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slicznymartwy · 1 year ago

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saccharine pt ii (you're billy's favorite)

cis fem reader

warning: billy's being fucking weird again. stalking you from inside the house, stealing your panties, humping your pillow, breaking into your room and masturbating. obsessive billy. 69ing. dead dove stuff. don't read if that bothers you

read pt i

read on ao3 here

Billy waits until the house is empty to drop from the attic.

He passes by Claude in the hallway, who gives him a disinterested once over before rolling onto his other side.

“Meow,” Billy says, stopping next to the old cat.

Claude croaks a little hello, and Billy goes on his way.

When he first started staying in the big brown house on Belmont Street, Billy spent his lonely days investigating the sluts’ bedrooms one by one. It was fun to dig around aimlessly, poking through their dirty clothes and their garbage cans, until he would hear a noise and scrambled back up the attic.

In those early days, he did his best to be extra cautious; no matter how badly he wanted to, he never took any panties with him back to the attic and he never messed with their beds. He knew that if they found out he was looking through their rooms, they’d chase him out. He wanted to stay with all of you in the big brown whorehouse.

Your room was the last room he explored, it being the closest to the staircase to the main floor. Standing in front of your door for the first time, he had no way of knowing how much you would change him.

The smell in your room was intoxicating. It was sweet, like pretty flowers in a crystal vase. It soaked into your messy sheets, which he stumbled towards excitedly, and he buried his face against the indent where your body must have been. He breathed in deeply, eyes fluttering shut, then moaned. Was he already getting hard?

Again, he breathed in deeply, moving so that he was laying on the bed. You smelled so good, whoever you were. He wished that he could put a face to this smell. Wished he could imagine whose pussy he’d fuck while you rubbed your pretty scent all over him.

His jeans were tight and pushing his dick down against the mattress made him moan again. Sitting straight, he crawled up the bed and dropped down with his head against your pillows. The smell was even stronger here, and he shoved his face into the soft white cushion as far as it could go.

He was definitely hard now, pressing against the unforgiving denim. He undid his pants and let himself free. Breathing in deeply, he wrapped his hand just around the tip of his cock and squeezed.

“Pretty pig,” he whispered, lips moving against the wet spot already forming on the pillow. He tried to slurp up some of his drool, but his heavy breathing made it pointless. It didn’t matter to him either way.

He fisted his cock a few times, but his hand was dry even with the leaking fluid that gathered at his slit. As he breathed in your pillow, his mind began to wander; he pictured your pretty imaginary head against these pillows every night, rubbing your smell on them. You had pressed your cheek to these pillows, your hair, maybe even your lips. These pillows were like your face, Billy concluded. He wanted to fuck your face.

After that point, he’d made it a habit to visit your room almost every day. It was your fault, really. You shouldn’t smell so good, shouldn’t have such soft pillows, shouldn’t be such a perfect pretty pig slut.

Today, he opens your door, just like he had done yesterday and like he will do tomorrow, and shuts it behind him.

Walking to your bed, he passes by your dresser. He can see right away your bottle of perfume, the one you put on whenever you came from your shower. He knows from experience that it tastes like shit, but it must be something about you that makes the chemically fluid become so delicious. He wants to lick the smell off of you. Wants to suck it out with his mouth.

He’s quick today. He hasn’t eaten much food this past week and he’s eager to dig into the kitchen, but this is more important. If someone came home early, he’d much rather go to sleep hungry than having missed you.

Putting the pillow towards the middle of the bed, he straddles it before pulling his cock out. After a few strokes, he’s hard enough to rub against you. He pictures your face, pretty and blushy. He pictures your glasses too, how they’d get knocked off while he rubbed his cock against your cheek.

It’s so good, and Billy’s mind swims. He’s fucking your face, your mouth, your thighs, your pussy. He’s rubbing his cock on your shoulder and your arm. He’s getting his leaky clear fluid on your hair and on your thigh. His drool makes your tits shiny. The pillow is so soft against the tip of his cock, and he humps it like a dirty dog. Dirty Billy.

