GHOST FACE CAUGHT ON TAPE!

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥°̩̥ ·͙̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̩̩̥·̩̩̥̩̩̥˚̩̥̩̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ Perhaps the biggest culture shock to her when it came to schooling was the fact that there were no janitorial staff that cleaned the school after classes, it was the students. It was certainly interesting to her. Whether she was assigned or not, as students usually begged her to take over their duties so they could play, Dez tended to stay later to help clean. She didn’t mind, after all Dez found cleaning quite relaxing.  However, she found herself wandering into the scene where her English teacher was and she looked up at him. Her features softened some as she gave a nod. “Mhmm.” She simply responded to at first. He had asked her on more than one occasion to translate between him and other students. After all with English being her first language she had no trouble at all in his class, but Japanese being her second.. Well, thankfully she managed to study hard and grow fluent as well. It was only when other’s used new slang she would grow flustered, but once asking for an explanation she usually ended up just fine. “I’m not used to anyone else still being here, are you still working?” She made her way closer to his desk and put on that small smile of hers. She wasn’t too expressive with others, but her teacher was growing on her some. “Do you want any help before I go home at all?” Dez had the type of voice that was a hair above a breath, just loud enough to not be considered a whisper. It was almost as if she was afraid of being heard, or that the wind could carry it away if it was strong enough.

Danny smirked at the blasé reaction that floated from her lips like the snowfall gently pattering against the windows, making miniature hand prints on the soft tinted glass. He conducted a few long-term social experiments about how people received gallows humor, both in his mundane life and his more...exciting one. In both, your average john or jill seemed to lap it up like a hungry cat with a saucer of milk. Maybe that’s why all the news stories seemed so eager to sell his latest opus. People love what terrifies of them, and nothing’s scarier than death.

He gave a tentative shrug, and nervously adjusted his tie. The present Danny Johnson nursed a few anxious habits, and generally tried to hide his skittish nature behind a veneer of an affable jokester. The sort of man who emigrated to Japan to take advantage of the more servile student body one doesn’t find in the states. A slight tinge of genuine trepidation crossed his body like a damp spaghetti noodle when she mentioned his off-beat behavior. The Ghost Face thrived on being forgettable. Still, this wasn’t necessarily too off. Just fumble an excuse and change the subject. The fear of offending was also a powerful tool for your neighborhood clandestine murderer. 

“Y-Yeah.” He stuttered and turned his eyes away a bit, avoiding her gaze. “Sorry to worry you, just a bit behind on my work. So, uh...” Danny pretended to cast about for a topic.

            ❝  oh , b-believe me : I AM .  ❞  

           she tries not to flinch when he moved into her space , her neck craning to look at him and not stare directly at his chest . the scent that seems to fill her space , overtaking the scents of the forest and everything in between – she can’t help but say that it wasn’t unpleasant, but she didn’t necessarily like it . she keeps her face straight, though the prey portion of her mind screaming at her to fight and scramble and get away. she knows better than to give into it , that would be his satisfaction.

           he has her attention , from the strands to the looming figure of his . if she shifted , her body pressed toward him – which was unfortunate for her . she tried not to shiver , but that struggle is in vain . her pulse quickens , heart rabbiting in her chest . his breathing is oppressive , almost too loud in the silence between them. his voice was soft , but the tone seemed to linger . even breathing seemed to push her chest too far toward him for her own comfort .

           ❝  s-sometimes you want t-things like that , a-and s-sometimes men can give me e-exactly what i want .  ❞    she tries to choose her words carefully, but they are still very daring , accusing even .  usually , she was methodical in the situations she chose to fight. and even though she was slowly realizing that she was getting her self deeper into trouble with this man , she couldn’t back down. backing down would mean giving him SATISFACTION .

           she raises a delicate hand , pressing against the broad chest, pushing slightly . anyway to get a little room. the curve of her ears burned heavy , the cool undertones of umber skin slowly grew rosy and red . she really shouldn’t have said anything at all , but she still believed exactly what she said . he didn’t seem like the kind of man who would actually hold her down and deliver , but he very obviously would put a knife in her gut . SHE KNEW THAT FROM EXPERIENCE .  ❝  it’s a-alright not b-being able to give m-me s-something i’m sure o-other people can , r-really  .  ❞

A moment passed between them where neither spoke, a pregnant pause in this bout of bluffs. Throughout this time The Ghost Face stood stock-still, like an ill-fated sign post stuck to a deserted country road. He felt intimately reminded of the minor curvatures of Claudette’s form, the slender finger...so small, like a little caramel petal against his cloak. She didn’t fear the grime. He supposed that stood to sense, gardening and botany left their fair share of stains on many a young aspirant. Still, something about her obstinate tenor left a sweet taste in his mouth, overtaking the flavor of plastic and fabric that came when the mask inevitably moved about. His grip, tight and relaxed, did not waver, still holding her left hand in a vice. The botanist didn’t attempt to wrench free, not of The Ghost Face’s grip nor his...closeness. Maybe there was more to this heat gathering in his gut. Maybe...he could find out. Danny found that he wanted to chase that idea with great intensity.

