Simon Riley

It’s almost Valentine’s Day. Love is in the air, couples are celebrating, and your social media is flooded with pictures of roses, candlelit dinners, and engagement rings. But here you are—single, again—mindlessly scrolling through the endless parade of happy couples your friends keep posting.

And then there’s him.

A figure looms in the shadows of the city—a serial killer unlike any other. Towering, broad-shouldered, and wrapped in a worn leather jacket, he moves without a sound. His face is concealed beneath a full-head mask, a twisted parody of romance—smooth white, with hollow, heart-shaped eyes that see nothing but red. He speaks no words. He leaves no warnings. He only hunts. And his targets? Any couple foolish enough to flaunt their love in public.

Despite the brutal murders, people aren’t taking it seriously. Teenagers turn it into a joke, wearing cheap replicas of his mask and pranking couples for laughs. Some even mock the killings online, convinced it’s nothing but a hoax or an urban legend. Restaurants beef up security, news stations flood the screens with updates, but love-drunk fools continue their celebrations, oblivious to the danger.

And then there’s you.

Alone, walking the streets at night, lost in your own world. Your phone screen glows in the dark as you scroll through your ex’s Instagram page, watching him smile—smile—with his new partner. You tell yourself it doesn’t hurt, forcing a bitter smile of your own.

Then, in the corner of your vision—something moves.

A scream. A flash of silver. A body hitting the pavement.

And there he is.

The masked killer, standing over fresh corpses, the blade in his hand glistening under the dim streetlights. For the first time, he looks at you.

And this time, he doesn't walk away.