Work Text:
✎ (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ༉‧ ♡*.✧
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Hot tears stung your face, and you hated it.
You hated him. You hated everything he had done to you. Every cruel word, every moment he made you feel like you weren’t worth anything- it all haunted you now, even as you stood at his funeral.
The day felt suffocating, heavy with emotions you didn’t want to confront. You skipped work, retreating to the only place that felt even remotely yours.
Your bedroom greeted you with its familiar mess. The bed was unkempt, covered in folded clothes you hadn’t gotten around to putting away. The duvet was worn thin, littered with holes along the seams. Some of them had been patched with clumsy embroidery in an attempt to hide the damage, much like you had tried to do with yourself.
As you sank into the bed, your weight made the mattress creak. You stared at the fraying threads and wondered, not for the first time, what you’d done to deserve any of this. Tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t bother wiping them away.
You succumbed to the sadness, curling into yourself, hiding from the world in the only sanctuary you had. The loss of your father- no matter how awful he was- was still overwhelming, a tidal wave of conflicting emotions you didn’t know how to process.
The funeral had been around noon, but when you woke up, the room was dark, dimly lit only by the streetlights outside bleeding through the thin curtains. You’d fallen asleep.
Reluctantly, you forced yourself out of bed, limbs heavy and mind foggy. You shuffled to the kitchen, telling yourself you’d clean up to keep your mind occupied.
The house was a disaster, as always. Old mail, paper plates, dirty dishes, and empty beer bottles and cans cluttered every surface. The smell of stale alcohol lingered in the air. It all reminded you of him, the man you couldn’t bring yourself to mourn.
Still, there was a flicker of relief now. He was gone. You wouldn’t be scolded or yelled at for stepping out of your room, for existing in his space. That thought gave you just enough motivation to start cleaning.
You focused on what you knew how to do, taking your time cleaning his mess. Slowly, the house began to look and smell better. Trash bags filled, counters cleared, and dishes scrubbed. After about an hour, you paused, wiping your hands on your jeans, and let out a tired sigh.
That’s when your eyes landed on his recliner.
There was a short stack of mail on the armrest, sitting there like a lingering ghost. You hesitated before picking it up, shuffling through the envelopes, most of them junk. But one letter caught your eye, it was a piece of mail from the mortgage company.
Your heart sank. You didn’t want to open it. You didn’t want to deal with it. But you knew you had to. Sooner or later, the bills would fall to you, and you needed to know how much money you’d have to scrape together.
With trembling hands, you tore the envelope open and unfolded the letter.
Your eyes scanned the page, and then you froze.
The letter was dated over a year ago.
"We are pleased to confirm that your mortgage for the property has been paid in full. The final payment has been received, effectively satisfying the remaining balance on your loan.
As of this date, there are no further obligations under this mortgage agreement. Please find enclosed the official documents. Should you have any questions or require further assistance, please do not hesitate to contact us…”
Your mind reeled. The mortgage was paid off? A year ago?
Your dad paid off the house last year, and he didn’t even tell you? All this time, he had been using your money- for beer.
The realization made you feel sick. You wanted to disappear, to bury yourself somewhere far away from the truth staring you in the face. Sadly disgusted, you set the letter down on the kitchen table, trying to shift your focus to anything else. But the words lingered, burned into your mind.
He had lied to you. Lied about needing your help to pay rent, lied about the mortgage, lied about losing his job last year. Now, you knew the truth- he’d just used it all as an excuse.
You had gone without everything. You sacrificed so much, your money, your time, your peace of mind. And for what? So he could sit around and drink?
Anger simmered in your chest as you opened the fridge, hoping to find something to eat, but the only thing staring back at you was a row of cold beer bottles. That, too, was his legacy.
You slammed the fridge door shut, your appetite gone. There was nothing left to do but drag yourself to bed, stomach empty and anger weighing you down like a stone.
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Morning came, and you managed to pull yourself together for work. Your body moved on autopilot as you got ready for your first shift, trying to shove the swirling mess of thoughts to the back of your mind.
You had two jobs- one of them as a barista at a local coffee shop. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was enough to scrape by. Unfortunately, your boss made it infinitely worse. He was a creep, always trying to get you to go out to dinner with him, even though you’d made your disinterest crystal clear.
His wife, however, was the complete opposite. How he snagged her still puzzled you. She was the sweetest woman you’d ever met- kind, warm, and patient. Somehow, she knew exactly what kind of man her husband was, but she stayed with him anyway. Every now and then you’d run into her and she’d shroud you with love only a sweet old woman could.
You couldn’t wrap your head around it. *Could you even choose who you loved?* It made you wonder if someone out there just for you, however unlikely- could love you the way she loved her awful husband.
But you quickly brushed the thought aside. The dating scene in this small town was practically nonexistent. You didn’t have the time, the energy, or the hope for something as elusive as love, especially considering the whole slasher situation.
