Remember how I said I wasn't going to be Riffing "Ticci Toby"? Well, I found the story on the Spinpasta Wiki, and decided to Riff it. So, without further ado, let's Riff this.
The long road home seemed to go on and on. I hope the road isn’t a metaphor for this story. The road continued to outstretch in front of the vehicle endlessly.
The light that shone through the branches of the tall green trees danced across the window in random patterns, every once in a while, obnoxiously shining in your eyes. “This lead to multiple car crashes.” The surrounding was full of deep green trees forming a forest around the road. Yeah, this forest is going to get torn down to make way for a strip mall. The only sound was the sound of the cars engine as it traveled down the path. It was peaceful and let off a serene feeling.
Although the ride seemed like a nice one, it lacked every form of ‘nice’ for both passengers. “They both hated each other, and were stuck together due to wacky twists of fate.” The middle-aged woman behind the steering wheel had neat short brown hair that fit her complexion quite well. She wore a green v-neck t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Diamond stud earrings decorated each of her ears which partially showed from behind her hair cut. She had deep green eyes which were brought out by her shirt, and the lighting seemed to make them more noticeable. Everything here is so green. There wasn't much significance to her appearance. She just looked like any ‘average mother’ that you’d see on TV shows and such, but one thing for sure made her differ from those ‘average mothers’ and that was the dark bags under her eyes. Have you not met mothers?
Her facial expression was gloomy and sad, although she genuinely looked like one who smiled a lot. “Of course, the reason she smiled was because she was pulling the wings off of butterflies.”
She would sniffle every once in a while, and occasionally glance back in the rear-view mirror to look back at her son in the back seat, who was hunched over partially, his arms held tight around his chest, and his head pressed against the cold window.
The boy lacked any normal appearance, anyone could blandly see “Blandly see?” Yes, I see so blandly, it’s kind of boring. that something was wrong with him. His messy brown hair went in every which way, and his pale, almost gray skin was brought out by luminescent lighting. Hey, don’t hate on him. He just sits inside and plays video games all day. Nothing wrong with that. His eyes where dark, unlike his mother’s and he wore a white t-shirt and scrub pants that had been provided to him by the hospital. Well, that was nice of the hospital. The clothes he had worn before where so shredded and blood stained, that they weren't ‘wearable’ any more. “He had been playing ‘Knife Twister’.” The right side of his face bared a few cuts along with his split eyebrow. His right arm was bandaged up all the way up to his shoulder, which had been shredded when his right side had hit the shattered glass. That must’ve been a pain the glass. Yeah, sorry.
His injuries appeared to be painful, when really he couldn't feel a thing. He never could feel a thing. “Except an urge to become the greatest interpretive dancer the world had ever seen.” That was just one of the glories about being him. IT’S SO GLORIOUS TO BE TOBY! One of the many challenges he had to face growing up, was growing up with the rare disease that caused him to be completely numb towards pain. Novacainism? Never before had he felt himself get hurt. He could have lost an arm and felt nothing. Well, he wouldn’t have felt anything from that arm, at least. That and another major disorder he had faced, was the one that deemed him many insulting nick names in the short time he attended grade school, before he was moved to home schooling was his Tourette Syndrome, which caused him to tic and twitch in ways he couldn't control. Ok, am I the only one who has that South Park episode in their head? You know, the one where Cartman pretends to have Tourettes? You know what, Cartman should be the voice of every Creepypasta character. That would be perfect. He would crack his neck uncontrollably and twitch every once in a while. The kids would tease him and call him Ticci-Toby and mock him with exaggerated twitching and laughing. And, of course, the teachers did nothing about it. It got so bad he turned to homeschooling. It was too hard for him to be in a common learning environment with seemingly every kid poking, or more like stabbing fun at him. Then why don’t you stab them?
Toby stared blankly out the window, his face was empty of any depict-able emotion, and every few minutes his shoulder, arm, or foot would twitch. “Son of a twitch!” he yelled. Every bump that the car tires hit, made him stomach turn.
Toby Rogers was the boy’s name. Mr. Rogers procreated? I guess there was more going on in the neighborhood than I thought. And the last time Toby remembered riding a car, was when it crashed. That’s got to be awkward when driving around.
