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creepswrites · 9 months ago

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TIRED OF RUNNING (CH 2) | Sinclairs x Reader

THIS IS THE COOLEST OMG thank you so much for 1000 followers!!! :D i know this may be silly but this is a big thing for me and i'm super happy about this!! to celebrate, i finally finished ch 2!! i hope you guys enjoy and that it was worth the wait!

SINCLAIR BROTHERS x GN!READER (they/them)

SUMMARY: Before Bo could answer, they were interrupted by a soft groan of pain as your ex lifted his head to try and take in his surroundings. Lester wondered what it looked like to him - the walls covered in wax, the unbearable heat, the churning of the big machine that'd soon encase him in his own wax prison. He hoped the man was terrified. He deserved to be, after all he put you and the boys through.

WARNING: graphic violence, child abuse, suicide

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Vincent slammed the door of the car as he stormed up to the front of the house, ignoring Bo's weak protests as he followed hot on his twin's heels. "Vince, it ain't my fault Mama's sick! What, you want her to jus' waste away and die?!"

The other man spun hard on his heel, managing to glare daggers even behind the wax mask. His hands moved harshly as he signed and ignored the way Bo sighed with annoyance. "You KNOW how important college is to me! Or, more accurately, was. Mama wanted me to be successful, I shouldn't have let you pull me back to this hellhole."

Bo scoffed. "I didn't want ya back either, believe me. But I'm the only one providin' for this fuckin' family and her medical bills're pilin' up, Vince! The money Pa gave ya for school could be used to help her! Y'know, the only woman who ever gave a damn about you-!"

He was cut off harshly as Vincent's fist smashed into his jaw with a hard cracking sound. He grunted as he took a knee to the stomach and collapsed to the pavement. Vincent climbed atop him and wailed on his face in anger, trying to ignore the tears that stung his eyes as he unleashed years and years of pent up anger onto his twin. Besides, even if Mama was cognisant enough to ask him about the bloody nose or black eye, she'd never believe it was Vincent who put them there. Her sweet angel Vinny hitting Bo? Surely not.

Bo had always been the "evil" twin, after all.

By the time his anger ran dry, so had the blood caking Bo's face and Vincent's knuckles. They both panted heavily as Vincent stood on shaking legs, offering a hand to the other to pull him up. Angry or not, they were still brothers. And unlike Bo, he had some amount of compassion for others. Even if he'd just broken their nose.

He got a glare in response but Bo took the hand anyway. "You were always a fuckin' bitch," he grumbled as they both made their way back into the house. "You hit fuckin' hard too, the hell'd you learn to fight like that?"

Vincent made his way to the kitchen to wash off the blood. He pointedly kept his eyes off his twin as he scrubbed his hands, wincing slightly when they began to bleed again with newfound vigor. He searched the drawers for gauze and began to wrap his knuckles, fresh red staining the white wraps quickly. "I learnt from you." He signed once his hands were bandaged.

Bo just glared at him, pulling up a chair to sit in the center of the kitchen. "Gonna be hard to explain to Mama what happened, y'know."

Vincent let out a snort of laughter before setting up shop to bandage his brother's face. "She doesn't even talk anymore," he signed aggressively. "Doubt she'll waste her dying breath to ask who broke your face. Maybe she'll think you're handsome this way." He dropped his hands to grab peroxide and wet a cotton ball with it.

"Guess you'd be an expert in broken faces, huh?" Bo hissed out as Vincent dabbled at his face.

He just clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to smash all of Bo's teeth in as he cleaned up the cuts and blood from the other's face. They were silent after that, the only sounds in the kitchen coming from the leaky faucet and Bo's pained sounds. He didn't feel bad for breaking his face and relished in the fact cleaning him up hurt just as bad if not more.

They'd just finished bandaging his face when they heard their mother start screaming upstairs. Morphine must've run out, Vincent sighed internally. The twins locked in a heated staring match, a silent argument about who was going upstairs. With an exasperated sigh, Vincent finally relented and stomped upstairs to give Bo time to lick his wounds.

Pushing open the door to their mother's room was just as horrible as he remembered. Trudy Sinclair had once been a phenomenal artist, a great creator, and an average mother. Now here she was, reduced to a husk of a person hooked up to tubes and wires that kept her from immediately keeling over. The room smelt like a hospital all compressed down into one, tiny, suffocating room. Vincent was momentarily glad the mask hid his face so he could screw his face up in disgust without his mother seeing. She could only watch with wide eyes as her son's bloody bandaged hands changed her bags to get a fresh dose of morphine coursing through her veins as soon as possible.

He wondered if she'd ask him to put her out of her misery if she could still speak. Damn their father for dying before he could fix her vocal cords. Though maybe it's better she can't speak, he thought as he noticed how her eyes fixed on his hands. Who knows what she'd say if she could.

A large part of him didn't really care.

…

"Vince?" Bo's voice snapped Vincent from his stupor and he glanced over his shoulder, knives in hand. He gave a curt nod and Bo just sighed. The three met back up in the kitchen after arming themselves, listening to your ex wail on the door and heard his friends trying to sneak around to the back of the house. "Alright, I'll take the front, Vinny'll sneak 'round the side through the House of Wax. Lester, you got the back. We kill each and every one'a those fuckin' bastards but leave him alive. I got somethin' special in mind."

Lester cheered in excitement, checking the shotgun was loaded before tilting his hat. "See ya when the smoke clears."

"Don't have too much fun," Vincent signed with one hand as he retreated down into the basement to kill the lights. The dark would give Lester good cover and let Bo get the chance to surprise the ones at the door. He slid the knives into their holsters at his sides and fiddled with the breakers, shutting down everything in the town.

Time to go hunting. He hurried down the tunnel towards the House of Wax.

...

Their mothers funeral had been beautiful. Her open casket funeral had the whole town of Ambrose visiting, lamenting the loss of their talented artist. Vincent spent the day squeezing Lester's hand while he cried, fresh out of high school and still their baby brother. Bo greeted people and was a sociable host. Vincent had only been back in town for two months before their mother passed and a part of him was relieved to be here for Lester. Neither he or Bo were bad brothers to Lester but he knew Bo wouldn't be there for their little brother's emotional needs. Losing both their father and now mother over the span of three years hit them all pretty hard.

Bo played the role of the sociable host, greeting people and accepting sympathetic words with a hollow, tired smile. He'd occasionally shoot glances at his brothers who stood off to the side against the wall and silently admired Vincent's ability to pretend to grieve. He knew Lester's sorrows were real but he and Vince had long since made peace with their mother's death long before she even died.

He also knew Vincent still resented him for dragging him home.

When the guests began to clear out, the twins took a moment to stand over their mother's casket. Bo still looked nice in his fitted suit. So did Vincent, although he'd discarded the jacket ages ago. For a while, neither of them said anything. They didn't have to. Call it twin intuition or whatever, they were able to have a silent conversation in a language only they knew. Quietly, Vincent slouched over to bump their shoulders together in a gentle display of affection before quickly righting himself, like he was worried they'd get in trouble if they were caught getting along.

"Yknow, Mama said she wanted to make a whole damn museum outta this town," Bo broke the silence with a wistful sigh. "Said Ambrose was becomin' a dead town and she wanted to make a Town 'a Wax. Then she got sick, because of course she did."

"Your point?" Vincent signed.

Bo turned to look at him properly. "Let's give her what she wanted, yeah? Least we can do for her. She taught you all her tricks 'n you'll be able to do art again." He grinned at Vincent like he'd come up with something great. "Think about it, Vinny. The Town of Wax, just like Mama wanted! We could finally make her proud."

Vincent shook his head quickly, fidgeting nervously with the ends of his hair. It was beginning to grow out more. He liked it long, despite their Pa insisting he keep it short. "She never taught me how to make full statues like she could. I'd need a base of some sort to make people. Otherwise it'll just be too much wasted wax, since they'd have to be filled figures. I just can't do hollow structures." His hands moved slowly so Bo could keep up. While, yes, their mother did hope for Vincent to take over for her one day, their lessons had been cut short when she got sick. Besides, Vincent had always preferred painting over sculpting.

But Bo had a point. Fulfilling her wishes would be nice.

"Shit, yeah," Bo said as he crossed his arms in thought. And then an idea came to him. Dark, twisted, and certainly coming from years of resentment towards the woman who lay dead before them. "You jus' need somethin' human-like, yeah?"

Vincent nodded once.

"I bet we got ourselves a perfectly good base sittin' right here."

Lester slipped out the back, shushing Jonesy to be quiet. Her growls were loud in the dark, silent space as he listened to the sounds of footsteps. He prided himself on being a damn good hunter so he guessed, based on the amount of steps, there were about four people sneaking around either side in hopes of scaling the fence. Excellent.

The fences were old wood that were certainly in need of replacement at this point. The only reason Jonesy didn't get out every day was because she simply wasn't aware of their weakness. Lester was momentarily grateful for the bushes that surrounded the fences because it let him know that the two on the left were hopping over.

He stood up from behind the wrought iron backyard table and fired.

...

The day their dad disappeared had been a lot of frantic energy and screaming. Lester had only been sixteen at the time and Bo and Vince had just turned twenty-one. Mama's condition was getting worse and worse every day, her pain so terrible she couldn't even move from bed anymore. Her vocal cords had been shredded from her screaming and their Pa kept dodging the boy's attempts to get him to fix it. Some doctor he was.

But Lester didn't mind it so much anymore. Going upstairs to visit Mama in bed had just become part of the routine now. Bo had gotten a job at the autoshop while Vincent was off in college. It was summer break so he'd come back home to help with household stuff that their father insisted was a woman's job. He never bothered to help. All he did was drink and disappear into his office to do nothing.

He wasn't stupid. Vincent and Bo weren't exactly quiet when they argued with their father about medical bills when they thought Lester couldn't hear them. He'd gotten a part time job cleaning roadkill to help pitch in but he knew it wasn't enough.

Their dad was already missing when they'd all woken up. They got the whole town to search the nearby forests, Bo took his truck around the back roads, and Lester searched with Vincent on foot. About an hour in, Bo showed back up at the house, ordering his brothers to get in the car. They'd just pulled out of the driveway when Vincent began questioning him with a flurry of hand movements. "Where is he? What did you find?"

"Vince, I can't look at you and drive."

"He asked where is he an' what ya found." Lester chimed in from the backseat, leaning forward to hover anxiously over the center console. He wanted a better view than the backseat windows.

Bo didn't answer and Lester felt his stomach sink.

Only a few miles from Ambrose, Lester spotted their fathers truck parked in a ditch and let out a quiet gasp. "Is that-?"

"Stay in the car, Les." Bo grunted as he and Vince got out of the truck.

"Fuck that!" He shot back, clambering out before Bo could lock the doors. "He's my dad too!"

Bo shared a look with Vincent and gave a resigned sigh. "Fine, whatever, keep up," he motioned for his brothers to follow. He led the way into the treeline, not even wincing when the stray twigs and branches sliced at his arms and legs..

After what felt like an eternity, they finally broke into the large, open field just past all the brush, Lester nearly took off running. Luckily, Vincent sensed that and grabbed him around the middle before he could get far.

Their father stood in the center of the field, one of his ornate pistols clenched tight in his fist and his head tilted up to stare at the sky. No one had thought to check the little glass case back home.

Everything happened in a rapid blur of chaos and terror from that point. Lester remembered Bo and their Pa getting into yet another screaming match while Vincent did his best to keep Lester from getting near the two. He'd clutched him to his chest and kept his back to Bo and their Pa, forcing Lester's face into the front of his sweater with a stern hold. He remembered protesting, wanting to go see their Pa and ask if he was okay. Vincent shook his head and held his head tighter.

Vincent's voice cracked and wheezed from disuse. "Don't look." He choked out with a cough.

The words sent a chill up Lester's spine and he clutched onto his older brother with as he tried to argue.

A deafening gunshot rang out in the open field and Lester shrieked in horror, fighting harder against Vincent's hold to try and see what happened. The heavy thud of a body ripped a sob from him and his brother's gentle shushing was doing nothing to soothe him. His ears were ringing and Bo was screaming but he didn't sound like he was hurt.

When he finally tore away from Vincent, his heart dropped to his stomach.

Their father lay in the grass, the green stained with bright red blood and brain matter. Bo was running a hand through his hair, tears streaming down his cheeks and blood splattering his face. How close had he been? Lester ran to him, narrowly dodging Vincent's attempts to hold him back.

Bo caught him this time, dragging him off and screaming at Lester to get back.

…

The intruder's screaming was quickly silenced as Jonesy began to tear at their necks. Lester whistled her to step back, not wanting to ruin Vincent's models too much. The other man always got so pissy whenever he had to play makeshift doctor to get them to a presentable state. A shot through the head was usually easy for him but all their running and screaming had him distracted. He cocked the gun with a heavy clunk and aimed at the other two on the right who were trying to run.

The gun fired again.

…

Lester stood in front of his father's grave clutching the antler of a deer. Blinking back tears, he let out a shaky breath. "Hey Pa," his voice a wet whisper when he finally managed to choke out words. "I, uh, talked with Bo 'n Vinny today. They, um, told me 'bout what life was like growin' up with you. How you used to stap Bo to a chair to get him to eat." He sniffed and wiped his eyes with his sleeves. "I used to look up to ya, y'know? Vincent always had Mama an' I know ya didn't like Bo much, so I," he swallowed back a whimper, "I tried to be your lil' guy, but…"

Tears began to fall as a sob wracked his body. "Damnit, why'd ya have to do Bo like that?! Thought he got the scars from fightin', not from you hurtin' him! Ain't no wonder he hated ya so much…"

Lester threw the antler at the gravestone, glaring through his tears as it cracked into pieces and fell to the dirt below. The sight only made Lester angrier, wishing he could've thrown something at his father before he became rot beneath wet soil. Maybe that would've taught him regret. Maybe. He didn't want to place bets on a losing horse.

"He wanted to save ya, y'know? Even in the end, he was beggin' ya not to do it." He grimaced at the memory, like the mere idea of saving their father now disgusted him. "Been a year now and I still… I still wish you loved us enough to stay. But we weren't good enough for ya, huh? Ain't never been, yeah?"

He fell to his knees in front of the grave, grabbing a piece of the antler and scratching at the stone, relishing in the way some pieces of the letters chipped off. Served him right. He didn't deserve to be remembered.

Pa said nothing in response and paid Lester no mind. Just like always.

…

Catching and killing the others had been painfully easy. In a matter of minutes, the three brothers had the bodies piled like wood in the basement, bullet holes in their heads steadily bleeding out. Whatever, Bo brushed it off, Vince'll clean it up later if it bothers him so much.

But one man stood apart from the rest. Very alive and tied to the chair with only a minor bump to the head. Just like he'd wanted.

"We got a lotta new faces for the museum," Lester called to Bo with a wide grin on his face. "'m still a damn good shot too."

"What will we do with him?" Vincent signed, ignoring Lester and gesturing to your ex.

Bo gave his brothers a dark smile. "Well, obviously, we can't keep 'im alive. But killin' 'im quickly is too kind."

Lester leant against the nearby work table like a child listening to something fascinating, his face resting on his hands that were propped up on his elbows. "Whaddya thinki' then?"

Before Bo could answer, they were interrupted by a soft groan of pain as your ex lifted his head to try and take in his surroundings. Lester wondered what it looked like to him - the walls covered in wax, the unbearable heat, the churning of the big machine that'd soon encase him in his own wax prison. He hoped the man was terrified. He deserved to be, after all he put you and the boys through.

"Where am I?" Your ex slurred out, trying to lift his head.

"Yer own personal hell." Bo said with an unkind smile. "Punishment for yer sins, I'd reckon."

"W-wha?" He mumbled, trying to think. The head injury was clearly making it difficult though.

Vincent grabbed his hair to tilt his head up for a better look. "Don't remember?" Bo spoke up again. "Pretty thing with two lil' tykes? Ain't ringin' a bell?"

His eyes widened and he swallowed. "You know 'em?" He stammered, glancing around the room. "They put you up to this? Listen, you don't know the whole story, they-"

"They're upstairs sleepin' without a care in the world. We're gonna make sure they get good dreams goin' forward, once you're dead." Lester loudly interrupted. "Vinny, feel like strappin' this guy up?"

Vincent pulled a knife out from his sheath and began to trace the underside of your ex's jaw with the point, like he was daydreaming about stabbing the knife through his tongue and up into his brain.

"Easy, Vinny," Bo said as though soothing an animal. "All in due time. Still got stuff to do, remember?"

"Stuff to- Stuff to do?" You ex stammered as fear finally made itself clear in his hazy mind.

Lester tilted his head with a sigh, sliding out of his seat to stand. "Y'know, he ain't very bright."

Bo shrugged. "Ain't our place to judge our guest's type. 'sides, ain't exactly like we're catches."

"Says you, 'm pretty as hell." Lester laughed, only increasing in volume when Bo smacked the hat off his head.

Vincent watched them with an exasperated eye roll before turning back to his new victim.

"Now, under normal circumstances, we'd let Vinny here do his thing," Bo said slowly as he began to search Vincent's assortment of tools, "But this here's a special occasion. We ain't take kindly to child abusers 'round here. So we're gonna give ya what's coming for ya 'fore you burn in hell."

Their prisoner began to fight against his bonds, shaking his head. "No, no, you don't get it, they tried to baby trap me! I never wanted kids, they forced me to-!"

Vincent didn't hold back the backhand he gave him, hissing under his breath at the stinging left behind.

"I'm gonna pretend I ain't just hear you lying to me," Bo said. The calm evenness of his voice never failed to unsettle his personal victims and he could tell your ex was squirming as his cheek began to blossom into a bruise. "If you're goin' to hell, you better go an honest man, yeah?"

Bo turned around, brandishing a pair of pliers and a wild, terrifying smile.

"Let's begin."

You jolted awake with a sharp gasp, covered in a thin layer of sweat that left you feeling sticky. Nightmares have become commonplace to you at this point. Your ex haunted your dreams, stealing away your boys or, god forbid, hurting them again… It never fails to leave you shaking and gasping for breath every time. Tonight, though, you'd dreamt of your ex and his friends showing up and your hosts throwing you out to the wolves, believing the sly, honey-sweet words of your abuser over your pleas.

The mere idea of that left you feeling sick and scared.

Despite that, a yawn escaped you as you shook your head as though to shake off the lingering fear of the nightmare. You gave a glance at the window and frowned at how dark it still was outside. The digital clock on your bedside revealed it was barely past 3am. God, it felt so much later than that.

You turned to look over at your boys, fast asleep in the little blanket and pillow cocoon you'd made them to sleep in so they could be on the bed. The blue night light cast dark shadows on their face and you stared at them until your eyes burned from lack of blinking. They were so soft and fragile, your heart divided in two just for these two boys. You'd burn the world down to keep them safe.

You pressed soft kisses to both their foreheads and slid carefully out of bed. The room was exactly as you left it, dark and only illuminated by a little star night light that must've once been Lester's. It was cute, you smiled to yourself. The blue walls were covered in posters for bands you didn't recognize and a few well-known horror films. He also had a small, ornate frame of pinned butterflies over the door. It suited him, the longer you thought about it.

Quietly, you opened the door and crept out into the hallway. The twins' bedroom doors were closed and you sighed internally that they were asleep. That meant you likely hadn't cried out when you awoke.

The stairs creaked and groaned as you slunk downstairs, wincing at every noise you made. In such a quiet space, the sounds were deafening.

"Y'alright?" A tired, low voice spoke up.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard Lester talk. You'd forgotten he was set up downstairs and all the noise must've woken him up. You couldn't see him in the dark but you shot a smile in the direction of the couch anyways. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

"Nah," Lester sighed as though stretching, "Can't sleep, 'sall." And, with a soft click, he turned on the nearby lamp. Warm yellow light bathed the downstairs, dark shadows reminiscent of the ones on your boy's faces, you thought to yourself as you looked at Lester.

"I could make us tea." You hugged yourself to try and fight off that usual nighttime chill. "Might help us both sleep."

Lester gave you a nod and smiled shyly. "Yeah, yeah, sounds great Sweetpea."

When you disappeared into the kitchen, he let out the breath he'd been holding. Quietly, he grabbed his sheathed knife that he'd left on the table and hid it under the couch as he stood up to follow you. The kitchen was still dim, even with the light of the lamp stretching out into the quiet space.

"What's got you awake?" He whispered while creeping up behind you. "Kids causin' a fuss?"

You let out a sigh while rooting around for a couple of mugs. "No, no, just… Nightmares."

Lester frowned even though you couldn't see it. "What kind?"

"Bad ones," you said while pouring some water into the two mugs and glancing around for the microwave. "Ones where he comes and hurts me or the kids. Or ones where people throw me back to him despite my pleas not to."

"I'd kick his ass for ya, y'know that right?" Lester said, his voice much closer now.

