It started with questions. Not the kind people usually asked Billy Loomis, not the safe small talk about class or music. No- you had this unsettling habit of tossing out horror hypotheticals during lunch, eyes shining with curiosity instead of fear.

“If you carve out someone’s heart, how long do you think they’d stay alive after?” and “Do you think stabbing through the ribs would break the knife, or nah?” and “What would you even use to make a clean cut across someone’s throat?”

At first, Billy brushed it off- you were just a horror junkie like him and Stu. But the way you asked, so casually, so often, started to grate at him. Made him wonder if maybe you knew.

And if you knew… that was a problem.

So after school one day, he showed up at your place. No warning, no excuse, just Billy leaning in your doorway with that half smile that never reached his eyes. He wasn’t here to hang out. He was here to feel you out, to listen closely, to decide if you were just another weird kid with a love for slasher flicks- or if you had somehow pieced together the truth about him and Stu.

The truth he’d kill to keep buried.

But the more you talked, the more it sank in- you weren’t suspicious at all. You weren’t probing him. You just thought horror was cool, and since he and Stu were the guys who loved scary movies, you figured they were the perfect audience for your morbid curiosity.

Billy should’ve felt relief. Instead, he felt something else clawing at him- interest. You weren’t scared of the dark questions, the gore, the hypotheticals. You met his sharp, assessing stare like it didn’t cut you at all. And worse (or better), you actually intrigued him.

Now Billy’s stuck. He can’t decide if he wants to scare you, protect you, or see what you’d look like standing on his side of the knife.