But even with how good it is, it isn’t enough anymore. He’s had this fantasy for weeks now, and he needs to cum more than he wants to live. With shaky legs, he stands and wanders the room, searching in the usual spots. He opens your white laundry hamper and sees them immediately. With a little smile at the corners of his lips, he takes your panties and smells them. You must have worn these all day yesterday. He licks at the little strip of cotton where your cunt would have been. His cock twitches.

“Pig cunt,” he mutters sharply, waddling back to the bed. His cock is rock hard and jutting out from his opened pants, and he’s quick to press it against your pillow again. As he rocks his hips, he puts your panties to his mouth and nose and breaths in.

It only takes a few more thrusts against the pillow before he’s coming, and he’s quick to drop the pretty pink panties to his cock to catch his hot white cum. It’s so messy and sticky, and a couple drops still land on your cushion anyways. He needs a minute to catch his breath, and he rolls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling.

He had done the same thing his first time too, mind pleasantly fuzzy after his orgasm. He had stared at the wooden ceiling and thought about how this was your view every night. Maybe one day, you could both lay here and stare at the ceiling together. Back then, he was so lost in his daydream that he almost missed the hole between the floorboards just above the bed. Almost.

His life changed so much the day he met you.

Standing after a few calming moments, he flips the pillow onto its other side and drops it back at the head of your bed. Next, the panties go into your hamper, and then he fixes his pants. His stomach growls angrily and he sighs as he pats it.

Claude follows him to the kitchen.

“It’s for you,” Clare says, holding the phone out to you as you pass by. “He said he’s from your orgo class.”

There’s only one guy who calls you about organic chemistry. You breathe in sharply as you glance at the phone. Not wanting to alarm your friend, you fake a smile and take the handset.

“Thanks,” you say, and watch as Clare walks off. You’re not a child, you tell yourself. You can be brave. You take a calming breath in and out before you hold the phone up to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hi,” the Moaner says, laughter making his voice sound so boylike that you wonder how old he is.

“What do you want?” you ask, closing your sweater around you with your free hand. You turn your back to the living room.

He moans obscenely then swallows, the sound so wet and desperate that you wonder what he’s doing to himself.

“You. You pig cunt,” he says, spitting out each word like they’re accusations. He laughs again and you close your eyes.

“What’s your name?” you ask him calmly. He responds with yours instead, and you try not to shake by clenching your sweater even tighter.

“Your name,” you say again, emphasizing the first word. Still, he says yours like he’s proud of it. He laughs, then says it again.

“Cut that out,” you snap at him. “This isn’t fair. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“What’s the change in enthalpy?” he whispers.

“I’m going to hang up if you don’t tell me,” you threaten. He groans, but it doesn’t sound pleasured anymore. It’s as if he’s in pain. Or, your mind supplies unhelpfully, he’s the sort that likes them at the same time. You sigh heavily, both at him and your overactive imagination.

“What’s the change in enthalpy? Pig slut. I’m gonna, gonna stick my tongue up your pig cunt,” he mutters into your ear.

“No, you won’t,” you say dismissively. You regret it immediately as the line goes dead. Even when he wasn’t talking, you could hear him and his mouth, breathing and licking and moaning. Now, it was silent. “Hello?” you say after a long stretch of silence.

“Filthy Billy,” he says finally.

“Is that your name? Billy?” you say, straightening up a bit. He moans then, and you have no doubt that one is from pleasure. “You’re disgusting, Billy.”

“Disgusting Billy,” he mumbles back, panting and moaning and slurping at his lips. Why are you feeling so hot all of a sudden? You clench your thighs and look over your shoulder.

“You talk a lot, Billy. You make a lot of promises,” you whisper into the handset.

“Gon- gonna suck your piggy clit,” he mumbles, so sweet that your stomach flutters with butterflies.

“No, Billy. I don’t think you’re brave enough,” you goad.