You finally looked over your shoulder and you couldn't help the butterflies his words gave you. "Yeah," your voice was quiet and you loved the way he seemed to soften. "Yeah, I know you would."

"'m serious. My brothers would too. We ain't gonna let him getcha here, promise." He seemed insistent, which raised a concern for you. You got the feeling something had happened that you weren't aware of yet.

But anxiety suffocated you. "Did, um," you swallowed anxiously as you turned back around to drum your fingers anxiously on the edge of the kitchen sink, "Did he… come by?"

A beat of silence. It felt like it went on for hours when it was only a short minute, yet you felt suffocated all the same. "No." Lester said slowly, as though trying to choose his words carefully. "No, he ain't been here."

You didn't believe him.

Then you were presented with a choice. Play it cool or freak out. Neither of which were great options but you liked your odds better if you just played nice and pretended to believe him. All you had to do was play along until the fan belt Bo ordered for you arrived and then you could leave.

If your ex wasn't here in the house then that meant he was somewhere nearby. But, based on Lester's tone, he knew where he was and wasn't telling you. That didn't sit well in your stomach but you swallowed it down and nodded. "Okay. Good."

So the two of you sat against the counters drinking tea in the dark. He happily made small talk while you nodded and listened to the trials and tributes that came with being a roadkill cleaner.

He'd been in the middle of telling you a story about a fawn with a broken leg when the basement door swung open with a heavy thud. You nearly jumped out of your skin as you shrieked, staring at the shape moving in the beacon that was the yellow basement lights.

Vincent froze in place, staring at you through the eye holes of his mask. One of his hands was wrapped crudely in a bandage and the other held a pointed carving knife. On instinct, you ducked behind Lester while peering over his shoulder at the other man, watching Vince tilt his head almost comically.

"He says he's sorry for scarin' ya." Lester said with a chuckle. "Y'alright?"

"Sorry," you sighed, bumping your forehead in the space between his shoulder blades. "Just… high strung, I guess."

Lester hummed. "Can't imagine what you've been through. I promise, things'll be easier for ya from now on."

You couldn't help but feel that as an omen of some kind. Though you weren't sure if it was good or bad.

The next time you woke up, it was morning. Sunlight peered through the blinds and hit you in the eyes, making you wince as you yawned. It felt later than you usually slept in and it struck you that no one had woken you up wanting breakfast or attention.

Realizing the boys weren't with you, you shot up from the bed and took off downstairs. All you could focus on was your pounding heart and desperate need to find your boys.

You came to a halt when you heard laughter and voices. When you stepped off the stairs, you went straight for the kitchen and sighed with relief.

Peter and Mikey were playing at the table while Lester was making breakfast in the kitchen. Vincent had Peter in his lap who was coloring with crayons at the kitchen table while Bo sat with Mikey and helped him in lining up his dinosaur toys in front of the couch.

For the past few years since the boys came into your lives, your ex had outright refused on multiple occasions to bond with them. Peter and Mikey had learnt quickly that, when their father was around, they had to be silent and obedient.

So seeing them openly playing and laughing made you feel dizzy. While he was nowhere near, you still worried that your ex was going to round the corner and slap Mikey for getting his toys everywhere or yell at Peter for being too loud.

It felt like a weight had been lifted at the sight of them being happy.

Peter saw you and practically leapt off Vincent's lap and ran over to show you his drawings. "Dinosaurs!" He beamed up at you with pride and you could definitely tell where Vincent had done rough outlines to let him color in. The gesture was sweet and you couldn't help but smile.

"They're very nice!" You cooed as you gave Peter a kiss on the cheek.

"Breakfast'll be ready soon!" Lester called out over the sound of sizzling bacon. "Wash your hands, I ain't lettin' y'all get sick. Lord knows where Bo's been." He teased and grinned over his shoulder at his brothers. He softened when he saw you but quickly resumed cooking.

You let the twins pair off to wash up and joined Lester in the kitchen instead. "Didn't take ya for the cooking type."

Lester gave a little chuckle. "What, ya think 'cuz I clean streets, I can't cook? Mama taught me how, said it'd be good for me to learn so I ain't dependin' on her forever. Said I ain't allowed to get married to some girl 'n rely on her for everythin'."

"She sounds like a great mom." You said wistfully, approaching Lester slowly to watch him work. Eggs, bacon, pancakes beginning to stack up…

"Nah," Bo's voice from behind surprised you. Peter was in his arms, head slumped against Bo's shoulder as he stared ahead at nothing. "She wasn't all that great."

Lester didn't say anything to that.

You decided not to bring it up at breakfast.

"Store's jus' down the corner, can't miss it." Bo said, not even looking up from the television. He and Lester were watching a game when you'd offered to go get groceries as a thanks for them housing you and making you food.

They'd protested but, eventually, Vincent had suggested he go with. You hadn't liked the look they all shared but you didn't have time to dwell on it, too focused on trying to get Peter to stand still long enough to put his shoes on.

When you, Vincent, and the boys ventured outside, you were struck at how empty the town felt.

Even for a small town, you expected to see at least a few people walking around, right?

But everything felt deserted as you followed Vincent down the sidewalk towards the little general store. The boys stayed close, alternating between holding yours and each other's hands as you walked. Things got stranger and stranger the more you walked - street lights didn't work, there was no sound coming from any of the houses, and you swear that a woman across the street has peeked over at you twice in the past few seconds…

"Hey, Vincent?" You asked slowly, coming to a stop a good few feet away. Something was very, very wrong about this place and it was becoming more difficult to ignore. "What's… what's going on?"

He looked over his shoulder at you before tilting his head. You wished you had a way to communicate better but your sign language was rusty at best and his hands moved too quick for you to follow clearly.

You felt multiple pairs of eyes on you and you couldn't help but whip your head around before your eyes caught on the display case beside you. A few figures stood displaying different outfits outside what seemed to be a clothes store. You grimaced, never really being a fan of mannequins, and were about to turn away when you realized one of them looked distinctly like your ex, down to the terrible haircut and all.

Fear clogged your throat and you forced yourself to swallow yet again that day. It was a coincidence, surely, but it still deeply unsettled you. The boys were trying to hurry after Vincent but your grip was a vice around their little hands. "Vincent, I think I want to go ba-"

The figure's eyes darted down to meet yours.

You felt a scream in the back of your throat but all you could let out was a gasp. Stumbling backwards, you scooped up both kids in your arms as you tried to put distance between yourself and the figure. It didn't move - he didn't move - and that only made you feel sicker and sicker. "Vincent!" You shrieked, training your eyes on him where he stood unmoving. "What is this?!"

He stepped towards you, hands held up to placate you, and you felt all sense of fear begin to melt into relief as Vincent got closer. The tears of horror mixed with relief when he hugged you.

Your ex was dead. But you felt like this was just a new type of prison…

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creepswrites · 9 months ago

Note

Hi there! I just recently discovered your page but I already love your writing style! Can I request a oneshot with poly Sinclair brothers (either just Bo and Vincent or all three, whichever you like better) and gn reader? Maybe the reader usually doesn't get involved when people come to Ambrose, and just stays at the house while the boys do their thing, but this time things get a bit out of control and they have to step in to help? Like prevent one of the victims from getting away or one of the boys from getting hurt?

Feel free to ignore this though, no pressure. Have a nice day! 😊

omg hiii i see you in the comments on a lot of my posts!! i'm so glad you like my writing, you're very sweet :) i loooove writing the Sinclair boys so i hope you enjoy!! sorry this took so long, lots of things kept popping up in my life

SINCLAIR BROTHERS x GN!READER (they/them)

SUMMARY: "There are people! A-A truck! Headin' towards town! They- They have guns, and, and!" Words spilled out of your mouth and you felt your heartrate skyrocketing. The idea of anything bad happening to Bo and Vincent just made you feel...

WARNING: graphic death/violence

Living in Ambrose had not been exactly your choice.

Bo had found you and a few of your friends on the side of the road and Vincent had convinced him to let him "keep" you once they had killed your friends. Not as a wax figure but as a real, living person. At first you'd kept to yourself, staying in the workshop to avoid Bo's anger and pretended you didn't hear the screams. You'd turn your back to Vincent when he worked, sitting and sobbing in the corner of the workshop with your hands over your ears to block out the sound of screams.

Now? It was perfectly normal to you.

"Hey Sweetpea!" Lester called to you, snapping you back to the present. Right, you were helping Lester this morning. Bo had tried to keep you inside to clean the house but the youngest Sinclair had begged to have you help him collect roadkill.

You liked Lester. He'd been sweet with you since the moment you'd arrived and, despite Bo and Vincent's constant arguments on the topic, you'd started a relationship with Lester before either of them. The two of you had just clicked and you'd been attached at the hip ever since. He was big on physical affection and would often make you little charms to hang in your bedroom - you had your own room, something you'd put your foot down after Bo had pitched the idea you just ocellate between sleeping in all their rooms. You wanted your own space.

Giving you choices wasn't always Bo's go-to. He'd been the toughest to wear down, always high-strung and he didn't exactly have a great role model as to what a good partner should be. Your relationship with Bo always felt rocky and unsteady. But he was sweet in his own way. He was terribly possessive of you - often to the detriment of everyone in the house - and wasn't afraid to flaunt you in front of guests. It always made your face flush hot when he did.

Vincent was the complete opposite. Shy and quiet, even after he'd insisted on you staying with them. He never tried to push you to do anything and always expressed his gratitude even for something as simple as doing the dishes. He liked to spend time with you, even if you were doing separate tasks. Vincent made you little wax figurines for your room - no people statues, you'd told him one afternoon - and they sat proudly on your windowsill beside a deer skull Lester had got you.

The term "dating" didn't really fall on any one particular brother. You were sort of "dating" all of them, in your own way. They knew this, you'd all talked about it, but it was still a relatively new shift in the dynamic.

"Gosh, you're awfully far away, huh?" Lester said with a warm chuckle and you startled a bit. He was much closer up now, dirt smudged on his cheeks and work gloves that he was careful not to touch you with.

"Sorry, yeah, must be." You trailed off, not meeting his eyes.

He tilted his head curiously and raised an eyebrow. "Good things?"

You hummed approval and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, relishing in the way he blushed. "Thinkin' 'bout you, if you can believe it."

Lester barked out a laugh. "Sometimes it still ain't feel real, Sweetpea. Flattered though, 'm always thinkin' 'bout you. But you know that."

The evening was calm, a beautiful pink-purple sunset and a cool breeze to offset the exhausting heat of the day. Cleaning the roads wasn't exactly your idea of a fun time but it beat cleaning the house for the fifth time in the past two weeks. The three weren't exactly the cleanest people but even they weren't that bad. Besides, you knew that some new "guests" were going to be coming to town in the next day or two and you wanted some time outside the town before Bo cracked down on you.

Sometimes it felt like he still didn't trust you.

You were climbing back into the truck with Lester when you both heard gunshots coming from down the road. "The hell?" He mumbled, squinting as he tried to get a good view of what was going on. "Are they headin' this way?"

A large truck was speeding towards you, bright headlights the only indication of where it was. The headlights were getting closer and you could hear people shouting as the truck picked up speed.

They were trying to hit you two.

You grabbed Lester's arm and yanked him off the road, the two of you falling over into the grass with the force of it. The people in the truck cheered and mocked you as they passed by, flinging an empty beer can at you and soaking through your shirt. It stunk but you were just glad it wasn't a glass bottle.

"Shit- Are you okay?!" Lester sat up with a wince as he rubbed his arm. You two hadn't landed gracefully, you were just happy he wasn't really hurt. "Jesus, Sweetpea, did they throw a-?"

"They're headin' towards Ambrose." You gasped, watching the blinding red taillights disappear down the road. "Bo and Vinny, they don't-!"

You both shot into action, scrambling to your feet and tossing your gloves in the back of the truck with the carcasses. It didn't matter, all that mattered was warning the twins. You winced at the stink of beer as you reached into your pocket to pull out your cell phone. It was old, something Bo stole from one of his many victims, and you only ever really used it to call Lester if you needed something at the store.

But you punched in Bo's phone number despite shaking fingers as you and Lester got in the truck. You took off after the truck, Lester's anxious fingers drumming on the wheel as you held the phone to your ear.

It felt like an eternity in between each thrum of the dial tone.

Bo picked up after the third ring.

"Hey, what's goin'-"

You cut him off. "There are people! A-A truck! Headin' towards town! They- They have guns, and, and!" Words spilled out of your mouth and you felt your heartrate skyrocketing. The idea of anything bad happening to Bo and Vincent just made you feel...

"Shit, fuck, didja see how many?"

"No! I- They sped right past, they, uh, they threw beer at me and-"

You could hear the sound of what must've been a wrench clanging to the floor. So he was in the autoshop. Okay. At least he wasn't far. "Like hell they did, I'll kick their asses when they get here!"

You swallowed around a dry throat and a tearless sob wracked your body. "Guns! They have guns, Bo."

"So do I." And he hung up before you could say anything else.

Lester could tell you were scared, reaching gingerly across the center console to over you his hand. You took it and squeezed tight, trying to hold in your anxiety and fear. "Shh, hey, it's alrigh' Sweetpea. We've done this all before, Bo'll be fine."

You just nodded, swallowing back the feeling that this felt different. More dangerous.

You wanted your boys to come out of this okay...

The truck was parked outside the entrance to town and you felt your heart sink at the sight. Lester hadn't even come to a complete stop before you were out the door and grabbing the old rusty shovel from the back of the truck. Usually, you'd never even dream of touching that thing without gloves on.

Now, you didn't even care.

You started your march towards the house, shovel tight in your hands and Lester's footsteps close behind. He must've grabbed his shotgun from the backseat since you heard him reload it. "Stay close, Sweetpea. Ain't no tellin' what those folks'll do."

"Okay," you mumbled, slowing only enough for him to catch up.

Screaming could be heard from inside the house. You and Lester shared a look before you both took off running. The front door was wide open and a dead body lay sprawled out on the porch, blood leaking from the back of it's head. You didn't even give it thought as you pushed inside.

Some guy was loading up his shotgun as Bo held a knife dangerously close to the throat of some girl, one arm around her squirming body as he shouted at the guy to drop the gun. The girl was begging the man not to shoot and you locked eyes with her for a brief, fleeting second.

Then you descended upon the man with ferocity you didn't even know you had. You slammed the shovel into the back of his head and sent him tumbling to the floor but you didn't let up. You swung over and over, the floor splattering with blood as you began to chip away at his flesh and skull. Bits of bone and brain began to splatter across the hardwood floor and you felt tears rolling down your cheeks.

With a final swing, you lodged the shovel into the guys head, his dead eyes lolling at nothing.

Both you and the girl were screaming and crying.

You fell to your knees with a heavy thud, sobbing openly over the dead body. You'd never had to kill anyone before, the brothers never made you, and you felt horrified with how angry you were. How afraid you'd felt at the idea of the man firing on Bo.

And, more importantly, how you didn't even regret killing him.

"Sh, shhh, it's okay," Lester's words washed over you as he wrapped an arm around your back. You sobbed into his chest as he rubbed your back, trying to soothe as best he could. Your ears were ringing and everything felt as though it were underwater.

Footsteps bounded up the stairs and you looked up to see Vincent. He was kneeling between you and the body, looking you over as though expecting to find injuries.

When Vincent helped you stand up, you could finally process the rest of the house.

The place was in shambles, the pool table flipped over as some poor attempt at cover and a few picture frames had fallen and broken. Glass scattered across the rug and a few more bodies littered the downstairs. Bo must've shot most of them and Vincent may have chased down the others.

You felt silly, in retrospect. Obviously they could handle themselves. But you'd just felt so scared. There'd never been an ambush before, nothing like this. Or, at least, not while you'd been living there.

Vincent and Lester helped you stand, your feet crunching in glass. Without hesitation, you slumped forwards and wrapped your arms around Vincent in a tight hug, hiding away your face as you tried to steady your breathing. His fingers traced gentle patterns on the back of your shirt that helped to steady you.

Bo had knocked the girl out, her limp body laying across the floor inelegantly. You suspected you'd see a polaroid or two of her on Bo's basement walls in the next few days, when he'd had his fun torturing her.

"Hey, doll," Bo's voice was close and you lifted your eyes to see him. He looked concerned but there was pride there. "Got 'em real good, huh?"

You gave a glance down at the man with a shovel lodged in his head and shrugged. "I was... worried."

"Well, shit, if that's what you do when yer worried, remind me to never miss yer calls." Lester huffed with a playful grin. Vincent grabbed his hat and smacked him with it, making the younger brother laugh.

Bo rolled his eyes and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Awful sweet of ya to come protect us, doll." He said as Vincent and Lester bickered. "I do appreciate it."

You hugged him and felt yourself finally relax. The bickering, the soft affection, everything seemed to be back to normal. Perfect.

Though it seems like you'll need to be cleaning the house again this week...

#🔪 creeps writes #slasher x reader #slasher fanfiction #slasher x s/o #house of wax #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #lester sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x y/n #vincent sinclair x y/n #lester sinclair x y/n

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creepswrites · 9 months ago

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RED CHRISTMAS (CH 2) | Billy Lenz

ah my favorite story Red Christmas time....... i love writing billy lenz character studies, it makes me so happy...

BILLY LENZ + SORORITY GIRLS

SUMMARY: Something stuck with her though: the name Agnes. Billy had mumbled it during his meltdown and it felt personal. It gave her something to work with though. She needed to know more, needed to unravel this man's mysteries. Both as a future psychiatrist and out of genuine concern.

He was strange. She needed to know more.

WARNING: discussion of graphic violence/child abuse

Phyllis Carlson had a lot of patience. She prided herself on being realistic yet understanding, all good qualities to have for a future as a doctor. Because she wasn't going to just be a nurse like her parents had wanted for their good little girl, always so condescending. No, she would be a proper doctor and a damn good one too.

However, sitting here on the couch watching some stranger whimper and cry in the communal kitchen while Jess tried to talk him down? She was reconsidering that whole Hippocratic oath "do no harm" part. "So let me get this straight," she rubbed her temples with her fingers, eyes squeezing shut in pure frustration. The Christmas tree still sat aglow, the soft lights the only light in the living room. It made her glasses-less sight all that much worse. "Some random dude stayed here after the party, attacked Peter, and suddenly Jess is going all psychology major on him?"

She kept her voice a whisper, shooting paranoid glances towards the kitchen, afraid to be too loud and be on the receiving end of the stranger's wrath.

Barbara Coard, in sharp contrast, did not appear at all stressed or concerned. "Good for him, honestly. Petey here can be pretty annoyin' sometimes." She said with a smirk, ignoring the glare the man gave her. "I like him."

Peter huffed in typical drama queen fashion. "He attacked me, Barb."

"Aw shut up and keep fidgeting with your ice pack," Barb scoffed, "And zip it, bucko, mommy and daddy are talking." She turned back to Phyll with an attentive look.

Phyll didn't give that any kind of response. "I'm just worried this guy is dangerous. I mean, I certainly don't remember seeing him."

"Neither do I," Barb said with another drag of her cigarette. "His voice is kinda familiar though, ain't it?"

The two girls shared a look before looking towards the kitchen doorway.

Billy and Jess had sat at the little kitchen table once again. He was staring ahead at absolutely nothing while she wrapped his knuckles with soft, white gauze. They'd started bleeding after hitting Peter and Jess had immediately fretted over the injury. She shushed and soothed his stammering and mumbles, not flinching when he had small, squealing outbursts. "It's alright, you're safe."

Green eyes fixed on her with an unblinking stare as she worked.

"You really did a number on Peter, y'know. What, um, prompted you to even lash out like that?"

Still, she was met with only silence.

It was very odd to her, considering what she knew about the Moaner. She hadn't told anyone else about his identity yet because she knew without a doubt that that reveal wouldn't go over well for anybody. The memory of Billy's threats to kill them still lingered in the back of her mind and it kept her on edge.

Surely, if he wanted to hurt her, he would've done so by now.

As she finished wrapping his hands, she gave him a warm smile. "Well, there you go, all patched up."

Billy couldn't meet her eyes and instead stared across the room at the candy cane he'd sharpened. After the incident with the pillow, Jess had taken it away to throw out. But his hands itched for a new weapon, for something to distract himself with. The longer he stared at the candy cane, the more compelled he felt to stab someone with it. Whoever he could get his hands on.

She noticed his gaze and stepped away slowly, creeping towards the candy cane knife like she was worried he'd lunge if she got too close. But he stayed still, picking at his cuticles and nails anxiously as he watched her pick it up and throw it away.

His eyes closed as the voices in his head disappeared in a soft breeze of calm.

"Hey," Barb's voice cut through the serene silence of the kitchen. Billy let out a small yelp and scrambled out of his chair to hide on the other side of the table away from Barb.

"Barb." Jess said softly. "We should, um, talk. With Phyll too."

The other girl nodded before giving a hesitant glance towards Billy. "You behave, alright?" She said, her cigarette hanging loosely between her fingers, a sharp contrast to the pink nightgown she wore.

