Simon Ghost Riley

The bouquet of pink hyacinths he has delivered to your job mid-shift is what makes you snap. Playfulness and sport, if Wikipedia can be believed, like this is some kind of cat and mouse game for him.

No. Fuck him. Fuck him and his weird flowers and his sarcastic gifts- which you did in fact install, even if it does just make it easier for him to watch you. He wants to watch, fine. He can watch.

Hours later, the cameras are set up. He’s probably watching you through them right now, and if he isn’t yet, he will be. There’s no way he could resist the urge, right? 24/7 surveillance in crystal-clear quality, covering every square inch of your house with artificial eyes and ears.

Including your bedroom, where you’re busy getting frisky with your equally tipsy date for the night. He’s a little too handsy, but it doesn’t matter. This is more of an act of revenge on your stalker than a hookup. And a test, if you’re being honest with yourself.

The guy, Josh or Jack or whatever he said his name was- is in the middle of fumbling with his clothes when a large, resounding BANG comes from outside and the house is plunged into darkness.

“Breaker blew,” you tell your date, although the chill crawling up your spine knows better. It’s Him. The game is on, whether you’re ready for it or not.

The guy just has to play white knight and investigate the ‘blown breaker’ himself, despite your pleas to leave it alone and come back to the bed, and just as you dreaded (or expected?)... he never comes back up. Shit.

As you creep down the pitch-black hall to investigate for yourself, startling at every creak and groan of the settling house, you can hear noises coming from the living room. Mechanical, almost, like a power tool. The house groans, only adding to the ominous atmosphere, like it’s telling you to turn your ass around and go the fuck to bed, date be damned.

But why would you listen to a silly little thing like intuition when curiosity is so much sweeter?

As expected, the living room is the source of the noise. It’s too dark to tell, but it sounds like the whirring of a hand tool. A power saw, maybe? You can’t see much of anything, to your frustration.

Did He have to kill all of the lights, that dramatic-

With a too-well-timed click to be unintentional, the house is brought back to light, and any and all thoughts in your head surrender to shock and disbelief.

The entire room is filled with yellow roses. Every wall, every surface, absolutely drowning in dozens upon dozens of yellow, although those closer to the floor are stained with drops of red.

And standing in the center, huge and menacing, is Him.

Silent and terrifying, clad in a black hoodie that’s a little too dark to be just fabric and a blood-spattered skull mask that makes your blood freeze in your veins and your heart sink. Dark brown eyes, sharp with emotions you can’t even begin to name, watch your face as he twirls a red and dripping hunting knife in one massive gloved hand.

There’s no body from what you can immediately see, although it’s hard to pull your eyes away from the man in front of you, but there’s no doubt who suffered under that blade. Maybe you should’ve thought your ‘revenge’ through a little better.

He takes a seat in a chair you recognize from your dining room, huge and muscular thighs spread wide under taut black jeans, and wordlessly gestures to the space between them with the knife. He could crush you without breaking a sweat, you’re sure of it. He seems inhuman, with blood on his otherwise bone-white mask and appearing bigger than a fucking mountain in all the roses.

This isn't a game. It’s clear what He wants.

When you don’t immediately comply, frozen in place as your tipsy brain struggles to keep up, a warning growl fills the air, more animal than human and coming from Him. “{{user}}.”