Finally sharing her story with the fandom, hope you all enjoy it! 🖤
The rain was falling hard.
Ellen curled tighter under the blanket in her childhood bedroom, listening to the shouting downstairs. Her father’s voice boomed through the walls again.
“You useless bitch! Look what you made me do!”
A slap. Then her mother’s muffled crying. Ellen pressed her hands over her ears, but it never helped.
When her door slammed open, she flinched. Her father stood there, belt already in hand. “What are you staring at, girl? You think you’re better than us?”
She was eight. Small, quiet. He hated all of it.
“You’re too ugly to cry.” Her mother would say later, dabbing at Ellen’s fresh bruises with rough hands. “Fix your face before someone sees. Who’d want a daughter like you?”
Years blurred. The beatings continued. Her father enjoyed the power. Her mother sharpened her tongue to survive. “Too emotional, too weird. You’ll never be anything.”
At night, Ellen read stolen library books about dead bodies, autopsies and forensic pathology. Dead people didn’t hit. Dead people didn’t scream. Dead people were honest.
“I want to speak for them.” She whispered to herself one night, fourteen years old, tracing diagrams of sliced-open chests. “I want to know why they stopped hurting.”
She clung to that dream like a lifeline.
At seventeen, a letter arrived. Pre-medical program. Acceptance. For the first time in years, Ellen smiled a real smile.
Her father found the letter that same evening.
“You think you’re leaving this house?” He snarled, drunk again. “You belong here. With us.”
The fight exploded after dinner. Her mother cowered. Ellen stepped between them when the first punch flew.
Her father grabbed a glass bottle from the table and smashed it against her face.
Ellen screamed, pain tore through her right eye. Hot blood poured down her cheek. She dropped to her knees, clutching her face, feeling something wet and ruined where her eye had been.
“You did this!” Her father roared. “You made me!”
Hospital lights and doctors shaking their heads. “The eye is gone. Irreparable damage.”
Months of recovery. Bills her family couldn’t pay. The dream died with the eye. Ellen never went back to school.
Her father’s mockery grew crueler. “One-eyed freak. Monster. Look at you now.”
One night he cornered her in the kitchen, breath stinking of whiskey. “Come here, girl. Time you learned your place.”
Something inside Ellen snapped.
She grabbed the kitchen knife and the rest was flashes.
His screaming, her arm rising and falling, blood spraying across the tiles, the wet gurgle as he choked on his own throat. Then silence.
Ellen stood over the body, chest heaving. She waited for guilt. For horror. Nothing came. Only a hollow quiet.
“Nothing..” She whispered to the corpse. “You can’t hurt anyone anymore.”
The second kill happened weeks later. A stranger outside a convenience store grabbed her arm too hard, he looked like her father. She stabbed him until her hand cramped and the knife slipped in the blood.
“Why did I keep going?” She asked the empty alley afterward, staring at her red hands.
Sometimes she killed just to feel that curious emptiness again. She hated that part of herself, but the hunger was stronger.
After a brutal spree that left three bodies in an abandoned lot, Ellen fled into the deep woods. Three days of running from the cops. No food and barely any water. Exhaustion finally dropped her beside a rotted oak.
When she woke up the first thing she saw was a boy with pale skin and glowing eyes sat a few feet away, legs crossed. He set a plastic bottle of water beside her without looking up from his game.
“You look like shit.” He said casually. “Drink that before you die for real.”
Ellen tensed. “Who are you?”
“BEN. BEN Drowned. Relax. The others are still arguing if they should kill you or not.” He shrugged. “I figured you were too tired to be dangerous right now.”
He didn’t ask questions, just played his game. Ellen finally accepted and drank the water.
Days passed in the Creepyhouse. A sprawling, half-rotted mansion hidden deep in the forest. Slenderman watched from the shadows but rarely spoke. Eyeless Jack was always in the basement with his jars. Sally skipped through the halls humming weird nursery rhymes.
He leaned in the doorway the first time Ellen properly woke up in her assigned room. Burned eyelids. Carved smile. His pale eyes met her single amber one.
Jeff finally snorted. “Another broken one, huh?”
He left without another word.
That night, a knock. Ellen snatched the knife from under her pillow. “Go away.”
The door opened anyway. Jeff stepped in, sitting across from her.
“You keep hiding your face.” He said.
Heavy silence. Then Jeff spoke again. “Can’t sleep either?”
They talked for about an hour, then he asked the dangerous question.
“What happened to your eye?”
Ellen’s grip tightened on the knife. “Don’t.”
Jeff noticed the shift. He raised his hands slowly. “Alright, not tonight.” He stood up. “But hiding it forever won’t fix shit.”
He kept coming back, never pushing too hard. Just talking about kills, about how the world made monsters out of people.
One night, Ellen finally moved her fringe aside for a second. The ruined socket and scar caught the dim light.
Jeff studied it. No disgust. No pity. Just quiet understanding. “Looks like it hurt like hell.”
He left a small bone-shaped hairclip outside her door a few days later, no note. Ellen stared at it for a long time before picking it up.
The others learned quickly: don’t touch her hair. Don’t ask about the eye unless you wanted teeth in your throat.
Jeff found her on the roof one evening, fringe clipped back with the bone clip. He sat beside her.
“You’re staying, then?” He asked.
Ellen stared into the dark forest. “Nowhere else left. And.. you people don’t look at me like I’m wrong. Not all the time.”
Jeff’s carved smile twitched. “Welcome to the family of freaks, Tigress.”
She shot him a glare. “Don’t call me that.”
“Too late. The others already started.” He laughed low. “The Maw. One-eyed Tigress. Take your pick.”
Ellen sighed, but there was the smallest ghost of a smile.
“I wanted to be a doctor. Speak for the dead. Now I make more of them.”
“Yeah..” Jeff said. “Life’s a bitch like that.”
Ellen “The Maw” pulled her knees up, amber eye reflecting the moon.
She was still broken but at least she wasn’t alone.
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