He watched their backs retreat and hurried to turn off the kitchen light, plunging the room into darkness. Peter scoffed in the next room but Billy ignored the swelling urge to go kill him. Instead, he ducked under the table. Dark and quiet, just like the attics he was used to.

The attic.

The girl he'd left upstairs.

Jess's kindness would surely disappear once she learnt of the girl in the attic. Broken and cold, tied to the rocking chair like she was nothing more than a doll. She wasn't, as far as Billy was concerned. But she was still broken. A broken toy.

"Silly, silly, silly Billy, what have you done..." He whispered as he ducked his head between his knees, suddenly struck with a sick feeling in his stomach. "Billy, Billy, you broke it. Broke it. Broke it. Nasty, stupid Billy!" The words scraped his throat, mimicking his mothers voice. "Nasty pig bitch !" His voice cracked and he slapped a hand over his mouth.

Tears began to fall and he didn't know why.

"Jessie, I gotta be honest, this is a weird one." Barb said as she gestured to the kitchen, now plunged in darkness. "He's, uh, kinda strange."

"Kind of?" Peter protested with a huff. "You can't seriously be thinking of keeping him here."

Jess felt indignant. "Yes, I am. I think we should let him stay. At least for tonight."

Phyll gazed up at the Christmas tree, listening but not contributing. She seemed far away, thinking hard about something.

Their guest's voice was so familiar-

"I'm cool with him stayin'," Barb said with a shrug, "But, uh, no more screamin' episodes, yeah?"

Jess nodded, beginning to drift away to her own thoughts as Barb and Peter argued.

She was a psychology student. Being presented with a mysterious and clearly unstable man was, intellectually, fascinating to her. Had she not heard his comments about pigs earlier, she wouldn't even believe the man who sat in her kitchen and lost his mind trying to defend her from Peter could possibly be the same man who screamed lewd remarks at her over the phone.

How did these things connect? What happened to him? Where did he even come from?

She had to know more.

"He's familiar, isn't he." Phyll said more than asked. She turned to look at Jess, staring her down harshly as though searching for an answer on her face. "Kinda looks a bit like Peter. But I feel like I've heard him somewhere."

The two stared each other down. Jess tried to keep her expression schooled as Phyll searched for something there.

She knew. Or, at the very least, suspected. Jess wouldn't fold. She wouldn't say anything, especially not with Peter in the room.

"Bitch-!" They heard from the next room and Phyll's eyes widened in horror.

Barb didn't seem to notice. "You okay in there?" She called out, oblivious to the way her sisters seemed to have a conversation with just a look.

When Billy didn't answer, she made her way to the kitchen. "Wait, Barb, be careful!" Peter called out which only annoyed her.

"Relax, Petey, I can take care of myself." She sighed before stepping into the kitchen, the cold tile biting at her bare feet.

The limited light that reached the kitchen only faintly highlighted the face of the man gasping through sobs under the table. Green eyes were sharp and calculating, watching intensely as Barb sat on the floor in front of him. "Hey, you alright?" She asked softly, talking to him like one of the animals at the shelter she took care of.

Billy just stared at her, his hand still clasped over his mouth to muffle his crying and whining.

"Hey," she said softly, "You okay?"

He stared at her as tears ran down flushed cheeks. In the dark, the shadows danced menacingly on his face, making him look terrifying. Billy grumbled something though his words were muffled by his hands.

Barb just tried to smile. "You, um… You like music?" When he continued to just stare at her, she took a slow drag from her cigarette. "I've been really into makin' mixtapes lately. It's, uh… It keeps me busy, y'know? I've made a couple for Phyll and Jess too."

Billy continued to stare blankly.

"What's up?" Barb eventually sighed.

Without hesitation, Billy crawled towards her till their faces were mere inches apart. Barb opened her mouth to say something but quickly closed it as his eyes began to dart back and forth between hers.

As quickly as he came, he recoiled like she'd slapped him, giggling and biting his lower lip as he tried to fight a smile. "You… good?" She frowned, scooting back a little.

He just gripped his hair tight, hanging his head like he'd done something wrong and he felt ashamed. "Silly, silly, silly," Billy whispered through his laughter. He couldn't help his staring. It was her fault, surely. Barb was pretty, he couldn't help but look. All the girls were but he hadn't gotten the chance to look at her properly. Jess had already been so close and he wanted to just get closer-

"Dude, what was that about?" Barb just chuckled good-naturedly. "If you wanted to kiss, all you had to do was ask."

Billy's head snapped up and he stared with his mouth agape. "K-kiss?!" His voice cracked into something higher pitched. "Kiss Billy? Kiss Billy?"

She just laughed. Laughed. Like Billy was funny, like it wasn't outlandish for someone to want to kiss him. Like he wasn't disgusting and ugly and-

Barb scooted closer, running her hand through his wild, curly hair to dislodge his hands. "I mean, you're probably less crazy than my ex boyfriend. He was a real psycho. Wanted me to run away with him to Europe. Like, dude, I have a life here. School 'n shit." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Almost did it. My mom's a real piece'a work. Might've done it if she didn't beg me to stay."

Billy's eyes were still wide as he listened. A white-hot flare of protectiveness shot through him but was quickly extinguished when she shrugged.

She sighed, as though the mere memory exhausted her. "Whatever. Wanna kiss? I mean, if that's what you were thinkin' about doing. Got real close to me, man."

No. He didn't want to kiss her.

He nodded anyway.

Mother used to insist on affection from Billy. This wasn't different, surely.

The way Barb looked at him was different though. Gentler than his mother. Bile rose in his throat as she scooted closer and he tried to focus on anything else. The cold tile under his palms where he knelt on his hands and knees. Her soft, pale skin and the pink nightgown that rode up slightly when she moved closer. His teeth ground painfully, he couldn't meet her eyes, and he felt compelled to dig his teeth into the soft flesh of her exposed arms or thighs just to make her go away.

But her hands were gentle as she held his face. He didn't want to look at her face, didn't want to see his mother's face looking back.

Her lips were soft when she pressed them to his. Bile threatened to spill and he wanted to scream. She was soft, too soft, and he couldn't help the way he trembled. It was everything like and yet nothing like when his mother demanded he kiss her cheek goodnight whenever he was let out of the attic. Barb was softer, kinder, and it made his skin crawl. If Barb was harsh and forceful about it, at least he'd know to be repulsed.

This was so different. The repulsion was there because he didn't know how else to feel about kissing. But her thumb gently brushed under his eye and she tilted his head gently so their noses wouldn't bump and he wanted to bite her so she would be cruel to him. He didn't deserve this sweet kindness from a girl he'd only ever known through the floorboards of her attic.

When they parted, he was gasping for air and she just giggled. "What, never kissed a girl before?" Her tone was light, teasing, and she was still holding his face like he was fragile.

No, he hadn't. He'd never enjoyed it, at least. The thought he even enjoyed kissing her made him feel sick to his stomach though. Billy opened his mouth, ready to scream at her, scream at himself, anything but then-

"Hey." Jess's voice broke their little bubble and Billy nearly cheered from relief. He couldn't bear thinking about kissing her again like he so desperately wanted to yet was equal parts disgusted by.

"Hey yourself," Barb chuckled, letting go of Billy and standing up to brush herself off while pointedly ignoring the look Jess was giving her.

Jess just sighed and shook her head, looking down at a trembling Billy. "Phyll says you can stay the night, if you want."

Peter, like usual, was hot on her heels to disagree. "No, absolutely not! I don't care what you girls say, I'm not letting him be alone with you."

Barb's eyes could've pupped out of her head with how hard she rolled them. "Petey, as cute as your white knighting is, we're perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves."

"I'm calling the police." He said with such an arrogant finality that Barb felt the urge to smack him upside the head.

Billy lunged for him and only stopped when Jess got between them. "No, Peter, you're not," she said, pushing Billy back slightly. "We're fine."

Barb reached over to ruffle Billy's hair and smirked when he squealed. "We got a big, strong man to protect us from the bad guys, Petey. We're all set."

Peter looked angry and Billy snorted to himself at the sight. He hated him so much. Rude, dismissive of the girls, forced his will on Jess all the time…

"Sounds like we're having a sleepover," Phyll's tired voice came from behind them all. She stood in the living room with her arms crossed over her chest in attempts to warm up. The fire had begun to turn to flickering embers and it was beginning to become too chilly for the girls in just pjs.

"I'll make popcorn!" Jess smiled, turning on the kitchen light.

Billy hissed at the brightness. "Popcorn," he popped loudly. "Pop pop popcorn." He mimicked her tone and smooth accent, snickering. "I'll make popcorn."

Barb snorted. "Yeah, crazy. You got it." She yawned loudly and let out a long sigh. "'m gonna go grab pillows 'n blankets from our rooms. And my cigarettes. Be right back."

"Alright," Phyll said as Barb walked past her and back up the stairs. Her eyes never left Billy though, staring him down like a hawk when he turned to hover beside Jess in the kitchen.

Something was off about their impromptu guest and she wanted to find out what.

Peter, despite everyone insisting otherwise, had decided to stay. Despite his wishes, Billy happily sat at Jess's feet as she took her spot on the couch with the girls. The fire was now roaring and some romance movie Phyll picked was playing. She and Jess were enraptured by it while Barb just smoked, quietly bored. Sometimes Jess would play with a curl of his hair absentmindedly, not missing the way he tensed. Jess knew he was obviously not used to being touched but she did it anyways, hoping to help him get used to it again.

Peter sulked in the armchair and glared harshly at Billy all night as though hoping the other would just combust.

"Alright," Barb eventually said, sliding off the couch to join Billy on the floor. "We usually do each other's nails during sleepovers, so!" She set a little tray full of nail polishes in front of him with an expectant smile. "World's your oyster bud. Pick whatever you want."

A scoff coming from the armchair made Barb roll her eyes again. Billy snorted at the way her face immediately contorted from kindness to annoyance in the blink of an eye. She was really animated when she wanted to be and Billy couldn't help mimicking her face at Peter. "Guys don't paint their nails. Pretty sure that's for fa-"

Phyll threw popcorn at him with a sharp hiss. "Watch it. We're throwing you out if you finish that sentence."

Billy turned his attention to the little tray while Peter and Phyll argued. He'd never been given a choice before and it overwhelmed him. Was there a right answer? Did Barb want him to pick her favorite color?

She must've noticed his hesitation and took pity on him. "You like candy canes, right? Want me to do alternating red and white?"

"Yes." Billy said softly, poking gently at the red polish. Yes, he liked that idea.

Barb smiled at him and took out her nail clippers to get to work. Surprisingly, Billy had rather long nails for a guy, which intrigued her. They were chipped in places and cracking in others but she was able to clip and file them down to an almost almond shape. "You've got such nice skin," she sighed wistfully. "I'm kinda jealous. I get pimples, like, all the time."

Billy didn't know what to say to that so he didn't say anything. Jess's hand was back in his hair and everything felt a little overstimulating but he grit his teeth. Barb wanted to paint his nails and he was determined to tough it out. He didn't want her to be mad at him.

When she was done, though, Billy couldn't help but admire her work. They were pretty. It almost reminded him of the dark colors his mother would sloppily paint her toes with in the living room while on the phone with her friends.

Almost.

Suddenly, a sharp shuddering feeling wracked his body as Jess began to scratch his scalp in slow, methodical circles. He let out a yelp of surprise and clung to her legs like he would drift away if he let go. Billy trembled, biting his lip to keep himself from making a sound. Barb noticed though and gave him a knowing smile. "Hey Jessie, I think he likes that."

"What?" Jess blinked. "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was-"

Billy whined, digging his nails into her bare legs and burying his face into the couch cushions beside them. It felt nice. Goosebumps ran up and down his arms and made him shiver.

So she resumed, scratching in slow circles with her nails, uncaring of the way his hair felt a little dirty. Billy whimpered and would occasionally bite on his knuckles - Barb had smacked his hand when he tried to chew his nails - and Jess was struck by how intimate this felt.

It didn't normally. But things with Billy were slightly different, more charged, likely because he was so overwhelmed by gentle touching and genuine care. She'd seen Barb kiss him in the kitchen, she knew there was something about him that pulled people in. It was interesting, in her opinion. She'd met many mentally ill people in her studies so it wasn't the strangest thing she'd come across.

Something stuck with her though: the name Agnes. Billy had mumbled it during his meltdown and it felt personal. It gave her something to work with though. She needed to know more, needed to unravel this man's mysteries. Both as a future psychiatrist and out of genuine concern.

He was strange. She needed to know more.

Jess woke up first. Light peered its way through the windows and shined bright in her eyes. She took in the room, noting Barb and Phyll cuddled up on one end of the couch with Peter slumped over in his chair. She became immediately aware of the soft snoring beside her though.

At some point in the night, Billy had climbed up on the couch and tucked himself against her. The two of them were pressed together, his head resting on her shoulder while her head lay atop his. His knees were bent up to his chest with his arms curled against his chest, like he'd tucked himself into a ball. It made her heart clench a little seeing how little space he tried to take up.

In the light, it was easier to study him. Dirt and dust covered his clothes and hair, now highlighted obviously in the morning sun. Long, thin scars littered his hands in places and it was obvious he chewed on his fingers a lot. He was freakishly pale with dark circles under his eyes as proof he didn't sleep very often. A few stray scars on his face or near his mouth likely meant he'd been hit a few times. The idea sickened her.

Gently, Jess reached over and brushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear. When she pulled her hand back, he was staring at her, his breathing never changing. "Hi." She kept her voice soft to try and avoid waking the others or disturbing the sleepy atmosphere between them. "Do you want to take a shower?"

He looked at her with slow blinks, reminding her of how Claud would stare at her.

She took his hands and pulled him up, leading the way up the stairs towards the communal bathroom. "Here, wait in there, I'll grab you some things." She said quietly before retreating to her bedroom to grab her toiletries and some of Peter's clothes he'd left the few times he'd stayed over. He was skinnier than her boyfriend was but they'd fit him better than any of her clothes.

Billy was easily coerced into taking a shower, giving her time to do some quick research.

Jess made herself comfortable at her desk in her bedroom, cracking her knuckles as she got to typing. Without a last name to go off of, she'd have to get creative. So, she tried a few key words: "Billy and Agnes." "Billy phone calls." "Mimicking phone caller." But nothing had come up yet.

A thought came to her. While it had been rude, Peter had made a comment about an asylum. It was a stretch and not an idea she particularly liked, she googled nearby asylums within reasonable driving distance, added Billy's name, and began to scan through search results.

On the fifth failed attempt, Jess hung her head. "Okay," she sighed, "One last try."

Harmony Heights Hospital... Billy...

Instantly, various articles popped up about a man named Billy Lenz. She straightened up and began scanning through the first few links…

CHRISTMAS KILLER SET FREE...

LENZ BOY LET OUT ON GOOD BEHAVIOR...

THE TRAGIC STORY OF AGNES LENZ...

What on earth was this…

\\\

LENZ FAMILY MURDERED by Axel Waters, Investigative Journalist

Many times over the course of a person's life, we face challenges that seem impossible. Our experiences change us and shape us into the people who we are. These challenges help us grow as people, be it for better or worse. For one Bill Lenz aka The Christmas Killer, things have certainly changed for the worse.

On Christmas morning, Lenz was found by police in his home, covered in blood and holding his baby sister Agnes Lenz. Upon his arrest, Lenz was pleading with the police to not take his sister and had fought so viciously that he had to be restrained in order to be taken to the car. The state of the home, dear readers, was horrific.

Both Lenz's mother and stepfather had been stabbed through the neck with sharpened candy canes. The man - Roger Dirkson - was face down on the stove with various knives lodged into his back, a passionate kill that chilled me to the bone. His mother - Constance Lenz - was far worse; her eye punctured with a sharpened candy cane with her head caved in by a frying pan that lay discarded nearby. Lenz had been vicious and brutal and had the nerve to huddle up with his freshly traumatized five-year-old sister.

Lenz is said to be institutionalized in the nearby Harmony Heights Hospital whilst Agnes is placed into foster care for the time being. While the date for Lenz's trial is not yet in place, I hope that the seventeen-year-old will be tried as an adult for these grisly murders.

\\\

Jess sat back in her chair, letting the words roll over her like smashing waves. Her body thrummed with terror and anxiety as she tried to process what she'd read. He was a killer? He'd killed his family?!

She checked the date of the article, swallowing when she noticed it was from nearly four years ago. Quickly, she began to search for anything more recent, praying for an explanation as to why he'd done it.

An article from a year ago caught her attention.

\\\

A DARK CHRISTMAS INDEED by Marilyn Lowell, Journalist

On a dark, terrible Christmas morning exactly three years ago, a young Billy Lenz was arrested for the brutal, unnecessary murder of his mother and stepfather.

Or so we thought.

After a difficult trial two years ago, Lenz was found guilty by reason of insanity and was not imprisoned for his crimes.

How could this be?

Evidence later found by police showed overwhelming evidence that Lenz had been gruesomely neglected. Investigators say he was locked away in the attic for days at a time and, based on medical reports from Lenz's physical, it's likely that he was fed very little. He was, undoubtedly, insane. He was unable to form complete sentences and lashed out at anyone who tried to get close.

While it had been impossible to pull any kind of real information out of the traumatized young man, Sheriff Rowan Pierce had this to say about the situation: "He was screaming like nobody's business," Pierce said of Lenz. "All he kept asking was where was [Agnes], where's my sister, all that..."

Agnes Lenz, tragically, bore witness to the murders at only five years old. She was separated from Lenz and became a ward of the state during investigations. She has reportedly since been placed in foster care, far away from her home, her brother, and the horrors that unfolded. Police have refused to give any and all reporters her whereabouts.

Officer Jacob Fowling had this to say: "She's just a little kid. She doesn't need to be reminded of this every day. Anyone who goes looking for an interview with her is just heartless."

Bill Lenz, now twenty, is said to be released from Harmony Heights this upcoming week. Here's a statement about Lenz, from Dr. Steven Fell: "Bill Lenz has been through a lot. People often overlook the results of a deep abuse like that and aren't understanding of what extreme measures a man can take to save himself. When he came to me, he was practically emaciated and you couldn't even get within five feet of him without him freezing up. It was horrible."

While initially the Lenz children were scorned when the crime was first made public, opinion has since swayed after the evidence of neglect became apparent. As far as I know, the children are both recovering and have reportedly not seen each other since the incident. I can only hope that they will heal.

I send my condolences to the two children and wish all my readers a happy holiday.

\\\

Jess let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She continued to skim through articles, jotting down whatever information she could on a small pad of paper beside her. Different articles revealed more and more horrific details. Some reports, however, were just trashy, claiming that Billy had eaten his parents' cooked flesh or that Agnes was both his sister and daughter. Clearly just written in hopes of capitalizing on a horrific tragedy.

But she was able to get a clear picture of what happened: Billy killed his family, had been locked away in the attic for most of his life, was physically abused, and cared deeply for his sister despite the favoritism.

Reading through it, Jess found it harder and harder to be angry about him killing them. It was practically self-defense.

Agnes was difficult for reporters to find. The only article she could find was one about the trial where she'd been called to the stand and unable to recall anything of the incident, clearly having already suppressed the trauma. It made Jess's heart ache for the little girl.

But Jess was no reporter. She was a studying psychologist and she knew there were answers that only the young girl would have. If she could find her, she might be able to help Billy somehow.

Opening a new tab, Jess hovered over the keys. But, instead of Agnes' name, she typed in another: Dr. Steven Fell.

Call it a hunch, but she had a feeling he may know where Agnes went.

Hot water ran down Billy's neck and shoulders as he hung his head in front of the shower head, staring down at his feet to watch the way dirty water began to run clear. He lifted his hand to chew anxiously on his knuckles and whimpered, mind racing.

After Jess had left, he'd turned the shower on but hadn't gotten in. Guilt gnawed at him, ate away at his stomach until he nearly threw up. Mother. Upstairs. The girl he'd hurt and broke and left to die in the cold attic. As soon as the others learnt what he'd done, he'd be in trouble - thrown out onto the streets or, worse, thrown back into his cell.

Bad Billy, his mother scolded him in his mind, naughty, stupid Billy!

So he'd crept towards the stairs, using the running shower to muffle his steps. Jess was nowhere to be seen and he couldn't hear any of the other girls moving about so he tried to be quick. Before he was caught and thrown away.

He opened the little door to the attic and hoisted himself up, tucking his legs in and shuffling towards the girl still tied to the rocking chair. She was still and cold and he briefly worried she had died in the night. But no, her breath came out in hot clouds.

Scratching at his wrists and arms, he studied her closely while untying her. Not broken then. Cracked, maybe, but not broken.

Billy lifted her up into his arms and carried her down the ladder carefully, making his way back to the room he'd found her in.