That's all he thought about. “That, and why they were in a forest. Wasn’t their house the other way?” Unconsciously replaying everything he had remembered before he blacked out, over and over again. LET’S DO THE TIME WARP AGAAAAAAAAAIN!
Toby had been the lucky one, when his sister hadn't been so lucky. When the thought of his older sister came, he couldn't help but let his eyes begin to tear up. The horrible memories replayed in his mind. Her screaming that had been cut off when the front of the car was smashed in. It all went blank for a moment before Toby ope ned his eyes to see his sister’s body, her forehead pierced with glass shards, her hips and legs where crushed under the force of the steering wheel, her torso pushed in from the late inflated air bag. This was the last thing he had seen of his dear older sister. Um, can I make a joke here? Um…yeah…moving on…
The road home continued on for what seemed like forever. It took so long to get home due to his mother wanting to avoid passing the sight of the crash. Are there no other routes outside of car crash area and the wilderness?
When the surrounding gave into a familiar neighborhood, they had both been more then ready to get out of the car and step back into their own home. Ah, home sweet home. And considering this a Creepypasta with a young protagonist, it’s probably going have an abusive parent or two.
It was a older neighborhood, with quaint little houses all next to each other. The car drove in front of a little blue house, with white window panes. So they live in a neighborhood from the 50s?
They both quickly noticed the old vehicle that was parked in front of the house, and the familiar figure who stood out in the drive way. Slender Man? No, wait, that’s later in the story. Toby felt automatic anger and frustration take over him at the sight of his father. His father who wasn't there. Wait, he’s angry at the sight of his father, but his father isn’t there? I’m confused.
His mother pulled the car up into the driveway beside him before turning off the engine and preparing to step out and face her husband.
“Why is he here?” Toby said quietly as he looked back at his mother who reached to open the car door. “Because he wouldn’t leave me alone. He’s rather annoying like that. If you ever go batshit insane, you should totally kill him.”
“He’s your father Toby, he’s here because he wants to see you,” His mother responded with a monotone voice, trying to sound less shaky.
“Yet he couldn't have driven up to the hospital to see Lyra before she died,” Toby narrowed his eyes out the window. So, this is number three on the “Weird names from Creepypasta stories that start with ‘L’”. We got Liu, Lonnie, and now Lyra.
“He was drunk that night honey, he couldn't drive-” Why not call a cab or something? “Yeah when is he not,” Toby pushed open the door before his mother and stumbled out onto the driveway where he met his father’s gaze before looking down at his feet with a stern expression. Wait, his father is Tony Stark?
His mother stepped out behind him and met her husbands eyes before walking around the car. His father opened up his arms, expecting a hug from his wife, but she walked passed him and put her arm around Toby’s shoulder and influenced him to begin walking inside. Rejected! “Connie,” her husband began to say under a raspy voice, “What no welcome home hug huh?”
“No, and no welcome home fuck either.”
She ignored her husbands obnoxious words and walked passed him with her son under her arm. Other obnoxious words he says: fasbender, egregious, rectal exam. He’s weird when he’s drunk.
“Hey, He’s 16 he can walk by himself,” his father began to follow them in. 16 AND LIFE KEEPS COMING!
“He’s 17,” Connie glared back at him before opening the door to the house and stepping inside.
“Actually, I’m 25.”
“Shut up, Toby.”
“Toby, why don’t we get you in your room to rest okay? I’ll come get you when dinner is ready-”
“No, I’m 16 I can walk by myself,” Toby said sarcastically, and glared back at his father before stumbling up the small stair case and turning into his room where he slammed the door violently. “Also, your cooking sucks!”