The Ghost Face slid his left leg closer to Claudette, parting the grass beneath them both to, with soft intensity, compel her legs apart and position his own much-larger limb between them. Without relinquishing his hold over her he took his right arm and slid his fingers against her palm, tracing little circles in it. Every act was in quick succession but meticulous, careful and deliberate. Like a cat closing in on a trapped mouse. 

As he continued the teasing ministrations, he reached with his free hand to grasp the tactical at his belt, which slid out with a gentle gasp of steel and leather. He reared the weapon over her midsection, poised it...and made a small incision over her left collarbone, in her clothes and in the yielding caramel flesh beneath a few inches above her covered breast.

Even with a punctured lung heaving like a broken accordion, Jake mustered up consistent dregs of willpower, enough to buck against the weight pinning him to the floor. This occurred so often Danny had to put a finger in the seeping flower his knife blossomed in the survivor’s chest every so often, forcing the oxygen manufacturing to clot and stall with the increased internal bleeding and make Jake’s already-wheezy breathing near impossible.  

Danny didn’t mind it, though - the desire to survive, the cornered animal instinct to scratch and gnaw and spit till the curtains drew was part of the fun. In that regard, the Park kid never failed to perform. Danny supposed the shattered lives Jake left behind could take what solace came from that. They needed to see as much...the confirmation took absolute precedence. Anyone knows the imagined courage they place upon the dead was entirely placebo without the precious proof in the pudding he provided. As he attempted to compel the camera one more time, he turned towards Jake, and set it up next to him, pointing out the failed zoom function. The poor fellow deserved enough to know why the unpleasant event dragged on to such a protracted degree, at least. After all, this stood to provide closure to Jake’s family as well, had he one.

“You’re holding that wrong.” The Ghost Face gestures with a gloved hand to the gnarled shiv folded in Frank’s fingers.

“Or, sorry. Is sucking at the job part of the whole punk motif?” That certainly was a novel form of rebellion. Fuck efficiency, and fuck my wrist! Gravity can’t keep me down! Except literally! 

                     in contrast , delicate fingers take clippings of flowers and herbs that she could see . some for the sachets others for the med kits . the long piece of glass, half wrapped in scrap fabric from discarded clothes is precise and deadly in small fingers . it was best that they kept them well stocked or someone might actually die once they drag themselves back to the campfires . she had lose herself in her thoughts and memories , and that was her first mistake. the forest was thick , but it didn’t keep the killers out. other times , she more vigilant. chills up her spine or good situational awareness made it easy to keep an ear and and eye out for killers like THE SHAPE or THE GHOSTFACE , and sometimes the pig and even the wraith . but she was absolutely sure that she was safe at the moment . she drifted off . 

                     and when she comes back to herself , it’s only from the harshness of a finger in her back. she shouts , though it is half a squeal and half a choked laugh . she’s ticklish , and the way that the gloved digit digs into her sweater brushes something that makes her choke up rarely used laughter . she almost falls over , thrown off kilter by the suddenness of his presence and the jab . her instinct is to lash out , TO PUNCH HIM IN THE FACE . instead she pinwheels when she turns and sees who it is properly ; almost falling into him and instead slashing him with her makeshift garden sheers .

                      ❝  M-MERDE !  ❞   the curse passes her lips like a prayer . she puts a fair amount of distance between the two , pointing at the taller , obviously smug figure . the fog swirls around them , passing through roots and trees . she wonders , hysterically , if the entity is laughing too .    ❝  don’t d-do that , you c-creep ! i really c-could have hurt you worse – i-i … d-didn’t mean to c-cut you …  ❞

Danny couldn’t help it; he laughed. From within the pale plastic plastered to his face, a muffled, throaty laugh sounded in the dusky twilight. The sound carried, as the shrubby undergrowth stood sterile and devoid of life. Somewhat similar to the look he fixed on her, shrouded beneath the white petrified face that now stared back at her. Some targets kept the defiant act up till the grave came and snatched it from their last gasp, and some acted like church mice with fireworks tied to their tales. With the latter, all an enterprising killer on the go need do was exist in their vicinity to get their terror quotient up into the stratosphere. 

