Mirror: Originally, we were going to Riff the third Puppeteer story (because yes, there’s a third), but while browsing the Creepypasta Wiki, I found a story with a beautiful title. A title that says, “Please, Riff me.”
Sylvia: What’s the title?
Mirror: “Booty Call.”
Sylvia: I completely understand why we’re Riffing this now.
Mirror: Good. Also, it’s from the Creepypasta Wiki, so expect some good to be in this story.
Sylvia: I only expect disappointment at this point.
Mirror: Well aren’t you optimistic. Anyway, let’s act like slags, and Riff this bitch.
START RIFF
I’ve always been different.
Mirror: Of course you’ve been, you special snowflake you.
Not like a My Chemical Romance/Emo trash kind of different, but a good different. When I was a little girl I got diagnosed with “Nervous Overstimulation Syndrome”, which basically means I feel everything that’s happening around me, but, like, times a thousand. My pain tolerance has always been a load of shit; if I prick my finger or graze my toe it feels like I’ve just been stabbed, and it made everyone think I was a massive drama queen for, like, years and years.
Sylvia: This sounds disturbingly like the start of a JTK knockoff.
But it's not just bad stuff.
Fucking feels great.
Mirror: Feel good man.
I can feel everything shuddering through every cell in my body. I can feel the spark inside every nerve when my skin touches someone else's. I can taste euphoria in every bead of sweat.
Sylvia: I usually taste salt, but whatever.
If you were blessed with these gifts, how could you not want to share them with as many people as you could? How could you not want to experience as many different beautiful ecstasies as you possibly could?
And that’s how I got my nickname.
Mirror: (Narrator): Madam Chlamydia.
“The Whore Of The County.”
Sylvia: Kim Kardashian?
If you grew up in Drabstone then you’re entire childhood would have been filled with
“OMG did you hear what Zoe Dadliani did?”
“I can’t believe Zoe Dadliani let that guy…”
And
Mirror: (Gossip): Can you believe Zoe Dadliani fucked 15 guys at once?
Sylvia: That’s more impressive than anything.
“Zoe Dadliani is such a SLUT!”
When I look back at everything that’s happened to me this past year, at everything that’s gone wrong, sometimes I wonder if it's all because of how I used to act; as if someone’s punishing me for sleeping around.
Sylvia: Why? Were you bad in bed or something?
It all started last February, when I was seeing this guy called Darren. He was just a casual shag, but his girlfriend found out and went full psycho when she walked in on us. She started throwing stuff at me, and chased me out into the driveway, even though it was dark and fucking freezing.
Mirror: And you didn’t chase your boyfriend out too because…?
“You really don’t care about anyone but yourself, do you, you slag?!”
Sylvia: What the hell kind of insult is slag?
She was shrieking and sobbing, and going all red in the face.
“You just go around wrecking people's lives and-!”
Mirror: (Girlfriend): You just came in like a wrecking ball, and wrecked my life!
Sylvia: (Zoe): Hey, better than how Darren came.
I had started walking off by now, and it all just became a sort of angry, shouty mess. I’d heard this stuff a thousand times before, so it just fell on deaf ears, but it was when I was making my way back home that things started to get weird.
Sylvia: (Zoe): For one thing, I just remembered I was wearing a banana costume. Darren’s pretty fucking kinky.
I’ve never been scared of the dark, so walking home wasn’t a problem. The lampposts on my road are proper shit, so you only get these awkward little patches of scratchy light to break up the blanket of darkness, but I’ve done this walk a thousand times, so I know where I’m going.
Mirror: A sleazy motel?
I’m making my way down the pavement, when I get all cold, like the temperatures just dropped a thousand fucking degrees. My skin goes numb, and breaks out in gooseprickles, and I’m wishing that I’d nabbed one of Darren’s hoodies before I headed off,
Sylvia: (Zoe): But then I would’ve been a proper Jeff knockoff, and I couldn’t have that.
when I feel something brush against the base of my neck.
It's this sharp prick, like someone’s jabbed me with a needle, biting into my skin and sending these sudden spikes of pain hissing through me.
And that’s when I heard the first whisper.
Mirror: (Whisper): Hail Hydra.
“He likes dancing in the dark.”
The voice was soft, and completely clear of emotion. It swept in on the wind, sighed in my ear, and then vanished as quickly as it came.
I jumped right out of my fucking skin, and legged it the rest of the way home. Once my heart had stopped thudding in my ears I just kind of wrote it off as me hearing things, or some local kids pissing about, and pushed it from my mind. I woke up the next day, had a crack at some revision,
Sylvia: “Had a crack at some revision”? What the fuck does that even mean?
and all was forgotten.