His little room didn't have much in it. “Just the heads of his enemies. They make good decorations.” Just a small bed, a dresser, a window, and his walls had a few framed pictures of his family, back when they where a family. Before his father became an alcoholic, and acted violently towards the rest of his family. Before his father became Tony Stark and started rounding up unregistered superheroes. Toby remembered when he was arguing with his mother and he grabbed her by the hair and shoved her to the floor, and when Lyra had tried to break it up, he pushed her and she hit her back on the corner of the kitchen counter. Oh, ouch. Toby could never forgive him for what he did to his mother and sister. Never. Has anyone called the police on his father? Have they tried kidnapping him and sending him to AA? Toby didn't care how much his father beat him down, he couldn't feel it anyway, what he did care about was how he intentionally hurt the only two people he cared about. Shaq and Bob Marley? And when he waiting in the hospital, where his sister took her last few breaths, the only person who didn't rush there, was his dad. Well, he was drunk, and didn’t think to take a cab, or ask for anyone to drive him there, or…
Toby stood by the window and looked out onto the street. He could have sworn he saw things out of the corner of his eye, but quickly blamed it on the medication he had been put on. Side effects include hallucination, violent tendencies, minor spelling and grammar errors, and the embracing of an insulting nickname. Consult with your Operator to see if Proxicen is right for you. When dinner time had come around and his mother called up to him, Toby came down the stairs and hesitantly sat down at the table across from his father, and in between his mother and an empty chair. The real reason he didn’t want to be there is because his mother was serving broccoli.
It was quiet as his parents picked at their food, but Toby refused to eat. Instead he just watched his dad with a blank stare. “I’ll make you uncomfortable, if it’s the last thing I do!”
His mother caught onto his stare towards his father and elbowed him slightly. Toby looked over at her slightly and look down at his uneaten food, in which he didn't touch. “Instead, he stared blankly at that too.”
Toby laid in bed, he pulled his covers over his head and stared at the window. Oh, that was random. A transition might have been nice. He was tired but there was no way he would fall asleep. “Jeff the Killer could bite him.” He couldn't, there was too much to think about. He had been debating on whether or not to follow his mothers directions and forgive his father, or continue holding a grudge with his boiling hatred. “On the one hand, there’s forgiving him and moving forward. On the other, there’s holding a lifelong grudge that will consume me until I go insane or die. Yep, totally going with grudge.”
He heard his door creak open, and his mother padded into the room and sat on the bed next to him. “Honey, Clockwork won’t be the only story with incest.” She reached over and rubbed his back, which had been turned to her. “I know its hard Toby, trust me, I understand, but I promise you it will get better” she said softly.
“When is he going to leave?” Toby said with a innocent tone in his shaky voice.
“When we banish him back to the 6th Dimension. That might take a while though.”
Connie let her gaze fall down to her feet. “I don’t know honey, he's staying as far as I know,” she replied. Couldn’t you get a restraining order or something?
Toby didn't respond. He just continued to look forward at the wall, holding his damaged arm near his chest.
After a few minutes of silence, his mother sighed, before she leaned in to kiss his cheek and stood up to walk out of the room. “Good night,” she said as she closed the door. The hours passed slowly, and Toby couldn't quit tossing and turning. I TOSS AND TURN, I CAN’T SLEEP AT NIGHT! I USED TO RUN TO YOU. NOW I RUN FROM YOU. THIS TAINTED LOVE YOU’VE GIVEN, I GAVE YOU ALL A BOY COULD GIVE YOU. Every time he let his imagination take over, he heard the screeching of tires, the screaming of his sister, and he could uncontrollably jerk in bed. Well, the jerking is from the Tourette’s, which has not really been mentioned at all since the beginning of the story. He threw off his covers, laying on his back, he pulled his pillow over his face and cried into it. He could feel his chest rise and fall as he let out each shaky breathe as he cried. He could hear his own pitiful weeping. He would have been screaming and crying if he didn't press his pillow over his face. “However, putting the pillow on his face had the unintended effect of smothering himself.”
After a few seconds he threw the pillow off his face as well and sat up, hunched over, holding his head and breathing roughly, tears streaming from his eyes. He couldn't help but cry. He tried to keep it in, but he couldn't help but whine and whimper as he sat there shaking. He inhaled before he stood up and walked around his bed to the window and peered out, taking deep breathes trying to calm down. He rubbed his eyes and looked out at the group of tall pine trees across the street. “There he saw a flash mob.”