“Gonna lick it,” he groans, stretching out each word and letting you hear every syllable. “Piggy cunt. Stick my tongue up your pretty pussy.”

“I don’t believe you,” you say, gulping. You’re still trying to stay brave, but you can’t understand the warmth in your belly.

“You want my fat cock, you cunt,” he snaps at you, cutting off the end of your sentence.

“Do you know where I live, Billy?” you ask suddenly. The line goes dead again. You didn’t know you were so good at shutting him up. “If you want me so bad, come and get me.”

You slam the handset down and half expect it to start ringing again. It’s quiet, even after a minute. Feeling satisfied, you nod at the phone and head back to the living room. You sure showed him.

The hallway is black as pitch, and Billy stands in front of your bedroom door. The house is filled with the sounds of sleeping, all except for your room. An orangey light shines through between the door and the floor. He can hear the scratchy sound of a pencil on paper, and the occasional sigh from your lips.

He can’t believe he’s so close to you, and his cock twitches in anticipation. Already, he can smell your flowery crystal scent from here.

He doesn’t knock. Quiet as a mouse, he turns the doorknob slowly and eases the door open. Staring through the newly made crack, he can see that your back is to the door, head hunched down over the textbooks on your desk. Carefully, he steps inside and shuts the door behind him.

Billy knows the creaky floorboards to avoid as he makes his way behind you, and he’s so close that he could touch your hair with the tip of his finger if he held his arm out straight. He waits there for a while before you realize you’re being watched.

“Fuck!” you squeak, jumping in your seat before turning to face your intruder. Books and pens clatter to the floor and a sheet of paper is crumpled in your hand. Your eyes are so wide and beautiful as you stare at him.

You’re shaking. Billy wants to fuck you and cum on your face and your ass and your slit. He wants to lick it, lick it, lick it.

“Hi,” he whispers.

“You- you.” With trembling hands, you let go of the paper and push your hair out of your face. You can’t seem to speak, your lips moving with words you don’t say.

“It’s me, Billy,” he says, shaking too. It’s so hard to hold himself back, and his fingers are so scratchy with his need to touch you. “Agnes.”

“I’m not Agnes,” you respond, staring back at him from your seat.

“I’m here, Agnes,” he says quietly.

“That’s not my name,” you say again. When you stand, Billy takes a half step backwards.

“That’s not my name,” he responds, unconsciously matching your pitch. He lets out a shuddering breath.

Your smell was everywhere, so much stronger with you in the room. It wasn’t just a vase of flowers anymore; your smell was like an overgrown garden, with dirt and honeysuckles and animals.

Your name falls from his lips without his brain’s permission, and he feels kind of like how he was supposed to feel when he went to church as a kid.

“Billy,” you say softly in return, and Billy has to swallow noisily or he might drool past his lips.

“I found you,” he says, and he makes fists against his thighs.

“You did.” Even though your voice was quiet, you didn’t sound scared anymore. Billy glanced down at your body and saw that you were already wearing your night dress, made with white flowy cotton that danced and twirled with every step you took towards your bed; Billy watched helplessly as you sat down on the edge of it.

Billy’s breath was ragged, and he felt like he had been running for miles. Here you were, looking up at him with your pretty eyes and your pretty hair. Pretty pussy, pretty pig cunt that he wants to fill with his hot cum until it oozes out, lazy and slow. He tries to lick his lips, but he can’t stop panting like a dog. He should be used to this; he’s watched you from this exact same spot up in the attic. He’s already cummed on you.

He should have known from his calls with you, it was your attention that made him lose his mind. He’s about ready to scream out loud when you hold out your hand to him.

“Come here,” you whisper. Billy stares at your hand, then at your face. Pretty face. He steps forward like he’s falling.

You lead him to sit beside you, and Billy can feel your heat pressing along his leg where you touch him. He stares down where his rough denim meets your white dress. He doesn’t jump when you put your hand on the side of his face.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot, Billy,” you say. Billy drags his eyes up to you. You’re so close. He breaths through his nose. You stand, leaving Billy on the bed, and you don’t take your hand off him until he’s out of your reach.

