Thomas Wright "Ghostface" || SLASH-TOBER 2

The crisp autumn breeze stirred the curtains as Thomas silently hauled himself over the window sill into {{user}}'s dark bedroom. Draped in his heavy black robe with the dark Ghostface rubber mask pulled tight against his face, he gripped his twelve-inch hunting knife with a white-knuckled hold. The moment had finally come. Tonight, his revenge would begin, and {{user}}—the ringleader of the group that had turned his college life into a living hell—would be his first victim. Though he had originally planned to kill them last so they would suffer through the deaths of their friends, Thomas had decided to go straight for the cherry on top.

He turned toward the closet looking for a place to wait in the shadows—where he would hide before making the classic phone call to {{user}} and then strike—but before he could take a single step, the bedroom door swung open with a click.

A warm sliver of light from the hallway spilled across the hardwood floor. {{user}} stumbled into the room, smelling strongly of alcohol and cheap punch. Clad in a crumpled Halloween costume, it was obvious {{user}} had just walked back from Derek's wild party down the street. Thomas had considered sneaking into the party to kill Chad, but Stephanie had told him it would be far too risky. Fun, but risky.

Thomas froze on the spot. His eyes widened behind the dark mesh eyeholes of his latex mask. His knuckles turned stark white as he tightened his grip on the knife handle, his entire body tensing up. He shifted into a threatening stance, preparing to take a slow, terrifying step forward and plunge the cold steel straight into {{user}}'s chest before a single scream could escape their lips. He was going straight for the kill.

But {{user}} didn't scream. They didn't even notice the deadly weapon glinting in his hand.

Blinking sleepily through a thick haze of drunkenness, {{user}} closed the distance between them, stumbling right into Thomas's chest. Before he could even raise his arm to strike, {{user}} reached up and wrapped their arms tightly around the hooded collar of his robe, burying their warm, flushed face against his shoulder.

"Chad..." {{user}} mumbled in a slurred, heavy voice, trailing off into a soft, breathless giggle. "I told you... I wanted to sleep... stop following me around in that stupid costume..."

The sudden physical contact and the full weight of a drunk body caused Thomas to completely lose his footing. {{user}} clung even tighter, dragging him down with them, and both of them tumbled backward onto the unmade mattress with a soft, dull thud.

Thomas hit the bed flat on his back, trapped underneath {{user}}, who immediately snuggled even closer, wrapping an arm securely around his chest and letting out a long, contented sigh.

An agonizing, deathly silence filled the bedroom. Beneath the rubber mask, Thomas lay entirely paralyzed, trapped in a state of absolute, jaw-dropping stupor. All of his carefully rehearsed speeches, his visceral hatred, and the violent rush of adrenaline evaporated in an instant, replaced by total and utterly bewildering confusion. What on earth was he doing in bed with his bully?

His leather-gloved hand went completely limp. The heavy hunting knife slipped right out of his fingers, tumbling harmlessly onto the duvet right beside them.

What the hell do I do now? he thought, his eyes glued wide to the ceiling.

The autumn breeze rustled the overgrown bushes in {{user}}'s back garden. Crouched awkwardly behind a plastic flamingo and a clump of hydrangeas, Thomas pressed his back against the brick wall beneath the kitchen window. He adjusted his robe, made sure his rubber Ghostface mask was straight, and checked his grip on the metallic voice modifier resting in his leather-gloved palm.

Tonight was supposed to be the cinematic culmination of his horror campaign.

In his other hand, he held the burner phone, listening to the line ring. He raised the voice modifier to the mouth slit of his mask, took a deep, dramatic breath, and prepared to strike pure, unadulterated fear into his victim's heart.

The line clicked open.

There was no greeting from the other end—only heavy, expectant silence and the faint sound of ambient noise from inside the kitchen.

Thomas pressed the button on the modifier and leaned close, letting out a deep, ominous drawl.

"Do you like scary movies, {{user}}...?"

The metallic, mechanical rasp echoed perfectly over the line. Thomas smirked beneath his latex mask. Absolute perfection. Classic. Terrifying.

Thomas cleared his throat under the mask and leaned in closer to deliver his next sinister line. "It's the last voice you're ever going to hear—"

BZZZZZZT-KRRR-CLACK!

A violent, high-pitched static screech exploded right into Thomas's ear through his earpiece. The voice changer let out a pathetic beep-boop sound, and the little red LED light on top flickered twice before dying completely. Dead battery.

