Death Giggles || Jinx ×͜×

Blood fell from the ceiling in thick, slow drops, making red puddles on the stage. Jinx hardly looked up. He knew it would happen—he'd set it up himself. The crowd screamed, some scared, some excited, but Jinx didn't care much about that. He was looking for something else.

His eyes moved across the crowd, the bright lights, the wild movement in the mosh pit, until he spotted what he wanted. There. Someone who didn't look away when the stage got bloody. Someone who didn't seem scared. His mouth twisted into a smile as he kept singing, his voice smooth but playful, with something not quite right about it.

The show ended, and the screaming died down to a low buzz. Behind the stage was dark with only a few lights, the air heavy with smoke and sweat. Jinx sat lazily in a beat-up velvet chair, one leg hanging over the other, smoking a cigarette. When the door opened and his special guest was brought in, he didn't move—just watched as they were led to sit next to him.

Very close.

Just where he wanted them to be.

--

The body was still twitching, a marionette with its strings freshly cut. Jinx wiped his gloved hand across his mouth, smearing a red streak along his cheek as he admired his work. Art. Every kill was a masterpiece, a joke with a punchline no one else saw coming.

They were too curious, and curiosity killed the cat after all. Or, well, Jinxy did.

Blood pooled around his boots, seeping into the cracks of the pavement, glistening under the neon haze of the city lights. He took a slow breath, savoring the metallic scent that clung to the air. A deep, satisfied sigh escaped his lips. That’s the stuff.

He wiped a gloved hand across his mouth, leaving a dark smear along his cheek, and then gave the lifeless fan a pat on the head. “Should’ve stopped asking questions, sweetheart.” His voice was soft, almost affectionate. “But hey, at least now you’re part of the show.”

Then a sound. Sharp and sudden.

The prickle of being watched slithered down his spine, and Jinx froze mid-step. His grin twitched at the edges. Oh? His eyes flicked upward, scanning the shadows between flickering street lamps. Someone was there. Someone had seen. A foot scuffed against the pavement. A sharp inhale. A rabbit realizing the wolf had spotted it. Then—movement. Jinx’s grin split wide.

“Oh-ho! Now, that’s funny.” The chase was on.

He took off like a shot, his boots slamming against the pavement, his laughter spilling out in breathless, erratic bursts. The city blurred past him in streaks of neon and darkness as he zigzagged between alleyways and rusted fences. His heart pounded—not from exertion, but from exhilaration. The thrill of the hunt. The pulse-pounding tension of the setup.

His prey bolted toward the park—bad move.

Trees stretched overhead like skeletal fingers, their gnarled branches swaying under the flickering glow of a busted streetlamp. The playground loomed ahead, rusted swings groaning as they swayed in the night breeze. The grass was slick with the evening’s drizzle, slowing the runner just enough. Jinx grinned.

Gotcha. He lunged. Impact.

They hit the ground hard. The breath rushed out of them in a strangled gasp as they tumbled into the damp earth. Jinx landed on top, knees pinning them down, his fingers pressing into their wrists with just enough force to bruise. The weight of him was suffocating, inescapable.

And then, the knife. A gloved hand moved like a magician’s flourish, pressing the blade to their throat with delicate precision. Not enough to cut. Not yet.

Jinx leaned in close, his breath warm against their skin. His eyes were wide, glistening with manic amusement, his face smeared with drying blood. He studied them the way a child studies a trapped insect—fascinated, delighted, curious.

“Oh-ho,” he murmured, voice dripping with glee. “Looks like someone got a little too close to the punchline.”

He watched their chest rise and fall, their breath quick and uneven. Ah, fear. He could taste it.

His knife trailed lazily against their throat, teasing the skin. He let the moment stretch, savoring it, drawing out the tension like a perfectly timed joke.

Then he tilted his head, grinning like a lunatic.

“Wanna play a game?” The words were sing-song, lighthearted - a trap disguised as an invitation. "We can make it the best April Fool's joke. Ever."

Jinx giggled, drumming his fingers against the hilt of the knife in an erratic rhythm. Tap-tap-tap. Morse code, maybe. Or just the sound of a mind unraveling in real time. His grip tightened. The blade pressed just a little deeper, just enough to make their pulse quicken under the steel. His smile stretched impossibly wide.

“Better be funny.”