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You’ve grown sick of it, you’ve grown angry and resentful towards this monster more and more since you’ve caught wind that this brute is tormenting this town. The survivors' guilt of being the only one to play this cat and mouse game with this devil and survive in the end has been chewing you up like a piece of gum. You thought it was only sheer luck at first to have not been yet another victim of the Butcher Devil, yet it’s as if some guardian has been showing pity by saving you from a gruesome fates. Now, you truly believe whatever force allowed this game to go on was nothing but cruel and sinister, laughing at your misfortune of being the plaything of the local serial killer that has stolen so many peoples’ lives. It revolted you how the demon just stared at you like this was your fault. His eyes narrow and his usual large, nightmare fuel of a grin pulls back into a grimace. It’s almost as if he was disgusted by this game too, disgusted by something you’ve done to lead to this mess. All it does is make your seething anger boil and deteriorating sanity wilt. Your eyes must show the pure hatred you have for him as something flickers in his fixated gaze, like a realization finally hit him and he’s trying to process it. His grip loosens to a much softer hold on your throat, but that only lasts for a split moment before he ripped his hand away. As if your flesh was hot metal, the Butcher Devil stares at his hand like it was burned while you fell to the wooden floor- coughing and gasping for much needed air.

You rub your throat with a shaky hand, trying to soothe the soreness with the semi coldness of your hand. Judging by the pain, you know a bruise would be collar your neck, tainting your hide with an assortment of blue and green hues. How embarrassing. It seems like every encounter with this fat red guy led to some sort of bruising upon your flesh.

You are a delicate, brilliant fruit and the devil’s touch leaves you marred, wilting, and rotting.

He ruined you, you were perfectly normal before the torment began- you used to feel so lucky and happy to have dodged death. However, paranoia grew and fed into your fears about what happened- so is it really any relief that he lets you live? Every visit and abrupt exit are reminders that your life could end when he chooses- yet he continues to put you through endless torment. You just want to live your days without having to fear a surprise death and appreciate your existence. Constantly, you are left in the throes of paranoia, and it finally blooms into hatred and frustration- al because HE continues to toy with your life to try. You would fight back when you needed, fled when you needed to, but when he invitably caught you in his grasp..

He would just stare.

His hand would tremble as his grip tightened around his knife, and his smile strained as he panted and drooled. He would get close, sniff your hair, lick the sweat coated flesh of your neck, and even dragged his hot tongue across a cut on your cheek that he made with his trusty blade. This horned murderer was tasting you all those times- indulging his disturbing, sick appetite for human flesh. His delight showed the low rumbles of insane giggling, and it never failed to send violent chills and shudders down your spine. It made bile rise from the pit of your stomach; you felt like throwing up at the thought of being devoured by a freak in a devil costume.

You knew his attacks on you weren’t random; he knew you in some way. Maybe he knew you somehow? Could he be someone you see every day? Is he a person who pretends to care for you in order to get close, only to reveal who he is to betray and slaughter you? Judging by the way things have been going, you assume he’s more likely to be some deranged stalker escapee from the asylum.

Who would go to such lengths to just ruin your life?

Either way, he seems to have learned your schedule: When you leave work, go shopping, or go to the park for your random midnight walks- he always knows where you are. His presence leaves an overbearing mark on your mind, making it feel as if he’s skulking closer and closer. Often times, you swear you’ve felt breathing down your neck too- though no visible sign of the horned bastard ever turns up.

The cops have probably grown tired of your calls, you had grown to personally know the two detectives that were on the case- you were on a first name basis and hell! You even knew the names of their family members and their birthdays. You knew they were just doing their job, but you could feel their frustrations once they arrived at the scene only for the mountain of a man to have somehow easily escaped into the night.

You felt like you’ve failed them, you felt like you’ve failed the town by not being able to give the police force more information because you have survived so many times. You hated it, you hated that disgusting mask of people’s flesh and hated whoever it was behind that fucking mask for making your life a living nightmare.

“I fucking hate you.”

The mouth of the devil was open- like he was about to say something but it immediately snapped shut the second you spoke so bitterly towards him with your head hung low. Staring down at the floor that had many droplets of blood, your blood. It’s all over your pants, you’ve noticed, and your shirt. Ruining the clothing that you wore to sleep, the clothing that you wore for comfort, just wanting to go to bed in your comfy blankets and have a good day tomorrow.