He stopped suddenly, and his gaze slowly centered on something standing under the street light. He heard ringing in his ears and he couldn't look away. The figure stood beside the street light, about 2 feet shorter then it, long arms draped at it’s sides as it stared up at him with non-existing eyes. That is probably the dumbest description of Slender Man’s face I have ever read. The figure had no features what-so-ever. Except for, you know, the suit. No eyes, no mouth, no nose, yet it held Toby’s hypnotized stare, seemingly peering into his very being. Slender Man watches you at night, Toby. He knows what you do in the dark. He sees you masturbating. The ringing in his ears grew louder and louder each second he stared before suddenly it all went black.
The next morning Toby woke in his bed. He felt different. I thought he couldn’t feel anything. He wasn't tired at all, and when he consciously woke up, it felt like he had been lying there, awake for hours. He had no thoughts flowing through his mind. “A slight breeze went through one ear, and out the other.” He sat up slowly and stumbled over to the wall, but when he stood up he automatically felt dizzy. So he can feel nothing except for different and dizzy? He stumbled to the doorway and walked down the stairs. His parents where sitting at the table, his father was in-tuned with the small TV that sat on the counter top, and his mother reading the newspaper.
“Damn this Kenyan-Muslim-Satanic-Communist-Terrorist President. We need better presidents, like Ronald Regan! Yes sir, he was the reincarnation of Jesus, and did everything right! ‘MURICA!” Toby’s father said.
“Oh, don’t mind him, Toby. He’s just been watching FOX News.”
She quickly looked over when she felt Toby’s presence looming behind her.
“Well, good morning sleepy head, you’ve been sleeping forever,” She greeted him with hesitated smile. “Seriously, we had to get a prince to grope you while you sleep to get you to wake up.”
Toby slowly looked over at the clock and noticed that it was 12:30 p.m.
“I made you breakfast but it got cold, I was going to wake you, but I felt you needed sleep,” her expression fell from happy to worried as her son resisted responding to her. “Are you alright?”
“I don’t know. I don’t feel…anything.”
Toby stumbled over and sat by his father. He felt as if he was on idle, and had no control over his actions. “Or at least that’s what he said at the trial after he killed his father.” He was seeing everything he did, but it didn’t seem to register in his brain properly. He reached out to to his fathers arm, but his hand ended up getting slapped. His father turned to him abruptly and pushed his chair over with his foot. That’s a dick thing to do.
“Don’t touch me boy!” He yelled. Ok, either he’s telling someone not to touch his kid while he speaks in a Scottish accent, or he’s telling his kid not to touch him. I personally prefer the first one, but that’s just me.
His mother stood up, “Alright knock that off! I wouldn’t say that, Toby’s father might take that too literally. That is the last thing we need!” The days went by, and things continued on as they where. That was an abrupt change. It went from, “Stop abusing the kid” to “things continued on as they where.” (By the way, “as they where”? Come on.) Connie spent most of her time cleaning up the house, and her rude husband spent most of his time ordering her around. “But all of that would change when Connie was bitten by a radioactive spider.” It was just how it used to be before the crash. So nothing changed except for the loss of a kid?
Toby never really left his room. I do the same thing. He would sit by his bed, and tremble. TREMBLE, MORTAL, BEFORE THE GREAT FOUR WALLS! KNEEL AT THE DÉCOR! His mind would wonder, but his thoughts changed too fast to be remembered. He would pace around his small room like a caged animal, or stare out the window. The unhealthy cycle continued.
Connie continued to be pushed around by her husband, being way too submissive to him So she’s not a dominatrix, I’m guessing, and Toby remained in his room.
Before he could think twice, he would begin to chew on his hands, tearing the flesh from his fingers. Compulsory cannibalism is a thing, apparently. He would gnaw his hands until they bled. When his mother walked in on him while he was doing so, she reacted horribly. “Young man, stop chewing on your hands this instant!” She rushed him downstairs and grabbed the first aid, wrapping his hands in it. She demanded that he wouldn’t leave her side from then. “And that’s how Toby became a mama’s boy.”