You grew up here so maybe that's why you were desensitized to it but, the idea that real slashers filmed their work and sold it in VHS’s at local stores was still insane. Because of it many people had moved away, even most of your highschool friends left as soon as they gathered enough money to. Friends here were far and few between.
The bell above the door chimed, signaling a customer entering the shop.
“Hi, what can I get for you-” you started, turning around, only for your words to catch in your throat as your eyes met a familiar face.
“Hey, cutie,” he greeted with a smirk. It was Jason.
Jason had been a classmate a few years back. He’d always tried to win you over, flirting and dropping hints, but you’d never found the time or interest to let anything happen.
“Hi, Jason.” you greeted him.
He leaned against the counter, his tall frame taking up more space than it needed to. His jawline was sharp and narrow, accentuated by a thin mustache. He wore a worn denim jacket over a faded graphic T-shirt and black jeans, the quintessential "small town cool guy" look. Jason had always been sweet, but you’d never paid him much mind.
“I heard about your father,” he said, his voice softening. “How’re you holding up?”
Your heart sank at the mention of your dad, the weight of the funeral and that damned letter rushing back. You forced a weak smile. “I’m holding up about as well as you’d expect.”
Jason nodded, his gaze shifting down to the counter. He fiddled with a loose screw on the edge, his fingers idly picking at it. The silence between you grew heavy until he finally spoke again.
“I know he was an asshole,” he said gently. “But you can always be honest with me.”
You sighed, starting to put together his usual order without even thinking about it. “He was, but he was my only family,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “I don’t even know if I wish he was still here.”
Jason nodded again, his expression thoughtful. “Hey,” he said suddenly, his tone shifting, “I know this probably isn’t what you want to hear right now, but… I really want to take you out tomorrow.”
“Jason, I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” you said, your mind immediately flashing to every slasher movie you’d ever seen that took place in this god awful town. That and you really weren't in the mood given your current situation..
“I want to make you feel special,” he pressed, leaning in slightly. “I know it might not be the best time, but I’ve got it all planned out, the perfect spot, everything ready…”
“Jason…” you said, unsure of how to let him down gently.
“Please, Y/N,” he pleaded, his voice dipping into something softer, almost desperate.
For a moment, his words took you back to your father. You remembered the nights he’d begged you to stay home, to keep him company because he missed your mom and couldn’t handle being alone. That pleading tone always left you feeling cornered, like you owed him something.
Jason wasn’t your father, but something about the memory made you hesitate. You felt a pang of guilt for him. Jason was handsome, sure, but you’d never been attracted to him.
“I promise we won’t do anything… freaky,” Jason said suddenly, the awkward way he phrased it pulling a laugh out of you despite yourself.
“Jason…”
“I mean it!” he said, smiling as he sensed you softening. “I just want to take you to my favorite stargazing spot. I’ll cook you the best pasta you’ve ever had, bring a bottle of the best red wine- just say yes, and I’ll leave you alone for now.”
You didn’t know what came over you, but the idea of going home to that empty house…silent, cold, and filled with memories you didn’t want to face made your stomach churn. Maybe, just for one night, you didn’t have to feel so alone.
“Fine,” you said, laughing softly at the sheer absurdity of it all.
Jason’s face lit up, and for the first time in a while, you felt a tiny flicker of something other than sadness. Despite everything with your father, maybe you just wanted to feel wanted even if it was just for one night.
Your other job could wait, it was just a painting gig, and the deadline could easily be extended.
The next day rolled around, and you found yourself rummaging through your closet, trying to pick out something appropriate for this “date.” You couldn’t remember the last time if ever you’d actually been on one. Free time was a luxury you never had, always buried in work.
And now, knowing the mortgage had been paid off for a year? You scoffed as you passed the letter still sitting on the kitchen table. If you’d known, maybe you could’ve spent the past year doing something normal like grabbing drinks with the few friends you did have or going on dates, actually living your life.
The unfairness of it still gnawed at you, but you pushed it aside. Tonight would be different. This year had been a disaster, and this week hadn’t been much better.
When Jason pulled up to your house, he looked a little nervous. His hand gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, and he kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.
“You don’t need to be so tense,” you told him as he started driving. “No matter what, this is a really nice gesture. I appreciate it.”
Jason shot you a small smile, then ran a hand through his slicked-back hair. “So,” he started, his voice a little too casual, “why’d you agree to go out with me this time? Was it my new cologne? Or my devastatingly good looks?”
“Ew, no,” you replied with mock disgust, laughing as you swatted his arm. After a moment, you softened. “This… I just needed to get out of my own head. And honestly, I can’t think of anyone better to help me do that than you.”
Jason’s smile faltered for a second, his expression shifting to something almost unreadable, though you weren’t sure why.