But this sick cycle keeps going whenever he fucking shows up.

You know how it’ll be like tomorrow after this, stricken with fear and paranoia, having to be questioned, having to explain that the fucker just left you alive, and ohhhh how you know how it’ll be for weeks afterwards- receiving pitiful looks as you go down the street from the people who recognize your face from the news. You had even gotten looks of resentment from those who’s loved ones had died by the hands of the killer with no game of cat and mouse attached. Just brutal slaughtering.

“Why? Why do you keep doing this?” You wheezed out- throat straining painfully from the tight grip he had earlier, sniffling softly as tears began to burn your eyes. You grit your teeth after taking a sharp intake of air, trying so hard not to fucking sob and embarrass yourself in front of the blood thirsty serial killer towering over you like so many times before in previous encounters, who was still wielding the blade that was pressed to your stomach only seconds ago, ready to gut you like a pig- You wish he did, so this game could finally end. The devil only watches you though, not uttering a single word, no hysterical laughter or chuckle, no fun fucking fact about cannibalism. He was eerily quiet, like he was waiting for you to solve the mystery of why he keeps letting you go, now and many times before. That pissed you off even more, you didn’t want to guess what was going on in that fucking head of his. You didn’t want to solve this goddamn mystery like it was some episode of Scooby-Doo, you wanted the goddamn straight forward answer and for this cycle to finally come to an end- not even caring if the result is your death.

You turn your head up, giving a nasty glare to the Butcher Devil. “You’re fucking pathetic.” This was definitely stupid, talking to him like this- as it was basically a one way ticket to death’s door but your cares for surviving were long gone the moment this unwanted game became repetitive.

“You keep attacking me, strangling me and busting me up like I’m some fucking dog toy and then you split off instead of killing me!” You sneer venomously, pain flaring immediately when your body had lurched forward from how harshly you sneered and you quickly clench the bleeding wound on your side, soaking your hand with dark crimson.

Your legs felt like jelly as you shifted in your spot on the floor, your head felt heavy and dizzy. Have you lost that much blood? Was it finally getting to you? Fuck- it made you stagger as you slowly rose from the ground, leaning against the wall for support as you did so. You thought that he would finally attack you for moving but he only stood there and watched as you stood, keeping balance by leaning just a bit of your body against the wall of your home. You wet your lips, the killer’s breath hitching as you did so. His piercing eyes trained on the way your tongue ran across your upper lip.

Bob’s jaw clenched, feeling something unusually warm in his gut beginning to burn hotter. It wasn’t the burning sensation of hunger like he was so used to, the burn that drove him to satisfy by feasting on the flesh of people. His teeth and tongue have been stained more than he can count with the blood of many that he had sunk his jaws into, he adored the taste. Feeling the warm liquid mix with his spit, the tangy taste of raw meat going down his throat when he was feeling peckish and was in a hurry. His body once tried to reject such consumption but it had learned to crave it, to depend on it for survival like he had to the first time he consumed another.

This burning sensation was not of hunger, it was something darker..more primitive and feral. Something that made him tip the edge of truly losing himself, maybe it was the taste of your blood finally getting to him- he had been lacking in restocking his usual kind of meat for a good while, causing him to starve his true diet and have to eat regular meals, but he had tasted your blood before- He always does when he comes to finally end your life, licking it off his knife as he corners you or licking it from the source- a wound upon your flesh.

Your blood was something he truly favored amongst the others he had tasted, he realized that when he first attacked you, you were so frightened, shaking like a leaf during an autumn day of howling winds. He had cut the side of your neck, close to your pulse. He could almost feel the thumping of your pulse through the knife, oh your poor heart must’ve been pounding against your ribcage like a wild caged animal trying to be set free.

He had licked the blood off his knife, watching how your eyes honed in on his tongue lapping up your blood. Your eyes were so wide, like a deer in headlights, with tears rolling down your cheeks. Hiccups and pleading for life left your trembling lips, as if you were praying to god for salvation. It made his usual grin even wider, cruel and sadistic desires fueled him into letting you go after playing with you just a bit more with his knife cutting your skin.