He took in the decor, giggling at the photos of naked women performing witchcraft on her walls. Billy lay her gently down on the floor, mumbling to himself. She fell. Yes. She was hit in the head and she fell but she was okay. He set a box nearby to make it look like it had hit her. Perfect.

The door shut with a quiet click behind him and he hurried back to the bathroom. She'd wake up and no one would know. Everything would stay as it was.

Which was where he stood now. Scrubbing himself off with a washcloth in water that was slightly too hot but he was too afraid to try and fiddle with the nozzles. He was just grateful he got hot water at all. Usually, mother wouldn't let him have that, even in the winter.

When he finally stepped out, he got dried and changed quickly, not wanting to see the scars on his body any more than he had to.

But he couldn't help looking in the mirror when he was done.

His hair hung in messy, uneven lengths, water still bogging down his curls that hung just to his shoulders. It felt good to be clean though, flushed warm from the shower and pink in the cheeks. Billy studied himself in the mirror, poking and prodding at gaunt cheeks, tugging around the skin around his wide, unblinking eyes. He looked unpleasant, just like his mother always said. Too tall, too skinny, too ugly.

But he was clean. That was a nice change at least.

The old band t-shirt and sweatpants didn't suit him at all but it was better than nothing. He poked and prodded at the small holes in the shirt, smiling when he heard the fabric snap as he made them bigger. Serves Peter right.

Quietly, he tiptoed out of the bathroom and back towards Jess's room, peering in through the slight opening of her door. She was already dressed in her day clothes and seemed focused on whatever she was writing. Billy didn't want to disturb her, so he just watched her. Bore holes into the back of her head as she wrote vigorously, glancing between her paper and the screen. Minutes ticked by and he wondered what she was doing. But, before he could creep in to get a better look, she turned her computer off, put the pad of paper in her purse, and stood up to leave.

Jess jumped when she saw Billy hovering in her doorway. "Christ, you scared me!" She scolded him as she caught her breath. She pushed Billy aside as she stepped out and took a deep breath. "Smells like Barb and Phyll are making breakfast."

"Breakfast." Billy repeated, mimicking her cadance. He liked the way her voice sounded, like cold water.

She gave him a slight smile and led the way back downstairs.

Peter immediately descended upon them. "There you are!" He rushed over to Jess, taking her by the shoulders to look her over. "What happened? Did he hurt you?"

Billy growled as Jess pushed Peter's hands off her. She hated feeling coddled and knew his concerns only stemmed from the fact she was pregnant. "Relax, Peter. I was just upstairs doing some quick research while Billy was showering."

The man looked Billy over, scrutinizing him. "What's he doing in my clothes?"

"Nothing I had would fit him," Jess sighed as she headed towards the kitchen, Billy hot on her heels like a needy puppy, sad whimpering to match.

Soft music filled the tiny kitchen as Barb worked. For as troublesome as she could be, no one made pancakes better than Barbara Coard. Phyll was sat at the little table with a mug of coffee and a tired smile. "Morning Jess," she sighed as she took a sip, "And… good morning, Billy." She said, albeit nervously.

Jess pressed a fond kiss to the top of her head before noting the music. "I didn't take you for a Human League fan." She called over to Barb with a wide grin.

"Well, this is my morning mixtape." Barb said over his shoulder, giving Billy a once-over. "Fashionable." She teased him before turning back to the bacon and sausage.

Don't, don't you want me?

You know I can't believe it when I hear that you won't see me

Jess reached for Phyll's hands and, despite her tired protest, pulled her to the center of the kitchen and began to dance rather clumsily together. Phyll squealed with delight as she slid around in her socks and Jess sang along to the music without a care in the world.

Don't, don't you want me?

You know I don't believe you when you say that you don't need me

"Careful! Crazy kids," Barb teased good-naturedly. She noticed Billy standing there awkwardly and, taking pity on him, held out her hands. "C'mere, freak." Was the only warning Billy got before she took his hands and dragged him into the fray.

It's much too late to find

You think you've changed your mind

Alarmed, Jess went to protest on his behalf but Billy let out a sound that was somewhere between a scream and a laugh, clinging to Barbara like they were stood on ice rather than the sturdy kitchen floor. Neither of them were dancing, just spinning each other over their heads and Barb kept trying to tickle him, digging her fingers into his sides and relishing in the manic smile on his face. Soon enough, the four of them were all dancing around the kitchen and laughing.

You'd better change it back, or we will both be sorry

It was the first time any of them had seen Billy really smile.

When the song came to an end, Barb grabbed both sides of Billy's head and tilted him down so she could press an exaggerated kiss on the top of his head. "Thanks for the dance, crazy." She teased with a violent ruffle of his damp hair, hoping to fluff it out a bit more.

Billy meowed like a cat and escaped to sit at the table with Phyll, face bright red and beaming, oblivious to the strange look Barb gave him. "Breakfast's ready!" She said instead as she plated the pancakes, bacon, eggs, and sausage for them all to take from.

Billy politely refused bacon and sausage with another quiet meow as he drowned his pancakes in syrup.

"Real men eat meat." Peter mumbled under his breath, glaring at Billy.

"Stupid bitch." Billy shot back in a scratchy, shrill voice.

The other man's head snapped up. "Excuse me?!"

Jess sighed loudly. "Be nice, boys."

Jess stood at the sink, washing the dishes from breakfast as she hummed along to the music playing on the radio. Phyll and Barb had gone up to shower and Peter was watching television in the living room. It wasn't her turn to do dishes but she didn't really want to sit with Peter and risk him talking about the baby. Besides, washing dishes was methodical and let her turn her brain off. It also gave her the chance to consider her plan of action for the day: call Dr. Steven Fell and, hopefully, go talk to Agnes.

She wasn't… totally sure what she'd do when she got there. But she'd figure that out later.

Soft footsteps approached her and stopped just behind her, observing over her shoulder. "Do you want to help?" She asked with a fond smile. "You can dry them, if you'd like."

Silence. Instead, she felt Billy press his fingertips to her back and she had to hold steady to avoid jolting. The last thing she wanted was him getting scared and running off. Instead, she just resumed humming the song. "Do you like music?"

More silence. But, after a beat, Billy began to hum along with her. Jess smiled and set aside the last dish on the rack to dry. "Do you want to dance? And I mean properly dance, not just spinning around the kitchen." She turned to look at Billy properly, ignoring the glares Peter kept shooting them from his spot in the kitchen. Of course, her boyfriend raised his hackles if Billy so much as looked at Jess but the girl was so fed up she didn't even care.

Billy's eyes shot open in surprise and he began to chew nervously at chapped, peeling lips. "Dance…" He whispered as he stared down at his feet.

Jess took his hands and led him into the center of the kitchen and gave him a reassuring smile. When he floundered for what to do, Jess put his hands at her waist and set her own atop his shoulders. Billy looked a little green but let her move him how she wanted him. "Relax," she chuckled as the two began to sway stiltedly along to Let It Snow. "I won't bite."

Oh, the weather outside is frightful

But the fire is so delightful

Slowly, Billy began to relax and lean into the gentle swaying. It was basically middle school slow dancing - not enough movement to really be dancing but Jess was too afraid to do much more. He seemed easily overstimulated and she was just honored he let her touch him so much. She slid her hands up to loop her fingers around his neck and stepped more into his space, humming to the music.

And since we've no place to go

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

"Please don't," his voice came soft, barely audible over the music.

Alarm bells rang in her head. "Don't what?"

"Kiss me." He practically pleaded, green eyes finally meeting hers.

It doesn't show signs of stopping

And I've bought some corn for popping

The lights are turned way down low

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

Jess frowned. "Why would I kiss you?"

Billy swallowed with a click of his throat. His eyes darted to Peter in the living room who had yet to notice their closeness. Because I want to, Billy's mind unhelpfully provided.

She just swayed with him in time to the song, her brain trying to wrack itself why he'd think she wanted to kiss him. "Is it because Barb kissed you?" She tried, biting her own lip now.

Billy jolted but still nodded.

"Barb is just like that," Jess sighed, thoroughly annoyed with her sorority sister now. "She doesn't read the room sometimes and has a habit of kissing anyone she wants."

The two of them flinched when Peter shouted in the next room, cheering along with whatever sport he was watching. Billy growled under his breath. "Nasty pig bitch…"

Jess couldn't help her laughter. "Yes, I'm beginning to agree with you."

Billy felt light and heavy all at once. He wanted to die when he saw her smile yet couldn't imagine a world where she wasn't happy. Peter deserved to die for trying to ruin her life with a baby.

True to her word, Jess didn't kiss him. Billy couldn't help the way his hands tried to follow her when she stepped away, already missing her warmth.

Jess paced her room, listening to the dial tone of the phone ring. She'd swiped the downstairs phone to try and call Dr. Fell in the privacy of her own room. The others were downstairs watching television and she took the opportunity.

She nearly gave up until, after the fourth ring, he picked up. "Dr. Fell speaking."

"Dr. Fell! Hello, my name is Jessica Bradford. I wanted to ask you some things pertaining to a patient." She fidgeted with the cord, keeping her eye on the door in case anyone decided to barge in.

A pause. "Ms. Bradford, I'm afraid I'm unable to provide any information regarding patients to strangers."

"Oh, I don't need patient information."

"Then what?"

"I… Need to know where Agnes Lenz is."

The silence that followed was deafening. She heard his chair creaking and worried for a moment he was going to hang up. "The case was closed years ago. And trying to get an interview through me is rather shameless." His voice was menacing and certainly threatened hanging up.

But Jess was fast. "I'm a friend of Billy's!" More silence. "He's… He mentioned Agnes to me yesterday and I felt compelled to try and find her. I- I don't know when's the last time he saw her but-"

"If you really do know Mr. Lenz, tell me: which of his ears has a chip in it?"

Jess bluescreened, trying to remember how Billy looked. Who paid attention to that sort of thing? She had a fifty-fifty chance… but she decided to take a gamble: "Neither."

Silence. Then a sigh. "Why do you care so much, Ms. Bradford? It's been years since the two have seen each other and even longer since the case was closed."

"I'm not a reporter." Jess insisted, clenching her jaw. "I'm a university student, I live in the Pi Kappa Sig sorority, and I go to school for psychology." A pause. "I want to help Billy."

"And you think reuniting him with Agnes is a good thing?"

"Yes, sir, I do."

Silence stretched on again, longer than any of the previous times. Jess almost worried he'd hung up before he spoke again. "Okay. But if I see anything in the news about an interview with this girl, I'll call the police."

Jess pulled out her pad of paper to scribble down the address.

"I'll only be gone a few hours." Jess sighed as she put her mittens on, trying to push Peter away from her.

Phyll, Barb, and Billy watched the whole tussle from their place on the floor, their game of Candyland temporarily put on hold in case Jess needed aid. Peter was convinced Jess was going to an abortion and all but grabbed her to try and keep her inside.

"Jess, please, don't do this!" He whined, standing in front of the doorway like a petulant child.

"I'm going shopping." Jess sighed, holding up her grocery bags. "Please, Peter, stop embarrassing me." She looked over at her sorority sisters as she pulled on her hat. "You two are find to stay with Billy?"

Barb chuckled and poked at said man with her foot. "So long as he keeps kicking Phyll's ass at Candyland."

Jess rolled her eyes fondly and pushed past Peter to head to her car, ignoring his protests as he tried to follow her. Thank god her lock hadn't frozen or he may have dragged her bodily back into the house. His fake crying was ignored as she pulled out of the driveway, content to let him think she was getting an abortion. She didn't care. Who knows, maybe she'd make an appointment later.

The drive to the little foster home Agnes lived at was about an hour away, giving her plenty of time to think. According to Dr. Fell, Agnes had visited Billy a grand total of twice when he was staying at the hospital. The two hadn't really talked but she didn't seem to hate him for what happened. She'd be around ten now and had been kept secret from any and all reporters. One had tried when Agnes had been seven but, luckily, police had been called.

She didn't seem to remember the traumatic night but both Jess and Dr. Fell didn't believe that.

Now that she was in the car and thinking about it critically, she wasn't sure what she was hoping to get out of this. Even if Agnes's guardians would let them talk, who knows if Agnes would even want to. All she could do was hope she'd talk if she mentioned Billy…

Did she even remember him anymore?

When she pulled up outside the house, she let out a little sigh, watching her breath become clouds in the cold air. It was like a tiny winter wonderland decorated with little white lights that cast flickering glows against the sparkling snow. Tiny snowmen and snow angels littered the front porch and Jess smiled fondly. Kids had certainly been out playing recently and it made her heart clench a little.

It wasn't like she never wanted a kid ever. Just right now wasn't a good time. How Peter couldn't even respect that was…

Shaking that train of thought away, Jess steeled herself and marched to the front door, reminding herself with every step that she had to do this. She had to get answers, had to try and help Billy in some way. He clearly needed it and she had a feeling this would solve a lot of problems.

The elegant green wreath stared her in the face as her hand hesitated over the warm red door. "You can do this." She whispered to herself and squeezed her eyes shut as she knocked.

The sound of footsteps running around became louder and a dog could be heard barking from inside. The door swinging open surprised her and she was met with the face of a little five year old girl stood in the doorway dressed in a cute little dress and holding a doll to her chest. "Hello," Jess said gently and smiled. "Where's your mother?"

All she got was a blank, terrified stare in response, like the little girl had opened the door on impulse and didn't actually expect anyone to be on the other side. "Um. Mm…" She mumbled, clinging tighter to her doll.

"Nora! What are you doing? Mama said you can't just open the door to strangers!" A voice came from within the house and an older girl came around the corner to shoo the younger girl off, watching as she scurried away shyly. She eyed Jess warily, holding onto the door as though preparing to slam it shut if Jess gave her an unsatisfactory answer. "What do you want?"

Jess felt her eyes widen as she stared at the girl. She looked different from the police photos but there was no doubt who she was. The little girl with wild brown curls that fell just past her shoulder, dressed in a soft white blouse and a navy blue skirt, who was staring down Jess with caution in her piercing green eyes…

...was Agnes Lenz.

#🔪 creeps writes #slasher fanfiction #billy lenz #jess bradford #phyllis carlson #barbara coard #peter smythe #claire harrison #agnes lenz #red christmas #black christmas #black christmas 1974

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creepswrites · 9 months ago

Text

this should go without saying but do not use my writing for AI or any type of AI training. i pride myself in never using AI for my writing so please don’t use it for that purpose!

#🔪 creeps talks #this hasnt happened yet #but it occurred to me last night that i should say something about it

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creepswrites · 9 months ago

Note

Hi hi I love your writing so much, could we please have something for the leslie vernon fans 👀

yes omgomg i love leslie so much!! hiiii leslie vernon fans hiiii i hope you enjoy…… i rly see leslie in a VERY Particular way BUT i hope this is still satisfactory for everyone to read :)

LESLIE VERNON x GN!READER (they/them)

SUMMARY: People didn't really understand when you told them you weren't dating. Frankly, the only person who's opinion on your relationship mattered was Leslie's. Everyone else could go fuck themselves.

Leslie was a strange guy.

You’d met him at the nearby library one stormy afternoon when you'd retreated inside to get out of the storm. He'd been in the true crime section leafing through a book you had been meaning to read and the rest was history. The two of you had hit it off instantly, bonding over your shared love of true crime and horror. You became attached at the hip in a matter of weeks, the both of you gushing about the latest reported slasher villain rising or the psychology essays you both needed to write for class. He was your best friend.

Truthfully, neither of you had very many other friends but the sentiment still counted.

One afternoon, someone had asked you how long you and Leslie had been dating for and the question startled you. You were sitting in class with Leslie and he'd been up late again so you let him copy off your notes. At one point, he'd dropped his head a little to rest on your shoulder and you let him. While you didn't consider yourself a very touchy-feely person, it was different with him.

"So," one of your more boisterous classmates said while everyone was clearing out for the day, "How long have you two been dating?"

You blinked. "What?"

"Y'know. It's kinda obvious, you don't have to play coy about it!" Another classmate chimed in with a less-than-kind smirk.

Leslie didn't say anything and you felt your stomach drop. Too often you'd make friends with guys who were only really interested in dating you and you felt sick with the idea Leslie was like that too.

You were about to make a run for it but Leslie just sighed. "It's not like that, c'mon guys." He lifted his head to give them one of his charismatic smiles. "You should know better than to go assuming that kinda stuff."

Thoroughly embarrassed, your classmates hurried off and you turned to look at him, smiling when he yawned and stretched. "Thanks."

"No need. 's weird people ask," he sighed. "My place or yours? I'm taking a nap either way, if that changes your mind." He said as he gathered his stuff to leave. The two of you packed your bags in a comfortable silence which gave you plenty of time to think.

You'd both just stepped out into the hallway when you grabbed his wrist. "Les..."

"Hm?" He gave you a tired smile.

"I don't have romantic feelings for you." You choked out, unable to meet his eyes. "I don't- I don't know if that changes anything but-"

He cut you off as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "I don't either, babe. Don't sweat about it. People just... enjoy making assumptions about things they don't understand." He tilted his head to watch you smile. "Now. My place or yours?"

"Yours," you sighed, "My roommates'll be home."

So yeah. Leslie was a strange guy. But you liked him that way.

"Do you ever wish we dated?" You'd asked him one afternoon at a mall. The two of you had gone shopping at one of the bookstores and decided to go to the food court for lunch.

Leslie looked up at you with a bewildered expression. "No? Is this a trick question?"

"Yes." You answered honestly, stealing a fry off his plate despite having plenty of your own. "We spend a lot of time together, we cuddle, we've kissed a few times. But you don't seem interested in dating me."

He gave you a curious look and chuckled, covering his mouth. "What, do you want to date?"

You let out a huff, rolling your eyes fondly when he nudged your foot under the table to tease you. "No, obviously not. I mean, you're a sweet guy and I love spending time with you. But it's just..."

"Not like that." He finished for you. You both locked eyes and he gave you a sweet, genuine smile. "I adore you. You're one of my favorite people I've ever known. But 'm not into you like that." Leslie said as he took a bite of his burger. He chewed thoughtfully before nudging you again. "Not opposed to some kinda relationship though. Like, just an us thing, y'know? Not partners or datin' but some third thing?"

It had honestly been a bit relieving for you to hear and you two spent a long time talking about it.

Things changed in the next few days. You held hands walking to class a few times, sometimes Leslie would kiss your forehead or you'd kiss his cheek, and you started staying at his house more often than not.

People didn't really understand when you told them you weren't dating. Frankly, the only person who's opinion on your relationship mattered was Leslie's. Everyone else could go fuck themselves.

Your relationship wasn't strictly labeled since neither of you really cared for it. Some google searches led to you writing it off as queerplatonic and calling it a day. It wasn't romantic but you were emotionally intimate. You cuddled, relied on each other, opened up in a way more typical for romantic partners, and the like.

But Leslie was a strange guy. So, of course, you were both strange together.

You'd never considered him to be the jealous type though.

One day you were sitting in the library taking notes with Leslie sat beside you, hard at work playing on his phone under the table - it was your turn to take class notes since he did it last week - when a girl came over and sat beside you.

"Hey," she said softly, scooting way too close for comfort.

You gave her a wide-eyed stare before going back to your writing. "Uh. Hi. Can I help you?"

She giggled and gave a brief glance to Leslie. "You busy this weekend?"

"Yep," you said in a clipped tone. "Cleaning the turtle tank this weekend. They're overdue."

"Oh, you like animals? That's so sweet." She cooed and it made your skin crawl when she held your arm.

You were going to give some snarky retort but Leslie suddenly draped his arm around your shoulders, accidentally smacking her in the face slightly. "They're mine, actually."

"The turtles or them?" She asked, gesturing to you with an exasperated look shot your way. As though Leslie's antics ought to annoy you too.

Leslie just gave her a tight-lipped smile.

She huffed but kept her sweet facade up. "Well, I heard through the grapevine you two aren't dating. Soooo I don't see what's so wrong about wanting to go on a date with your friend."

"Oh, lots wrong." Leslie said, pulling you closer and making your pencil scrape against the lined paper. If his protectiveness weren't so endearing, you would've been annoyed at him messing up your notes. "First off, I'd advise them not to go."

The girl scoffed, grabbing your arm again. "You're not their boyfriend, you can't decide what they can do."

You knew Leslie well enough that you could tell when he was mad. He wasn't the type of angry who got up in people's faces or screamed at them. No. He got very quiet instead. Quiet and forceful without even raising his voice. It unsettled you sometimes but now, seeing it focused on some annoying, entitled girl, you almost wanted to kiss him.

"I think you should leave." Leslie said, his smile never wavering but grew unsettlingly.

"Make me." The girl shot back, clearly possessing a death wish.

Before Leslie could make a scene, you cupped his face and leaned in to kiss him. Your eyes were closed so you couldn't see his reaction but you could hear the girl get up and leave. It didn't feel magical like how movies always made first kisses seem but it was sweet in a different way.

