#anyway i have so many random slasher iii headcanons and i want to write them all but also this is def out of my wheelhouse

[politemagic]

dabbling in writing a little bit of slasher iii👀 it's not much, but i've had this idea for months and figured it's about time i did something with it. written while listening to deadrose by unprocessed. not necessary but it's currently topping my slasher iii song list

632 words

Time had muddled in their brain, they had no idea how long it had been since he’d disappeared from their sight, but they knew they were running out of time regardless. The rope binding their limbs had been tied with expert hands. As they struggled against their bonds, the rope’s grip only tightened, the fibers rubbing their wrists and ankles raw until it began to turn pink with their blood. Their eyes frantically searched the room for anything that might help them escape, but they found little that could be of assistance. 

The room he imprisoned them in was almost entirely bare, save for a pile of discarded, bloody clothing heaped into the corner and the black journal the masked man always carried with him. When he left the room, the journal had fallen from his pocket, haphazardly forgotten by the door.

Their curious nature overtook them as they scooted across the grimy floor, nudging the cover open with their toe. Their blood ran ice cold as a pair of vibrant blue eyes stared back at them from the first page. A photograph of a handsome man was paperclipped to the page, partially obscuring what they knew were the events of the final hours of that man’s life. They felt bile creep up their throat as their eyes scanned across the page.

17:43 He believes crying will help him, that his tears will compel me to release him. It’s pathetic, really. I thought he would be stronger. But the tears make his eyes look so pretty, maybe I’ll keep him a little longer.

The horrors of the first page had done nothing to prepare them for the next, as they found those same vibrant blue eyes staring back at them, cold and devoid of life. They tried not to stare too long at dark red blood oozing from the gaping wound in his throat. The pages that followed were all the same format: a photograph of some poor unfortunate soul accompanied by a horrifically detailed account of their final moments, followed by another photo of their corpse. On some pages, he had even smeared blood across the page in vaguely artistic patterns. 

As they flipped the final page, they bit down on their lip to stifle their scream as their own face smiled back from this book of horrors. Despite his poor attempt to crop the image before printing it, they could tell it was a screenshot from their Instagram, a photo they had posted in a moment of self-confidence. A photo that this deranged man would use to remember them by, a juxtaposition for the horrific photo they knew would occupy the next page soon enough.

The door creaked open, and they lifted their gaze from the photo to meet his darkened eyes, crinkled from the grin he hid beneath his mask.

“I see you’ve found my scrapbook,” The smile in his voice told them that he had always intended to drop the journal, that he wanted them to read it, to see what was in store for them. 

He crouched before them, plucking the journal off the floor and thumbing through the pages before returning to the image of the blue-eyed man. He stroked the image tenderly with his index finger before turning it around to once again display the image of his lifeless corpse.

“He’s still my favorite, I think. But you… I believe you’ll be a close second,” His other hand gently traced the contours of their jaw. “You’re going to be my masterpiece, darling.”

He stood then, chuckling to himself as he tucked the book underneath his arm and spun on his heels, striding back out the door as they crumpled to the ground, terrified of what other sick games he might be playing with them.