In front of him, you pull your dress up and over your head. Billy blinks. You’re naked.

“Not so talkative now, huh?” you say with a little smile. Billy’s eyes are so wide as he takes you in. He wishes he could take a picture like this. Wishes he could take the picture with him back to the attic so he can cum on it one million times and stroke your face with his thumb. “Take off your sweater, Billy.”

Billy breaths in and out a few times to catch his breath.

“Don’t pussy out now. What happened to dirty Billy?” you taunt.

“Filthy Billy,” he mumbles, and he has to lick his lips. Sitting like this, he’s at eyelevel with your soft stomach, and he wants to pull you close to kiss his way down to your pussy. He wants to part your pussy lips with his tongue and trace it all the way up until it hits your clit. He wants to rip you apart and live inside your tight wet heat.

“Show me how filthy you are,” you whisper, taking a step closer to him. Billy groans, hearing the wet click of your pussy as you moved. Shaking, he lifts his sweater over his head and throws it to the floor. When you sit beside him again, he can feel your soft warm arm against his own.

Billy gulps and stares down at your lap, because if he looks into your eyes, he might wrap his hands around your neck and squeeze until your face turns blue. He digs his fingers into his denim-covered thigh.

“It’s okay, Billy,” you murmur and take his hand. “Can I kiss you?”

“You can suck my cock,” he mumbles helplessly. He smacks his lips like he’s dying of thirst and laughs softly. He can’t stomach looking at you.

“You’re such a pervert,” you tell him, like he doesn’t already know. Filthy, disgusting Billy.

“Wanna put my tongue up your piggy cunt,” he says, but he can’t touch you yet. You let out a hot breath, and he can feel it on his shoulder. He shudders and presses his mouth closed.

“Take off your pants,” you whisper. It’s a secret, and a dirty one.

Billy can’t move fast enough. His hands are still shaking as he opens his pants, and he stands for just long enough to pull them down with his underwear. His cock is hard, and it lolls against his thigh when he sits again. He can feel your eyes on his face still.

“Can I kiss you, Billy?”

He nods and keeps nodding even when you cup his face and pull him in for a gentle kiss. He only stops when he feels your tongue on his bottom lip, and his cock drools against his overheated skin. He whines against you and presses his forehead against yours while he takes a shaking inhale.

“Lay down with me,” you say quietly, putting your warm milky creamy hand on his chest.

“Wanna suck-“ Billy swallows thickly, gasping his breaths again. “Wanna suck your clit.”

“Lay on your back,” you say, more insistent as you push him onto his back. Again, his cock bobs with the movement and settles flat on his stomach. Billy lets a broken groan come from his throat as your hand moves lower on his torso. You shush him, and the sounds sends a chill down his spine, like icy spiders.

“You’ll wake my sisters up,” you tell him, lips brushing against his ear.

“I’ll lick their cunts too,” he whispers back. He tries to look at you from the corner of his eye, but it’s like looking at the sun. His head hurts being this close to you, and the smell is like being drunk. When you smile, he looks away.

“What about me?” you ask, and Billy feels your hand on the shaft of his cock. He chokes on his spit and coughs, turning on his side away from you. He laughs because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“S-slut,” he says, slowly going onto his back again.

“You’re mean.” Billy watches you get onto your knees beside him. “You talk so much, Billy.”

He moans when you turn yourself around and swing your leg over him, and all he can see is your pussy – pretty, pink, and so creamy for him. His hands move on instinct and wrap around your thighs, pulling you flush to his face.

There’s no point in wasting time, not when his heart and his cock are competing on which could throb the hardest. The sound of his tongue against your wet slit is terrible and it makes him feel like he’s drowning. He can’t help but moan, letting his tongue trace along your meaty folds before burying deep inside your cunt.