You pulled back when the realization hit you that you were kissing Leslie. You'd never talked about if that was okay or not and you were paralyzed at the idea you'd read everything wrong. You jerked back like you'd been burned and you stared at him

He was staring back with bright eyes and a soft flush to his cheeks that made you feel like puking. "Woah." He chuckled, running a hand through his hair nervously while unable to meet your eyes. "Um. Wow."

"I'msosorry!" You blurted out as you covered your face with your hands. "I didn't know how else to make her go away, I- I thought it was- I'm sorry, we never-!"

He cut you off by cupping your face and pulling you back in for another kiss. It was softer, sweeter this time, and your hands moved to hold his shoulders to keep yourself upright. His hands held your waist as you kissed and the whole thing felt a little magical. If you two were dating, you'd probably swoon under the attention.

If this were a normal coming-of-age film, maybe this would be the part where Leslie would confess to having always been in love with you and you'd burst into relieved tears and confess back. Or maybe this was more like a charming boy-next-door story where he tells you that he's only ever had eyes for you and you two would become the power couple of your psychology course.

But this wasn't either of those stories. You never liked those kinds of stories anyways.

So instead, you two pulled apart and, miraculously, laughed. It was a quiet giggle-fit, his lips pressed against your temple while you buried your face into his shoulder as you tried to keep your voices down.

"I didn't take you for the jealous type," you mumbled softly into his shoulder.

"Neither did I." He snorted before kissing your cheek. "That was nice though."

You nodded gently, nuzzling more into his neck. "We addin' that to the list of stuff we can do?"

"God yeah." Leslie said with a breathy chuckle. "Didn't think I'd like that as much as I did."

You snorted and kissed him chastely.

Leslie was a strange guy. But he was your strange guy.

#🔪 creeps writes #slasher x reader #slasher fanfiction #slasher x s/o #behind the mask #leslie vernon #leslie vernon x reader #queerplatonic #this is very personal to me #but i can also understand why people may not like this

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creepswrites · 9 months ago

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Hi, I just read your hcs about reader struggling with anxiety and depression, it was really great! I am also sorry you're going through tough times rn, I really really hope you'll feel better soon. Tbh I've been going through something myself and reading the Sinclair brothers' hcs, it reminded me of an idea I've wanted to eequest for a long while. I would like to request for the Siclair brothers (separately) x gn!reader headcanons where the reader struggles with mental health issues, but since they don't really leave Ambrose they can't get to their medication. How would they approach the brothers about it, would they hide it, how would the brothers react, you know.

Of course you can work on this when you feel like it, if you're not feeling like it with what's going on in your life. Or scrap the idea altogether, or add whoever you want. Thank you so much for letting me get my thoughts out tho <3 You are valid. You are loved. You are seen.

thank you for the kind wishes, i do appreciate it :) i tried to keep this relatively inclusive as to what exactly reader is suffering from but some stuff may be a lil specific. and don't worry, writing helps distract me so i'm happy to do this <3

SINCLAIR BROTHERS x GN! READER WHO NEEDS THEIR MEDICATION

BO SINCLAIR

You absolutely tried to hide it at first. How could you not?

Bo wasn't exactly... understanding about that kind of thing

I mean, you've seen how he acts with Vincent sometimes and thats his own brother. You don't want to imagine how he'd treat you if he knew...

But you knew the longer you went without your prescriptions, the more difficult things would get

It started small. Your moods would change randomly and very drastically - one extreme to another or you'd have trouble sleeping or oversleeping or - your least favorite - you'd lash out at one of the brothers for seemingly nothing

Bo noticed. He didn't say anything about it because he assumed that, if it was that important, you'd tell him

So when you had a full on meltdown on the kitchen floor one afternoon, he was blindsided

He had no idea it'd gotten this bad and, unfortunately, his first reaction was to get mad at you. He yelled at you, tried to get you to pull yourself together. After all, if you had been suffering, you would've told him! Right...?

It's not until your crying abruptly stops that he realizes he fucked up. You shut down on him, near catatonic as he tries to apologize

He's scared. And when he's scared, he lashes out. You know that. It still doesn't make it hurt less

The brothers agree that there needs to be regular trips made so you can get your medication. Lester offers to take you since he's the one who goes to town the most anyways

You and Bo get into an argument about it once or twice because he doesn't understand why you wouldn't tell him

His heart breaks a little when you tell him you didn't think he'd believe you or would look at you differently for it

He reassures you that no, never. He totally understands the moodswings, the angry episodes you have, those things

Once you're on your meds again, you two promise that if anything major like this happens for either of you, that you can always lean on each other

Bo takes time getting there but he grows to understand you and figure out how best to help you!

VINCENT SINCLAIR

You tell Vincent pretty early on that you need medication

While you don't give him many specifics as to why, you tell him that life will be better for all of you if you keep taking them

At first he's a little apprehensive of letting you go into town so Bo goes with you to pick it up

Not because he doesn't believe you! But because he's scared you're still trying to escape

He wants to know what they're for so he's not above snooping around to read the labels

(You'd tell him if he asked but he didn't know that)

The amount you take surprises him and he tries to think about what you're like off them, in a morbidly curious way

He is, however, insistent that you're taking them consistently and without interruption. Vince makes sure you take them every day and gets on his brother's cases if they give you a hard time about it

They're not cures though. You both find that out the hard way when he finds you trembling in the corner of his shop like you were in freezing weather. The panic attack was violent and took you by surprise but Vincent holds steady

He sits with you, humming soft melodies to try and ground you

When you're ready, he hugs you and you just break down into tears. You'd never wanted him to have to see you like this, you don't want him to think you're some fragile china doll who can't take care of themself

But he would never see you like that. You explain that, while the meds make them less frequent, you're not cured completely

Things will slip through the cracks sometimes and that's okay! He'll always be there when you need him

When he catches you scratching yourself anxiously, he buys you gloves and makes sure you keep your nails short

He catches you picking at your face and gets you small bandages you can place over the spots so you don't obsessively pick

Vincent is always doing little things to try and improve your quality of life, even if you're taking medication!

LESTER SINCLAIR

You don't really tell him but you also don't hide it from him either

He notices you taking pills every morning and every night and is able to put two and two together

Probably asks you what they're for once you two have been dating for a bit but it doesn't really change much in your relationship

He's relatively chill about it though and offers to take you into town to pick up your meds

Likes to hoard pills for you so you never run out - it's an irrational fear of his but you think its sweet

Whenever you get sad, Jonesy and Lester are both right there to comfort you however you need

Sometimes, when the bad thoughts get too loud, Lester catches you staring vacantly into the bathroom mirror or out windows and he worries

One night you wandered out into the woods, barefoot and freezing, just because you felt so out of touch with your own body

Everything felt fake and floaty and you just needed to be out somewhere harsh and grounding and real

You love Lester, you really do, but there, in the forest all alone, all you could think about was how empty you felt

He finds you early the next morning and he was clearly worried sick, still in his sleep clothes with just a flashlight and an anxious Jonesy

Once at home and warm from your shower, he pleads with you to talk to him about it

You finally spill about how you've felt completely dissociated from yourself, even with all the meds you're taking, and it just got to be too much

He gives you a hug and you both agree to try and find other ways to shock you back to reality that don't involve you wandering into the forest at night

Turns out, an ice cube on the back of the neck works wonders to snap you out of whatever stupor you've found yourself in!

Lester is as involved with it as you'd let him. Never ashamed or afraid to lend you a hand with anything!

#🔪 creeps writes #slasher x reader #slasher fanfiction #slasher x s/o #house of wax #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #sorry for the way i write bo #i feel like i write him accurately though

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creepswrites · 9 months ago

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i've been dealing w/ a lot lately and wanted to write something nice so. enjoy.

SLASHERS w/ A GN! S/O WHO IS DEALING WITH DEPRESSION & ANXIETY

MICHAEL MYERS

"I just don't feel like doing anything..."

Michael gives you space if you ask for it but will still stand and watch you from the corner of the room

He's not the most outwardly affectionate person but you can tell he's worried when he comes over to squeeze your wrist once or twice

And you can tell he's worried sick when he points at the television as an invitation to watch a movie with him

He'll let you cuddle against him and he plays with your hands or hair and actually does hold you back

(It's not that he's NOT affectionate, just not usually like this)

The two of you can spend all day watching silly tv shows and movies to make you laugh

Every day may not be good, but there is something good in every day.

LESLIE VERNON

"Oh my god, Leslie, I think I'm having a panic attack."

Your hands are shaking so bad, you're sweating cold, and your vision is starting to get spotty as he hurries over to catch you

He rocks you through it, sits you down on the floor, and keeps you close to his chest while running his fingers down your arm or through you hair

Leslie's voice is soft and grounding as he tries to talk you back down

When you're finally able to breath again, you break down into such guttural sobs that he just holds you and rocks you gently

He lets you stay over at his house, you two get your favorite for dinner, and he reminds you that if you ever need to talk, he's there

After watching a movie, you talk to him about it. About how everything feels so overwhelming, how you feel helpless and out of control, and how you feel alone. He listens, really listens. And right now, that's all you really need: to just talk it out with someone

Even the darkest hour only has 60 minutes.

STU MACHER & BILLY LOOMIS

"I feel like everything is going wrong."

Stu happily listens to you vent about your problems and tries to drag you out on walks or to see movies or something

Definitely the type of guy to take you to amusement parks to give you constant dopamine hits

Billy, in contrast, will give you solutions to your problems and gives you space

He's not the most emotional guy so he tries to give you space to sort out your thoughts

So you've got a good balance!

Whenever they catch you starting to spiral again, Stu will go grab you a drink or a blanket while Billy tries to talk you down, reminding you that your problems are temporary and you will be okay

You've survived everything up till this point. You will continue to survive.

VINCENT SINCLAIR

"Do you hate me?"

Honestly, Vincent is surprised you could even think that!

But he understands how your mind works at this point so he takes you aside and opens the floor for you to talk

Everything just spills out. Small things he may have done on accident that just began to pile up, larger things that have just added to weighing you down, everything

Anyone else would think you were blaming him for your problems but he didn't see it that way. He saw you finally cracking and asking for his help to fix things

He can't magically solve everything for you but he supports you, showers you in hugs and kisses, and starts talking to Bo about maybe driving you out of Ambrose every so often to see someone about your mental health

You're grateful for his help. Everything feels so much less overwhelming when you have someone to hold hands with while you try to get help

Small, baby steps each day add up to huge, giant leaps over time. Don't give up.

LESTER SINCLAIR

"I think everyone hates me."

Lester's head snaps around and catches you staring down at your phone with wet, sorrowful eyes

You break down when he hugs you, spilling everything about a fight with your friends that left you scared. Not sad - scared

That's what sets off alarm bells in his head. He puts your phone aside and listens to you talk, vent, cry, anything you need

You're afraid. Afraid of what your friends said, worried about what they might tell others, and a petrifying anxiety that you'll end up alone

But Lester reminds you if they do that, then they were never really your friends to begin with

He peppers your face in kisses and reminds you that, no matter what, he will always love and care for you. Even if the whole world was against you, you'd always have him Jonesy comes and sits in your lap, licking your face and hands as she tries to smother you in her love as well!

Don’t dwell on those who hold you down. Instead, cherish those who helped you up.

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creepswrites · 10 months ago

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hiii! i come here to fulfill my self-indulgent mind,,,, can i get some headcanons of jason, michael ('78) and billy lenz with a (gn) s/o who always asks before kissing them wich ends up in peppering their faces/masks and neck with kisses and sometimes licks their faces out of nowhere bc they're a little bit silly? :-)

ur writing is amazing btw!!! hope ur having a great day, thanks in advance <3

(sorry if my english is weird 🍭)

oughhh yesss omg this is so cute!!!! i hope the emoji was for like. anon tag. bc i did that lol

SLASHERS x GN! READER WHO LICKS & KISSES THEM

JASON VOORHEES

"Jason? May I kiss you?"

He's a little confused why you'd feel the need to ask

His mother taught him when you're in a relationship with someone, kissing is to be expected

But if it's a regular thing for you, he'd find his own way to ask quietly, be it brushing your lip or cheek for your approval for him to kiss you

He, of course, lets you kiss him anytime you ask! He rarely takes his mask off though and is very self conscious of his face :(

Whenever you DO get to pepper his actual face with kisses, he gets nervous about it

He's not sure how you find him attractive so he's much more comfortable with affections when he's masked up

One time you lick the side of his mask and that definitely stuns him for a second

I wouldn't recommend licking him, with how often he goes in the lake or gets blood on his mask but you do you!!

He'd still let you. He loves you, he's far more tolerant of your antics than anyone else's

MICHAEL MYERS

"Michael, could I kiss you?"

Honestly he appreciates you asking. Some days he does say no and you, of course, respect that

Sometimes he'll take his mask off for it, other times he doesn't

He's relatively unresponsive. Sometimes he'll close his eyes and that's as good an indicator as any that he Does feel something about it

He's not a very expressive person

When you lick him though, you get a raised eyebrow for it

He's not like. Affronted by it or anything. It just takes him by surprise!

Honestly? He'd probably show you affection by biting you sometimes in response

Michael is autistic and I'll die on this hill

When you get his guard down enough and get him comfortable, he'll lean into kisses and let you run your fingers through his hair :)

BILLY LENZ

"Hey Billy? Want a kiss?"

Of the three, he's the most accepting of the licking!!

Honestly he probably joins in on that and licks you back

He does, however, shriek and shy away whenever you try to kiss him

It makes him nervous but licking is something he can easily reciprocate

Whenever he says yes to kissing though, you can't help but cover him in them until he's screeching and shoving you away as gently as he can

Like Michael, probably bites you to show affection. He's also way more comfortable kissing you than he is being kissed

Will bite your fingers or nip at your ear or cheek to get attention and babbles whenever you lick him

Probably calls you "kitty" or some variation of that

While he does get shy about the kissing, he's very... enthusiastic. Lots of tongue involved

#🔪 creeps writes #slasher x reader #slasher x s/o #🍭 anon #jason voorhees #jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees x you #friday the 13th #michael myers #michael myers x reader #michael myers x you #halloween 1978 #billy lenz #billy lenz x reader #billy lenz x you #black christmas 1974

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creepswrites · 10 months ago

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i'm sorry for not writing anything lately. other projects in my life have been preoccupying me too much but i do want to return to writing for this blog soon.

Tired of Running is fighting to not be written so that may take some time but i do have some requests to get to that i haven't forgotten about!! as soon as my project is at a good stopping point in a day or two, i'll be able to write more.

also i'm sorry if Red Christmas gets more posts sooner, i know it's not very Popular but i really like it so i'm still gonna write it.

thats all for now! thank you all for still showing love to my work even when i'm on a small break. i think coming back with fresher eyes will help :)

#🔪 creeps talks #local guy keeps taking breaks from writing two things a week #im a good author #i post more than that game of thrones guy or whatever

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creepswrites · 10 months ago

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RED CHRISTMAS | Billy Lenz

this story was one of my favorites to work on that never got as much attention as i had hoped so... here's hoping a rewrite will do it some good! as always, i'll link the original here if you want to go back and see what i've previously done for this story :) jsyk i will likely do something with billy x reader in this universe later if this rewrite does well!!

BILLY LENZ + SORORITY GIRLS

SUMMARY: Her sorority sisters always teased Jess for being an affectionate person. She was sympathetic and cared deeply about people. So seeing Billy cry felt wrong. Like it wasn't something he'd meant to do nor had he in a while, which broke her heart a little. She didn't know his past but if he had nobody looking for him, no idea how he got here, and acted out emotionally then…

Maybe he didn't have anybody at all.

WARNING: child abuse & neglect, graphic violence, talk of abortion

From within the shadows of the messy closet, Billy stood squeezed into the shadows. Green eyes bore holes into Claire Harrison, watching her every move as she packed her bags in preparation to leave for the holidays. Christmas was coming and many of the sorority girls had made plans to leave - Billy knew this, had heard them talking through the floor or on the phones. Sneaking in hadn't been difficult in the first place, not for him anyways. Attic windows were rarely locked. He'd only been here for a few days though, which meant the girls were still unpredictable. But that was fine. He could change that easily.

People were predictable when they were afraid.

His phone call earlier had really rattled them all, especially Claire. He'd been calling the sorority house for a few weeks but only just recently snuck in, a bold move he didn't normally go for. There hadn't been any rhyme or reason to choosing these girls though. Maybe parts of them reminded him of Agnes, of his mother, or of something entirely different. But here they were and here he was.

The little girl in the park had been an accident. Just an accident, he swears. She'd caught him sneaking around and he had to kill her or else he'd get into trouble. Billy didn't want to be in trouble. Mother would get angry and then she'd–

The sound of Claud's meowing had Billy jolting back to the moment, his breath hitching as Claire gravitated closer and closer to his hiding spot in the closet. His heart began to pound as she reached inside to grab one of her many dresses just as he lunged for the girl's throat. The two stumbled to the floor and the force of the landing knocked the wind out of the poor girl and she was knocked out cold. Billy stared at her, feeling his whole body shake as he crawled up her body to examine her face.

Plain but pretty. Brown hair, big sad eyes, and cheeks flushed from exertion. She reminded him of–

Billy sat back on his knees, his hands trembling violently as he buried his face in his hands, fingers sliding up to grip at his hair. Whimpering, he shook violently as he waited for the adrenaline to come down. With still-shaking arms, he lifted her up into his arms like she was something precious and fragile before creeping towards the door.

He could hear the girls downstairs chatting and laughing, which he took as his cue to escape. The attic door had been left open to make his transition easier. Billy was stronger than his lankier appearance let on, making it easy to lift the girl up into the attic and slide the door shut behind his feet.

The attic was dark, dusty, and quiet. Just the way he liked it. The wooden planks on the floor gave him tiny splinters for him to yank out with his teeth, cobwebs covered all the old boxes and props, and the window panes that somehow weren't cracked were cloudy from years without cleaning. It felt just like home.

A sole, wooden rocking chair had been set up by the old window, creaking as the slight draft swayed it back and forth. Billy sat Claire down in the chair, tying her torso and limbs to it. He wrapped a cloth around her mouth to prevent her from screaming if she awoke and did his best to ignore the way his hands shook. She definitely looked like how–

Mama had to be in her usual spot, Billy thought to himself as he began searching for the doll he'd stolen borrowed stolen from the little girl in the park borrowed. Right by the windowsill with Agnes, just like he remembered. Giggling to himself, he set the ratty, bloodstained doll in the girl's lap.

Despite her resemblances, Claire was softer and kinder than his mother had been. He'd heard the way she talked to her friends or her boyfriend. Warm and loving, accurate only to the version of his mother that Billy had invented in his mind. She was always sweet and good to Agnes, he remembered that clearly. He remembered sitting at her feet just like this, watching her rock the baby by the window as the snow fell.

But Billy always made her angry, always in her way somehow. He remembered the way her face would twist and contort whenever he so much as entered the same room as her. As though simply asking to share her space was an insult that Billy could never hope to apologize for. She would scream at him, cursing him for ever being born, and laugh when he began to cry.

She wasn't yelling now, Billy focused back on the little doll. He was in control now. His mother and sister were gone. He was in control now.

"Little baby bumpin', daddy's gone a-huntin', gone to fetch a rabbit skin to wrap his baby Agnes in…" His scratchy voice sang out into the dirty, dusty space. He pushed gently on the chair to rock it slowly and fixed his eyes to wear the girl's shoes scuffed at the floor. Mother never let him look at her, he reminded himself.

Hearing the muffled sounds of voices coming up the stairs, Billy lifted his head slowly. He listened to doors close, likely just the girls disappearing into their rooms, and crept towards the attic door. He knelt to press his ear to it, nervously humming and chittering to himself as he did.

Calling the sorority house had been stupid, Billy hissed in his mind. "Stupid, stupid Billy," he whimpered, banging his head once against the door, wincing when it rattled. He never should have done that, so impulsive and stupid, said Her voice in his head.

"Hello, Peter?" A soft voice trickled through the cracks of the door. Billy froze to listen better. "I just want to talk to you." The girl - Jess, he recognized - was talking to her boyfriend. Peter had only been over to the house once, on Billy's first night there, and he despised the man. So rude and repulsive to look at. Always talked down to the girls and thought himself the smartest in the room always.

Billy opened the door just a crack to hear better. "Nothing's the matter, I just need to talk to you. In person. It's important." Jess said with a small sigh. Billy didn't need to see her face but he could picture her exhausted eye roll. Barb had been on the receiving end of that look one too many times. But he knew what Jess was talking about.

He'd already heard Jess talk to Phyl about the pregnancy.

A part of him wanted her to get the abortion too. Recalling his own childhood, remembering Agnes' life, he didn't want to see Jess turn into his mother. Though he could stand to see her annoying boyfriend meet his father's demise - dead in a river, body not recovered for three weeks. At that point, he and his mother had been halfway across Canada, away from it all.

