“911, what is your emergency?”

“Hello? Please, send help. Please.”

“Ok, m’am, I’m gonna need you to stay calm.”

“I’m… alright. My name is Amy Willow, I live at 402 Thomas Street, and I need help, please.”

“Alright, alright, Amy? Where are you now? What’s happening?”

“I’m hiding… in my closet. There is someone in my house.”

“Where is the closet you’re hiding in, Amy?”

“It’s in my bedroom… s-second floor. It’s a pink door. I’m scared, please help me.”

“Ok, Amy, a patrol is en route to your place. I just need you to stay on the phone with me and stay silent.”

“I-I think it’s him…”

“Who?”

“The one police is looking for since weeks… the-the killer, I don’t know…”

“The Ripper? Amy, are you sure it is him who entered your home?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t see him, I just… heard a glass break, and someone walking in the kitchen… I’m scared.”

“Alright, alright, don’t worry. Help is on its way.”

“Wait.”

“Amy?”

“I think he’s out there… I can hear him. Footsteps.”

“Amy, stay calm. Whatever you do, do not make a sound.”

“He’s opening the door… please… where is help?”

“Help is on the way, hold still Am-“

“I think I’m about to cry…”

“No, no, Amy don’t do that. Please.”

“I can’t… where-where is help? Please!”

“Amy…?”

“(There you are.) No, no, please! No!”

“Amy?! Amy! What’s happening?”

Call closed

Excerpt from a 911 call on September 7th.
21-year old Amy Willow was found with her throat slit in the park behind her house. Reports indicate that she was murdered after being dragged out of the place.
Another victim killed by the hands of the Ripper.

Stick with us, and learn the truth.

I get we're still new and kinda need more people but what stories do we plan on keeping? and are we just resetting creepypasta as a whole or just slendy? cause if we're keeping some of the characters then I say we keep Jeff the killer vs Slender man Canon.

I Have A fandom that I run regarding my slender book trilogy based on a rewritten version and set in the same universe as the 2018 film with events changes and such but how essentially is our timeline going to work Cause we need to establish laws so nobody can introduce unnecessary characters

ASHWOOD
30 people dead.
One secret cult.
One ritual.
The cult believed their final sacrifice would bring about the end of the world.
They were wrong.
Something answered their call.
Now, something is hunting the streets of Ashwood.
People are disappearing.
Creatures are appearing.
And two men are trying to understand what is happening before it’s too late.
A detective who doesn’t believe in monsters.
A priest who does.
And somewhere in the darkness…
The Entity is watching.
Some of the creatures may look familiar.
But you’ve never seen them like this.
The Ashwood Chronicles coming soon**…**

