Chapter Text
CHAPTER ONE
TW: NON-GRAPHIC MURDER, MENTIONS OF CHILD ABUSE, BLOOD, ATTEMPTED MURDER
According to Slender Man the Dursleys of Number Four Privet Drive were disturbing the balance. Jeffery Woods, better known as Jeff the Killer, thought that the only thing they were disturbing was his stomach with how painfully boring they were. Not even putting them to sleep had brought any sort of excitement to Jeff, that's how boring they were.
A picture perfect family. A two faced bitch of a housewife, a describes-himself-as-conservative-but-is-actually-just-racist husband and a spoiled nine year old brat all living in a house straight from a Home Depot advertisement. Didn't even scream pretty, just whimpered and attempted to threaten him.
"I'm calling the police!" Vernon Dursley had shouted. The only thing he'd ended up calling was a pig with the way he squealed as Jeff carved his face open.
Jeff chuckled at the thought as he made his way down the stairs.
"Thanks for that."
Jeff's head shot up to locate who had spoken but the hallway was empty.
"What the fuck? Toby better not have slipped shit into my food again," Jeff muttered, eyes flicking for any place the voice could've come from. His eyes settled on the cupboard beneath the staircase. No cupboard needed six deadbolt locks.
Jeff's eyes lit up. Perhaps there was something interesting to the Dursleys after all.
Jeff knocked on the cupboard door. "Hello, anyone in there?" He sang.
"Open the door and maybe you'll see," the same voice answered.
"Do you perhaps know where the key is?" Jeff asked.
The voice took a moment to answer. "On the fridge with the other keys, I believe. It's the one with the blue tag that says 'Freak'."
Jeff hummed, moving toward the kitchen, then called over his shoulder toward the voice. "Why does it say 'freak'?"
"Because that's my name," the voice responded simply.
Jeff nearly fell off the chair he had been standing on to reach on top of the fridge - 'fucking polish over-using bastards', Jeff thought to himself as he regained his footing. "Your name is Freak then?"
"Well it used to be something else, but I'm afraid I've forgotten what it is. Freak is what they called me since I arrived on their doorstep so I supposed it was as good a name as any. It was either that or 'Boy', and I'm sure you can understand why I chose not to go with that one."
"How long have you been with them?" Jeff asked as he looked through the bundle of keys - with the blue tag - for the first lock.
"It's hard to say, keeping track of time is rather difficult in a cupboard. And when I'm let out, I'm usually too busy with chores to check the date. But if I had to guess I'd say about eight or nine years."
"That sucks," Jeff commented eloquently as he moved onto unlocking the third lock.
Freak snorted. "You're telling me."
"If it's any conciliation," Jeff started, "you won't have to live with the trauma."
The fourth lock opened with a click.
"Oh," said Freak, "and why's that?"
The fifth lock was unlocked.
"Because," said Jeff jamming the key in the final lock, "you'll be asleep."
The cupboard door swung open and Jeff brought his knife - which had been resting on his lap as he had been unlocking the door - down.
Freak didn't even have time to scream. A knife was plunged into his chest and a graphic squelch was heard as the blood spattered onto Jeff's pale skin and the cupboard walls.
By all accounts that should have been it. Jeff had stabbed where he knew the heart was located and from numerous experiments he knew that the person would be at the very least unconconcious in seconds and completely brain dead within three minutes.
"Well that was rude."
If Jeff had eyelids he would've blinked in confusion, instead he could only stare as a small hand moved to remove the knife that penetrated its owner's chest. Jeff let go of the knife in shock, allowing Freak to remove the weapon.
"You're alive," Jeff muttered astutely.
Freak hummed. "If you don't take your knife back, it becomes mine," he told Jeff.
Jeff took the knife offered to him numbly and for the first time took a good look at his would-be victim.
If he had to guess he'd say the boy was around eight or nine years old but his face looked older with the bags beneath his eyes and with how gaunt his face was. Large clothes hung off his skeletal frame and bruises of green, blue and purple were painted along his skin. A clear victim of abuse if he'd ever seen one.
And he had just lived through a stab to the heart as if it were a poke from a stick.
"How are you not dead?" Jeff rasped, staring the gaping wound in the boy's chest.
