WARNING : The following content contains potentially triggering imagery of blood and knives, mentions of blood, injuries, violence, mild body horror and murder. Proceed at your own risk.
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“Tsk, where are you hiding huh? Come on out darling, I promise I won't hurt you,”
You cowered in the darkness of your home, body shaking like a leaf in the wind as you helplessly stifled your cries of fear. The footsteps of the intruder were barely audible, only light taps of their heels on your wooden floor being heard. Tears had already streaked down your cheeks from terror, the smell of blood in the air as you took a glance down at the wound you were so adamantly pressing on at your leg.
The pressure from your hand surely helped lessen the bleeding, but it won't be long before droplets of blood began dripping from the deep cut.
And it won't be long before the killer spots it.
“Awh, come on. You really wanna keep hiding? But dearie, I'm already tired of playing hide and seek!” His deep voice cuts through the thick air, a hint of what seemed like annoyance accentuating his words. “Am I really that scary? I thought you called me cute the other day,”
You barely managed to catch yourself from gasping, pupils now trembling along with your body from the sudden realization.
“Mhm~ I bet you didn't expect that did you? An innocent young man, a regular college student working at a cafe and serving drinks with a little smile. Who knew such a harmless looking person can be a heartless murderer?” He mused.
His words taunt more fear into your bones, your vision blurry from tears and nausea from blood loss. Your other hand grips onto your only weapon of self defense; a potato masher you managed to grab as you stumbled along the kitchen and hid behind the island.
You inhaled, gritting your teeth as you finally yelled out, “What the hell do you fucking want from me??”
There was a small moment of silence before you heard him chuckle, voice laced with so much happiness you thought he was doing something completely innocent.
“They always think there's some sort of motive behind every serial killer. But come on, can't we just kill for the fun of it?”
“You're sick. YOU'RE SICK IN THE HEAD!” You screamed, gripping onto your weapon with a newfound rage. The fear you felt had accumulated into burning anger, survival instincts kicking up as your fight or flight senses begin to drive your body to react. “How could you say you kill for fun? You're a monster you FREAK!”
As if losing control, you moved yourself up, away from your hiding spot as you hurled yourself at the man, kitchen utensil swinging down and hitting him right in the face. You couldn't even feel the pain of the wound on your leg anymore despite it freely bleeding heavily and soaking your pants, adrenaline moving your limbs to attack and survive.
Well, that was if survive was ever an option to begin with.
You could hear the sound of metal dropping onto the floor, your potato masher— now tainted in blood— laying on the tiles, staining the pristine surface a haunting red. Small bits of what you could make out to be flesh were soaked in the crimson liquid as well, the sight making you suppress the urge to hurl. The killer doesn't flinch, not moving even a muscle as fresh, warm blood runs down the side of his face, dark bangs hanging over his eyes.
It takes you a few seconds to register what had exactly happened, and before you had time to move he let loose a laugh.
It was maniacal, crazy, absolutely insane. He laughed and laughed with his knife in his hands, clutching the side of his face as a grin overtakes his lips. And for the first time, you catch sight of the perpetrator's facials.
Gone were the youthful eyes that crinkled everytime they shyly smiled when you spoke to the barista, the careless yet endearing nature that seemed to encase him was nothing but a mere memory now.
All that's left were dark foreboding eyes. Lifeless, empty.
And filled with utter glee.
“FINALLY! Someone that doesn't just go around screaming and running and actually entertaining!” He exclaims, throwing his head back to let out another laugh. You stood there, frozen in horror.
Your weapon had left a gash down from his eyebrow to the start of his cheek, the moonlight illuminating the blood still dripping down the side of his face and past his grinning lips yet he looked as if he could care less. That was when it hit you.
He was too far gone in insanity to care.
"I thought you'd be just as boring, especially when you went ahead and hid from me." He pouts, taking a step closer. "But looks like you lived up to my expectations,"
“P-Please,” you stumbled with your words, the agony of your wound and your trembling heart and your crippling fright all mixing into a condition that made you stagger back, looking up at the psychopath with begging eyes. “Please d-don't kill me— please! I'll do anything!”
How unfortunate for you though, mercy was non-existent in Park Jisung's book.
It took one swift kick to have you crawling back in an attempt to run away from him, screaming yet again in your empty flat for help. But you didn't get far as he grabs your legs, making you trip and fall onto the floor on your chest; shrieking your lungs out as he drags you away.
His footsteps, the same tap tap tap that approaches a person so silently that it's impossible to hear drags on until he reaches the bedroom, a grin on his face.
He giggles at your constant screaming, wiping some of his blood with his knife before licking the metal clean.
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𝕾𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖑 𝕶𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖗! 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕵𝖎𝖘𝖚𝖓𝖌
───── 𝘾𝙖𝙧𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙐𝙥 𝙎𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙎𝙤𝙤𝙣 ─────
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