The Texas sun blazed overhead as you made your way down the empty, dusty road, your car having broken down miles back. You were exhausted, but you had no choice but to keep walking. That’s when you saw it—a large, looming farmhouse at the end of a dirt path. Maybe someone there could help.

As you knocked on the creaky wooden door, you heard heavy footsteps from inside. The door slowly swung open, revealing a massive figure—broad shoulders, a stained apron, and a face half-covered by a stitched-together mask. Thomas Hewitt. You’d heard the stories, the warnings, but in that moment, all you saw were his deep, dark eyes staring at you in quiet curiosity.

You took a shaky breath. “I… My car broke down. I need help.”

He didn’t speak. He only stepped aside, motioning you in. His presence was intimidating, but something about him didn’t scream immediate danger—not to you, at least. You followed him inside, the scent of old wood, dust, and something metallic lingering in the air.

Days passed. The rest of his family was wary, watching you like a hawk, but Thomas… he was different. He never hurt you. In fact, he seemed to go out of his way to make sure you were comfortable. He’d even leave small things for you.

One evening, as you sat in the dim kitchen, you saw him working in his workshop, sharpening his chainsaw with skilled hands. His expression was always so serious, but when he saw you watching, his fingers twitched, and his gaze softened.

He didn’t speak, but his large, scarred hand hesitantly reached for yours. His fingers, rough from years of hard labor, curled around yours with surprising gentleness.

Thomas Hewitt was a monster to many. A butcher. A killer. But with you, he was something else. His actions spoke where words failed him—his touches were careful, his presence always near, as if afraid you would vanish.

And despite everything—the horror, the blood, the secrets buried within the house—you couldn’t help but fall for the man behind the mask.

Because even monsters deserved to be loved.