Until a few weeks later.
I was seeing this guy Henry, and everything going well, until he started getting overly-clingy and soppy on me.
Mirror: Pussy.
I decided to do the decent thing and break it off with him in person, but he really didn’t take it well, so I was stuck comforting him for what felt like forever.
Sylvia: I imagine this guy always speaking in various tones of whine.
By the time he was in a stable place the sun had gone down, so I was stuck heading back from his in the dark.
I was waiting at the bus stop down the road for my Dad to come pick me up, when I started seeing shapes moving out of the corner of my eyes. They were these crooked shadows which came lurching through the darkness, but the second they came close to entering the moonlight they just kind of... fizzled out.
Mirror: (Zoe): I really need to lay off the drugs.
I was already pretty spooked when I felt that spike of pain in my neck again.
Then the voice. That cold, emotionless voice.
“He dreams in black and red. How long before someone ends up dead?”
Sylvia: I don’t know. A few paragraphs?
I spent the next fuck knows how long curled up under the bus stop, and by the time my Dad came to pick me up I was in tears. He took me home, calmed me down, told me it was probably just some saddo
Mirror: Saddo? Slag? Who the fuck talks like this?
fucking about in the night, and stayed in my room until I fell asleep.
I was pretty fucked up by this point, and I couldn’t concentrate on anything. My grades slipped, I stopped going to parties, and I became jumpy as fuck.
By then end of the week I was a complete mess, and I needed to take my mind off of everything.
Sylvia: (Zoe): Time for some hard drugs!
That’s when I met James.
He wasn’t the best looking, but he was sweet and kind, and I needed to get away from everything.
Our evening together wasn’t crazy animal sex so much as it was chilling and watching films,
Mirror: Netflix and Chill?
but he made me feel safe, and by the time I had to leave I felt calm enough to walk my usual route home.
A veil of darkness.
The sharp burning.
That cold voice.
Sylvia: (Zoe): That warm water.
“He hides rot behind sweetness and caring. It would be a kindness to set them free.”
And now, wherever I go, without fail; I get these sick fucking voices murmuring in my ear, just as soon as the sun goes down. It's driving me fucking crazy, and I just want it to stopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP
Mirror: I said the same exact thing while reading “Lil’ Miss Rarity.”
=
The Drabstone Police Department is asking for the public’s help in locating the person or persons responsible for the murder of locals Darren Williams, Henry Ward, and James Davis.
Sylvia: Why are these names bolded? Did you really need to make it clear who they were?
Official spokespersons have been reluctant to confirm specific details regarding the crime scenes, but numerous inside sources have stated that the three victims were found heavily bruised and mutilated, with their eyes removed,
Mirror: Great, she’s an Eyeless Jack fangirl.
throats slashed, and some kind of message scrawled nearby in an, as of yet, unidentified substance.
The messages are alleged to have read
Sylvia: (Message): For a good time call…
“STALKER.KILLER.RAPIST.”
One source claimed that the bruising on the bodies was likely to have been inflicted by an individual who was small in stature, with little mass. The source hypothesized that this was likely the work of a lithe male, although apparently a female killer has not been entirely ruled out.
Mirror: And “female killer” needed to be bolded in order to make it absolutely clear who the killer is.
Anecdotal evidence suggests that the three shared some kind of romantic link, but their families declined to comment.
Sylvia: Good. Last thing we need is random bolding in their comments.
END RIFF
Mirror: This story is decent.
Sylvia: It reads like it’s a Jeff knockoff trying hard not to seem like a Jeff knockoff. The basic Jeff Formula plot beats are there: person has some kind of quirk making him/her different (Nervous Overstimulation Syndrome), gets bullied/assaulted/has shit life (is constantly called a whore, had a break up, towards the end feels like absolute shit), and due to odd feelings/voices/whatever (those weird voices or whatever the fuck they were) goes and kills people. So…yeah. It’s a Jeff knockoff. Not sure how no one’s noticed that yet. Also, why were those words bolded at the end? If it’s to provide a bit more clarity about who died and who the killer was, you didn’t need to do that. Bolding the first names, the possible killer, and their connection is pointless, because we just read the story. We know all this. The writer could’ve clarified something we don’t know: the voices. The fuck are they? Are they voices in her head? Demonic entities? The story’s tagged as mental illness, so I’m going voices in her head, but that raises other questions. Like, why are they here now? If it’s triggered by stress or something, then that’s stupid. These events have happened to Zoe before. She even says, in regards to being found out by her fuck buddy’s girlfriend, that, “I’d heard this stuff a thousand times before, so it just fell on deaf ears…” She’s heard a bunch of insults leveled towards her, and considering the situation and what she said, one must assume that she’s done this before. So this really shouldn’t faze her. So why did she start hearing voices then? And honestly, the voices just seem like kind of a lazy way to make her a serial killer. Rather than following her on a descent into madness, it’s just “oh, she hears evil killer voices.” And, one final thing: there’s just a tad too much cursing. I don’t mind cursing, but there’s some much of it here that it gets irritating.
