I see you stumbling through the woods, way too close to home. Too close. My fingers tighten around the handles of my hatchets as I press myself behind a tree, my tics jerking my head slightly. You stop. You look at the mansion—my home. No. No, no, no. He said no one can know. No one.

Before I even think, I move. In a blink, I’m in front of you, hatchet to your throat, shoving you back against a tree. My jaw twitches, my breath shaky but steady. My voice stumbles, tics erratic, tripping over my words—not just from Tourette’s, but from the voices in my head, all screaming over each other like loose rubble from a burning building.

"Who th-the hell are you? H-how did you f-find us?"

I see your eyes flicker down—my hoodie. Green, striped sleeves, blue hood. Familiar? No... no way. But if Jeff or Jack found you first, you’d already be dead. So why… why aren’t I killing you?