You’re making sounds too, but Billy hardly cares. This was what he had been dreaming about for so long. He wasn’t just dirty pervert Billy who made empty promises. He was Billy who takes. Billy who isn’t afraid to be seen. Billy who can be brave when he wants to be.

Still, he nearly shouts when he feels your lips on the tip of his cock.

“So good, Billy, that’s so good,” you’re whispering, but everything is so loud between your legs. His breaths echo, and everything is so fucking wet. He can feel your slick on his cheeks and on his chin, and every move of his tongue clicks against your needy fuckhole.

His cock feels tight, like it’s going to fall off, but then you wrap your lips around him and swallow him down so far that your nose touches his balls. He tightens his grip on your thighs until you cry out against him, your wet hot mouth vibrating against him.

It’s more perfect than Billy could have imagined, feeling your cunt clench around his tongue as he fucks it in and out of you. He wants more of you, wants you dead so he can take you without having to talk to you, wants you alive to hear your voice. He wants to fuck his cock so far down your throat you suffocate. He wants to make you cum again and again until you’re beginning him to stop.

“Love you,” he tries to say, but it sounds mangled against your cunt. He kisses your pretty piggy pussy lips and feels like maybe he’s turned into a pillow, with the way you ride on his face.

Maybe that’s all he is, maybe he’s so messed up in his brain because he’s a pillow that turned human. Maybe he’s only meant to be your thing to hump against, to sleep on, to get your smell all over before washing it. Billy thinks it would be nice to roll around in a clothes dryer.

Your lips are soft against his hot swollen cock, and he bucks wildly when you wrap a hand around his base and suck at his tip. He grunts into your fleshy cunt, nose bumping against your folds before returning his tongue to its rightful place. But, from the bottom, there’s not much he can do but take – take your mouth on his cock, and take your cunt on his mouth.

He doesn’t last long, but he never does when he can help it. He could have probably come from eating your pussy alone; at least he would have lasted longer. He bucks into your mouth, but your firm grip at his base keeps him from gagging you. He shoots his cum in your mouth instead, and he feels you swallowing around the tip of his cock. Even when he’s finished, you suck like you’re trying to get more out.

“Slut,” he tries to moan, and he sounds wretched. He holds onto your thighs still as you move more frantically on top of him. When you sit up, your press your cunt even harder against his face and he stabs his tongue deeper than before.

Billy makes a depraved noise, a mix between a groan and a choking cough, as you clench down tight around him like you’ll rip his tongue straight out of his mouth. He’d let you, he thinks desperately, he’ll let you take his cock too if you want it. You can sleep on him and hump him and use him however you want.

Your legs shake as you clench down again, and then you collapse forward, pussy lifting off of his face enough to see it quivering and sopping wet. Mindlessly, he picks up his head and leans forward to lick at it some more, broad strokes from your clit up to you blinking hole. He laps at it until you’re quiet, and then laps some more until you lift your hips too far for him to reach.

Rolling off him, he’s suddenly exposed to your chilly bedroom air, and he longs desperately for you to cover him again. If he wasn’t so cum-dumb, he might’ve tried to pull you back on him again. Instead, he watches you from the corner of his vision as you lay down, shoulders touching his.

“Wanna spend the night?” you whisper once you catch your breath. He shakes his head, still panting out loud. He’s not sure if his heart will ever slow down again.

“At least stay for a little while,” you say. You touch his hand gently. He wants to snatch it away on instinct, but a moment passes, and he’s surprised that he likes it. His hand is limp as you wrap yours around it.

“Are you gonna keep calling?” you murmur. It feels like one of those questions that has a right answer, but Billy doesn’t even know where to start. He tells the truth instead, and nods.

“Pretty… pretty cunt,” he says, letting go of your hand to brush along your thigh towards your cunt. He touches your clit with his sticky finger, and you jolt like you were struck by lightning.

“That’s too much,” you whine. Billy lets his hand rest on your lower stomach instead, feeling your scratchy hairs against his palm.