Mirror: There are still quite a few good things about this story. For one thing, the main character isn’t annoying as hell. Yes, she’s not exactly a great person, but she’s killing anyone at first. She just likes sex. Nothing wrong with that. Yes, she’s vulgar, but for her character, it does make sense. You wouldn’t expect someone like this to say, “Oh, fiddlesticks” or something like that. She’s somewhat cynical and hardened, while also having a bit of a kind undertone. She’s only fucking a lot because she finds it an amazing experience and wants to share it with others. And, also, she’s not a whiny pain in the ass who gets bullied because she draws violent shit or something. It’s really quite refreshing. Also, oddly enough, despite the subject matter of this story, it doesn’t feel like it’s trying to be “edgy” or “deep” or something. It’s just telling a story of this character. No need to be super edgy, and have over-the-top kill sprees (-cough- Clockwork – cough-), or try being deep or meaningful while ending up coming off as pretentious and whiny (-cough- Puppeteer –cough-). It’s just being itself. Really, this story feels like someone was told to try writing a Jeff Formula story that isn’t complete shit, and then did so. For a Jeff knockoff, this isn’t half bad. The spelling and grammar in this story is pretty decent (especially compared to most Jeff knockoffs), and as a story isn’t awful. Is it flawed? Heavily. But it could’ve been much worse and, as is, isn’t that bad. If more Jeff knockoffs tried being more like this, but better, then maybe, just maybe, “Jeff the Killer” might’ve actually inspired something that isn’t terrible. But that’s what we think. What do you guys think? Was the story good? Was the Riff good? Do you wish our names would be bolded? Leave your thoughts in the comments below.
Sylvia: What’s the title?
Mirror: “Booty Call.”
Sylvia: I completely understand why we’re Riffing this now.
Mirror: Good. Also, it’s from the Creepypasta Wiki, so expect some good to be in this story.
Sylvia: I only expect disappointment at this point.
Mirror: Well aren’t you optimistic. Anyway, let’s act like slags, and Riff this bitch.
START RIFF
I’ve always been different.
Mirror: Of course you’ve been, you special snowflake you.
Not like a My Chemical Romance/Emo trash kind of different, but a good different. When I was a little girl I got diagnosed with “Nervous Overstimulation Syndrome”, which basically means I feel everything that’s happening around me, but, like, times a thousand. My pain tolerance has always been a load of shit; if I prick my finger or graze my toe it feels like I’ve just been stabbed, and it made everyone think I was a massive drama queen for, like, years and years.
Sylvia: This sounds disturbingly like the start of a JTK knockoff.
But it's not just bad stuff.
Fucking feels great.
Mirror: Feel good man.
I can feel everything shuddering through every cell in my body. I can feel the spark inside every nerve when my skin touches someone else's. I can taste euphoria in every bead of sweat.
Sylvia: I usually taste salt, but whatever.
If you were blessed with these gifts, how could you not want to share them with as many people as you could? How could you not want to experience as many different beautiful ecstasies as you possibly could?
And that’s how I got my nickname.
Mirror: (Narrator): Madam Chlamydia.
“The Whore Of The County.”
Sylvia: Kim Kardashian?
If you grew up in Drabstone then you’re entire childhood would have been filled with
“OMG did you hear what Zoe Dadliani did?”
“I can’t believe Zoe Dadliani let that guy…”
And
Mirror: (Gossip): Can you believe Zoe Dadliani fucked 15 guys at once?
Sylvia: That’s more impressive than anything.
“Zoe Dadliani is such a SLUT!”
When I look back at everything that’s happened to me this past year, at everything that’s gone wrong, sometimes I wonder if it's all because of how I used to act; as if someone’s punishing me for sleeping around.
Sylvia: Why? Were you bad in bed or something?
