y/N): "I've always loved a girl in uniform."

You heard her giggle into your embrace.

Emma: "Shut up, douche."

(Y/N): "Hmmm, not entirely sure that's the line you're supposed to greet a loyal customer with."

She rolled her eyes, the grin never leaving her face.

Emma: "Hey, welcome to Mossy's. What can I get for you on this fine morning."

(Y/N): "That's better. Hey, I'm thinking of asking Johnny and Craig if they wanna go camping, you down?"

Emma: "Duh. It'll be nice to see if either of them have gotten a girlfriend in this last year."

(Y/N): "Pfft, right. That'll be the day

Emma disconnected from the hug and took your hand, leading you over to an empty booth, which you sat in.

Emma: "I'll get your usual and be over in a minute. Then we can talk properly."

You just smiled to yourself. It was nice seeing her so giddy again. Like you never left.

The clinking of dishes, the low chatter of the regulars, and the timeless decor of the diner all reminded you of the countless meals you had enjoyed here during your high school days.

ELSEWHERE

Chief Wilson's head throbbed as he pulled his patrol car up to the dark cabin in the heart of the woods. The gunshot reports had shattered the tranquility of the night, and now the dense forest loomed ominously around him. He rubbed his temples, the vestiges of last night's whiskey not doing him any favors, nor the Johnny Cash on the radio.

The smell of pine and damp earth filled the air as he stepped out of his car, his feet crunching on the gravel path. He squinted through the inky darkness that gripped the cabin, trying to discern any movement. Wilson's hand rested uneasily on his holstered firearm.

As he approached the cabin, its weathered wooden walls seemed to absorb the morning glow of the clouds, putting him on edge. He cursed his pounding headache and stifled the urge to reach for a bottle of aspirin. This was no time to nurse a hangover.

A sudden rustling in the underbrush made him tense, and he stepped carefully onto the creaky porch. With every step, the aged timbers groaned in protest. He rapped his knuckles on the cabin door, but he heard nothing in response besides the rustling of branches in the wind.

Chief Wilson: "This is Chief Wilson. You inside, Earl?"

Silence greeted his query, broken only by the distant call of an owl. Wilson waited, his senses on high alert, hoping for some sign of life from within the cabin.

The cabin door groaned as he pushed it open, revealing a scene of horror illuminated by the feeble beam of his flashlight. Blood splatters adorned the rough-hewn walls, turning the rustic interior into a nightmare. The stench of copper and death hung heavy in the air.

As his flashlight beam danced across the room, Chief Wilson's heart sank. There, in the center of the cabin, lay the lifeless body of a man he recognized as Earl, a hunter from the town. Earl's face was twisted in a grimace of agony, his clothing drenched in a grotesque tableau of blood and gore. His body mutilated and violated, several deep gashes across his chest and a large incision into his lower abdomen. The smell hit him first as he recoiled, dry heaving at the mere sight.

The chief's hangover faded to the background as he approached the gruesome sight, his professional instincts taking over. He carefully examined the scene, gun at the ready as his eyes feverantly scanned each corner of the scene. Whoever did this could still be nearby.

The unanswered questions weighed heavily on Chief Wilson's mind, even as he radioed for backup and the crime scene unit.

His heart sank as the realisation of what had happened fully sank in. The killer was in town.