Eyeless Sockets [Creepypasta x Blind!Reader]

Where Is The Chapter's Number At?

Memory.

Another day, another set of words.

Another time to annoy some of my favorite pieces of tortellini.

Especially the long one, if you get what I mean.

In fact, that's what I was supposed to be doing. And what I was doing.

"You were supposed to clean after yourself as well, and not only after my children. I think that much is clear."

"I'm not your personal cleaner. I help them clean up after themselves. Apart from Jeff. He's too much of a lazy fuck."

The tall man sighed and facepalmed. Somehow. The bitch doesn't have a f a c e-

He can hear my thoughts. I enjoy playing with my thoughts.

"I'll ignore the use profanity for this time, and just ask you what I was thinking about." is what he began with, while his voice was serious. Whatever his voice sounds like.

"I want you to try to murder someone and bring their body here, without having any of the others notice."

"If you succeed, I might remove your title as a maid, and make you be something with more meaning around he-"

"No."

Did this tall spaghetti noodle think I'd murder someone? I know you're listening to me, and I wouldn't do such a thing to anyone. It's wrong. You're wrong.

The guy seemed surprised, to say the least. I guess he didn't think I'd be so fast, or for me to answer this way.

"How come? You always seem interested whenever anyone brings their dead or alive victims here. So how don't you want to kill somebody?"

Easy. It's fucked up. Ending a life is fucked up. It's wrong. It's not okay. You're not supposed to do that. You know that, you tall tentacle man. You just do it. You lead your children to do it after their minds are fucked beyond any words they could use to describe their mental health.

I might be somewhat fuzzy up there, but committing murder is just not okay. I, myself, can't do it.

Then don't. You may exit.

Goodbye, and thank you for understanding.

Goodbye.

I opened the door, saluted the man who plays with minds, and exited his special business room.

I know he was thinking. I know he was thinking about me. There's a faint static here. It's around here. It's loud like screams, and it's louder inside.

This is just strange.

It's clear he didn't know. I'm surprised he didn't know.

I shrugged, trying to avoid bottling up thoughts, and yawned, before beginning to walk over to the couch to steal one of the seats there and to play on the switch standing on a shelf under the TV.

I don't know why, but as I was playing I was thinking about the color white. The way it looks, the way it looks, and the way it suits the Slenderman's way of doing his stuff.

He uses other colors to dirty the canvas with. He's not the most important, but when needed, plays just an important role as any color.

He guides the brushes to paint the canvas with many colors. But then covers them in the protective layer of white, hiding flaws.

I shook my head and continued playing whatever the fuck I was playing.

But the thoughts flooded my mind once again, but this time about how the colors are controlled.

How they can paint images with meaning, unless they're in the hands of a painter with no experience.

They need their leader.

The creepypastas need their leader.

I'm not so sure about their leader.

But he's the most important. He's their guardian. Their protection.

After that last word, my mind wandered over to how high the chances of protection failing to do what they're known for doing are.

Innocence is something that has escaped my mind.

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Sorry for being slow. I'm trying to concentrate on life.

But thanks for almost making this book reach almost 20k reads.

It was at 19.6k when I started writing.
666 words.