Maybe it would do Jess some good to embody his mother just a little bit.

"Peter, it's important!" Jess insisted, frustration now evident in her town. "I'm not telling you over the phone because this needs to be in person, don't you get that?"

Billy didn't feel in his own body as he crept down the ladder, landing on the ugly carpeted floors with a soft thud.

"Peter-!" Billy heard the phone be slammed down as she angrily hung up. He crept towards the banister of the stairs, staying crouched down as he observed Jess wrap her arms around herself. She threw herself against the couch with an exasperated huff. "The nerve of that man…" She grumbled, arms crossed in frustration.

She noticed movement on the stairs and lifted her head, expecting to see one of her sisters.

Both Jess and Billy jolted in surprise when their eyes met. "Oh, are you from the party?" Jess asked, not noticing the way Billy's breathing picked up. "You should head home, it's late." She rubbed her tired eyes for a moment and then paused. "Unless, um, you're keeping one of the girls company?"

Normally she didn't mind whatever boys her sorority sisters invited but something about this guy staring was… honestly creeping her out. He looked dirty and startled but not outwardly dangerous at least. Lord knows they had enough on their plates with The Moaner calling every other night.

Billy hadn't moved nor blinked. She could see him and that made him real… Did she know about Mother in the chair upstairs? Did she know-?

"Hello?" Jess called softly, getting up off the couch and approaching the stairs slowly, like he was a startled animal. Her expression morphed from confusion to concern as Billy just nodded quickly, chewing on chapped lips like he was struggling not to smile.

Surely she knows, Billy whimpered quietly to himself as he began to yank hard on his hair. She's only asking to see if he'll lie and then she'll-

"Do you need help?" Jess's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts and his head snapped to the side to meet her concerned face. She was crouched beside him now, a look of quiet worry to her that reminded Billy of his social worker.

When had she come up the stairs?

"Help." He repeated, mimicking her tone effortlessly.

They both startled at that. Alarm bells were ringing in Jess's mind but she ignored them, reassuring herself that everything was fine. "Do you know where you are?" She asked gently, looking him over for head injuries.

Billy hated that look. He quelled the urge to dig his fingernails into her neck by digging them into the thick fabric of his sweater sleeves instead.

"No." He said through gritted teeth, eyes locked to the floor as he stood up in such a fluid motion that it reminded Jess of a cat.

He wasn't supposed to be found. He hissed, white-knuckling his hair and yanking with a muffled grunt, trying to ground himself. Why had he climbed down, what was he doing, everything was going to be ruined-

Jess shot up to take his wrists, clearly alarmed. "It's alright," she soothed, tugging on his sleeves gently in hopes he'd move his arms with her help. Billy watched her with wide, fearful eyes and it tugged on her heartstrings just how fearful the man looked. "I want to help."

For a second, Billy believed her. Jess seemed kind and concerned for him. His eyes flickered back and forth between her eyes as he let her guide his hands to his sides.

"Do you want something to drink? Maybe sitting down will help." Jess kept her hold on his wrist loose as she guided him down the stairs towards the kitchen, uncaring of the scratchy feeling of the strange man's sweater.

The kitchen wasn't anything phenomenal - plain but useful, currently decorated to the nines for Christmas like the rest of the house. It was a dingy white from years of use and the floor had been smoothed down in patches that were commonly used. The piping was poor and the dishwasher often broke. But it was functional.

Jess busied herself with making hot cocoa as her guest sat down in one of the old dining chairs near the doorway. His eyes bore holes into her in a way that made her skin crawl.

But he was interesting. The green turtleneck he wore reminded her of Peter a bit but the messy, dark brown curls set him apart. Green eyes were slightly obscured by hair and they darted aside whenever she attempted eye contact. He looked like he was covered in dirt and dust, like he'd been crawling through the attic.

Something about him made her feel equal parts sympathetic and afraid.

She sliced into the warm cinnamon coffee cake Barb had made and snagged one of the bountiful candy canes from a nearby jar. They'd been set out for the party but few people had actually taken one. For such a staple of Christmas, they weren't very popular. But Barb's cake was, as there were only a few slices left on the cake tray. She drummed her fingers anxiously while she waited for the hot chocolate to warm up in the microwave. As a last ditch effort, she began humming a soft melody to try and ease her nerves.

His gaze never left her. She could feel it the entire time.

Finally, everything was ready and she brought the assortment of treats to the little dining nook table where her impromptu guest sat, chewing anxiously at his knuckles as she approached. "Here you are," she joined him at the table while setting things down. "We have marshmallows and whipped cream if you want that too. I wasn't sure of your preferences."

Billy gave the food a once-over before deeming it safe. He'd seen her prepare it and it was unlikely that it would have been fed to guests if it was full of rat poison. His stomach churned slightly at the memory of his mother's cooking. So he took the offered fork with a shaking hand and began to dig in like a man starved. Which he was, technically.

Jess, meanwhile, watched with concern as he dug in. "Well, I didn't think Barb's baking was this good." She chuckled nervously. "Do you, um, know your name?" A part of her was very worried the man had some time of head injury or amnesia that was causing him to act this way - wild, out of control, whatever it was. It was too snowy out to take him anywhere but she'd brave the icy streets if this man needed medical care.

He froze and stared at her again though his gaze no longer unsettled her. But he seemed afraid of her, which troubled Jess. "...Billy." He stammered before busying himself with the cake again.

"Billy." She repeated. Billy liked the way her voice sounded - smooth and gentle, like a fireplace that warmed the whole house. "Well, it's nice to meet you Billy. I'm Jess."

Setting the fork down on the now-empty plate, Billy tilted his head curiously. "Jess," he mimicked her voice back.

She startled, giving him an amused smile. "Yes. And- And do you know how you got here, Billy?"

He stared at her blankly for a long, very awkward pause. The only sound was the soft rustling of plastic as Billy unwrapped the candy cane and stuck it in his mouth. "No." Which wasn't a total lie. He didn't know how he got here but he remembered the moment he realized where he was.

Jess nodded along, drumming her fingers again. A nervous tic Billy picked up and began to do as well against his leg beneath the table. Mirroring people was the best way to put them at ease, in his experience. It made him easier to relate to, easier to understand. People didn't look at him as weirdly when he reminded them of themselves.

"I see," Jess said with a troubled look on her face that made Billy's stomach churn. "Well, is there anyone I could call? Someone who may be looking for you?"

Again, his insides churned. "No." His voice was muffled around the candy cane, obscuring the way he mimicked her accent. Smooth, a nice cadence to it. She sounded like some of the ladies in his mother's TV shows from Europe. British, maybe?

Jess frowned and Billy's heart pounded. He'd given the wrong answer, said the wrong thing, now she would-

"Billy!" His mother's shriek grated on his ears. Agnes was sobbing uncontrollably in her arms, a poor two-month-old thing that was barely more than a bundle of blankets.

A twelve-year-old Billy stood in the center of the kitchen, head hung in shame. But his guilty look didn't calm her wrath nor did it earn him sympathy from his stepfather sitting in the living room just a few feet away. "Yes, mother?"

"I told you I don't have time for chores with Agnes around now! So why am I seeing dishes in the sink and a mess on the table?" She spat at him, trying and failing to soothe the wailing baby.

Billy frowned. "I-I didn't know, mother. L-last week you said-"

A harsh slap hit his face in record speed, leaving him whimpering and near tears. "I know damn well I didn't just hear backtalk from you, Lenz. Bane of my damn existence, why the hell can't you be more like your sister?!"

"Because she is a baby." Billy said plainly, keeping his eyes on the floor in a futile attempt to not anger her further.

He didn't know, at the time, that was the wrong thing to say.

"Billy?" Jess's voice shocked his system, making him yelp in surprise when she reached across the table and placed her hand over his. She was looking at him with worry again and it made him want to rip her face apart. "Are you okay?"

Billy lifted his head, blinking slowly. Her face appeared blurry for a moment and it wasn't until he blinked that he felt tears fall down his cheeks. No words came out and he didn't move an inch.

Jess did though. She rose from her chair while still holding his hand and got him to stand. Despite the height difference, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him.

The sensation made Billy want to throw up. Voices of his mother shrieked in his head to stab her, be done with her. Jess had clearly seen too much and now she had to be–!

"You can sleep on the couch for the evening," Jess said, unaware of Billy's internal turmoil. "In the morning we can talk about what to do. It's too cold out to think of going anywhere at any rate." She offered him a small smile as she stepped away and back into the living room like nothing had happened.

Her sorority sisters always teased Jess for being an affectionate person. She was sympathetic and cared deeply about people. So seeing Billy cry felt wrong. Like it wasn't something he'd meant to do nor had he in a while, which broke her heart a little. She didn't know his past but if he had nobody looking for him, no idea how he got here, and acted out emotionally then…

Maybe he didn't have anybody at all.

"I'll go grab some blankets and spare pillows from upstairs. Make yourself comfortable!" She called over her shoulder before ascending the stairs towards the little closet at the end of the hall. As she was retrieving the blankets, she felt a cold breeze brush against her and make her shiver. Looking up, she noticed the attic door was open. "Honestly, Barb and Phyll should've shut this when they were done getting decorations," she sighed loudly while closing the door. "We'll all catch colds leaving it open like that."

When she came back downstairs, Billy had made himself comfortable on the couch, staring blankly into the fire and only looking up when she'd called his name. "I brought you things," she said before passing him the aforementioned pillows and blankets. The candy cane was still in his mouth.

The sight was a little ridiculous, she smiled to herself while watching her strange guest make a little pillow and blanket nest in front of the fire with such tired eyes. Yet still so much energy untapped and withheld in them.

She reached out without thinking and brushed a lock of brown hair away from his face, making them both freeze to stare at each other, neither daring to move. Jess cleared her throat. "Um, if you'd like to shower, I may have some spare clothes ups-"

A knock at the door made Billy let out an ear piercing scream, like he'd been stabbed. The candy cane - now sharpened to a fine point - was brandished like a weapon as he stared at the door.

Jess had let out a surprised yelp herself in unison with Billy. "It's alright, it's alright," she soothed immediately while trying to breathe her heart rate back down. "It's probably just some late night carolers." Billy stared at her with a horrified look and she gave him a reassuring smile. "I'll go send them off, don't worry."

When she went to the window to peel back the curtains, she found a very familiar man standing there, only waiting another second before knocking again impatiently. "Peter?" Jess frowned before looking back at the couch. Billy had retreated into the kitchen, now stood tucked behind the doorway like a frightened child. "It's alright, it's just Peter. He won't bother you." Leave it to Peter to show up at the worst times, she thought to herself as she unlocked the door. First he tells her to wait until tomorrow evening and now he's suddenly very interested in what she has to say? Honestly, it felt like he loved that piano more than her sometimes.

After a bit of a jiggle of the tricky handle, it opened. "Jess! Leaving me to freeze out there? After I came all this way?" Peter huffed dramatically, shrugging off his jacket and pushing past Jess into the sorority house like he owned the place.

Jess crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. "I didn't think you'd be coming. After all, you made it quite clear you needed rest for tomorrow."

"Well, you piqued my interest," Peter said with an insincere smile. "'sides, I can't sleep if something's on your mind. What's going on?" He frowned as he took her hands in his, swinging them lightly. Jess could tell when he must've noticed Billy based on the anger on his face. "Who's THIS?"

Jess glanced over her shoulder and Billy now stood in the doorway properly, sharpened candy cane gripped like a knife as he glared the other man down. If looks could kill, Peter would be ash at Jess's feet. "That's Billy," she sighed, "He's from the party we had earlier."

Peter huffed. "So what's he doing downstairs with you all alone?" His concern was grating and Jess just shut her eyes to mask her exasperation. "Jess, sweetie, if this man's bothering you, just say the word and I'll-"

"Pig bitch." Billy grumbled under his breath, barely audible.

But Peter spun on him instantly. "What did you say?"

"Nasty, filthy, PIGGY BITCH!" Billy shrieked at Peter before stuffing the candy cane back in his own mouth and retreating into the kitchen, clicking off the light to hide in the darkness.

Peter's threats were like white noise as Jess stared into the darkness of the kitchen. That voice. That phrase. Only one person she knew said that. The Moaner. The horrible, awful Moaner on the phone who had been calling them almost nonstop and he was in their house. Had been in the house for who knows how long. And she'd fed him and offered to let him spend the night?!

She felt like she was going to faint.

"Jess, do you need me to kick this guy out for you?" Peter looked down at her, horrified. "This guy's a psycho, clearly. Which one of your sisters even invited him?"

None. Because he wasn't a guest. But Jess didn't say that.

But now she had a choice to make: tell Peter about the phone calls, the Moaner, and how for the past week Billy had been calling their house and disturbing them all with his snorting and screaming and sexual innuendos. Or. Or she could tell him about the baby. Ignore Billy's antics for now and tell him she wasn't keeping the baby.

Jess took a slow, deep breath before taking a seat on the couch and continued weighing her options. If she said something about Billy, Peter may try to pick a fight with him. A fight she was uncertain he'd win. Her boyfriend wasn't exactly scrawny but if Billy intended to make good on his promise of killing them, then she wasn't sure about his odds. But something about Billy felt like a walking contradiction of himself at every turn. He screamed about how 'nasty' they all were yet cowards in fear when Jess offered him food. He yells bloody murder at a knock on the door but squeals like a pig over the phone.

The psychology major in her was suffocating her to learn more. It was like the perfect opportunity had fallen into her lap and she needed answers. Billy came here for a reason, surely, and he didn't seem intent on killing them. Was it a cry for help? Something more?

She had to know.

So Jess steeled herself and let out the breath she'd been holding. "I'm pregnant."

Peter's eyes went wide for a moment before a delighted grin spread on his face, making Jess's stomach sink. "Well, Jess, that's wonderful!"

She shook her head. "No, it's not. I don't want it, Peter." She'd been afraid of this reaction, silently hoping he'd be as opposed to having it as she was. "I'm planning on getting an abortion soon."

Peter stared at her like she'd grown two heads. "What?"

Her arms crossed over her chest in attempts to mask how bad she was shaking. "I'm not keeping it."

A painfully long silence passed as Peter joined her on the couch, staring her down with a scornful look. "Jess," he said, voice eerily calm, "Listen to me very carefully. You are not going to abort that baby."

Jess turned to him with wide eyes. "Excuse me?"

"We'll get married and you'll keep the baby. It'll be perfect!" Peter smiled like he'd come up with the perfect answer. But all Jess felt was nausea.

"Peter, I don't want that. I have things I want to do, a degree I intend to earn, and things I want to do with my life. I don't want to play housewife for you with a baby I don't want and put all my plans aside." When she stood up to walk away, Peter grabbed her wrist tight. "Let me go-!"

"No, listen to me!" Peter practically snarled, voice oozing with malice as he glared her down. "You don't get to decide-"

"SHUT UP!" A shrill voice called from within the kitchen. It was the only warning before a glass cup smashed into the side of Peter's head, breaking into shards that scratched his cheek as they fell like a waterfall to the carpeted floor beneath their feet. Billy stumbled out from the darkness armed once again with the candy cane. He started babbling nonsense, running his hands through his hair and grinding his teeth as meaningless words fell from his mouth. "Shut your NASTY, disgusting, greedy mouth!" Billy hissed as he clutched the makeshift knife, growling like an animal as he tried to hold himself back.

He wanted Peter dead. Nasty, stupid Peter who wanted to ruin a poor girl's life with a disgusting, ugly brat. A mistake, a burden, another Billy Lenz.

Peter recoiled with a cry, clutching his face as blood oozed down his cheek. Jess checked him over for any other injuries before turning to Billy. "Billy, stop, you don't have to-!"

She didn't get the chance to say anything more, since Billy interrupted her with another eat-splitting shriek before he bolted for one of the throw pillows and began to stab into it with the candy cane over and over. Feathers flew everywhere and tears streamed down his face nonstop. He grit his teeth to keep himself from sobbing.

…

"Billy, don't!" His mother pleaded and sobbed as he struggled with her on the floor, rolling in the wrapping paper and ribbons that had been tossed aside once the gift was unwrapped. Blood already began dripping on the carpet from Billy's hands, staining the soft beige a dark red. "Billy, sweetie, it's alright-!"

Her hands were futile to stop him. He was clever now, sixteen this time and unable to stop his own crying. It wasn't his fault. She let out a grunt as Billy pressed the sharp tip of the candy cane closer and closer to her face. It wasn't his fault. Her gasp of horror as it hovered over her eyeball. It wasn't his fault. He closed his eyes and, with a bloody squelch and a cry of agony, he dug the candy cane into her skull. Hot blood got everywhere as it fountained out almost comically as her eyeball burst.

When she stopped gurgling, he stumbled towards the kitchen to grab the frying pan, tossing aside the eggs and bacon that had been cooking on it just before he'd slammed his stepfather's face onto the hot stove. He limped back to the living room and stared the woman down with a deadpan face. She looked crumpled and ruined, like a bloody rag that hadn't been washed.

He raised the pan over his head like a baseball bat and swung down.

…

"Billy!" Jess called out, wrapping her arms around his chest and pulling him away with a groan. "Billy, what's gotten into you?"

"He's a psycho, Jess!" Peter screamed, still clutching the cuts on his cheek. They weren't thick, more just grazed than anything, which was lucky. "He's a psycho and he's going to kill you!"

Billy flailed around, dropping the candy cane in the fray. "Stupid, ugly, DISGUSTING Billy!" He shrieked out in a high, nasally voice while trying to shake out of Jess's hold as she dragged him across the floor. His sobs wracked his body and made it hard to fight back.

Jess shook her head, lost in her confusion. She acted on instinct, kneeling beside Billy and pulling him in for a hug, letting him wail on her back with his fists and alternating between biting at her shoulder and trying to scratch at her. This, shockingly, wasn't new to her. She'd volunteered at a few special needs schools before and had worked an internship at a nearby hospital. This type of behavior made everything click in her head about how to help.

So she stayed there, running gentle fingers through matted hair and shushing him. "Easy, easy, it's okay," she soothed gently.

"Jess. the hell are you doing?! Get away from this guy, let's call the cops!" Peter roared and making Jess flinch.

"No, it's okay," she insisted, still holding onto Billy as he wailed on her. "It's okay Billy, you're okay now. Everything is going to be alright." She repeated over and over, smiling as the man began to settle in her arms, whimpering and sniffling.

"Who the hell is this guy?" Peter whispered in horror as Jess continued to pet him.

She really, truly, did not know.

…

"I'm pregnant!" Constance Lenz beamed at her boyfriend with all the joy of a little girl on Christmas. She and her boyfriend had been trying for ages now to have a child and finally they were successful. "The Lord wills it, blessing us with our own baby." She'd cooed, already fawning over her barely-showing stomach.

Meanwhile, the little eleven year old boy remained tucked away in the attic, ear pressed to the floor as his mother gushed about the existence of her first baby.

Her previous husband - Billy's father - had died of a "heart attack" not long after Billy turned six and the two had moved far away to "get away from the bad memories," or so his mother said. As if Billy hadn't been in the room, weeping as she smothered his father to death and fled to Canada in the night.

At first, Billy hated her and the incoming baby. Yet another sign that he wasn't wanted, just a roadblock in her life that she'd remove one day like she'd removed his father.

But Agnes had been precious. Small and fussy and Billy had been enamored with her immediately. He began the risky move of sneaking out of the attic just to go visit her, careful of his dirty, splintered hands and dusty clothes. He'd sneak food and water and visits to his baby sister while she slept peacefully in her crib.

Mother insisted Billy stay away from her. "She's too good for you," she'd hiss whenever Billy was summoned to do chores while Agnes napped. "You'd be wise to make sure she never has to see your ugly face."

For years, Billy suffered the abuse while watching Agnes grow up loved and looked after. She had birthday parties and family vacations while Billy had spiders and cold winters.

One Christmas morning when Agnes had been five years old, Billy had had enough.

Of course, she'd never met him before. But he knew her. He watched her while she slept from inside her closet or from the cracks in the attic floor like a protective guardian and was so, so attached to her. She flourished while he suffered and his adoration of her made it all worth it.

He was completely forgotten now. Stripped of personhood, just a memory his mother had locked in the closet. By the time Agnes had been three she stopped even calling Billy down for things. It was like he wasn't there at all. Two years of isolation and neglect and it all finally snapped.

So there he was. Sixteen and staring down at his kid sister as she played with her toys by the Christmas tree. Their mother lay dead amongst the wrapping paper with her skull smashed to bits by the frying pan that lay cast aside. Her father sizzled away on the stove as he bled out from his neck, which Billy had jabbed with a candy cane before going to town on his back with knives.

Billy stared, his own hands still wet with blood when he approached her on shaking legs, trailing blood behind him while she played with pretty, frilly dolls.

Agnes looked up at him with a soft, youthful face that screwed up in confusion. She wouldn't recognize him, he knew that. Even if it made him want to stab her along with them all.

