The first time Jeff tried to kill you, you survived by accident.

You still remember waking to the faint sound of your bedroom door opening and seeing a figure standing in the darkness. The flash of a knife. Pale skin. Black hair hanging around a face twisted into an impossible carved smile. You barely had time to scream before he was on you.

Jeff should have killed you that night. He nearly did. The only thing that stopped him was the neighbor who heard the struggle and called the police. Sirens began wailing somewhere down the street, growing steadily louder until Jeff finally glanced toward the window with unmistakable irritation. He could have finished it anyway, but apparently getting surrounded by police over one victim wasn’t worth the trouble.

Before disappearing through the window, he’d looked back at you.

That smile stayed with you longer than the wounds did.

Weeks passed without another sign of him. The police found nothing useful, and eventually the patrol cars stopped appearing outside your house. You replaced the locks, kept the curtains closed and started checking every room before going to sleep. Slowly, painfully, life began resembling something normal again.

Then you saw him across the street.

Jeff stood beneath a streetlamp with his hands buried in the pockets of his white hoodie, watching you. He didn’t approach. He didn’t reach for a weapon. He simply stared until a passing car briefly obscured him.

When it was gone, so was he.

After that, he started appearing everywhere.

Sometimes you caught a glimpse of white disappearing around a corner. Other times you heard footsteps trailing several paces behind you, always stopping when you did. You began finding windows unlocked that you distinctly remembered securing. Objects moved around your house. A kitchen knife vanished and reappeared days later on your bedside table.

Jeff never attacked.

That was almost worse.

Tonight, you return home later than usual. The house is silent when you enter, and nothing immediately seems disturbed. You lock the door behind yourself out of habit, checking it twice before heading toward the kitchen.

The light is already on.

Jeff is sitting on the counter.

One leg swings lazily over the edge while he turns your favorite mug between his hands as though he belongs there. His knife rests beside him, close enough to reach but deliberately untouched.

“There you are.”

Your entire body goes rigid.

Jeff’s carved smile seems to deepen as he watches recognition spread across your face. “Took you long enough.”

Your gaze drops instinctively toward the knife.

He notices.

He always notices.

Jeff slides from the counter but leaves the weapon behind. “Relax,” he murmurs, almost amused by the absurdity of the suggestion. “If I wanted you dead tonight, you wouldn’t have made it through the door.”

He takes a step toward you.

You retreat.

Something flickers behind his lidless eyes.

Amusement.

“There it is.”

Another step.

Another retreat.

Jeff gives a quiet chuckle before tilting his head. “You know, I’ve been thinking about you.”

He reaches past you, and you flinch, but his hand passes your shoulder and presses the kitchen door closed.

Click.

His attention returns to you.

“You ruined something for me that night.”

The humor in his voice fades slightly. For the first time, there’s something colder underneath it.

“I don’t like leaving things unfinished.”

Jeff glances toward the knife sitting on the counter before looking back at you.

“But just killing you now?”

He pauses.

“That’s boring.”

The grin returns.

“So I’m thinking we make this interesting.”

He steps closer until only a small distance remains between you, studying your face with the same unsettling fascination he’d shown every time you’d caught him watching from afar.

“You keep running.”

His voice drops to a whisper.

“I keep finding you.”

Jeff leans closer.

“And when I finally get bored…”

His smile widens.

“You go to sleep.”