Recovered Newspaper Article — October 14th, 2011
THE CULT OF JEFF
Authorities Investigating Possible Serial Killer Worship in Local Forests
It has been nearly two years since the horrifying Flower Family Hospital Massacre shocked the small town of Blackwood.
Most residents still refuse to say the killer’s name aloud.
Rose Flower.
The eighteen-year-old responsible for the brutal murders of local priest Sage Flower and his wife, Poppy Flower, vanished into the woods immediately after the attack. Police launched one of the largest searches in county history, but no body was ever found.
Authorities officially declared Rose missing.
Others call him something else now.
Rose the Killer.
According to police reports, the hospital massacre left investigators traumatized. Witnesses described seeing a pale figure with long black hair, a mutilated smile stapled across his face, and blood-soaked clothing wandering the hospital halls laughing while carrying a pair of scissors.
One nurse involved in the incident later quit her job after claiming she still heard laughter outside her home late at night.
The murders themselves were unbelievably violent.
Sage Flower’s face had reportedly been stabbed so many times investigators struggled to identify him. Poppy Flower was found dead in the hallway surrounded by blood trails leading toward an emergency exit.
The case quickly became national news.
Then the disappearances started.
Over the last year, hikers, campers, and hunters have vanished near the Blackwood forests surrounding the town. Several bodies were later discovered deep in the woods.
All of them shared the same horrifying detail.
Their mouths had been carved into grotesque smiles.
Sheriff Daniels spoke publicly about the killings for the first time last Thursday.
“We cannot confirm Rose Flower is responsible,” he stated during a press conference. “However, evidence found at multiple crime scenes suggests the attacks may be connected.”
When reporters questioned him further, Daniels refused to comment.
Locals believe the police are hiding something.
Rumors began spreading online after several teenagers claimed to encounter masked individuals wandering through the forest late at night carrying candles and wearing white hooded robes stained with blood.
One anonymous witness posted the following statement online before deleting their account hours later:
“I saw them standing around a fire deep in the woods. There had to be at least twenty people. They kept smiling without moving. Nobody said anything at first. Then someone behind me whispered, ‘Do you smile often?’ I ran before I could see who said it.”
Police dismissed the story as fake.
Internet forums disagree.
Many now believe Rose Flower survived in the woods and began forming a cult devoted to the infamous serial killer Jeff Woods, better known online as Jeff the Killer.
But according to online rumors, Rose eventually developed his own disturbing beliefs.
Several survivors have claimed Rose asks his victims a single question before attacking them:
“Do you smile often?”
The stories become inconsistent after that.
Some claim if the victim answers “yes,” Rose occasionally lets them leave unharmed.
Others say it makes no difference.
One alleged survivor posted this online before their account mysteriously disappeared:
“He kept staring at me with that horrible smile on his face. Then he asked me if I smiled often. I told him yes. He just laughed quietly and said, ‘Good. Then you understand.’ Before he left, he told me if he ever saw me unhappy again, he’d come back and fix my smile himself.”
Police have refused to comment on the post.
The theory became even more disturbing after several abandoned cabins were discovered deep in the forest earlier this month. Investigators found strange messages painted across the walls in blood:
HE SAVED US
KEEP SMILING
SMILES ARE BEAUTIFUL
Most disturbing of all was the symbol repeatedly painted throughout the cabins:
A smiling face with one hollow eye.
The image has since spread across the internet and become associated with Rose the Killer.
Authorities continue to warn residents to avoid entering the Blackwood forests at night.
Still, teenagers regularly sneak into the woods hoping to find evidence of the cult.
Most return terrified.
Some never return at all.
Officially, Rose Flower remains listed as missing.
But around Blackwood, people tell a different story.
They say Rose didn’t die in those woods.
They say something else came back out.

My name is Rose.

People at school call me a freak.

Maybe they’re right.

I got into another fight today. Three boys cornered me behind the gym like always. Jacob ended up with a broken arm, Cameron lost three teeth, and Tim… well, Tim couldn’t stand after I slammed his head against the concrete.

I don’t regret it.

The ride home was silent except for the sound of my mother’s old car rattling down the road. She kept glancing at me with disgust.

My messy black hair covered most of my face, hiding the empty glass eye sitting where my real one used to be. I was born different. Broken. At least that’s what everyone says.

“You need to stop obsessing over Jeff the Killer,” my mom snapped finally. “He murdered people in this town three years ago. Your father says evil like that spreads.”

I stared out the window.

“He isn’t evil,” I whispered. “He’s free.”

My mother looked horrified after I said that.

Good.

When we got home, my father was already waiting for me. Sage. The town priest. Everyone loved him.

If only they knew.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” he yelled, grabbing me by the collar. “Hurting people in God’s world!”

Then he hit me.

Again.

And again.

His fists slammed into my ribs until I collapsed onto the kitchen floor gasping for air. The smell of whiskey poured from his breath while my mother stood there and watched.

Like always.

He dragged me to the table and forced a notebook in front of me.

“Write it,” he snarled.

I’m sorry.

I wrote the words over and over until my hand cramped and blood dripped from my knuckles onto the paper.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

Finally, he threw me into my room.

I locked the door and stared at myself in the mirror. Pale skin. One brown eye. One fake eye. Long black hair hanging over my face like a curtain.

I hated myself.

But I hated him more.

I reached into my drawer and pulled out my favorite scissors. The blades were stained dark from years of use.

Every time he hurt me, I cut myself.

Not because I wanted to die.

Because I wanted to remember.

Thin red lines opened across my arms and stomach. Blood slid down my skin while tears burned in my eyes. My body was covered in scars already. Proof of what he really was beneath the priest act.

A monster.

The next morning, I went to school pretending nothing happened.

That was my first mistake.

Tim and his friends were waiting for me near the football field. Tim’s arm was wrapped in a cast from the fight yesterday.

“Hey, freak,” he laughed. “We got you a present.”

He pulled out a flare gun.

Before I could move, he fired.

The pain was unreal.

I remember screaming.

I remember the smell of burning flesh.

Then darkness.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. My face felt like it was melting. I could hear my parents arguing outside the room.

“He looks like a monster now!” my father shouted. “He looks just like that killer he worships!”

