Kayla Morgan

Kayla Morgan was a normal girl. Her life was ordinary and, in a way, even boring. The only real problem was her temper. She had been on medication since she was 13, after a violent outburst at school. No one ever understood why it happened. She wasn’t bullied, she didn’t have any obvious problems… nothing. She just snapped. One student ended up in the hospital after Kayla beat her and smashed her head against a window until the glass shattered. After that, Kayla was sent to juvenile detention. Because she was a minor, she wasn’t imprisoned for attempted murder. Then came the treatment: psychiatrists, psychologists, medication… and no answers. She had simply done it.

There had always been something wrong with her. Since childhood, she was aggressive and had to be kept away from other people. Her parents tried treatment, but when she seemed to improve, they decided to stop. That was a mistake.

Years passed, and Kayla lived an apparently normal life. She worked part-time at a video rental store while studying. Nothing stood out. Until that night. A strange man walked into the store. She noticed him but ignored it. She was tired, bored, and just wanted to go home. Later, after closing, she walked home as usual, not realizing she was being followed.

At home, everything felt routine. Keys, door, couch, food, upstairs, clothes, bathroom. But something was wrong. From the moment she stepped inside, there was a constant feeling of being watched, an unease that wouldn’t go away. Still, she ignored it and went to sleep.

During the night, someone entered the house. The footsteps were quiet and deliberate. They moved through the rooms, went up the stairs, and stopped at her bedroom door. When it opened, Kayla woke up to something tightening around her neck. She couldn’t breathe. Then she saw him.

Jeff the Killer.

His hand was around her throat, and the other held a knife. Kayla couldn’t move. He leaned in slightly and said, “go to sleep,” before driving the blade straight into her left eye. The pain was immediate and overwhelming. He didn’t stop. He moved the knife slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. Kayla screamed, but no one came.

She fought back with what little strength she had left. A hard punch to his stomach made him pull back for a moment. It was enough. She pushed forward, and the fight became chaotic. He cut her arms, slashed near her neck, stabbed her in the stomach—not deep, but enough to weaken her—and tore the skin from the left side of her face. Even then, she didn’t stop. At some point, she managed to take the knife from him and throw it away, then began hitting him repeatedly. It wasn’t enough to knock him out, only to leave him dazed and disoriented for a few seconds, but that was enough.

She ran.

She stumbled down the stairs, barely able to keep her balance as the pain in her stomach worsened with every step. Her hands trembled as she grabbed her keys and opened the door. Outside, she ran as far as she could. Jeff tried to follow, but he was too slow. Kayla screamed for help, her voice breaking as people began to come out of their houses. That’s where she collapsed.

An ambulance was called, and by the time anyone thought to look for him, he was already gone.

Kayla survived, but her face didn’t. Her left eye was gone, and nothing could be done to fix what was left behind. After leaving the hospital, she isolated herself completely. The days blurred together as she spent hours staring at her reflection, studying every detail as if it didn’t belong to her. At first, it was just the absence that bothered her, but that feeling didn’t stay empty for long, because it slowly turned into something else, something heavier, something that began to take shape inside her.

It became a need.

She wanted her eye back, not out of anger, not in the way most people would expect, but with something colder, more distant, as if what had happened had opened a space inside her that couldn’t simply be ignored or forgotten. As time passed, her condition worsened. She barely slept, barely ate, and reality itself began to slip, her thoughts circling the same idea over and over again, always returning to the same conclusion: the emptiness had to be filled.

So when someone knocked on her door one day, it didn’t feel like chance, it felt inevitable. A delivery man, wrong address, just another small mistake. When he saw her face, he hesitated, and that hesitation was enough. Kayla pulled him inside before he could react, and everything that followed happened quickly, almost mechanically, as if she were no longer thinking, only acting. When it was over, she finally had what she wanted.

She didn’t kill him, but she left him broken enough to never remember anything, and after that, getting rid of him felt like nothing more than finishing a task. That was the moment it truly began. Kayla Morgan was no longer just a victim; she had become something incomplete, something shaped by that absence and driven by a need she no longer fully understood. The emptiness inside her didn’t fade with time, it only grew stronger, deeper, more demanding, until it was the only thing that mattered, and the more it grew, the clearer it became what she needed to do: she needed more eyes, not just any eyes, but the right one, the perfect one, because somewhere among them she was certain she would find the one that would finally fit and silence the hollow space inside her, even if only for a moment.

(My Creepypasta OC)