He isolated himself so much that he grew to hate being around others. I feel you, man. His memory grew glitchy as well. He’d start missing memory of minutes, hours, days, and so on. Apparently he has Alzheimer’s too. He would begin talking nonsense, about things completely unrelated to conversations he would have. “I need scissors! 61” He’d go off about seeing things, sharks in his sink as he washed the dishes, hearing crickets in his pillows, and seeing ghosts outside his bedroom window. That’s got to be annoying. Wait, twitching a lot, hallucinating about bugs…is Toby a meth addict? All the nonsense landed him in a counselors office. His mother grew too anxious about his mental health, she decided it would be good for him to talk to a professional about what he was feeling. Well, he can’t feel anything.
Connie walked Toby into the building, holding his hand and guiding him in. She walked him up to the front desk and began talking to the lady who sat behind it.
“Mrs. Rogers?” The lady asked.
“Yes that’s me,” Connie nodded, “We’re here to see doctor Oliver, I’m here with Toby Rogers” “Oh, good, you have the virgin sacrifice. Right this way. Cthulu will be very pleased with you.”
“Yes, right this way,” The lady stood up and lead them down a long hallway. Toby looked at the framed artwork down the halls and tuned in to the sound of the lady’s high heels on the hard wood floor. The artwork is from Rob Liefeld, by the way. Talk about inappropriate décor. She opened the door to a room with a table and two chairs. “If we can get him to sit in here for a few minutes, I’ll get the doctor, “Matt Smith, your 10 o’clock is here!”" She smiled and held the door open. Toby stumbled into the room and sat down at the table. He looked over at his mother and the lady before the door slowly shut behind them. He looked around the room before he held up his tightly bandaged hands and began to bite at the bandages to unwrap his hands, but was interrupted as the door swung open and a young woman in a black and white spotted dress and light blonde hair stepped in, holding a clip board and a pen. “Crap, can’t be a cannibal in front of the hot chick,” he thought. “Toby?” she asked with a smile.
Toby looked up at her and nodded. He didn’t mean to nod; it was just a twitch.
“Nice to meet you Toby, my name is Doctor Oliver.” she put her hand out for him to shake but hesitantly pulled away when she noticed his bandaged hands.
“Oh, “This is awkward.”" she smiled nervously before clearing her throat and sitting in the chair across the table from him.
“So I’m going to ask you a few questions, try to answer then as honestly as possible okay?” she placed her clip board down on the table. “First, are you a bad enough dude to save the president?” Toby nodded slowly and held his restrained hands in his lap.
“How old are you Toby?”
“Old enough to have a good time with you.”
“17” he responded quietly.
She wrote that down on the paper that was clipped to the clipboard.
“What is your full name?” “Fluffy, the Destroyer of Worlds, Jr.”
“Toby Erin Rogers.”
“What is your birthday?”
“June 6, 1966.” “April 28th” “Who is your immediate family?” Toby paused for a minute before answering her question, “My Mom, My Dad, and…” he stopped, “M-my sister. “Well, not my sister anymore.”"
“I heard about your sister dear… I’m really sorry,” her expression faded into a sad, pity-filled look.
“Do you remember anything from the crash Toby?” Toby looked away from her. His mind went blank for a moment. He looked down at his lap, and in the surrounding, he heard a faint ringing sound. “His Tinnitus was acting up again.” His eyes widened and he froze in his place.
“Toby?” the counselor asked.
“Toby are you listening?”
Toby felt a shiver go down his spine until he froze once again and slowly looked over out the little window through the door, where he saw it. A dark feature-less figure, peering in at him. “Yoooooo, Toby, wassup?” Slender Man yelled. He stared, eyes widened, the ringing growing louder and louder until suddenly the loud voice of the counselor broke his trance.
“Toby!” She yelled.
Toby jumped and fell sideways out of his chair and back up into the corner. Doctor Oliver stood up, holding her clipboard to her chest. A surprised look in her eyes. Toby met her eyes again, his breath hitching as he twitched. Oh, there’s the mention of his twitching. It took quite a while.
That night Toby laid in bed. His eyes dazed as he stared straight up at his ceiling. He could feel himself begin to doze off, when he heard the scattering of footsteps down his hallway. He sat up and looked towards the doorway, his door wide open. “His mom never closed the door when she left his room.” There was no light, everything was lit by the luminescent blue glow of the moon through his window, leaving a cold lighting. So there was light. He stood up and slowly made his way towards the doorway, when suddenly the door, which was previously wide open, slammed in his face. Slender Man, stop trolling future proxies. He gasped and fell back.
