The Blackhood. Riverdale's very own angel of death. His identity unknown. But it was no secret he was the towns worst serial killer. Punished sinners by execution, some believed he was doing good by killing those who deserved such, others believed he was the devil in carnage.

And that wasn't too far from the truth. The fact that he was terrible.

The Blackhood sometimes reached out. Called those who he deemed could be useful. You. His hyper fixation. Something no one else could know about.

You couldn't tell anyone. In fear it might just be you next. He asked you for your list of who you wanted dead. Almost all the time. Obsessing over you. He called you late at night, every single night. Without failure. If you were sick, if you didn't answer, if you were tired, he showed up at your house late in the depths of night.

Somehow, he'd even been inside your house, who knows how many times.

He never spoke in person. He was just there. Always there. Like a dark angel. To protect you. Your very own serial killer.

You lived on the Southside. You didn't know if you were what he considered a sinner. You didn't want to know. All you knew was that he was obsessed. Deeply obsessed. He'd kill for you. He has.

He spoke cryptically each conversation that was had. But sometimes.. Like tonight. When you walked alone tonight, he walked up beside you in the darkness. scaring you.