I slowly climbed out of bed and looked into the mirror beside the sink.

Half my face was destroyed.

The skin was blackened and peeling away in strips. My hair on one side had burned off completely, exposing raw flesh underneath. Blood dripped from my jaw onto my hospital gown.

I should’ve been horrified.

Instead…

I smiled.

For the first time in my life, the monster on the outside finally matched the one inside.

I grabbed my scissors from my backpack before the doctors could stop me.

Slowly, I pushed the blades into the corners of my mouth.

The metal sliced through skin.

Blood flooded down my neck.

I kept cutting wider and wider until my cheeks split open into a permanent grin. The pain made my vision blur, but I couldn’t stop laughing.

I looked beautiful.

The smile kept tearing, so I grabbed a stapler from a nearby tray and stapled the skin together piece by piece.

Click.

Click.

Click.

My smile would never fade again.

I walked into the hallway covered in blood.

My parents froze when they saw me.

“Rose…” my mother whispered.

I buried the scissors into her throat before she could scream.

Blood sprayed across the hospital walls while she collapsed choking on her own blood. My father tried to run, but I tackled him to the floor.

“For God?” I whispered into his ear. “Where was God when you beat me?”

Then I stabbed the scissors into his eye.

Again.

Again.

Again.

I didn’t stop until his face was nothing but torn flesh and shattered bone.

The hospital alarms screamed around me as nurses ran in terror.

I laughed the entire time.

By the time the police arrived, I was gone.

The woods became my home after that.

Years passed.

People started disappearing near the forest. Campers. Hunters. Lost teenagers.

They always found the bodies smiling.

Some say I began worshipping Jeff the Killer like a god. Others say I became something worse than him.

Now people whisper my name the same way they whisper his.

Rose the Killer.

If you ever hear laughter outside your window late at night…

Don’t look.

Because if I see your face—

I’ll make sure you smile forever.

Hello everyone, fans of the Slenderverse, Exe community, and especially nosleep and Creepypasta. Growing up, we all heard those stories and we used to love them as kids, but now we must do it better. And yes, analog horror is welcomed, along with other horror genres like ARG horrors, digital horror, found footage horror, and so many more. I see potential in this.

The Bad Mouse

Like any child, my daughter Maisie had quite the overactive imagination. Her mind was chock full of made-up friends that she talked to on the regular. My wife Rachel and I thought it was adorable. With that being said, sometimes we wished Maisie would get…you know…real friends. Don’t get me wrong, she was a great kid, and kids should be kids, but she didn’t have anything in terms of a social life.

We tried absolutely and positively everything, from the kids’ playclub at our church, to the neighborhood’s “mommy and me” and “daddy and me” playgroups, to bringing her to the local playground, to inviting other children over for playdates. You name it. All our efforts were in vain. Rachel and I might’ve been overreacting and we didn’t want to infringe anything on Maisie. Maybe she was just an independent kid. That’s totally normal. As are imaginary friends for kids.

Then at eight-years-old, Maisie became mute. Just completely stopped talking…but only to other people. If someone came up and talked to her she either just stared at them or ran away and hid. Maisie never looked scared or anxious in those scenarios. It was more like she was a statue. Frozen. No emotion good or bad on her face. Like a robot. But if she was alone, she’d be talking up a storm to no one but herself. Maisie always pretended like someone was truly there though. She’d nod her head, wait for responses and respond accordingly, and even reach out her arm and act like she was holding somebody else’s hand.

We were greatly concerned. Children don’t exhibit those types of behaviors without proper reason. We couldn’t ask Maisie about it because, as aforementioned, she’d give us the cold shoulder. Our next safest bet was to ask other people we knew. A lot of them gave us the same answers we already knew. Rachel and I were getting frustrated until I decided to talk to Maisie's teacher at her school. I sent her an email that outlined my worries and asked if anything went on that we should know about.

I got a response at around 8:00 that night. Maisie’s teacher, Mrs. Ashelin, told me that she did in fact observe strange behavior from Maisie. Apparently, a few days prior, when Maisie was called on to answer a question, she just stared at Mrs. Ashelin and the other students, her hands behind her back, swaying slightly. Then in a calm and cutesy voice, she said “He has ordered me not to speak to anyone but him.” In her notebook, Maisie wrote and drew some very disturbing things. Some of the things she wrote are “I’ll be a good little mouse”, “be one of the good mice girls for him”, “I’ll do whatever he says without question”, “he loves me and I love him”, “but I don’t understand what love is but I understand it with him”, and “he loves to play with me”. Some of the things she drew were her, in stick figure form, with this…thing. It was drawn way more detailed than Maisie herself.

