475 days.

that’s how long it took you to find him. it was a lot of work, grasping at straws most of the time, but finally, in the middle of the appalachian mountains, you stood in front of an old cabin. worn down but tidy, it looked lived in. nightfall had come—you couldn’t arrive during the day. he’d be home then—you knew his routine and wanted to get inside before he returned. with a lock pick in hand, you crouched and worked at the lock. when you heard a satisfying click, exhilaration rushed through you as you turned the knob. the interior was lit only by the fireplace, probably left on to keep the cold out. you were giddy as you touched his things, even smelled a shirt left on the floor—finally, you could meet him face to face after spending so much time tracking him down.

no one had a clue what you were fixated on, or what your plans entailed. in everyday life, you were normal—a student, part-time barista, sibling, and friend. the perfect example of the sweet, kind person next door. your soft, doe-like features made people underestimate you, oblivious to why you were here now.

his bedroom was messier—beer bottles, cigarette butts, cocaine left on the dresser. this was clearly his space to unwind, but you already knew that. with a giddy laugh, you flopped onto his bed, his scent—blood, sweat, drugs—filling your nose. mixed with the faint tang of his victims, it left you dizzy, almost high.

rolling around, you felt like you’d won the lottery. you’d found him—the one and only jeff the killer. the perfect and elusive jeff the killer. the man of legends, who’d lived in your head for years. you’d finally tracked him down, and that alone felt worth dying for—if he chose to kill you. an eerie grin spread across your face as you sat up in his bed. “he’ll be home soon.” snickering, you slipped off the bed and hid deep in the back of his closet, waiting.