You’re quiet for a while before you say, “If you’re gonna call, I don’t want you to talk to the other girls like that. I don’t want you to sleep with them.”

Billy lets out a shaky breath and drags his hand up your stomach, watching your nipples pebble in anticipation.

“My piggy,” he says.

“Mean,” you respond. He faces the ceiling again, hand falling off you and resting on the messy sheets again.

You lay together, shoulders touching, and knees bent over the edge of the bed. Billy imagines watching himself. How does he look next to you. Probably like nothing. The Billy in the attic wouldn’t even be looking at himself – he knows he wouldn’t take his eyes off of you for even a second.

And he doesn’t, once he finally gets dressed and leaves without another word for his attic; he watches you all night, your smell on his fingers and his face, your flowery perfume on his clothes.

In the morning, he hears your housemate sluts laugh at you and ask who came over last night. You don’t say anything when the loud annoying one asks if it’s your new boyfriend. No, Billy wants to say, he’s something even better than a boyfriend. He’s your pillow, and you’re his pig.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ──── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

:D i had a lot of fun writing this !! hope you guys enjoy it

reblogs are greatly appreciated !!!!!

#billy lenz x reader #black christmas (1974)#billy lenz #slasher x reader #slashers #₊*. ⋆༘ — uli writes

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creepswrites · 2 months ago

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RED CHRISTMAS | Billy Lenz

this story was one of my favorites to work on that never got as much attention as i had hoped so... here's hoping a rewrite will do it some good! as always, i'll link the original here if you want to go back and see what i've previously done for this story :) jsyk i will likely do something with billy x reader in this universe later if this rewrite does well!!

BILLY LENZ + SORORITY GIRLS

SUMMARY: Her sorority sisters always teased Jess for being an affectionate person. She was sympathetic and cared deeply about people. So seeing Billy cry felt wrong. Like it wasn't something he'd meant to do nor had he in a while, which broke her heart a little. She didn't know his past but if he had nobody looking for him, no idea how he got here, and acted out emotionally then…

Maybe he didn't have anybody at all.

WARNING: child abuse & neglect, graphic violence, talk of abortion

From within the shadows of the messy closet, Billy stood squeezed into the shadows. Green eyes bore holes into Claire Harrison, watching her every move as she packed her bags in preparation to leave for the holidays. Christmas was coming and many of the sorority girls had made plans to leave - Billy knew this, had heard them talking through the floor or on the phones. Sneaking in hadn't been difficult in the first place, not for him anyways. Attic windows were rarely locked. He'd only been here for a few days though, which meant the girls were still unpredictable. But that was fine. He could change that easily.

People were predictable when they were afraid.

His phone call earlier had really rattled them all, especially Claire. He'd been calling the sorority house for a few weeks but only just recently snuck in, a bold move he didn't normally go for. There hadn't been any rhyme or reason to choosing these girls though. Maybe parts of them reminded him of Agnes, of his mother, or of something entirely different. But here they were and here he was.

The little girl in the park had been an accident. Just an accident, he swears. She'd caught him sneaking around and he had to kill her or else he'd get into trouble. Billy didn't want to be in trouble. Mother would get angry and then she'd–

The sound of Claud's meowing had Billy jolting back to the moment, his breath hitching as Claire gravitated closer and closer to his hiding spot in the closet. His heart began to pound as she reached inside to grab one of her many dresses just as he lunged for the girl's throat. The two stumbled to the floor and the force of the landing knocked the wind out of the poor girl and she was knocked out cold. Billy stared at her, feeling his whole body shake as he crawled up her body to examine her face.

Plain but pretty. Brown hair, big sad eyes, and cheeks flushed from exertion. She reminded him of–

Billy sat back on his knees, his hands trembling violently as he buried his face in his hands, fingers sliding up to grip at his hair. Whimpering, he shook violently as he waited for the adrenaline to come down. With still-shaking arms, he lifted her up into his arms like she was something precious and fragile before creeping towards the door.

