Tally-Mark Tim

Basic Information:
Name: Timothy Tot
Creepypasta name: Tally-Mark Tim
Date of birth: 6/31/1997
Age: 23
Parents: Mary Tot (deceased) Stuart Tot (deceased) 
Family: Michael Tot, Bridget Tot, Stuart Tot, Mary Tot
State lived in: England
Town lived in: Winsford
Theme song: Gold by Sir Sly
Weapons: Two knives and two cleavers
Catchphrase: "Can you count how many stab wounds I put in you?"
Amount of kills: 304
Story:
The night was illuminated by the full moon light, the autumn was cold and dark, like something out of a painting. The kids of Winsford England were playing inside their homes, but the teens were out walking down the dark streets. The teens were partying before one of them tells them to stop, they looked and saw a dark path down the woods. The teens; Harold, Carrie, John, and Stella, remembered on the daily newspaper that since the girl, Alice, vanished into what sounds like another dimension of sorts, a spree of murders were taking place down that pitch black path. The path was concrete, but whatever is inside might not want them welcome. They knew that, but they were too rambunctious and half of them were almost filled with booze like a can of soda.
"We shouldn't be out here, what if.."
"Oh, that old myth?!" Said John, "Please don't remind me of that, Alice was found, she was sent to that old asylum for a reason."
"Yes, that crazy ol' bitch might had something to do with those murders." replied Stella.
"In this creepy path?" Carrie answered, "You know that man who went crazy that night, he had something to do with the murders. Alice had a few kills, but that madman had killed almost 300 people down their."
"300?! Bloody hell." Harold shuddered, thinking about those grim news articles.
"Whatever, were going in to see the news articles are either fake, or true." John replied, drunk off his dumb, hypocritical ass.
"What the hell are you think your doing?!" Carrie asked sternly, after warning them about the uncanny, 'madman'.
"Relax, your worrying yourselves over nothing." John replied back. 
The two teens followed the others into the dark path till they saw another car in the middle of the concrete path. They got in and searched for clues to who's car it belonged to.
"Who the fuck owns this car?" John asked.
"I don't know," answered Carrie, "But can we please get out of.."
-CRASH!!!-
The car shook violently as something slammed down upon it. The girls screamed and the teens looked at each other in shock and fright.
"What the fuck was that?!" John yelped as he franticly looked around. 
"We knew we shouldn't of came here, why would you listen to us?!"
"It could've been anything guys so, relax for Christ sake!" John said to the boyfriend and girlfriend, but as he said those words, the window burst into shards as he felt warm, bloody hands reach through the window and grabbed him by the shirt. Pulling him out through the opening and then John had his throat slit by what the teens can describe as a lanky man with short yellow hair, jeans and old pare of shoes. He worn no shirt, his body was covered in cuts like as if he had been carving into his own body like cutting into a pumpkin. The cuts were tally-marks, counting them all; 300. The man's tally-mark wounds reveal that he had counted the bodies of victim-after-victim and tallied them up onto his own body. 
The disturbed man then held his bloody stake knife in his fist and carved it onto his forearm. He counted; 301. He looked at the remaining teens who were shocked by the death of John, still laying on the hood of the car in a pool of blood. The teens bolted out of the car and into the pitch black woods. Carrie and Harold ran together, but Stella went her own way for some reason. For her to trip on a tree root. The man approached her with a cleaver and drove it into her skull. He then took the knife again and carved it this time, in his gut, a line counting; 302.
Harold and Carrie ran, and ran, and ran, till they thought their lungs would burst. Then suddenly, they looked up to see a huge oak tree on a hill, they walked up to it and saw that it had a hole where the roots are. 
"That's the hole Alice disappeared in!" Harold gasped.
As they grabbed out their phones and was about to take pictures, Harold felt a sharp pain in his back, and Carrie saw the blade of the knife coming out his chest. She let out a gut-wrenching scream as the lunatic jammed the knife into Harold's spine. Harold then collapsed and died. The serial killer then cut into his gut again and counted; 303. 
Carrie fell into a crabwalk as the killer walked slowly up to her, raising the knife above his head. She can easily make out his face in the moonlight, he didn't look insane, but looked possessed by some demon. Carrie was out of breath, she knew that she was going home in a box. But something happened, by some miracle, Harold was still alive. He staggered to his feet and grabbed the man and fought him, trying to give Carrie a chance to run. He told her to go as he'll fight him off. But the man had punched him so hard, that he went limp. Then the killer proceeded to drive the cleaver into his brain over, and over, and over again. 
Carrie ran as fast as she could, but the man threw the knife in a bowie knife style into her back. She went down like a stone, and she whimpered in pain. The man then walked up to her and knelled down, took the knife from her spine, and whispered in her ear, a simple question, but whispered in a way only a demon-possessed person would say.
"Can you count how many stab wounds I put in you?"
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