Freak shrugged, the action making the wound stretch to look like a mouth opening. "Would main character energy be an acceptable answer to you?"
"Main character energy?" Jeff repeated hollowly.
Freak titled his head back and smiled. "Yes. It's part of the reason you should leave now."
And the boy was right. Red and blue illuminated the hallway as police cars started to pull up in front of the house. If Jeff didn't leave now he would have to deal with cops and he was not letting Toby or BEN hold that over his head again.
He stood and ran toward the back door and away from law enforcement and the boy who had named himself Freak.
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Constable Lennox Morse had been an apart of the police force for six years. In fact, that day had been the anniversary for when he had first joined the force. In those six years he had seen quite bit. From petty thievery to first degree murder (of course these cases were taken to the higher ups), he liked to think there was little that surprised him anymore.
The job he had been given - ten minutes before his shift was supposed to end, fuck you Captain Barker - proved him wrong.
Number Four Privet Drive was just like any other house on the street. This being awfully plain and somewhat of an eyesore with the excessive use of white paint throughout the houses lined along the road.
To be quite honest, upon seeing the house Constable Morse had guessed that the neighbour that had called in the noise disturbance would consider even the slightest volume raise to a television a noise disturbance. Therefore he concluded the interaction that would follow would be nothing more than a conversation with a miffed housewife who would insist their house never caused any 'disturbances' and claim he would be better off to investigate the neighbours who had complained. All in all, an easy job and he would hopefully be off duty only ten minutes after his shift had meant to end.
He walked toward the plain door that had a polished bronze four mounted on it and with an eye roll that he shared with his partner, Constable Leah Grays, he gave three heavy knocks.
There was no movement for a long moment before a noise that could be compared to a stumbling foal on hardwood floors was heard on the other side. As the door swung open, he opened his mouth to start an introduction but the words died in his throat upon seeing who had opened the door.
Constable Grays gasped and Constable Morse could only stare in shock. A boy, small and bruised and covered in blood, stood staring at them with bleary eyes.
"Help," the boy rasped, holding onto the door handle as if it were keeping him up and, seeing the wound in his chest, Constable Morse supposed it was.
The plea that spilled from the boy's lips seemed to spur Constable Grays into action.
"I need EMTs to Four Privet Drive immediately, stand by on armed response. EMTs to Four Privet Drive immediately."
Constable Morse dropped the boy's level. "Hey buddy, help is on its way," he told the boy softly. "Could you tell me where you're parents or guardians are?"
The boy's lower lip trembled. "My aunt and uncle and-and my cousin, they're upstairs. They're dead. That man killed them. He found me in my cupboard and tried to kill me too." The boy said hyperventilating slightly and Constable Morse noted the way his wound would gape open and closed as his chest rose and fell, it was a wonder the boy was still breathing let alone standing and talking.
"You're safe now. Help is here. You'll be okay," Constable Morse told him. His mind caught up with what the boy had said. "What do you mean cupboard, bud?"
"My-my cupboard. The one I'm kept in until Aunt Petunia lets me out," the boy told him.
It was then that Constable Morse concluded that the bruises on the boy's body weren't only from the man that had attacked him.
"What's your name, buddy?" Constable Morse asked, putting a pin on that thought for the time being.
The boy hesitated. "Freak."
And from there it was a blur.
The EMTs arrived and 'Freak' was loaded into an ambulance and zoomed off to the nearest emergency room. Constable Grays led the Detective Chief Inspector upstairs where she had found the victims while Constable Morse had been talking to 'Freak'. The coroner arrived and the constables present were put in charge of keeping nosy neighbors away from the scene.
Later, through examinations of the bodies and from Harry' - which was what Freak's real name was found to be - statement, it was concluded that it was the work of notorious serial killer Jeff the Killer.
It was declared a medical miracle that Harry had lived through his attack, especially considering he had serious abuse injuries and was malnourished during the time. Further statements from Harry and neighbours led to the discovery of the Dursleys' abuse.
All in all, the male line of the Dursley bloodline had come to an end, Harry was placed in the care of Marjorie Dursley, sister of Vernon Dursley, and Constable Morse did not celebrate his recruitment into the force that night.
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