My Idol

Author's Note: This is my rendition of Nina the Killer, an infamous Creepypasta Files OC well-known for being a Mary Sue archetype. This pasta was not made out of spite against the creator. 
This is Kevin speaking. I am Nina’s father. 
I came across her login credentials while looking through her old school journal. I didn’t even know she had a Tumblr account, and I told her that I didn’t want her to get one, but that’s the least of my concerns right now.  
My daughter is dead, and it’s all because of this horrible community tricking her into doing things she shouldn’t have done. To the people that actually wanted to be her friend and checked up on her in their spare time, you aren’t the problem here. 
However, to the slimeballs that indoctrinate children into following this kind of behavior, I’m going to tell you exactly what your “teachings” did to a troubled 14-year-old. I’ll make sure you’re unable to live with what you’ve done. 
I gained custody of Nina in around 2012, as her mother was a heavy drinker and she always thought people were out to get her, including her daughter. This led to her getting shaken and beaten behind my back, and Nina lying about her injuries just so an argument between me and her mother didn't start. Eventually, I found out the truth and immediately called the Sheriff’s department. 
It was a hassle, but I showed enough evidence to the judge, and her mother was sentenced to eighteen years in prison. Wish it could’ve been longer, but I’m happy she’s at least away from her. It was a difficult, emotional rollercoaster, but for the next two years, we moved on from our past lives and went on to live in a cheap townhouse. It wasn’t much, but we couldn’t afford anything bigger.
After those two years passed, weird things started happening. Starting with the candles.
I walked into her room one day and found lit candles, right under her shirts in her closet. I will confess; I did get angry, but that was because I feared that the house would end up catching on fire if I didn’t find them soon enough. After I made her blow them out, I asked her why she took candles from the living room here, and she said it was because her lamp didn’t turn on. I wondered why she didn’t just turn on her ceiling light, but she apologized and told me she forgot. 
Then, there’s Claudia. 
A few days later, she came home to me, balling her fists up and looking pissed beyond belief. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me that she and her friend Claudia from school got into a confrontation outside. From what she said, Claudia told her she hated her and “didn’t want to be involved with her bullshit anymore,” leading to a shouting match. 
I asked her if she could tell me where her parents are so I can talk to them about the situation, but it didn’t go through to her and she told me to shut up. I didn’t see her come out of her room for the rest of the night. 
Weeks pass. In hindsight, I should have asked her for permission to do this first, but I went through her backpack to organize her binders. Her teachers told me at a PTA meeting that her workspace and locker were a complete mess. They were choked with scattered pieces of paper and books that looked like they were vandalized with pens, so I wanted to at least help her get on the right track.
I found several drawings of her with some guy she named “Jeff.” Jeff was some sort of hooded man with greasy hair and had a really weird Joker smile. Everytime she drew him, his eyelids were completely missing. It looked like he was staring at me from within the paper. 
I would have passed this off as some fictional crush if it weren’t for the drawings involving Jeff stabbing people to death, carving a symbol into people’s chests, setting people on fire, just generally concerning things. I know how her artstyle is, and these drawings weren’t in her usual form. They looked like they were heavily rushed to completion; like she pressed down her pencil really hard. 
I picked up the drawings and placed them in my drawer. I wanted to have a talk with her in the morning, but I was greeted with something else instead.
I woke up to the sound of sobbing coming from the bathroom downstairs. I stepped out of bed and headed down to see what was wrong. I called her name, nothing but crying. I knocked on the bathroom door and asked if she was alright, nothing but crying. Suddenly, the crying turned into a sharp, piercing shriek. 
The noise alone was enough to make me open the door. The sound of the door startled her, and she turned around. The image of what she did to herself still lingers in my head. 
She was sopping wet. I could see the bleach bottle in the bathtub, and the floor slippery with lakes of it. Her eyes were bulging and bright yellow, dripping with a light green fluid. I saw a paring knife in her hand, dripping with the blood from the corners of her mouth. She carved into her cheeks trying to form a smile, like that Jeff character from her drawings, except she only made it halfway before I came in. 
The worst part about this, was that she had a fucking symbol carved in her forehead. A circle with an X on the inside. 
Her jaw was sagging to the right from how deep her cut was, but I could still vaguely hear her scream about being unable to see. I tried to convince her to put down the knife, but she was threatening to cut me for “interrupting” while raising the point up to my direction. 
I attempted to restrain her to keep her from hurting herself, but the slippery floor accompanied with her stumbling and stabbing the walls made it hard to keep myself from getting injured.
She shoved me into the bathtub, and then ran over to what she thought was me. The mirror was right in front of her. She ended up slipping on the bleached floor and ramming head-first into it.
She was gone within seconds. 
I contacted the police about what had happened. I was panicking. I couldn’t even fucking breathe right. This was a living nightmare that I desperately wanted to wake up from, but no matter how much I rubbed my eyes, her corpse was still there, on the ground, nearly jawless from the impact of the fall. 
The investigation went down for weeks on end. It felt like years were flying by. I felt more paranoid than I was before after what had happened, to the point where all I could ever think about was how she could’ve even thought about mutilating herself like that. 
When the police redirected me to a hotel room for the next few weeks, I only took one thing with me: a picture of us together, at a restaurant. If I’m going to be out of the home I raised her in, I want to at least have something to remember the good times. 
The police eventually asked me questions, like if I recognized any suspicious behavior previously. I mentioned the occurrences that had happened, and I felt awful for not having realized before, but apparently, there were some contradictions. 
Nina’s lamp had its lightbulb manually unscrewed at the time she lit those candles. Claudia was found dead in a forest next to a circle formed by branches, along with my Remmington 870 inside of a tree. 
I was also informed that they took her laptop in as evidence and found some pages in her history that made me almost snap. I saw searches that ranged from “how to become a proxy for jeff the killer” to “how to do jtk sacrifice.” 
I found a webpage in her recent searches coming from this exact website. I can’t remember what the username was, but the post consisted of instructions for how to become a “Creepypasta proxy.”
One of the steps was to carve “the symbol of loyalty” into your forehead. 
Category:Retake
Category:Mental Illness
Category:Computers and Internet
Category:Lafawnda's Reading Hour