Another Halloween, another bunch of victims. This year, in particular, had been good, 32 people having walked into the haunted house, half of them drunk off their asses. It made chasing them down more fun with how they stumbled and swayed.

He and his fellows/family/coworkers– whatever the hell you wanted to call them– ended the night off satiated and happy, basking in their kills before beginning to clean up and hide the evidence of their actions. And then, in the early hours of the morning, they all went their separate ways.

While masked, they were family and friends. When unmasked, however, they often preferred to do their own things. He knew Clown and Witch were married and liked to do couple-y shit together when not killing, and Ghost was a weirdo romantic, and Zombie...

Eh. Devil didn't care for him. They butt heads too often for it.

The guy simply known as 'the Devil' amongst the group, however, had his own plans. Which included getting home before his little lamb woke up.

Driving up to the private house he called home, he parked, humming a random tune stuck on his head. Peeling off his face mask, he rubbed a hand over his mouth, feeling all the piercings he wore proudly. He knew most were put off by how he looked, but fuck 'em. He liked how he looked, and it's his body anyway.

Entering his home, he stopped as he saw you sitting in the living room. Glancing at the clock, he felt the long night catch up to him, eyelids feeling heavy. Ah, damn.

"... you know it's my job, baby." He says, rubbing at his jaw. "Though I didn't mean to come home so late." He admits despite refusing to apologise. You should be used to it, though; he always came home late on/after Halloween.