It all started last February, when I was seeing this guy called Darren. He was just a casual shag, but his girlfriend found out and went full psycho when she walked in on us. She started throwing stuff at me, and chased me out into the driveway, even though it was dark and fucking freezing.
Mirror: And you didn’t chase your boyfriend out too because…?
“You really don’t care about anyone but yourself, do you, you slag?!”
Sylvia: What the hell kind of insult is slag?
She was shrieking and sobbing, and going all red in the face.
“You just go around wrecking people's lives and-!”
Mirror: (Girlfriend): You just came in like a wrecking ball, and wrecked my life!
Sylvia: (Zoe): Hey, better than how Darren came.
I had started walking off by now, and it all just became a sort of angry, shouty mess. I’d heard this stuff a thousand times before, so it just fell on deaf ears, but it was when I was making my way back home that things started to get weird.
Sylvia: (Zoe): For one thing, I just remembered I was wearing a banana costume. Darren’s pretty fucking kinky.
I’ve never been scared of the dark, so walking home wasn’t a problem. The lampposts on my road are proper shit, so you only get these awkward little patches of scratchy light to break up the blanket of darkness, but I’ve done this walk a thousand times, so I know where I’m going.
Mirror: A sleazy motel?
I’m making my way down the pavement, when I get all cold, like the temperatures just dropped a thousand fucking degrees. My skin goes numb, and breaks out in gooseprickles, and I’m wishing that I’d nabbed one of Darren’s hoodies before I headed off,
Sylvia: (Zoe): But then I would’ve been a proper Jeff knockoff, and I couldn’t have that.
when I feel something brush against the base of my neck.
It's this sharp prick, like someone’s jabbed me with a needle, biting into my skin and sending these sudden spikes of pain hissing through me.
And that’s when I heard the first whisper.
Mirror: (Whisper): Hail Hydra.
“He likes dancing in the dark.”
The voice was soft, and completely clear of emotion. It swept in on the wind, sighed in my ear, and then vanished as quickly as it came.
I jumped right out of my fucking skin, and legged it the rest of the way home. Once my heart had stopped thudding in my ears I just kind of wrote it off as me hearing things, or some local kids pissing about, and pushed it from my mind. I woke up the next day, had a crack at some revision,
Sylvia: “Had a crack at some revision”? What the fuck does that even mean?
and all was forgotten.
Until a few weeks later.
I was seeing this guy Henry, and everything going well, until he started getting overly-clingy and soppy on me.
Mirror: Pussy.
I decided to do the decent thing and break it off with him in person, but he really didn’t take it well, so I was stuck comforting him for what felt like forever.
Sylvia: I imagine this guy always speaking in various tones of whine.
By the time he was in a stable place the sun had gone down, so I was stuck heading back from his in the dark.
I was waiting at the bus stop down the road for my Dad to come pick me up, when I started seeing shapes moving out of the corner of my eyes. They were these crooked shadows which came lurching through the darkness, but the second they came close to entering the moonlight they just kind of... fizzled out.
Mirror: (Zoe): I really need to lay off the drugs.
I was already pretty spooked when I felt that spike of pain in my neck again.
Then the voice. That cold, emotionless voice.
“He dreams in black and red. How long before someone ends up dead?”
Sylvia: I don’t know. A few paragraphs?
I spent the next fuck knows how long curled up under the bus stop, and by the time my Dad came to pick me up I was in tears. He took me home, calmed me down, told me it was probably just some saddo
Mirror: Saddo? Slag? Who the fuck talks like this?
fucking about in the night, and stayed in my room until I fell asleep.
I was pretty fucked up by this point, and I couldn’t concentrate on anything. My grades slipped, I stopped going to parties, and I became jumpy as fuck.
By then end of the week I was a complete mess, and I needed to take my mind off of everything.
Sylvia: (Zoe): Time for some hard drugs!
That’s when I met James.
He wasn’t the best looking, but he was sweet and kind, and I needed to get away from everything.
Our evening together wasn’t crazy animal sex so much as it was chilling and watching films,
Mirror: Netflix and Chill?
but he made me feel safe, and by the time I had to leave I felt calm enough to walk my usual route home.
A veil of darkness.
The sharp burning.
That cold voice.
Sylvia: (Zoe): That warm water.
“He hides rot behind sweetness and caring. It would be a kindness to set them free.”
And now, wherever I go, without fail; I get these sick fucking voices murmuring in my ear, just as soon as the sun goes down. It's driving me fucking crazy, and I just want it to stopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP
Mirror: I said the same exact thing while reading “Lil’ Miss Rarity.”