Claudette Morel, the resolute but quivering figure before him clutched the shears in her small ash-colored fingers and shot him a cocktail glance of distrust, embarrassment, fear, and guilt. The guilt made another scoff escape him. The spectral strands of the Ghost Face’s cloak seemed to laugh along with him, quivering harmoniously as if dancing to an inaudible rhythm. Caught up in his amusement and her priceless reaction, Danny took no notice of the slight slit carved into his glove and wrist, seeping discolored blood onto the forest floor. He glanced at it amidst the more caked-on blood adorning his shroud when she apologized, snickering a third time. 

The second act of this little farcical play was going to be her getting stabbed, but now another idea crept into Danny’s mind. The idea bloomed in him taking a seat next to her and extending the wounded arm to her, an expectant look in his charcoal eyes. 

You’re sorry? Then make it right. The white plastic wordlessly spoke. Where was he going with this? Had the stabbing simply been restructured into the third act? Did he intend to actually just sit with her and let her treat his injury, forging a strange pact with one of his opposites in this endless game?

Thanks for all the new follows and support, everyone!

The Haunter sticker hung limply off the envelope like a loose tooth, and its 2D visage seemed to snicker at Danny as he attempted to maneuver it back onto the page. 

Serial killing and associated activities thereof rarely lent itself to an exercise in soul-crushing tedium, but right now he almost considered relinquishing the pizzazz if it meant no more designing these infernal envelopes.

Mass-producing the things was wholly out of the question. The grungy, cut-and-paste garage look had grown as quintessential to his style as the stabbing. 

So, in the sterile cubicle that passed as his teaching office, The Ghost Face produced his masterworks. The teaching job held pretty demanding hours but free access to an empty grounds with no cameras (he had painstakingly made sure of that) meant a good place to sit and stew.

Currently, he fiddled with a few letters to local real estate agents, fake threats meant to confuse and spread rumors about copycats. His stench had begun to permeate all corners of the media from gossip rags to advice columns, and Danny loved it. The cheesy headlines, the hushed interviews, the angry PTA meetings. Stupid, messy modern chaos. He loved it.

While he messed with the letters, however, he heard the sharp wooden dragging of a sliding door, prompting him to swiftly stuff the letters into the mass of graded papers in his desk, in the secret compartment made out of discarded bubblegum.

Looking up sharply, his shoulders sagged in relief upon seeing Night’s inky black hair, likely a bit messy from the long day. Dez-chan, as the students tended to call her. A teaching assistant he often called upon for help when a classmate flubbed their English enough for a translator to be necessary. 

“Night.” He greeted, a smile creasing the edge of his lips. Shouldn’t be out so late, a less gentlemanly murderer might get ideas. Came the ever-impish voice of the Ghost Face under his mask. Instead, he grimaced at her with a solemn look of desperation. 

In the hollow mist behind her, the botanist might detect the static serenity of the underbrush disturbed by boot-clad footfalls. As usual, the Ghost Face couldn’t help but surrender to his theatrical nature. Danny enjoyed treating his targets to a dull miasma of dread, something you think you should dismiss. The sort of thing that stands your hairs on end and makes you mistake a lumpy coat on a chair for a crouching horror. Then, just when you’ve battled your fears down to a manageable level, that’s when he jumps out and makes you wish you’d kept your heart rate up. 

When the pounce came, the Ghost Face didn’t typically mess around. A gash to the stomach here, a hole in the small intestine there...wounds that bleed and debilitate. 

As he emerged from the fog, this time, he felt an unassailable urge to confuse. After all, the moment he got predictable was the moment he ended up a statistic. The very idea made him gag. Keeping things tomato fresh put the spring in his step. 

So, when he came out, he slithered up to her back, readied his slaughtering arm...and poked her in the small of her back with a finger jab, just enough to totter her balance.

A violet-colored letter adorned with stickers of ghost-type Pokémon (predominantly Gengar) appears in the priest’s mailbox atop the hill in Fuyuki.

“Father, if I kill people, but they don’t stay dead, is that a murder still in the eyes of the Lord, or can I talk it down to aggravated assault with intent to slaughter?”