His was out of breathe I think you mean “out of breath.” I could be wrong, I mean, what do I know? when he hit the ground AND NOW I’M LYING ON THE COLD HARD GROUND! TROUBLE, TROUBLE, TROUBLE. and he began breathing heavily, his eyes wide open. He waited for a few seconds before getting back up on his feet. He reached out and grasped the cold door handle How did he know it was cold? I thought he couldn’t feel anything with his bandaged hand and creaked it open. He looked out into the dark hallway and tiptoed out of his room. The window at the end of the hallway lit up the darkness with blue moonlight as he padded his way down. He could hear footsteps rustling around him, and faint giggling let by the pitter patter of small feet, which sounded like a child had run in front of him, giggling and running around. Ugh. I hate small children. The hallway was a lot longer then he had remembered. It seemed endless… like the ride home from the hospital. You know what else seems endless? This story. He heard a door creak in front of him.
“Mom?” he called out in a shaky voice.
“Oh, I’m not your mother. I’m Satan. Nice to meet your acquaintance.”
Suddenly a door slammed behind him and he jumped and turned around. Behind him he heard a long eerie groan from behind him, that sounded to croak right in his ear. He turned around as fast as he could and was suddenly face to face with none other then his dead sister. “Yo, Toby, join me. The after life is awesome!”;; Her eyes where clouded white, her skin pale, and the right side of her jaw only dangling on by tissue and muscle, glass protruding from her forehead, and black blood leaking down her face, her blonde hair pulled up back in a pony tail as it always was, wearing her grey t-shirt and athlete shorts which where dirty and spotted with blood. Wait, is she…a zombie goast? Oh god, it’s “Half-Life: Full Life Consequences” all over again! Her legs were bent in ways they shouldn’t be. “At 90 degree angles.” She stood, emitting a long croaking noise, only an inch away from Toby’s face. Toby yelped and fell back.
“AW!” That was a weird thing to shout. he started to crawl backwards away from her, not able to break the eye contact he held with her, blank, dead eyes. He dragged himself backwards until he backed up into something. “That something was his father.” He stopped for a second. Everything was dead silent except for his heavy breathing and crying. He slowly looked up to meet the blank face of a tall dark figure that stood over him. Behind the tall dark mass where rows of children, looking to range from 3 to 10 years, their eyes completely black and dark black blood leaked from their eye sockets. “Behold, Toby! The children of Eyeless Jack!”
He screamed and stood up as fast as he could only to be tripped by dark black tendrils that wrapped around his ankle. “Tell me, Toby, have you ever seen hentai?” He fell straight on his stomach and got the wind knocked out of his chest. He tried to scream out but he couldn’t make a sound. He wheezed out, before it all went black.
Toby woke up with a start. He screamed out and sat up as fast as he could, completely short of breathe. He wheezed out and held his chest with his bandaged hands. It was just a dream…. just a dream. That was a weird ass dream. He laid back down on his bed and rolled over on his side. It felt like a giant weight had been lifted off his chest as he took in deep breathes. He stood up and padded over to his window. He saw nothing. Nobody was out there. No ghosts. No figures. Nothing. No, Toby, the zombie goasts are still there.
He heard the rustling and coughing of his father out the doorway. His door was closed. He walked over and opened it. Looking out into the hallway once again. He padded down the hallway and into the kitchen where he found his dad standing and having a smoke in their living room. Wow, an alcoholic and a smoker! At this rate, he’ll kill himself before Toby does!
Toby waited a second and watched him from around the corner before a burning feeling started deep in his chest. I thought he can’t feel anything. Also, you took the “weird feeling” thing from “Jeff the Killer.” Shame on you.
Deep, boiling, anger took over him. He heard the little imaginary voices in his head.
“Collect string in boxes! Kill the president! Coocoocachu, Colonel Sanders!”
“Do it, Do it, Do it,” they chanted.
He turned away and held his arms. He felt like he actually had control over himself, unlike he did for the past few weeks since he got home from the hospital. Well, don’t say that at your murder trial. He actually had complete thoughts for just moments before they where clouded by the chanting of the little voices in his head. Those little bastards wouldn’t shut up.