"Little baby bumpin', daddy's gone a-huntin', gone to fetch a rabbit skin, to wrap his baby Agnes in," he sang quietly while lifting her up into his arms, staining her little white dress with red-pink streaks. He took a seat in their mother's rocking chair with a manic little giggle, like he was breaking a rule by sitting there.

Agnes just slumped against him, still fiddling with her doll's hair.

Billy stared ahead at nothing, just repeating the lullaby over and over. Tears fell silently down his cheeks as he clung to his baby sister like a lifeline.

The police found them like that. Cuddled together by the Christmas tree like it was a perfectly normal morning. "Agnes," Billy whispered in her ear as the police drew their guns, "Don't tell them what we did, Agnes."

...

Billy came back to the present moment to the soft sounds of Jess humming and stroking his hair in a nervous motion. He lifted his head and stared at her with bleary eyes. "Billy?" She asked when he finally looked at her. "Are you feeling better?"

He didn't say anything. Just slumped back down on her shoulder and bit hard into the thick wool of her sweater vest. "Mm-mm." Billy grunted.

"What did you say?" She asked, keeping her voice light.

"Agnes," Billy choked back another cry. His frantic babbling started up again but Jess was quick to soothe it down. "Little baby bumpin'..." Billy cooed quietly to himself.

"He's insane, Jess." Peter said unhelpfully. "Listen, I'm gonna call the cops and they can ship him back off to whatever asylum he came from." He scoffed as he looked down at the pair on the floor. "Lock him up and throw away the key as far as I'm concerned."

Billy's head shot up. "No!" He shrieked, turning to Jess with fearful eyes. "No! No! No!" He fought against Peter, who grabbed his shoulder to drag him away from his girlfriend.

"Peter-!" Jess protested, stumbling to stand to try and stop him.

Then, like angels descending upon them all, Barb and Phyllis came downstairs, still dressed in their nightgowns. Their mouths fell open in shock as they watched Peter and Billy wrestle to the floor and Jess dart over to stop Billy from absolutely wailing on him. "We, uh," Barb swallowed, "We interruptin' anything?"

Jess let out a sigh as she, once again, pulled Billy away. "I- See, it's-"

"Jess," Peter shot out before she could speak, "Is trying to play mother hen to this psycho!"

Barb looked Billy over with a thoughtful look before shrugging. "Eh, I dunno, any enemy of Peter's a friend of mine."

Exhaustion swept over Jess. What a world where the Moaner was in tears in her arms as she tried to keep him from beating up Peter like she was scruffing a misbehaving cat.

"Jess, what's going on?" Phyll, ever the voice of reason, piped up from beside Barb.

It was going to be a very, very long night.

#🔪 creeps writes #slasher fanfiction #billy lenz #jess bradford #peter smythe #phyllis carlson #barbara coard #agnes lenz #claire harrison #black christmas 1974 #red christmas

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creepswrites · 10 months ago

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MASK OF HATE (CH 3) | Michael x Reader

just when i was finally starting to feel better physically, i tanked mentally :') so i'm sorry it's taken me so long to update. i hope this was worth the wait though! i promise i Do plan to work on other stuff besides just MoH but rn i just. needed to write Michael for a bit

MICHAEL MYERS x FTM!READER (he/him)

SUMMARY: You internally cursed Dr. Loomis for tormenting this man for so, so many years. Embodiment of evil your ass, he was so obviously desperate for love and care that he'd practically thrown himself at you as soon as you'd proven you would love him no matter what. He was more than the traumas he felt compelled to reenact. He was so, so much more and you loved every part of him.

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Halloween in Haddonfield was always a high-strung time for the town.

Ever since the Halloween killings a few years ago, the town had taken a hesitant approach to the holiday. Parents made a point to accompany their kids everywhere or just simply stay home with them. If phones went down or power went out, babysitting teens were told to cross the street and get help, no matter what. Despite the horrors, people still dressed up, still went looking for candy, and still snuck out to make out with their respective partners.

Halloween for you had been quiet. You'd gone to a small costume party with your friends and tried to stay busy. You knew Michael was out working since news of his crimes reached your party, people whispering and gasping at the reported murders coming from the televisions.

You tried not to think about it.

By the time you got home, it was nearly 2am and you were exhausted. As though sensing your arrival, the Boogeyman stepped out of the shadows of your kitchen, bloodstained and breathing heavily. "Busy night?" You'd called to him with a tired smile. He tilted his head in lieu of any response.

With the holiday over, you wondered what Michael would do next. For many nights after, you lay in bed and bore holes in your ceiling as you tried to come up with a plan. Would he leave? Go back to Smith's Grove? Surely he couldn't keep killing, right? There'd be no people left in Haddonfield eventually. But was that the point?

You didn't know. You didn't like not knowing.

But he didn't do any of those things. Instead, he'd sit on your couch and watch television, intrigued by the cartoons, or follow you around the house. If you left, he'd stalk you from a distance just out of sight. He joined you for dinner and movies in front of the television and seemed to enjoy watching horror films when you put them on. You knew him well enough to notice he had a soft spot for The Thing so you tried to put it on as often as possible.

It became the new normal. Domestic and quiet.

Months passed. Fall oranges faded to browns and whites as winter approached. You'd leave out food for Mayhem in hopes he'd come home but you began to lose hope. All you could do now was pray he didn't suffer or that he hadn't been eaten by some other animal.

Michael always watched you when you did this, stood in the doorway of the backdoor while you sat on the narrow steps, hoping your kitty would come home. It might've looked silly to him but he never tried to stop you. You appreciated that.

During all this, he didn't kill anyone. At least, not that you knew of. You tried to avoid the news and, with your dad gone, you didn't have much insider information anymore. Who knows if they were even still looking for him.

So you made a Thanksgiving feast. Michael was familiar with the concept but you knew it had likely been a long time since he'd actually gotten to participate. So you went all out - turkey, mashed potatoes, corn, green bean casserole, gravy, the whole nine yards. The two of you ate together on your couch and watched Charlie Brown episodes, eating your weights in food and falling asleep on opposite ends of the couch.

When you'd woken, you had been taken aback by how peaceful he looked when he slept. Curly hair ruffled from the awkward angle he lay against one of your throw pillows, his face still but not tense. Pretty, you thought to yourself not for the first time.

It was nice. Everything felt perfect.

One afternoon when you'd gotten back from work, you saw Michael masked up and standing on your front porch cradling something wrapped up in an old towel. "What is that?" You gasped, fearing the worse as you hurried closer.

But you broke down into tears, immediately recognizing Mayhem. Cold, trembling, and most certainly sick in so many ways but alive and home. You'd taken him to the vet's office, a sobbing mess in the waiting room. He'd need surgery for his infected wounds and have to be on antibiotics for a long time but you were just relieved he was home and safe now.

Michael never told you how he found him. You didn't ask, just baked him a pumpkin pie as thanks.

November browns turned to December blues as snow and frost began to make appearances. The first snow day, you'd bundled both yourself and Michael up and dragged him outside to see the falling snow. He wore the mask much less now, often leaving the thing in the corner of the closet, hidden away like a bad memory.

You didn't really understand that. Your best theory was that the mask compelled Michael to kill and now that Halloween had come and gone, he was back to some semblance of normal. He still wore masks from time to time - rustic paper mache ones crafted at your kitchen table on quiet afternoons - but significantly less now. Maybe it was just a Halloween thing and he was relatively normal the rest of the year? You weren't sure. Obviously, you knew better than to push about what happened with his sister but you wondered if the killings were a reenactment of the trauma.

Psychology has always interested you.

It wouldn't surprise you if the great Dr. Loomis neglected to acknowledge that Michael was traumatized, quick to demonize him rather than provide him proper care. That he didn't put together Michael went from a normal boy to suddenly completely nonverbal and monotonous after killing her. It had affected him, even if people didn't want to admit that. Michael himself included.

But wearing the classic mask a little less meant you could slip a cute wool hat on his head and drag him out, mitten-clad hands clasped together as you charged outside. "Come see, come see!"

Michael looked up at the falling snow, squinting against the snowflakes that began to freckle his face. You'd laughed and nudged him. "Try this," you said before opening your mouth and letting the snowflakes fall on your tongue.

He'd given you a bewildered look but tried it. Only because he'd grown so fond of you, you assumed.

Days passed. Mayhem made a full recovery and now spent his days lounging in the winter sun. Sometimes he'd brush against Michael for attention and the man had gotten better at returning it, fingers brushing soft black fur occasionally. It was sweet, you thought, how he'd slowly begun to reintegrate into your life.

When you caught him drawing on looseleaf papers, you decided to get him paints and canvases as an early Christmas present and cleared out your dad's old room to let him have an art studio to paint and work on his masks in private. You'd layed down old newspapers to keep the floor relatively clean when you revealed it to him. He'd spend hours up in there, painting or making masks. You'd helped him hang some up on the wall of the room with little thumbtacks as hooks. He was getting good, you'd thought as you examined a bright orange mask that resembled a jack o' lantern.

Michael didn't show you his paintings very often. That wasn't really the point anyways so you didn't mind. But there had been a few times when he'd leave a dried canvas outside your bedroom door or atop your bed like a cat offering dead animals. Your favorite so far was one of the winter sky painted with fluffy whites and cold blues with your own profile looking up at the sky. The way he painted was streaky, like his hands shook, but it was still beautifully detailed despite the messy lines and bleeding colors.

It was interesting seeing yourself through someone else's eyes translated to art. You'd kept the painting in your room and you'd trace your fingers along the raised streaks of paint, fingers running along the lines of your face. You wondered, fleetingly with bright red cheeks, if he painted you often and just never showed you.

There was a chance. You liked to think he did.

It was around the middle of December as you attempted to get ready for a holiday party. Attempted being the key word. “Michael,” you sighed, adjusting your elf hat. “I told you, I’ll be back later tonight. I’ve left dinner in the fridge and I promise I’ll call when I’m coming home.”

It was nearing Christmas when you'd gotten invited to a holiday party. You were attempting to get ready, dressing up as a cute little elf. Attempting being the key word. "Michael," you sighed, adjusting your stupid looking elf hat, "I told you, I'll be back later tonight. I've left dinner in the fridge and I promise I'll call when I'm coming home."

Michael glared at you behind the accursed Halloween mask. He had a habit of being a bit of a brat and you found it equally annoying as you did endearing. He'd put the mask on when he'd learnt you were leaving but you'd expected that. Whenever he was generally stressed out or upset, you'd find it covering his head. The symbolism there wasn't lost on you but you had more pressing things to worry about then the possible metaphor of Michael masking himself literally and figuratively.

"If you're so upset, why not come with?" You snorted to yourself as you focused on doing your eyes in a dark green with white mascara. "I can do your makeup, dress you in a cute sweater, no one would know it's you. Could be fun, yeah?"

You paused to do your lips in a dark red. Makeup wasn't really your preference but it suited the costume you wore - a dark green tunic with red and white striped knee socks with brown boots. The hat was a matching green and jingled stupidly from the little bell on the end. You'd done your face with a heavy blush and had drawn little white snowflakes in liquid eyeliner. It was cute.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching you had you spinning around. Michael stood directly behind you and tilted his head when you made eye contact. "Wait, are you serious?" You blinked in surprise. You'd gotten good at reading him in the few months you'd spent living together and you could tell he was accepting your offer.

He gave you a blank stare before putting a hand around your neck and squeezing. You noted his tense shoulders and tried to relax. A few months ago, this gesture would have terrified you. Now you knew that it was just his way of expression. A knife and a violent hand was all he could use to convey things so you'd learnt to just roll with it, knowing that his intent wasn't to kill you.

So you didn't panic.

"I'm not making fun!" You insisted, lifting a hand to push lightly at his chest. "I just need to be sure you're actually interested in going. There'll be people there, you know that right?" Silence. "People you can't kill." More silence. "I'm not kidding either, you can't hurt or kill anyone if you come with me." It had been a long time since he'd killed anyone but you could never be totally sure of his motives. He could still be unpredictable from time to time.

Michael let you go and marched towards the dresser. You watched curiously as he fished out a black shirt and black jeans - clothes you'd gotten for him when he couldn't be in the jumpsuit - before offering them with outstretched arms. He gave you a curt nod and you smiled.

He didn't do that often so you knew he was serious.

"Alright then, c'mere big guy," you motioned for him to sit on the bed as you began gathering up makeup supplies. You kept your head turned away as he changed to offer him some semblance of privacy. Growing up in an institution meant he didn't have a lot of shame left but you always felt bad when you thought about that.

You missed the way his hands shook as he took off the mask, too busy searching for a colored contact for his injured eye. You found a pretty jade green and figured that'd work. Heterochromia was uncommon, not unheard of. Some red eyeshadow for his eyes would help cover up the scar and would also be cute for a Rudolph nose. You collected your supplies and turned to Michael with a wide smile.

That smile fell when you saw him sitting on your bed, dressed up nice as he stared at the mask clutched tightly in his hands. He stared into its face with wide, terrified eyes and that made you freeze. You'd seen that look only once before: when you held each other in the bathroom after you'd saved him from being shot.

"You don't have to go." Your voice was soft and reassuring. He looked up at you slowly and you continued. "I know this isn't something you normally do, but-" Michael blinked slowly as you rambled. "I don't want you to feel like you have to do this for me." The last thing you needed was him snapping and killing people at the party. You'd both be in trouble for that.

But you also wondered if he was unfamiliar with being given choices. You never forced Michael into things he didn't want to do and it was possible he wasn't used to that.

He stared at you for a long time, fingernails digging into latex, before he unclenched long enough for the mask to fall to the floor with a soft crunch. The two of you stared at it for a long time and he blinked rapidly as he stared. You could tell by the clenching and unclenching of his jaw that he was fighting something off.

You wanted to make it easier for him.

So you took a seat beside him and reached for his face with slow hands. His flinch made your heart break and you cooed to him softly. "It's just me," you soothed as you clicked open the container with the contact lens inside. "I'd never hurt you."

Michael relaxed slowly, watching you with something storming in his eyes. You cupped his cheek with one hand and his eyes fluttered briefly. "Have you ever put contacts in?" You asked, smiling warmly at him.

He shook his head once. This was going to be tricky.

It took some time to get the contact in. Neither of you really knew what you were doing and you kept worrying it'd roll back to his brain. But, with your combined efforts, it now sat comfortably in his eye. Pretty green-hazel heterochromatic eyes that you fought to not get lost in. Even with the scarring he looked… normal.

"Should I even ask if you've ever worn makeup?" You teased as you took out the eyeshadow. "I'll be brushing your face and around your eyes. Is that okay?"

Michael blinked slowly, which you took as a yes.

"Stop me if it gets to be too much, okay?" You said softly before dabbing the brush in the dark red and swiping it gently over his lids, relieved it covered the scar pretty well.

You weren't sure how familiar people were with his actual face. When people thought of Michael Myers, did they just see the pale, masked face of the Boogeyman? Or did they see his mugshot, televised on the evening news as they reported his escape and recapture?

When you moved to his next eye, his hand shot out to clench your hip tight. He hated feeling vulnerable. You were the only exception to his no touching rule because you'd proven your loyalty. In exchange, he'd given you protection. But he still disliked giving over control and holding you like a stressball was the only thing he could do to abate his anxiety.

You dusted some red on the tip of his nose and smiled to yourself. "So a few of my friends will be there," you hummed as you added the finishing touches on the raccoon-style eyeshadow you'd given him to hide a lot of the scars. Since he was wearing darker clothes, you reached for the black eyeshadow next with the intent of dusting it around his lids to give him a smokier look. It made him a tad intimidating, black soot that petered out into a dark red. "They'll probably try to talk to you but I'll try and take over. If they ask, we'll say you got in a car accident when you were young and haven't been able to talk since."

He gave your hip a squeeze in confirmation.

You brushed some red on the tip of his nose with a hum. "My friend Leslie is the chattiest so at least we won't have to worry about him. He's always rambling on and on about the horror novel he's writing. To his credit, it's really interesting." You began to brush a heavy blush on his cheeks, chuckling at the way he squinted against the sensation. "It's about some boy who was thrown over a waterfall before rising to take revenge on the town? I think? I mean, he'll certainly tell you all about it. I think he's calling it Behind the Mask or something, I'm not sure."

Michael opened his eyes when you finished with the blush and you froze. He looked good and you couldn't help but stare. Tight fitting shirt, half-lidded eyes decorated in smoky colors, and messy brown curls that you made a note to fluff up before you left. He looked painfully normal and pretty and you wanted to-

You cleared your throat and grabbed the white eyeliner pen. "This'll be colder but try not to move." Gently, you held under his chin to keep him steady as you began to dot little freckles along his cheeks and nose, pausing to draw larger snowflakes at the corners of his eyes. That way you two matched!

When you pulled back, you realized he'd been staring at you.

There were a few times in the time of you knowing Michael that you wondered if he could read minds. If, in order to be the scariest thing possible, he knew exactly what scared someone. But, you reminded yourself, this wasn't some Stephen King novel. Still, it unnerved you to consider he knew what you thought of him privately.

"Oh! I know!" You hopped up and hurried back over to your vanity, grabbing a brown headband decorated with felt horns wrapped in tiny bells. They were painfully cute and you spun to show him.

He squinted at you and you giggled. "Trust me, it'll look super cute." Sliding it atop his head, you finally got to fluff his hair out to disguise the band better. When you stepped back, you gave him a once-over and a smile.

Michael fucking Myers dressed up as a reindeer. Cute little nose, horns, and all.

"You think we should use nicknames to be less suspicious?" You hummed, tilting your head - a habit you'd picked up from him. "I could call you Mike." He glared at you and you smiled with a faux-innocence. "Aw, don't like it?" He glared harder and you laughed. "Well, if they ask for your last name, I'm making something up!"

He got up wordlessly and made his way to your vanity, examining himself in the mirror. As expected, he didn't say anything. But he did touch lightly at his eyes, curious when the powder came off on his fingers. You joined him, looking you both over in the mirror. From the outside, you two looked like any normal young couple heading for a Christmas party.

“Well Mikey,” you said as you grabbed your bag, “Shall we?”

You laughed at the slow, unimpressed blink he gave you.

You were honestly impressed Chrissy managed to get so many people to come. She'd been very popular in high school - a cheerleader who'd dated the quarterback of the football team, well-liked, and clearly still riding that high despite graduating out of high school cliques. Chrissy had been a year above you but had always been one of those girls to try and invite everyone she knew to any events she threw. So you weren't exactly close friends but you'd helped her with a school project once and apparently that was enough for her.

The house was decorated to the nines, lined in little white lights that glistened against the freshly fallen snow. Little reindeer animatronics made of the same lights "grazed" in the front yard and little candy cane lights lined the pathway. It all felt a little magical. A small flurry had picked up when you and Michael got out of the car and made your way up to the front door.

Michael paused to look up at the sky while you rang the doorbell, listening to the melodic chimes ring out inside the house. You swore he almost smiled, his hair dusted in little white flakes when he looked down at you. Your heart seized at the sight and you were struck with the urge to k–

Chrissy opened the door, smiling wide and dressed in an inappropriate Mrs Claus outfit. She surveyed you both and let out a surprised gasp, the corners of her mouth curling in delight. "And who's this hottie?" She whispered at you while giggling like a schoolgirl. "I didn't know you knew any cute guys. No offense." She twirled her hair, shamelessly looking Michael up and down.

Jealousy shot through you like a bolt of lightning. "He's my boyfriend."

"Oh," she seemed almost disappointed, which you tried to brush off. She'd always felt a little entitled towards whomever she determined was the most attractive guy. It was just how she was, even if it pissed you off in the moment. "Well, I'm happy for you!" She spun on her heel and led you both into the house, gesturing for her butler to take your coats. "Feel free to mingle, lovebirds! We've got drinks, food, and our chef made a bunch of cookies."

Michael seemed to notice the lovebirds comment and you flushed, giving a nod and smile to Chrissy while trying to ignore his stare boring into the back of your head. "Thanks. Oh, um, here!" You reached into your bag and held out a small, nicely wrapped gift. "For the Secret Santa."

She lit up and took the box enthusiastically. "Ohmygosh, thank you! I was just going to ask." Chrissy added the box to a nearby table and clasped her hands together excitedly. "Alright, perfect, you're free to go!"

You led the way to the kitchen, dodging a few familiar faces with smiles and waves and promises to return once you'd gotten some food and drinks. Michael held your wrist the whole way there, squeezing harder and harder the more people spoke to you.

The kitchen was huge, white, and perfectly pristine. The maid who cleaned everything always made their house look like an interior design catalog rather than an actual home. A large plate of highly elaborate sugar cookies lay atop the countertop, a large amount already missing with only trails of crumbs indicative of their place there.