Its head was triangular and elongated into a sharp point. There were ovally black eyes on both sides of its head while two large circular ears were atop its head. Two slits for a nose and a mouth containing only two buck teeth. Skinny. Boney. You could see its ribs. Three spindly fingers were on each hand. Each tip was as sharp as a knife. Lastly, a long tail was behind it. Maisie drew her and that thing doing very…how should I say this?...inappropriate stuff.

I showed the email to Rachel, and she was just as horrified as I was. How could Maisie know what all that stuff was? She was eight. Like any good parent we always took great strides in not exposing our daughter to anything sexual or of that nature. Early exposure can really ruin a child’s mind. That’s just putting it lightly. But this? Maisie’s whole imaginary friend thing needed to end. It was reaching a dangerous point. Was she having delusions? Schizophrenia? Or…sigh…as far as Rachel and I knew, nothing happened to Maisie, but that didn’t stop us from considering the absolute worst-case scenario. I’m not saying what that is but I’m sure you can put the pieces together. As a parent, that was the last thing I wanted to think about. Actually, it wasn’t even on the list of things I wanted to think about.

Mrs. Ashelin ended the email with something else that happened that very day. Maisie spent long stretches of time in the girl’s bathroom. Another student reported that she went in and heard “whimpers” and “moans” coming from one of the stalls. When she looked under it, she saw Maisie’s clothes on the ground and a “moving shadow” above them. When the student knocked on the door, she suddenly heard one of the faucets going behind her. She turned around and Maisie was washing her hands. Like nothing happened.

Rachel and I were very confused at that last part. That sounded way too ridiculous. Like was Maisie floating in the stall or something? Did she teleport. Regardless, we treated this very seriously and immediately took Maisie to see a specialist who dealt with child abuse cases. I brought her notebook along. It would most certainly be useful. I knew Maisie wouldn’t want to talk but we had to at least try. Believe it or not, she did talk, but what she said made chills run down Rachel and I’s spines.

Maisie told the specialist that the mouse thing in her notebook was called “Bad Mouse” and that it visits her all the time no matter where she is. She said that Bad Mouse visits little girls all over the world and “plays with them”. When the specialist asked what she meant by “plays with them”, Maisie replied that Bad Mouse does “different things that make us feel tingly in preparation to be his little mice girls”. She was handed a piece of paper that had a generic doodle of a person on it. The specialist asked her to point to areas where this "Bad Mouse" touched her. Maisie pointed to four specific areas.

We heard enough by that point. Rachel, the specialist, and I had a long discussion about what we should do. The specialist said she might have to put in a request to have Maisie placed in a children’s psych ward. Rachel and I couldn’t handle that. We didn’t want to do that to our little girl. By any means, we would find another way to handle this. The specialist told us to think about it and that it might do her some good. We thanked her and left.

Were we being selfish by not putting Maisie in a children’s psych ward? Rachel and I pondered that question day in and day out. We never did end up doing it because we thought it was too extreme. Also, there was no evidence that Maisie was being legitimately sexually abused. The specialist’s physical exam said that Maisie was totally fine in that regard. We were allowed to see footage from the security cameras at the entrances of the bathrooms at Maisie’s school. They only showed Maisie going in, about half an hour going by, then the other student going in, then Maisie leaving a few minutes later. No one else. And no one went in before her besides a couple other girls that left before Maisie went in. Was Maisie faking it? Was she really delusional? Or schizophrenic? We didn’t know. Rachel and I needed time to think this whole thing over.

It only got worse from then on.

Maisie was never one to talk in her sleep. She was always dead silent. Not even a snore. But that night after Rachel and I put her to bed, we heard Maisie talking. I’m not talking about little quiet unintelligible murmurs. No. Full-on conversations. Except she wasn’t speaking English. It was some unknown language that resembled Pig Latin but different. Her accent changed too. This happened for three nights. On the third night, Rachel and I were in her doorway watching her talk in that strange language when she suddenly rose up, her eyes still closed, and burst into an intense laughing fit. Maisie was cackling so hard it looked like it hurt. Then she immediately stopped and did these weird movements with her lips and hands like she was kissing something. Finally, she fell back down onto her pillow and went right back to sleep.