“Kill him, he wasn’t there, he wasn’t there, kill him, kill him,” they continued on. Well, if you kill him, he won’t be there ever again. Toby trembled. No. No he wasn’t going to do it. Pussy. What, was he going crazy? Well, yeah. No. He won’t kill anyone. He can’t. He hated his father, but hated no way he was going to kill him. That sentence made sense up until the comma. That was it. The last thought he had before he fell into an idle state once again. The influence of the voices in his head was too much. See, this is the problem with having voices in your head. They make you kill people and stuff. It’s very annoying.
He began to silently walk up behind his father. “Prepare your anus, father.” He reached over the counter to the knife holder in the kitchen and pulled out a the largest knife that had been resting in the case. He gripped it in his hand. He felt a sensation take over his chest. Again, I thought he couldn’t feel anything. He let out a snicker.
“Heh… heheh… hehehehehe! HAHAHAHA!” What’s so funny? he began laughing so hard he had to gasp for breathe. There is a difference between breath and breathe. Breath is a noun; breathe is a verb. His father turned around abruptly before he felt a brute force shove him to the floor. He grunted as the hair was knocked out of him. Where will you be when baldness strikes?
“What!” he looked up at the boy who stood over him, grasping the kitchen knife in his hand. “What what what what. I’m gonna beat some kids, got twenty dollars in my pocket. I’m a drinking, getting drunk off my ass. This is fucking awesome.”
“Toby what are you doing!” he went to sit up and put hand arms out in front of him in self defense but before he knew it Toby was on top of him. He went to grab at his neck, but his father reached out and blocked his hand by grabbing onto this wrist.
“Stop! Get off of me you little fucker!” he yelled and with his other hand he threw an off center punch towards Toby’s shoulder, but he didn’t stop.
The look in Toby’s eyes was not sane. “It was crazier than Charlie Sheen and Jenny McCarthy combined.” It looked as if a demon had taken control over him. Mephisto: screws up marriages and kills abusive parents. He yelled back and went to stab the knife into his father’s chest but he blocked him and grabbed onto his wrist once again. Toby, you suck at murder. He went to shove him back, but Toby kicked out his feet in front of him and landed a hard blow straight to his face. His father recoiled and pulled his arms away to cuff his face, but Toby got back up and drove the knife straight into his shoulder. “I now pronounce you man and knife!” His father let out a loud cry and went to pull the knife out, but before he could, Toby threw his fist straight into his face. FALCON PUNCH!
He began to pound his fists into his head, laughing and wheezing. Ha ha ha, patricide is funny! He cracked his neck and grabbed the knife and ripped it out of his shoulder. He drove it deep into his dad’s chest and repeatedly stabbed into his torso, blood spilling out and getting splattered everywhere. This is overkill, man. Literally. He didn’t stop until his father’s body went still. He threw the knife over to the side and leaned over his body, coughing and panting. “The douche in dead! Long live the douche!” He stared at his smashed in face and sat there twitching, until a loud scream broke the silence. He looked over to see his mother standing a few feet away, covering her mouth, tears streaming down her eyes.
“Toby!” she screamed, “Why did you do that!?” she cried.
“W-why!?” She screamed. Toby stood up and began to back away from his father’s bloody corpse. He began to back out of the kitchen. He looked down at the blood soaked bandages on his hands and looked up at his mother one last time before he turned and ran out of the house. Run, Forrest, run! He ran into the garage and slammed his hand against the control panel on the wall and pushed the button to open the garage door. Before he ran out his father’s two hatchets that had been hanging on the tool rack above a table full of jars, filled to the brim with old rusted nails and screws. That sentence made no sense.
One hatchets was new, it had a bright orange handle and a shiny blade, the other was old with a wooden handle and a old dull blade. He grabbed both and looked down at the table and his eyes met a box of matches, and under the table was a red gasoline tank. RED GASOLINE TANK, I LIFT YOU UP! LET’S HAVE A PARTY! PROCEED TO PARTY! He held both of the hatchets in one hand and grabbed the matches and gasoline before running out of the garage, down the driveway and up the street. As he approached the street light that he could see out his own bedroom window he heard police sirens in to distance. I hope the justice system makes more sense here than it did in “Jeff the Killer.”