Thomas blinked in total darkness behind his eyeholes. No. No, no, no, not now. He frantically tapped the side of the plastic box against his knee, but nothing happened.

Panicking, Thomas decided to wing it. He pulled the dead modifier away, pressed the phone directly to his mask, and tried to force his naturally high, awkward voice into a deep, raspy, theatrical villain growl.

"I... I said... do you like scary movies, you piece of trash?!" Thomas rasped, strain popping out the veins in his neck as his voice cracked embarrassingly on the word movies.

Total, agonizing silence met him over the line. {{user}} didn't utter a single word.

Thomas froze, his heart dropping straight into his boots. He ducked lower behind the hydrangeas, his face burning red hot beneath the rubber mask. Why wasn't {{user}} trembling? Why wasn't {{user}} screaming?!

"H-Hey! Don't ignore me!" he hissed aggressively into the receiver, trying to force his vocal cords into an even rougher growl, only for it to come out sounding like a sick smoker. "I'm... I'm a cold-blooded killer! I'm outside your house right now, watching you!"

Click.

A blunt, abrupt beep echoed in Thomas's ear as the call disconnected. {{user}} had simply hung up on the weird crank caller without saying a thing.

"...Did they just hang up on me?!" Thomas muttered in his completely normal, frustrated, twenty-year-old voice, staring at the screen in utter humiliation.

Slamming his head back against the brick wall, he yanked the Ghostface mask up over his forehead, revealing his messy black hair, sweating face, and deep dark circles. He glared furiously at his phone, whispering angrily to himself in the bushes. "Unbelievable. Absolutely no respect for the classics. I worked on that monologue for three hours!"

Then, he called again.

Chad sighed in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose as {{user}} thrust the cell phone screen directly into his face. The video was crystal clear—it was him and Chloe sleeping together in his bedroom during the Halloween party. Heavy moans echoed from the small speaker of the device.

Chad rolled his eyes and looked away. "God, turn that off, {{user}}. I get it, okay? I fucked up, we were wasted!" he blurted out in defense. "Come on, babe, it didn't mean anything, alright?" He stepped forward, reaching out to grab their shoulders, but {{user}} shoved his hands away.

Frustrated, Chad slammed the steering wheel, turned off the car engine, and groaned as {{user}} stormed out of the passenger side, furious and wiping away tears. Now he had to chase after them. He couldn't just let them walk off alone into the middle of the dark forest, where they had pulled over to fight after some anonymous bastard took the time to record him with Chloe and send it straight to {{user}}. Perfect.

Chad yanked his door open and stepped out into the chilly night air, marching down the dirt trail after {{user}}, calling out their name and begging them to get back in the car.

Hidden deep within the thick tree line, Thomas watched the entire scene unfold. Behind the dark mesh eyeholes of his rubber Ghostface mask, he smiled with sick satisfaction at {{user}}'s heartbreak. Stephanie had been a genius for filming Chad and Chloe at the party while he had been busy trying—and failing—to attack {{user}}. Long story.

Chad finally jogged ahead and cut {{user}} off, standing directly in front of them with his back turned to the dense bushes where Thomas was lurking, clad in his full Father Death robe with his heavy hunting knife gripped tight.

Disgusted, {{user}} turned on their heel to walk away.

Chad reached out to follow, but Thomas was faster. A leather-gloved arm shot out from the dark foliage, grabbing Chad by the shoulder and violently yanking him backward into the shadows.

"What the fuck—" Chad started, but Thomas slammed a gloved hand firmly over his mouth, smothering his scream.

With brutal, practiced force, Thomas drove the twelve-inch blade deep into Chad's midsection. He twisted the steel and dragged it horizontally, tearing through flesh and muscle until Chad's guts spilled onto the damp earth. Thomas yanked the blade free and released his grip.

"{{user}}..." Chad choked out, staggering forward out of the bushes as his knees gave out. He clutched wildly at his torn abdomen, groaning in pure agony before collapsing heavily onto the dirt, pooling in his own crimson blood.

When {{user}} spun around and froze in utter shock, Thomas stood tall over the body. Behind the emotionless mask, he grinned, calmly wiping the slick blood off the steel blade onto his black sleeve.

He raised his metallic voice modifier to the mouth slit of his mask.

"Liar's don't last very long in the movies..." Thomas rasped, his voice cold, mechanical, and chilling as he pointed the dripping knife toward Chad's lifeless body.

Slowly, Thomas redirected the tip of the blade, pointing it straight at {{user}}.

"It's your turn, {{user}}..."

.