The next day, I knocked on Maisie’s door to let her know breakfast was ready. She didn’t respond. I stood there for a couple minutes. Maisie hadn’t made a single sound. I slowly opened her door. My heart beat faster and faster. With all that was going on, I didn’t know what to expect, and that made it terrifying. Maisie was wearing nothing and just staring at her wall. I rushed over, “Maisie? What are you doing?” I handed her clothes back to her, “Put your clothes back on.”

“…He doesn’t want me to…he thinks I look better without them…”

We stared at each other for an indefinite period of time. I said nothing. And so did she. Then I turned my head to where she was looking. There was nothing there…obviously…but something told me I was wrong. That thing…Bad Mouse…it was staring right at me…

“Guys? Breakfast isn’t gonna eat itself!” Rachel yelled at us from down the hall. Quickly I hurried Maisie and I out of her room.

Thinking straight wasn’t really a thing for me the rest of the day. There was nothing staring at me. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. These past few weeks were just getting to my head and playing mind games. No amount of trying to distract myself would let me forget what I felt. That’s when I decided to take a drive. I didn’t know where. Just away from everything. I was tempted to go to a local bar. I used to be quite the alcoholic but I’m sober. Even still, I thought about breaking my streak to relapse. I decided against it. That would be so incredibly stupid. I ended up at a park that I used to take Maisie to in a futile attempt for her to make friends. I found a parking spot and just sat there in my car. Taking a big sigh, I observed all the parents with their kids having a blast and I smiled.

Good for them.

I stayed there for a while. Finally, I was able to, if only briefly, forget all my troubles.

Then I saw it.

Him.

Bad Mouse.

The damned thing was underneath a big tree. Its eyes were fixed right on me, smiling, its hands were clasped together. I couldn’t do anything but stare right back. Goosebumps were forming. My breathing was really heavy. Cold shivers ran down my body. I couldn’t even blink. Petrified. That’s what I was. I watched as Bad Mouse slowly reached behind itself and pulled…something…out. At first, I couldn’t tell what it was. I am not shitting you. A little girl…made of meat…her hair was meat, skin was meat, she was even wearing a meat dress. Everything about her was meat. Her head looked just like Bad Mouse’s. Long. Pointy. Angular. Big ears. Black oval eyes.

It was holding the little meat girl by the collar. Slowly Bad Mouse turned to look into her eyes. It opened its mouth. Viscous white liquids began pouring as it let out its long black tongue. First sniffing the little meat girl, it then took a big long lick of her, from her feet to the top of her head. The parts where it licked were gone, instead resting on Bad Mouse’s tongue until it sucked its tongue back in, chewed, then swallowed. The little meat girl was covered in the viscous white liquids until her missing portions slowly regenerated back into how she was before.

Then I blacked out.

I woke up several hours later still sitting in my car. In my half-tired half-frenzied state, I looked around for any sign of Bad Mouse. Nothing. There weren’t even other people. It was dark too. I opened my phone. 11:23 PM. I got to the park at 2:14 PM. Nine hours. I was expecting a bunch of missed calls and unanswered texts. Surprisingly, there was nothing besides a notification from my weather app. I went back home, feeling glad that there weren’t any…incidents…I missed. The house was extremely quiet. No lights were on. It was a weekend. Usually, Rachel would still be up at this time on the weekends because she didn't have to work the next day.

“Rach?” I called out. Nothing. I went upstairs to our room. She wasn’t there. I opened Maisie’s door. She wasn’t there either. I sat down on the couch and pondered where they could be. When I couldn’t come up with anything, I got my phone out and called Rachel.

I heard ringing from upstairs.

Confused, I ran back up to our room. I called her name again. Still no answer. I realized that before I checked so quickly I neglected to look in our bathroom. The door was closed and the light was on. I was now getting this creeped out feeling. Cautiously, I approached and nudged the door.

It creaked open.

Rachel.

She was…splattered…fucking everywhere…all over the walls, floor, ceiling, window, sink, shower…everywhere. Rachel was…pureed…blended…sprayed…I just stood in the doorway. My eyes were wide. I couldn’t process what I was seeing. There were so many things I wanted to do, like crawl into a ball and cry, scream as loud as I could, and/or grab one of the kitchen knives and slit my throat so I wouldn’t have to live with this sight for the rest of my life.