He turned around and the red and blue flashing lights came rushing down the street. Toby stood for a second, before he pulled open the cap on the gasoline tank and ran down the street, spilling gasoline all over the street after him and he turned to run into the trees. “He also spilled some on himself, which he would end up regretting.” He poured the last bit of gasoline out before he reached in his pocket and pulled out a match. He struck it against the box and immediately dropped it. In an instant, flames burst out around him. The fire caught onto the trees and bushes around him and before he knew it, he was surrounded by fire. Smokey the Bear is going to be pissed. Also, to finish off the “Half-Life: Full Life Consequences” joke: “so he blew up the house and killed the zombie goasts so they were at peace.” The silhouettes of police cars where visible through the flames as he backed away into the forest around him. He looked around but his vision was blurred, his heart was pounding and he closed his eyes for a moment. This was it. This was the end. No, there’s still a few more paragraphs left.
Toby felt a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked over to see a large white hand with long boney fingers that rested on his shoulder. That’s not the only part of him that’s bony, if you know what I mean. He followed the arm that was attached to the hand up to a towering dark figure. It appeared to be wearing a dark black suit, and it’s face was completely blank. It towered over Toby’s small frame and it looked down on him. Tendrils reached out from it’s back. This is getting dangerously close to yaoi territory. Before Toby knew it, his vision blurred and he was surrounded by the sound of ringing in his ears. Everything went blank. That was it. That was the end. That was how Toby Rogers died. Oh. I did not expect that.
A few weeks later Connie sat in her sister’s kitchen. Her sister, Lori sat next to her drinking a cup of coffee.
About three weeks ago, Connie lost her husband, and her son, and a few weeks before, she lost her daughter to a car crash. “And then she found out she had cancer, and a long lost sister. Except that sister died long before Connie could meet her. Connie’s life sucks.” Since then she moved in with her sister. The police where keeping her busy, they had just finished cleaning up the case, and the story had been released two weeks ago, and the focus of the world seemed to have shifted to completely new stories. Yeah, that’s the news for you. Lori switched on the T.V. to a news broadcast. On the T.V. the news reporter began introducing the new headline.
“Breaking news: Marvel Studios acquires Spider-Man. Fanboys everywhere go into catatonic states of orgasmic bliss and hype.”
“We have breaking news! Last night there has been a reported murder of 4 individuals. There are no suspects yet but the victims where a group of middle school kids who had been out in the woods late last night. The kids had been ‘bludgeoned’ and stabbed to death. “Investigators think the kids might have been ‘killed’ with ‘sharp objects’. The investigators had discovered a weapon at the crime scene which appears to be a old, dull bladed hatchet, as you can see here” No I can’t. This story has no pictures. The pictured changed to show snap shots of the weapon exactly as it was left on the crime scene.
“Investigators had pulled the name of a possible suspect, OJ Simpson Toby Rogers, a 17 year old boy who a few weeks ago had stabbed his father to death and tried to cover up his escape by setting a fire in the streets and the forest area around the neighborhood. Great way to cover up your escape: create more attention on the fact that you’re leaving. Although they had believed the young boy had died in the fire, investigators suspect that Rogers may still be alive, due to the fact that his body was never found. “And now to Bob with the weather!””
So that was "Ticci Toby", and it's actually pretty good. Yeah, out of most of the stories that follow the "Jeff Formula", this one does it the best. Rather than having both parents be idiotically abusive, there's only one parent, who dies at the end. Also, unlike most of the other "Jeff Formula" stories, Toby is not extremely overpowered. So that's a relief. And, you actually did feel bad for Toby and his mom.
Now, is this story perfect? Hell no. There are quite a few spelling errors, and some stuff is just kind of random (the hatchets, anyone? Maybe they could've written earlier in the story that before his dad was an abusive drunk, he and Toby used the hatchets for stuff or something). But all in all, this story isn't half bad.
So, what do you think? Does this story suck? Does my Riffing suck? Do you wish I would die in a fire? Leave your thoughts in the comments below.