=
The Drabstone Police Department is asking for the public’s help in locating the person or persons responsible for the murder of locals Darren Williams, Henry Ward, and James Davis.
Sylvia: Why are these names bolded? Did you really need to make it clear who they were?
Official spokespersons have been reluctant to confirm specific details regarding the crime scenes, but numerous inside sources have stated that the three victims were found heavily bruised and mutilated, with their eyes removed,
Mirror: Great, she’s an Eyeless Jack fangirl.
throats slashed, and some kind of message scrawled nearby in an, as of yet, unidentified substance.
The messages are alleged to have read
Sylvia: (Message): For a good time call…
“STALKER.KILLER.RAPIST.”
One source claimed that the bruising on the bodies was likely to have been inflicted by an individual who was small in stature, with little mass. The source hypothesized that this was likely the work of a lithe male, although apparently a female killer has not been entirely ruled out.
Mirror: And “female killer” needed to be bolded in order to make it absolutely clear who the killer is.
Anecdotal evidence suggests that the three shared some kind of romantic link, but their families declined to comment.
Sylvia: Good. Last thing we need is random bolding in their comments.
END RIFF
Mirror: This story is decent.
Sylvia: It reads like it’s a Jeff knockoff trying hard not to seem like a Jeff knockoff. The basic Jeff Formula plot beats are there: person has some kind of quirk making him/her different (Nervous Overstimulation Syndrome), gets bullied/assaulted/has shit life (is constantly called a whore, had a break up, towards the end feels like absolute shit), and due to odd feelings/voices/whatever (those weird voices or whatever the fuck they were) goes and kills people. So…yeah. It’s a Jeff knockoff. Not sure how no one’s noticed that yet. Also, why were those words bolded at the end? If it’s to provide a bit more clarity about who died and who the killer was, you didn’t need to do that. Bolding the first names, the possible killer, and their connection is pointless, because we just read the story. We know all this. The writer could’ve clarified something we don’t know: the voices. The fuck are they? Are they voices in her head? Demonic entities? The story’s tagged as mental illness, so I’m going voices in her head, but that raises other questions. Like, why are they here now? If it’s triggered by stress or something, then that’s stupid. These events have happened to Zoe before. She even says, in regards to being found out by her fuck buddy’s girlfriend, that, “I’d heard this stuff a thousand times before, so it just fell on deaf ears…” She’s heard a bunch of insults leveled towards her, and considering the situation and what she said, one must assume that she’s done this before. So this really shouldn’t faze her. So why did she start hearing voices then? And honestly, the voices just seem like kind of a lazy way to make her a serial killer. Rather than following her on a descent into madness, it’s just “oh, she hears evil killer voices.” And, one final thing: there’s just a tad too much cursing. I don’t mind cursing, but there’s some much of it here that it gets irritating.
Mirror: There are still quite a few good things about this story. For one thing, the main character isn’t annoying as hell. Yes, she’s not exactly a great person, but she’s killing anyone at first. She just likes sex. Nothing wrong with that. Yes, she’s vulgar, but for her character, it does make sense. You wouldn’t expect someone like this to say, “Oh, fiddlesticks” or something like that. She’s somewhat cynical and hardened, while also having a bit of a kind undertone. She’s only fucking a lot because she finds it an amazing experience and wants to share it with others. And, also, she’s not a whiny pain in the ass who gets bullied because she draws violent shit or something. It’s really quite refreshing. Also, oddly enough, despite the subject matter of this story, it doesn’t feel like it’s trying to be “edgy” or “deep” or something. It’s just telling a story of this character. No need to be super edgy, and have over-the-top kill sprees (-cough- Clockwork – cough-), or try being deep or meaningful while ending up coming off as pretentious and whiny (-cough- Puppeteer –cough-). It’s just being itself. Really, this story feels like someone was told to try writing a Jeff Formula story that isn’t complete shit, and then did so. For a Jeff knockoff, this isn’t half bad. The spelling and grammar in this story is pretty decent (especially compared to most Jeff knockoffs), and as a story isn’t awful. Is it flawed? Heavily. But it could’ve been much worse and, as is, isn’t that bad. If more Jeff knockoffs tried being more like this, but better, then maybe, just maybe, “Jeff the Killer” might’ve actually inspired something that isn’t terrible. But that’s what we think. What do you guys think? Was the story good? Was the Riff good? Do you wish our names would be bolded? Leave your thoughts in the comments below.