“But tonight’s not about me,” you added quickly, hoping to ease whatever worry had settled into his features. “It’s about us. I’m happy you asked me to come out here.”
His shoulders relaxed a little, and he nodded, his smile returning, softer this time.
“Good,” he said quietly. “I just want you to have a nice night.”
And for the first time in what felt like forever, you thought maybe you could.
You gazed out the window as the scenery passed by, taking in the heavily wooded area that surrounded you. It was similar to the land around your house, but this place felt much more vast- unnerving, even. You wondered where this stargazing spot of his could be, and if it was even going to have benches, like the ones in the movies.
Jason didn’t say anything as he kept driving, the only sound was the hum of the engine and the rustling of the trees around you. But as the car slowed and came to a stop, a knot twisted in your stomach.
This place was far from town. Far from any kind of housing or civilization.
You tried to push the feeling away, but there was something about the isolation that made you uneasy…something didn’t feel right.
“You okay?” Jason’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the moment.
“This is kinda far, don’t you think?” you said, trying to mask the unease creeping up your spine.
Jason grinned, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “It’s supposed to be romantic.”
You gave an awkward smile, trying to play along as he encouraged you to follow him from the car. He had pulled off the road in the middle of nowhere, and now you were standing on the edge of a vast, unfamiliar forest.
“This is the spot, trust me.” He picked up the picnic basket from the back seat, grabbed your hand, and led you toward the trees.
The air felt heavy as you followed him, the dread gnawing at you with each step. Sure enough, after about a fifteen-minute walk through the dense woods, you arrived at a large grassy clearing. It was peaceful, but that same unsettling feeling hadn’t left you.
The warm evening air felt too thick, like it might suffocate you. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
You tried to distract yourself by looking at the basket he carried. “What kind of pasta did you make?” you asked, leaning toward it about to open it, hoping to focus on something more tangible.
“It’s a surprise,” Jason said with a playful smile, quickly closing the basket and making sure it was shut tight.
As you walked deeper into the clearing, the feeling of being watched crept over you. The silence of the woods felt too quiet, and every snap of a twig or rustling leaf made your heart race. Slasher movie scenes, the ones shot in this same forest, played out in your mind, each one more terrifying than the last.
“Is this safe?” you asked, your voice trembling despite yourself as you held onto his hand. “You know all those slasher movies filmed in town, right?”
Jason glanced at you, his smile faltering for a moment, but he quickly recovered, his grip on your hand tightening. “It’s fine. You’re with me.”
But somehow, that didn’t make you feel any better.
He handed you the picnic basket, and you gave him a confused look. “Hold it while I set up the blanket,” he said, his voice light.
You focused on why you were here, trying to quiet the uneasy thoughts swirling in your mind. ‘Stop overthinking,’ you told yourself. ‘Tonight’s about relaxing, about feeling nice for once.’
The sun was still setting, casting the sky in warm hues of orange and pink, slowly fading into deepening shadows. The moon was already visible, cold and bright. Tonight would be a full moon.
He took the basket from you and, after setting it down, extended his hand to invite you to sit beside him.
“You know, I’ve always had a thing for you, Y/N,” he said sweetly, almost too easily.
You couldn’t help it, a lighthearted laugh slipped from your lips.
“I’m serious,” he pressed, pouring you a glass of wine. His own glass lay on the blanket, empty. “You’re funny, you know how to get things done... and, not to mention, cute.”
You took a sip of the wine, the bittersweet flavor dancing on your tongue. “You don’t have to say all that.”
He smiled, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that felt almost too personal.
It was nice at first, relaxing even, but as the sun sank beneath the horizon, a change came over him. His cheerfulness seemed to fade, replaced by something more serious, more unsettling.
“You’re not gonna drink with me?” you asked with your voice quieter now. The stars had come out, their cold light sprinkling the sky above you, but you couldn’t stop focusing on him.
It was then you realized something was wrong. Your head felt light, and the edges of your vision blurred. You had only had one glass of wine, but now you could barely think straight.
You watched, dazed, as Jason rummaged through the picnic basket. But what he pulled out wasn’t pasta.
A thick kitchen knife gleamed in the dimming light.
“Jason?” you asked, your voice wobbling, your body unsteady.
You tried to stand, but your legs buckled beneath you, sending you tumbling backward onto the itchy grass.
“Y/N, you’re beautiful... yet, you’re so stupid.”
Your heart dropped, and you struggled to push yourself up from the ground, but the world spun around you. You could barely keep your balance, each step a fight to stay on your feet.
“I thought that-”
“Shut up,” he snapped, his voice suddenly harsh. He stood, the knife gleaming in the moonlight as he scooted toward you on the blanket. “You deserve this. You made it so easy for me. I had to wait a while, but you’re just like all the others. So easy.”
