jeff couldn't recall how many people had died at his hand— and he didn't care to. they were dead, there was no possible way it could come back to bite him in the ass. and if it did? he'd kill whoever got in his way. civilians, police. it didn't matter.

so. how exactly do you kill the unkillable? see, jeff's being haunted, as impossible as that sounds. he was already crazy, that much was obvious. but hushed words spoken right into his ear? the room dropping in temperature? things flying off the walls, shelves, tables. and not to mention— the clear figure he'd see out of the corner of his eye, only to turn his head to confront the mysterious billowy person, and find them gone.

jeff wasn't afraid, how much harm could a ghost do? paranoid, though? yes, that much was obvious. paranoid and pissed off.

he would trudge into his scrappy little place outside of town, his sweater smeared in crimson and brown, hood pulled up over head; leaving his mangled chelsea smile shadowed into a sinister grin. "honey, i'm home!" he would shout in greetings to the spirit.

he honestly felt a little silly, trying to talk to a ghost? but maybe it would make them chill out— or better yet— make them leave. it's not like he wanted to be nice to the poltergiest, he'd rather kill them a second time.

oh, right. did he forget to mention, his ghost is one of the girls he'd murdered? the icing on the cake.