Watching you freeze up for a moment in pure confusion before kicking yourself into overdrive once it dawned on you that he was giving you an opening to escape- scrambling away from him like a deer trying to escape oncoming traffic, running to the front door of your home and ripping it open. He didn’t fully understand why he actually let you go in the end after taking a step forward towards you and pausing, he was going to snatch you back up before you could reach the door. To give you that hope that maybe you’ll survive the fate he had in store for you..but he would immediately rip it away, making your gruesome fate even more delightful for him. To make your meat even tastier.

But..he had let you rush out as he just stood there, watching as you roared out cries and pleas into the cold, night air of fall, begging for help from anyone to save you from the monster that lurked inside your home. He knew he couldn’t stay long once you disappeared from his line of sight, so he had left. A cruel smile still on his lips as his mind mulled over the taste of your blood, your blood was like any other in taste and all other categories there is to describing blood, that’s what he had originally thought, but upon doing some digging- more like a cult member owing him a favor and Bob taking advantage of that- he discovered that your blood type was type O negative..

The universal donor…

What a treat the universe had brought to him.

He was planning on slaughtering you the next time he attacked, he knew he couldn’t play with you for long next time, the local cops were hogging up your place because you had survived an attack by the Butcher Devil- something that had not happened before..he never let his prey slip from his claws, neither did he let you because he had willingly let you go- that didn’t mean you had gotten away on your own..that’s what he had thought at first.

He had to wait for a good while till he could strike again, needing the heat to die down and for you to feel..settled, it was amusing seeing you so jumpy and wide eyed whenever you thought you heard or saw something out of the ordinary- but your paranoia meant that your senses were heightened considerably. You were far too aware of your surroundings, your hand always twitching towards your phone whenever you heard an odd noise or thought to have seen something move in the corner of your eye, it made his sneaking around and watching you much harder. So he pulled back.

In the meantime, as he ran his diner, you came in more often, allowing him to gain your trust and give you the sense that he and his diner can be a safe place for you to seek out. Truly, you weren’t some random pick of the bunch for him to try and kill, he took time learning things about the people of this town before striking, making sure who he needed to avoid due to their involvements and/or quality of meat, who dying would get more attention than the other and so on..he learned his prey first, got them to open up to him, the local diner owner who always wore a bright cheery smile and made the best damn burgers in all of Arizona. He was proud of that title, proud that his cooking skills got people flocking to his diner’s door.

That’s how he learned about you, a fresh face amongst the regular folk one day outta the blue. He had heard before that there was some newbie moving in, but he didn’t have the time to look into it nor did he really bother to care as he was busy with keeping up with his diner and his routine on restocking the freezer. You had come in during rush hour, orders were being made left and right by hungry customers looking for a good meal to fill their bellies with, Bob busy in the back, slaving over the grill with genuine dedication to make them burgers that many have praised him for. He didn’t pay too much attention to your face when setting your order down at your table after finishing it up, his mind busy with other orders that needed tending to. “Here ya go-“ he cites your order as he sets it down, not noticing the way your eyes lit up at the sight of your cheeseburger, nor did he hear the hungry rumblings of your stomach- which you were thankful for- but he took notice once you thanked the large, dark haired cook, “Thank you! This looks so good!”.

Bob had then looked carefully at you, not for long however as he had to get back to the kitchen, but he had finally realized that he had never seen you before. His smile grew wider, tipping his head as a sign of appreciation “Thank ya kindly, please enjoy your meal.” The smile you gave back was bright, rivaling the sun that was shining so brightly outside in the clear blue skies. “I’m sure I will!” He didn’t stay long after that, he got back to the kitchen, the heat hitting him as soon as he did. He welcomed it, it was a comforting embrace to him- something that had always settled his nerves when he was pent up or was on edge. The kitchen was his second home.

Besides that- you were definitely new from the usual crowd, Bob knew almost everyone in the town and surely he didn’t know you. He had thought that maybe you were visiting some family in town, perhaps you were a tourist or maybe you were the one he’d been hearing about having moved into that one house on the corner that got put up for sale. Heard from a regular that it was pretty hard for the realtor to get it sold due to the gruesome crime committed in the house.

Ever since then he had taken note of your presence, he always notices you coming to his diner often. You tended to stick to the corner, hidden away from any prying eyes. Coming in during the quieter times of business, either early in the morning or later when the sun got ready to rest for the night. He had gotten to know you more and more with each visit. You have become the perfect victim in his eyes, you were the new owner of that house, you kept to yourself since moving in, you didn’t have many to call your friend and you were easy for him to gain the trust of.