Your breath caught in your throat, and your body stumbled as you backed away from him. “You’re one of the slashers?”
Your voice was shaky, barely a whisper, but the words hung in the air between you. You kept moving back, but with every step, he seemed to get closer like an impending doom.
“This whole time, you were trying to kill me?” you stuttered, frightened.
Without warning, he lunged at you, the knife aimed straight for your stomach.
In a panic, you flung your arm up, deflecting the blow just enough that the knife pierced your forearm instead. Pain shot through you, and you screamed as blood oozed down your arm.
“You thought I’d like anyone like you?” he sneered, his voice dripping with malice. He swung the knife again, this time aiming for your upper arm. The blade easily sliced through your soft skin, and the pain was almost unbearable.
“It’s a fucking shame, really. Poor dear old daddy died before he could watch the daughter he hated so much get killed by the guy she thought liked her.”
Tears streamed down your face now, but you weren’t sure if it was the pain or the crushing realization that this might be the end for you. Was this how your life would end? Without ever really living? All you’d known was the misery of a father who’d taken everything from you, even before he passed away. Now, no one else cared.
You didn’t know which hurt more- your wounds or the hollow emptiness of your existence.
“Hold on,” Jason laughed darkly, turning to rummage through the picnic basket again. You could barely focus as you fought against the dizziness and shock.
When he turned back, he had a small recorder camera in hand, his grin widening.
“You don’t mind if I take a home video, do you?” he asked with twisted amusement, turning the camera on.
He took a slow step toward you, the knife raised, his eyes never leaving you. The thick grass beneath you felt like it was swallowing you whole as you desperately looked around for an escape.
“This is the murder of Y/N,” he announced to the camera facing it towards himself, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he flipped it around. “May she forever rest in peace, knowing she-”
You didn’t wait to hear the rest.
Without thinking, you spun around and bolted, your legs moving faster than they ever had before.
Jason blinked, momentarily stunned. “Hey!!” he called, lifting his eyes from the camera just in time to see you sprinting away into the night almost comically.
It was the most ridiculous thing you’d ever done, but at that moment, you didn’t care. You ran for your life, trying to outrun the horror... and trying not to laugh at how absurd it was that you were literally fleeing for your life in a “romantic” forest getaway.
“Fuck this. Fuck everything,” you thought, your legs burning as you sprinted through the dark woods. The branches scraped at your skin, leaving fresh gashes that only added to the bleeding mess of your body. As pathetic as it was, you had no control over your life. But you didn't want this to be your death.
You could hear him behind you, Jason’s footsteps chasing after *Shit, shit, shit,* you cursed under your breath, your lungs screaming for air. The world around you swirled in a dizzy haze, and you were sure he must’ve drugged you. Your limbs felt heavy, like dead weight, but still, you pushed forward, plunging deeper into the woods that seemed to devour all light.
The darkness swallowed you whole, and you could only see a few feet ahead. You hoped the thick darkness would shield you, even though you knew it probably wouldn't be enough.
You ran for what felt like miles, the sound of Jason’s pursuit fading into the distance, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to believe you had escaped.
Exhausted, you stumbled, finally collapsing against a tree. Your chest heaved, and the blood loss clouded your thoughts.
The night was eerily quiet. The deep, suffocating silence of the forest seemed to press in on you, the only sound the ragged rhythm of your breath.
For a moment, you thought you might pass out there, alone. You prayed, begged God-*please, just let me have one night to myself*. But even your quiet sobs sounded pitiful…
How long you sat there, you couldn’t tell. Time felt like it had stopped. But when you finally managed to pull yourself up, weak and trembling, you saw a dim light in the distance. A cabin.
It might’ve been your only chance. You staggered toward it, your vision blurry, your body on the verge of giving up.
You knocked on the door, your hand shaking, unsure if you could even stand much longer.
A moment later, the door creaked open. The world tilted as you blinked through your exhaustion.
Whoever this person was, they were dressed sharply, their black dress shoes gleaming in the low light. weird…
Nervously, you lifted your eyes to take in his appearance, starting from his pants and shirt, then slowly moving up to his face.
He was dressed entirely in white, his button-up shirt crisp and immaculate, held together by a black bowtie, with a murderously sinister apron tied around his waist.
Your blood ran cold as realization sank in.
It was Butch Slater. The notorious serial killer.
Every instinct screamed at you to run, to scream, to fight yet your body doesn’t respond. Instead, you felt yourself leaning forward, drawn to him in a strange, involuntary motion, until your forehead pressed against his chest.
Your legs gave out beneath you, the combination of running, the drugged haze, physical exhaustion, and blood loss overwhelming your frail body.
You were half-conscious of his hands, precise and steady, wrapping around you meticulously, preventing you from falling, holding you in place as you fainted.
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