You grabbed a candy cane shaped cookie and gestured for Michael to grab one. "I think you'll like these." He just stared at you, eyes widened ever so slightly. "What?" You asked through a mouthful of cookie. His head tilted slightly and you swallowed nervously. "Sorry for the, um, boyfriend comment. It just, uh, it felt like a safe alibi, y'know?"

Michael stared at you, eyes calculating. You prepared a million apologies in your head before he reached for a snowman cookie and bit into it, never breaking eye contact. You weren't sure if that was approval or disapproval so you both just stood there, staring awkwardly at each other and eating sugar cookies. Your fingers drummed anxiously on the cold marble tile of the kitchen counter as you tried to stand your ground.

When he finished his, Michael stepped closer to you and placed a hand at your waist. He leant forward and pressed his lips to your forehead, making you gasp in surprise. It wasn't exactly a kiss but the intent was there and the message was clear. You swallowed when he pulled back and you swore his eyes softened. "Okay, okay, cool," you said quietly, trying - and failing - to hold back your smile.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and smirked to yourself about the faint lipstick stain there. You snagged another couple cookies and a glass of cider. His cheeks were a soft pink when you passed him one of the cookies. "Shall we brace the music?" You grinned as you took his arm and led him out the door back into the party.

Everything went perfectly, all things considered. Of course, everyone you knew wanted to meet your new boyfriend. "It's a recent development," you'd say as Michael took a drink to avoid talking. "I met him when my car broke down and we just… hit it off, y'know?" You'd smile as though recounting the memories through your pleasant buzz from the cider.

"How long have you been dating?" You were asked a few times.

"Oh, a month and a half now, I think. It feels like it's been longer." You'd say while Michael chewed on cookies.

It had been, if you thought about when the starting point of your relationship could've been. Maybe not long after he'd gotten sick and you'd cared for him in a way he hadn't had since he was a child. Or maybe after you'd both made a wordless pact to each other while your father lay bleeding on the kitchen floor. Hard to say. But calling him your boyfriend had come so easily that you questioned how long you'd considered him that in your subconscious.

When Chrissy announced her parent's arrival with a few of their friends in tow, you went to greet them without a second thought. You froze in fear when you caught sight of her father: John Kallas. Officer Kallas. A friend of your father's who had been part of the team searching for Michael around Halloween.

You clutched Michael's arm and steered him to a quiet hallway of the house. "Don't let her dad see you," you whisper-yelled. When he tilted his head, you ran a nervous hand through your hair. "He was one of the cops looking for you. He might recognize you."

Michael didn't visibly react but you did notice him clenching his jaw. "I didn't know he'd be here! I hadn't thought of it until I saw him." You sighed, frustrated with your own anxiety rising. "I'm sorry. Do you want to leave?"

He seemed to think it over but you were interrupted by heels clicking on the tile floor. In a panic, you grabbed his wrists and put his hands at your waist. "Act like we were kissing." You whispered as you leant in, bumping your foreheads together.

His head tilted askew slightly and gave you a moment to mess up your lipstick a little. The footsteps came to a halt and you heard a familiar laugh that made all the anxiety in your body melt away in an instant.

Kalei stood with their arms crossed, looking you both over with an amused expression. "So is this the guy you were telling me about back in September?" They laughed at seeing the way you hid your face in your hands in embarrassment.

Michael gave you a quizzical look and you groaned. "Yes, yes, he is." You confessed with an exhausted sigh. "But shh!" You waved a hand at them to try and quiet them.

They didn't back down though. "He would gush about you at work to me all the time," they drawled out, ignoring your flustered protests.

"I didn't-!"

"You better treat him right!" Kalei said, crossing their arms over their chest. "I may not look it but I can pack a serious punch."

Michael blinked slowly before looking back at you. "What do you need, Kalei?" You sputtered, trying to change the topic before your impromptu boyfriend decided to make a scene.

"Oh, the Secret Santa's starting. Came to getcha." They gestured for you both to follow with an impish smile growing on their face. "Better hurry up before people start making assumptions." They teased with a waggle of their eyebrows.

Your face lit up like a torch and you gently pushed Michael away to march down the hall. "N-no, wouldn't want that, yeah." Your voice sounded far away to your own ears, too much blood pounding through your head.

Michael followed on your heels like a loyal dog and you tried to ignore the way that made you feel.

You and Michael took a seat on one of the couches and you held his arm almost possessively, especially when you noticed some of the other girls at the party kept looking at him with bashful faces. It pissed you off just how shameless they were even when they knew he was dating you. Was it that hard for people to believe?

The absence of John Kallas made you think that he and his buddies had gone into one of the other rooms. Which put your mind at ease, at least a little.

The Secret Santa was relatively uneventful. You clapped politely as people opened their gifts and were surprised when Chrissy handed you your gift from her. A book on growing vegetables with a tab already inside on a picture of a tomato plant. "You think I should grow tomatoes?" You gave her an amused smile.

"Well, duh! It, like, suits your whole vibe, y'know? I'm surprised you don't grow more vegetables." Chrissy had nudged you gently as you began leafing through the rest of the book, skimming the words as Michael watched over your shoulder.

As it finally came time to leave, you were saying your goodbyes to Chrissy when you spotted Officer Kallas leaving the kitchen. You pulled Michael out of there quickly, hoping that the stumble the officer gave was simply him tripping and not because he'd seen The Boogeyman as your date to his daughter's party.

Your walk back to the car was brisk and silent. White snow was like stars as it fell overhead before coming to rest on your shoulders and the ground below. "Thank you for coming," you said, reaching over to squeeze Michael's hand. "It was nice having you there."

Before you could pull your hand away completely, he gave you a squeeze of his own before climbing into the passenger seat.

Oh, you thought to yourself. Oh.

For Christmas, you'd gotten Michael a drum set.

It had been an impulsive buy, a decision you had made while walking past a thrift store and noticing a decently priced set on display in the window.

He enjoyed doing things with his hands - be it painting, making masks, or, most recently, helping you decorate Christmas cookies. So you figured he'd get a kick out of drumming. You lived far out enough that he could afford to be loud without worrying about waking the neighbors up and you had a detached garage he could play in. Maybe when the weather got warmer, he'd move outside.

And it might help him to let energy out. You'd caught him giving death glares to random postmen who came to your door and he'd already begun the habit of wearing the accursed Halloween mask around the house again. So you didn't want him to get bored.

“Here,” you said as you passed him the drumsticks. He examined them curiously and you gestured to the drums. When he gave you an empty stare, you took one of the stucks and whacked on the cymbals. That made Michael’s eyes widen and he moved around to take a seat. “You can be as loud as you want with them. No one’ll hear soooo… go crazy!”

Michael took the stick back and held them both in hesitant hands. With a few bangs that seemed exploratory coupled with getting the hang of pressing his foot to make a lower noise, he seemed to catch on pretty quick. His banging grew in speed and volume as he gained confidence and you laughed, covering your ears when the sound echoed off the walls of the small space. "You got it!" You called over the crashing cymbals.

A loud bang signified the end of his "song" and he stared at you with wide, crazy eyes, panting heavily. "Fun, right?" You smiled at him. "They're all yours so you're free to come play them whenever you want."

His lips curled into an almost feral smile that made you smile back. You'd never seen him smile before, much less like that.

Over the next few days, Michael continued sneaking – literally sneaking, like he'd be in trouble if you spotted him – into the garage to play the drums. His disorganized, chaotic banging was slowly starting to take form. Organized chaos, you smiled to yourself. The loud sounds and movements gave Michael a chance to express himself with noise which was quite the contrast to his usual quiet self.. You also found it exceptionally cute when he'd go play and come back inside hours later with his wild brown curls disheveled and a crazed grin on his face.

It had been unsettling at first seeing him smile the way he did but now it just made your heart seize. His fingers would drum on things to a tune you couldn't hear and he was painfully human now, relaxed around you and genuinely happy, from what you could tell.

So you made a mixtape for him that focused on heavy drum sounds, steady but loud beats the way he liked. At first he didn't seem too interested in it but you'd since caught him listening to it a few times, eyes closed and posture relaxed. Music wasn't something Michael had a lot of exposure to so you had fun introducing him to various bands and musicians.

Metal music seemed to be his preference, which made a lot of sense.

It was New Years when things really changed.

You and Michael had the television on with the channel turned to watch the ball drop. It wasn’t typically a tradition you cared about but you could tell your housemate was intrigued. He’d been upstairs painting for most of the day while you cleaned the house up a bit. "Spring cleaning," you said to Michael as he watched you from the kitchen. "Cleaning makes me happy. It's nice to get everything back in order after the holidays. 'sides, it's still too cold out for gardening."

Michael tilted his head but retreated back upstairs with his water jar for his paints.

Once the sun set, you made hot chocolate and ordered pizza. Michael preferred just plain cheese but you’d gotten yours with olives - something Michael always gave you looks for. "Don't knock it 'till ya try it," you'd snickered through a mouthful of pizza.

His brow furrowed in distaste as he took a bite of his own pizza.

It was cute. He had a lot of personality once you knew where to look. And he’d clearly gotten very comfortable with you during the time you’d been living together. It felt like a great honor to get to see Michael Myers do something as mundane as eat pizza in lounge clothes.

The two of you watched cartoons for a few hours until 11:57 hit. You flicked to the news channel and let your head loll to the side and rest against the back of the couch. "It's not the most exciting thing in the world," you said as you glanced at Michael, "But it's fun. It's nice to see everyone around the world get together for something like this."

Michael had just stared at the television with a slight tilt to his head. 11:59 struck and you felt your throat tighten as an idea came to mind. You recalled a conversation you'd had with Chrissy a couple years back where she'd told you about her favorite New Years tradition.

50 seconds…

It couldn't hurt to ask, right?

45…

“Hey, Michael?” Your voice was barely a whisper. You kept your eyes trained on the TV even when you felt his eyes on you.

40…

Swallowing was a challenge for you. “There’s, um, a kind of New Years tradition. That, um, it means-”

30…

“-you’ll have good luck for the rest of the year.” Your words were slow and methodical. It felt like you had to really sell him on the idea, even if you were afraid to tell him what it was. You weren't even sure you wanted to admit to yourself how badly you wanted to-

25…

“Want to do it?”

Michael just stared blankly at you. His eyes darted between yours, calculating. It made you feel flayed open despite the fact you were pretty sure he didn't know what you were talking about.

20…

He gave you a single nod. You quickly darted your tongue out to wet your lips. Now or never, you sighed internally.

“Trust me,” you said more than asked. His eyes widened slightly but he didn't pull away. You knew he trusted you and all you could do was hope he didn't react poorly.

15…

You swallowed around the heavy lump in your throat and tried to not look too worried. If he got the impression it was something bad, you may lose your chance. Lifting a gentle hand, you let your fingertips graze his cheek before slowly settling to cup his face properly.

It was like you could hear the sound of your own heart pounding even over the cheering on the television.

10…

"This okay?

9…

Michael's eyes softened and he gave a slight nod, as though worried he'd dislodge you entirely.

8…

You scooted closer, the both of you adjusting so you were sat facing each other, opposite shoulders brushing the back of the couch. He sat perfectly cross-legged while one of your legs braced against the floor.

7…

Slowly, you reached over with your free hand to tangle your fingers together in a loose hold.

6…

His eyes widened more and his lips parted. A look of realization flashed in his eyes and for a moment you worried you'd overstepped.

5…

"Still okay?"

4…

Michael gave a small nod again, eyes darting all over your face as he searched for…something. You weren't sure.

3…

2…

1…

You leant forward and pressed your lips together in a sweet kiss. The sounds of cheering that came from the television felt far away and underwater. Every sense in your body was focused on Michael - the warmth of his hand, the residual taste of hot chocolate on his lips, and the soft intake of breath you heard when your lips met.

It felt like the cheering was for you two.

At first, Michael didn't seem sure what to do with himself. With some gentle guidance, you tilted his head to the side to let him lean into the kiss better. He was clearly trying, so you scooted closer and let him set his hands on your hips to lift you into his lap without breaking the kiss.

When you parted to catch your breaths, Michael was staring at you with half-lidded, glassy eyes. It felt like your heart was going to burst out of your chest

You pulled him back in, tangling your fingers in his hair to keep him in place. His arms wrapped around your waist and you sunk into his hold. Being with him felt warm and safe.

So yeah. Things changed on New Years. But neither of you were complaining.

The snow finally began to clear up, being replaced smoothly by sleet and rain. It was honestly far more preferable to you, since it made walks in the forest more enjoyable. You'd always preferred the rain.

It had been a few weeks since the New Years and you and Michael were in some type of relationship. The word "dating" had come to mind but it wasn't really accurate. It was more than dating. You were partners in crime - literally and figuratively - as well as good friends, housemates, close confidants, and, more importantly, you saw each other. Really and truly. You'd both picked up on the others wordless sentences and slight shifts in your bodies were like loud declarations. Sure, you two held hands and he let you touch him more but that wasn't what was important to you.

Michael smiled more. He'd watch you with soft, sleepy eyes, stopped tensing whenever you cut his hair, and you'd caught him dozing off on the couch a few times.

You internally cursed Dr. Loomis for tormenting this man for so, so many years. Embodiment of evil your ass, he was so obviously desperate for love and care that he'd practically thrown himself at you as soon as you'd proven you would love him no matter what. He was more than the traumas he felt compelled to reenact. He was so, so much more and you loved every part of him.

Today, you needed to run down to the store to grab a few things. The rain had finally let up enough that you felt comfortable driving. "Michael? I'll be back around 5:30, alright?" You called into the house as you fastened your shoes.

Ever since the Christmas party, he'd gotten better about you leaving the house for short periods of time. So long as you promised to come back, that is. If you didn't, you knew he'd hunt you down with a knife and a bloodstained jumpsuit. Of that, you had no doubt.

Michael appeared in the doorway of the kitchen staring at you. You shot him a grin and grabbed your bags. "Be back soon!" You called over your shoulder as you ventured outside.

Looking back on it, you wished you'd stayed home…

You were examining a box of cereal for dents when someone approached you. "Hey," Chrissy's voice came from behind you. When you turned, she looked tense with her arms around herself and her smile was tight. Forced. Alarm bells began ringing in your head but you smiled back.

"Hey, Chrissy. Uh, you okay?"

"How's your boyfriend? What was his name, um, Michael, right?" She looked like she'd be sick and you felt white-hot adrenaline shoot through you like a bolt of lightning. "He, um, is he around?"

You swallowed, keeping your movements slow and casual. If you cracked, then she'd know. So you made a show of putting the cereal box into your cart and took the chance to look around. The aisle was empty but you caught the sign of movement near the end. Blue police uniforms, likely Chrissy's dad and his partner.

"No, he's traveling." You gave Chrissy an exhausted smile. "Y'know I'm not gonna pass your number along, right?"

She looked pale but her smile got wider and she took a small step back, like you terrified her. "Did, um, did someone die?" Her fake pout made you want to punch her in the face. Her faux sympathy oozed from her tone and you couldn't help the way your eye twitched. "Maybe his sister-?"

You froze in place. She knew. You don't know how she found out but there was no doubt she knew. Why the hell Officer Kallas had waited so long to act, let alone use his daughter as bait, was beyond you. Had he seen pictures from the party and asked Chrissy to identify him? Had he compared it to his mugshot? The thought of that made you irrationally angry.

"His dad is sick." You grit out through clenched teeth.

"You're sick," Chrissy shot back like a viper. "You've been sleeping with the fucking Boogeyman! You brought him to my house, oh my god, what if he killed-!" She choked back a sob, having the audacity to look betrayed.

Like a Barbie doll with mascara tears.

Enough was enough. You spun on your heel and marched away from a sobbing Chrissy like a man on a mission. You heard Officer Kallas call your name and you took a steadying breath before spinning, swinging the metal cart full of boxes and cans behind you and watching the two officers stumble and trip. Chrissy shrieked in fear and you took off towards the sliding glass doors. The crackle of a walkie talkie behind you was loud, too loud for you to make out any words being said. Everything in you was hyperfocused on running.

You heard heavy footsteps hot on your heel and you wished, momentarily, that you had a weapon of your own.

All you had to do was get to your car, the little piece of junk like an oasis in a hot desert. All you had to do was get in and you could get away, get to a phone booth and call Michael. Tell him to get Mayhem, pack bags, and get out. You'd promise you'd pick him up. Something. Anything.

But you’d never get the chance.

The officer tailing grabbed you around your middle and lifted you up like a bratty child hauling a cat around. “Put me down!” You shrieked and began to slam your fists on his arms.

"You're under arrest for disrupting justice, harboring a criminal, and assaulting an officer," his robotic words fell on deaf ears as you continued to fight for your life. Cornered animals bit and he was finding that out the hard way as you twisted to claw at his face.

But he easily overpowered you, shoving you into the backseat of his police cruiser and slamming the door. Tears began to fall down your face as you began to panic. Michael wouldn't know they were coming. They surely knew to check your house. They'd catch him there and then what? Would they kill him? Shoot to kill, like you remembered hearing on the radio all those months ago?

You felt like throwing up. All you could do was curl up on the leather seats and sob your heart out.

All you could do was hope he'd be okay.

Dr. Samuel Loomis considered himself a brilliant man.

He was assigned to Michael Myers' case when the young boy had first been admitted to Smith's Grove when he'd just been a young, non-speaking child. His mother had brought him in, her eyes red rimmed and pleading to help her son.

And Dr. Loomis always loved a challenge case. Every 'difficult' patient he ever had while working in this institution had eventually cracked under his methods. So he studied Michael, subjecting him to various medications, talk therapy, and tried everything to trigger any kind of response out of him. At first, Michael seemed to truly want to be helped. His mother visited every week and talked with him about home, about his life after the institution.

Michael took well to art therapy, much to Loomis' frustrations - he had strongly advised against giving the young boy access to making masks - and he started to make progress in sorting through what happened to him.

Then his parents died. It was like everything in Michael shut down after that. Walls were built up high and became impenetrable the longer Dr Loomis poked and prodded for a reaction.

Years went by and no more progress was made. It was like talking to a brick wall. A brick wall with eyes like the devil, as far as Loomis was concerned. There was no way a child could commit such atrocities without an ounce of guilt, no confession of sin. He'd advocated strongly against Michael being released on parole, insisting he was soulless and dangerous.

So Halloween came and Michael escaped, killing teenagers and reenacting the horrors he'd committed to his sister fifteen years ago. And now he had escaped yet again. This time was different though - Michael had gone missing for several months now. Too long had passed without any new murders and Loomis was becoming anxious and impatient. Police had let the case go, grateful at the idea Michael moved on to terrorize a new town.

But Dr. Loomis knew Michael Myers all too well.

He stood in his dimly lit office, watching a police car drive up through the large open window. Watching you get unloaded from the car and observing the way you fought so viciously, Loomis felt like he hit the jackpot. It was no wonder Michael was so obsessed with you. There was a darkness to you that had yet to grow anywhere. Surely he was just biding his time, playing house with you while he waited for you to snap and join him in his killing sprees.

He couldn't have that though. Michael had to be returned to Smith's Grove before he caused any more devastation.

“Doctor?” Officer Kallas’s voice broke the psychologist from his stupor.

“Come in.” He turned, looking over his shoulder and smiling when he lay eyes on you.

There you were. In handcuffs with tear tracks on your face. Your lip was split from where you'd nicked it while trying to bite Officer Kallas. “We apprehended him like you asked. We’ll head to the house to retrieve-”

“Don’t,” Loomis held up his hand to still the room. “No. We’ve got all we need right here.” He approached you slowly, like you were something to behold. You felt slimy under his fascinated stare. “Michael will come looking for him. Then we’ll catch him. We can’t give him any home-turf advantages.”

Officer Kallas nodded and shoved you forward into the room before closing the door behind him. You felt like a muzzled dog, glaring down the doctor with such hate that it reminded him of Michael.

Dr Loomis took a seat at his desk. “Tell me,” he hummed, “What was it like being held captive by Michael?” You looked at him, brow furrowed. Held captive? Was that the narrative they were running with? He seemed to misinterpret your confusion and gave you a sympathetic smile. “I know you were held by him for quite some time. Your friend Chrissy told her father about it. You were seen-”

“I wasn't a prisoner.” You spat, almost offended.

“So you were simply afraid.” The doctor clicked his pen, beginning to write something down. His scribbling felt grating on your nerves and you felt the urge to strangle the man, cuffs be damned.

But you just glared at him instead. “What is this, an interrogation?”

Dr. Loomis lifted his head and you could see the arrogance in his eyes. “I’ve studied Michael for sixteen years,” he said slowly, “And I’ve never seen him so fascinated by another human being.”

“Maybe you’re just shitty at your job.” You scoffed.

If you weren't already glaring daggers, you would have missed the disapproving look Loomis gave you. "In good time, my theory will be proven." He gave you a smile and gestured to one of the chairs sat in front of his desk. "Michael will come for you. And when he does, I will finally rid the world of that potent evil." He said with a menacing, teeth-filled smile.

You wish you’d stayed home.

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