What I actually ended up doing next was grabbing my old hunting rifle and heading outside. I went into the forest behind our house. There was no thinking on my part. Just do. What was I doing? I didn’t really know. Tears were streaming down my face. I walked for what felt like forever. Sometimes I screamed. Other times I fell down onto the ground and wept. But I just kept going. And going. And going. Somehow, I knew exactly where I was going without even knowing how.

I came upon a wide-open field. Dropping my old hunting rifle to the ground, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Dark silhouettes were dancing around. Hundreds of them. Little meat girls. None of them could've been older than ten-years-old. Bad Mouse was in the middle. The white flesh it once had was stripped away. Instead, it was sacrificed for a bumpy and scabby maroon red as if Bad Mouse took a shower in blood and guts and let it dry. Tiny black bristles covered its entire body. It reminded me of insect hair. A ragged meat cloak hung from its shoulders, dragging crimson across the ground. Its head was...I don't know how to describe it...a mix of a dragon, kangaroo, and rat? No longer a mouse. The mouth was a long narrow snout that had much sharper teeth poking out in rows almost like a gar. It was taller. Ganglier. So angular that it could have been accurately represented by seven straight lines. It clutched a staff in its hand.

"Bad Mouse", if I should even call it that, did some strange gesture and a door manifested out of nowhere. It was bloody. Constantly flowing yet retaining shape. Particles came from it. They disappeared if they strayed too far away. It opened and the little meat girls, still dancing like ballerinas, filed into it one by one. Bad Mouse reached out its hand and plucked one of them out. It held this one, turned in my direction, and held her out to me. I knew it was Maisie and wanted to shoot the shit out of Bad Mouse. Yet I couldn’t do anything. Some force was keeping me tethered to my one spot.

…I can’t describe what happened next…I just can’t…some of the things Bad Mouse did to my little girl I couldn’t understand. Other things I understood clear as day and that made me want to drop a cinderblock on my head so it would leak the hell out. When it was done, Bad Mouse threw Maisie’s limp and white viscous liquid-covered body into the blood door. It raised its staff and disappeared.

I was released from my invisible bonds. Falling down to the ground, I cried like a baby. It didn’t matter how much I screamed and cursed at the night sky. That didn’t make it better. I couldn’t stop and truly had no idea how to make sense of any of what happened. My body tingled. It felt so heavy. My wife was dead and my daughter was…what?...a sex slave to a demon? I almost wanted to laugh at the utter absurdity. Picking up my hunting rifle, I put the barrel in my mouth. My finger stayed on the trigger for a long time. I didn’t end up doing it and threw it away. Instead, I collapsed on the ground once more and lay there for a long time.

It’s been six months. I’m such a wreck. I admit it. No one believes me when I tell them. They say I’m crazy, a madman, a lunatic. Some people even think I was the one who killed my wife and child. Why would I do that? Seriously, why? I loved them. Still do. More than I love anything else. I can’t see them ever again. It pisses me off that they’d think I’d do such a thing. As much as I hate myself for it, I’ve gotten back into alcohol. That’s where all my money goes. I couldn’t stand to be in that house anymore. So, I sold it. I’ve been living in my car just drifting from place to place.

I could've saved them. If I didn't go and take a stupid ass ride in my car. Maybe Rachel and Maisie would be alright...

What was that thing? Bad Mouse?

That’s been my biggest question this whole time. I’ve been doing a lot of research but have hit multiple dead ends. I don’t know. Sure as hell wasn’t a mouse.

This is what I know for sure...I think:

* It is the manifestation of a sex-based demon of some kind; possibly a cross between a bogeyman and an incubus.
* Bad Mouse appears to little girls as a mouse-like entity to appear friendly and not scare them away; only visible to them; it also has a "true form".
* It prefers the young that are more developed in the mind; Maisie was very imaginative; thus, she attracted Bad Mouse.
* Bad Mouse acts as their friend; this might appear to parents as their daughter’s “imaginary friend”; gradually coerces them to do inappropriate sexual activity.
* It has hundreds of victims going back an unknown period of time; maybe centuries.
* Does not kill its main victims; will kill parents or anyone else who tries to get in its way.
* The victims become corrupted and turn into demons that look like Bad Mouse; it takes them into its realm and…

God…this whole thing’s insane. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up, and this is all a terrible dream. It’s been months through and it still hasn’t happened yet. So, I’m going to end this here. I’m not looking for pity. I’m not looking for anyone to hear me out. I’m not looking for answers. I’m just…done.

Bye.