*This fanfic is my interpretation of something that actually happens in the origin story of the Creepypasta character “Jason the Toymaker”. He’s a Creepypasta character created by Krisantyl. You can google him if you want. Gacha Club character designs are under my forum titled “My character designs<33[2]”. Enjoy!*

“Give me a new doll! Mine is broken!” A small, whiny little girl’s voice demanded.

Jason sharply looked up from his newspaper. It was the same little girl from earlier. It was none other than Branwen.

It took him five hours for him to pick a doll that Branwen was satisfied with, and even then, she didn’t pay him. He didn’t bother chasing her for money, because by then, she had already tired him out.

But why was she coming back near closing time?

“Get out of my toy shop. We’re closing up.” Jason said, pulling out the keys from his desk and walking up to the door.

“But it’s brokennn! Give me a new one!” Branwen demanded, stomping her foot on the ground.

Jason sighed. She had that look in her eyes. The look all children got when they didn’t get what they wanted. The very reason he hated children, even though, as Amelia said, they were his “biggest buyers”.

From the way she was violently shaking, almost vibrating, from how her bottom lip quivered to the point where the saliva in her mouth was visible, Jason could sense an incoming temper tantrum.

“Alright. I’ll take that doll and find you another one.” Jason said, extending his hand out for the doll.

Branwen’s face returned to its not-as-horrifying normal state. She eagerly placed the doll in Jason’s hand and skipped off to look at the other toys on display.

But why did she want to give it away so quickly? And if it was broken, why did she want a new one? Wouldn’t she want to get her doll fixed?

Jason examined the doll closely. He clenched his fist around the doll’s body, his heart felt like it would backflip into the air.

The doll wasn’t broken. It was in mint condition, with sparkling glass eyes and wavy synthetic hair, every child’s dream.

“Do you take me for a fool?” Jason seethed, placing the doll gently back on the counter. Dolls somewhat looked like children, but unlike children, they were agreeable.

They were the only child-resembling things he cared about.

“What are you talking about?! I want a do-“

Jason didn’t let Branwen finish her sentence. His hands were clenched around her neck, his nails digging deep into her skin.

“You wasted most of my morning on dolls, you didn’t pay me, and now, now you want to take another doll! I make these toys with my bare hands! I spend years crafting them myself, and you don’t give a single damn!” Jason cried out.

Her brown eyes bulged from her sockets, as though they wanted to ooze onto the ground. Jason beamed, the sounds of Branwen’s gasps for breath almost as beautiful as the music box he made for Amelia.

He worked so hard, and he wasn’t going to let all flow down to the drain because of her.

Jason clenched onto her neck tighter, tighter, tighter, until…

Until she went limp. Until she couldn’t breathe anymore.

And just as quickly as it rushed in, it all rushed back out.

He murdered a child. People would ask questions. He might go to jail. He might never be able to work again.

Jason hastily grabbed Branwen’s body as he tried to come up with a solution for his problem.

What was he going to do?