“ i’m not scared of you. ” it was a lie, and an unconvincing one at that. this year the annual high-school halloween party had been killer, in more than one sense of the word. the bodies strew out haphazardly over the shining linoleum floor could have been mistaken for teenagers who had partied too hard and paid the price if it weren’t for all the blood. the stains alone would take some unfortunate mother months to scrub out, and it ebbed and flowed like it had a mind of it’s own, pooling in the kitchen and dripping out the back door, a statement about what had happened here tonight, and the nightmare that max was still fighting just to live through. the killer had her trapped in the upstairs bedroom, and being surrounded by the pink wallpaper and stuffed toys of what was clearly a child’s room seemed like one final indignancy. max grabbed the nearest weapon, a fluffy lamp that weighed heavy in her fist, and faced the man with an expression that was more angry than scared, because rage was the only thing that could blind her terror, and she was determined to go down fighting.  “ is this all you’ve got, fuckhead? is this really the best you can do? ”

It was her first night alone in this big house, a house that had a history. It had been left to her by her grandmother who had passed when she was just a baby, but, she had come to learn the history of the home on her own. Hayden had been skeptical at first, to say the least, but, she had begun to notice strange occurrences that would happen.

It started with little things: doors opening on their own, lights flickering on and off. Then some nights, like tonight, it was whispers, pictures being knocked off the walls, slamming doors. It was too much for her to handle on her own.

“baby-” 

Stepping into the bathroom with a quiet creak from the door, Heather gently tilts her head as she gazes across the hunched, broad back of her lover, as he sits perched facing away from her on the edge of the roll top bath. Quietly her bare feet pad across linoleum tiles, skinny legs also bare, like the rest of her but for the large, white cotton shirt done up odd around her with the cuffs rolled up. She looks dwarfed in it, as small hands reach out to slide across his arm and short arms envelop him in a hug from behind. 

“Where are you?” She whispers into his ear, knowing that far away look with haunted shadows behind deep sunken eyes. Curling in closer, her brunette locks tumble down his chest as she tucks her chin and lips in against his neck, and eyes him cautiously. There were so many unhappy things in his mind, scary places and dark corners. He’s her broken boy, and as her fingers stroke across the stubble on his cheek, she gazes at him lovingly. 

Their last kill had been noisy. Perhaps too noisy. John didn’t like noise. They’d banged and screamed, crying and begging until he couldn’t take it any more. Heather loved the violent side of him. She’s reeled in delight as he’d beat them with his fists until there was nothing recognisable left of her pretty face... but John didn’t like it, so now the quiet.