You had even thanked him for being your 'friend' one time during a rainy night, it almost made him break character and laugh at your naivety. You truly are his perfect victim.

You were his perfect victim.

But now as you both have a stare down in your hallway, with you clenching your wounded side and him staring down at you like you were the only thing in existence, he believed otherwise. You were not the perfect victim that he had made you out to be in his twisted mind, you had somehow changed the fate that he had set for you the moment you told him your name when you formally introduced yourself.

Bob couldn’t help the whisper of your name because of the memory, your eyes widening for a moment upon hearing it roll off his tongue so naturally like he has said it many times before. Your ears burn and your mind becomes chaotic with thoughts of the killer’s way of saying your name sounding so familiar, you look at him with a more confused look than the hateful, spiteful one from before. Making Bob wonder if you have picked up on the way he said your name, did you recognize his voice? Did you know it was Bob underneath the red devil mask?

Why did a small part of him want that?

Your question from earlier makes its way back to his mind, he didn’t know why he was doing this. Playing with you then leaving you alive, he never plans on it, he always tells himself before hunting you that this will finally be it, the night you die by his knife. But those have become false promises to himself as he has left your home with your heart still beating, he’s grown tired of this game just as much as you have. He wants to blame you, he doesn’t need something even more wrong with him to show up and fuck up his murderous routine, he doesn’t want to be the one that’s the problem here.

Your anger fires back up once again, him saying your name and nothing more doesn’t answer your questions of why he’s doing this to you, your will to survive was broken, you’re tired, you want this over with, you want him gone.

You scoffed, the noise dragging him out of whatever the fuck he was thinking about. “We both know how this is gonna end.” With all your strength, you pushed yourself from the wall, standing there still clenching your wound. He took a step away from you, making you give him a weird look before looking down the hall that led to your bedroom, “Just fucking go.” You didn’t wait for an answer- you weren’t really expecting one to be honest, you began to limp towards your bedroom where you knew your phone was so you could call Officer John. You bit back a pained whine caused by the pain of your side, you know you’ll have to get stitches because of how deeply he had stabbed you earlier.

You have turned your back towards the monster that loomed in the hallway still, with no care for if he would finally lunge and rip you apart. It was a reckless and stupid thing for you to be doing but you both knew he wouldn’t do that and you certainly weren’t going to just stand there in that staring contest and bleed out.

He always has control over when he leaves, but now it was your turn to have control…or at least attempt to take control of it. Maybe your attempt will finally set him off, honestly you didn’t care anymore. You just wanted this night to end.

You heard shuffling and creaking of the floorboards behind you and felt his overwhelming presence close to your back. Following you down the hall, you almost snorted at the thought of this large brute trailing behind you like some dog, you didn’t bother turning around to see if that’s what he looked like, not wanting to give him attention as you make it to your room. A trail of blood droplets following you on the floor alongside the murderer, you go into your room which makes you feel a heavy weight of tiredness settle in your bones at the sight of your comfy bed…or maybe that was the blood loss really settling in. You notice the lack of heavy footsteps continuing behind you, you knew it didn’t mean he was gone because you could feel his eyes staring into you- meaning he was standing at the doorway, watching.

You still don’t turn around to look at him though, you only just grab your phone from your nightstand and unlock it, going to John’s contact and waiting for him to answer. Your eyes trailed over to the mirror close to you that offers you a perfect view of your doorway, a shiver crawling up your spine seeing that the Butcher Devil was no longer there.. having made not even a single sound of his departure.

The only evidence that he was there was the deep claw marks dug into the wood of the doorway’s frame, causing a shaky breath to leave you.

It was his way of telling you that he will be back, that this will not be the last. It made something in your lower stomach warm up, twisting and fluttering alongside the heat.

It was anticipation.

🍔🔪🍔🔪

Thanks for readin!

‼️Important Note‼️

Not into spooky month that much anymore, I mean I do enjoy the show n all but to be honest I wasn’t happy that most of my following on twt was for my bob art, and if I posted something not Bob related it barely got noticed.

Just don’t want that happening with writing so that’s why I’m hesitant about this post, I ain’t shaming anyone ofc I still enjoy Bob!

I’m just not gonna post a lot of spooky month content, maybe none at all so I’d advise you to not follow me if you expect constant spooky month stuff.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed.

Inspired by this image!