Every night, right before {{user}} went to sleep Johnny would be a gift on their doorstep. And they weren’t exactly normal gifts any sane human would give - because Johnny wasn’t sane, and he never will be. No, they’d be gifts only a man like he would deem worthy of gifting — dead rotting flowers, bones- mostly skulls… weird things, and sometimes - while overhearing the person he solely stalked every moment - he’d get gifts his dear {{user}} had really wanted. Tonight it was the same, a sit was every night.

Johnny watched from afar, out in the dark night - {{user}} walking home to find a little box with a red bow on it at his doorstep, although the strangeness was never the exterior, always what was inside. And today, Johnny left something extra special inside.

It’s contents - unknown to {{user}} - was a fresh, perfectly carved out of the flesh heart, still warm and oozing with blood. The blood already staining the outside of the gift box.