He could hear the girls downstairs chatting and laughing, which he took as his cue to escape. The attic door had been left open to make his transition easier. Billy was stronger than his lankier appearance let on, making it easy to lift the girl up into the attic and slide the door shut behind his feet.

The attic was dark, dusty, and quiet. Just the way he liked it. The wooden planks on the floor gave him tiny splinters for him to yank out with his teeth, cobwebs covered all the old boxes and props, and the window panes that somehow weren't cracked were cloudy from years without cleaning. It felt just like home.

A sole, wooden rocking chair had been set up by the old window, creaking as the slight draft swayed it back and forth. Billy sat Claire down in the chair, tying her torso and limbs to it. He wrapped a cloth around her mouth to prevent her from screaming if she awoke and did his best to ignore the way his hands shook. She definitely looked like how–

Mama had to be in her usual spot, Billy thought to himself as he began searching for the doll he'd stolen borrowed stolen from the little girl in the park borrowed. Right by the windowsill with Agnes, just like he remembered. Giggling to himself, he set the ratty, bloodstained doll in the girl's lap.

Despite her resemblances, Claire was softer and kinder than his mother had been. He'd heard the way she talked to her friends or her boyfriend. Warm and loving, accurate only to the version of his mother that Billy had invented in his mind. She was always sweet and good to Agnes, he remembered that clearly. He remembered sitting at her feet just like this, watching her rock the baby by the window as the snow fell.

But Billy always made her angry, always in her way somehow. He remembered the way her face would twist and contort whenever he so much as entered the same room as her. As though simply asking to share her space was an insult that Billy could never hope to apologize for. She would scream at him, cursing him for ever being born, and laugh when he began to cry.

She wasn't yelling now, Billy focused back on the little doll. He was in control now. His mother and sister were gone. He was in control now.

"Little baby bumpin', daddy's gone a-huntin', gone to fetch a rabbit skin to wrap his baby Agnes in…" His scratchy voice sang out into the dirty, dusty space. He pushed gently on the chair to rock it slowly and fixed his eyes to wear the girl's shoes scuffed at the floor. Mother never let him look at her, he reminded himself.

Hearing the muffled sounds of voices coming up the stairs, Billy lifted his head slowly. He listened to doors close, likely just the girls disappearing into their rooms, and crept towards the attic door. He knelt to press his ear to it, nervously humming and chittering to himself as he did.

Calling the sorority house had been stupid, Billy hissed in his mind. "Stupid, stupid Billy," he whimpered, banging his head once against the door, wincing when it rattled. He never should have done that, so impulsive and stupid, said Her voice in his head.

"Hello, Peter?" A soft voice trickled through the cracks of the door. Billy froze to listen better. "I just want to talk to you." The girl - Jess, he recognized - was talking to her boyfriend. Peter had only been over to the house once, on Billy's first night there, and he despised the man. So rude and repulsive to look at. Always talked down to the girls and thought himself the smartest in the room always.

Billy opened the door just a crack to hear better. "Nothing's the matter, I just need to talk to you. In person. It's important." Jess said with a small sigh. Billy didn't need to see her face but he could picture her exhausted eye roll. Barb had been on the receiving end of that look one too many times. But he knew what Jess was talking about.

He'd already heard Jess talk to Phyl about the pregnancy.

A part of him wanted her to get the abortion too. Recalling his own childhood, remembering Agnes' life, he didn't want to see Jess turn into his mother. Though he could stand to see her annoying boyfriend meet his father's demise - dead in a river, body not recovered for three weeks. At that point, he and his mother had been halfway across Canada, away from it all.

Maybe it would do Jess some good to embody his mother just a little bit.

"Peter, it's important!" Jess insisted, frustration now evident in her town. "I'm not telling you over the phone because this needs to be in person, don't you get that?"

Billy didn't feel in his own body as he crept down the ladder, landing on the ugly carpeted floors with a soft thud.

"Peter-!" Billy heard the phone be slammed down as she angrily hung up. He crept towards the banister of the stairs, staying crouched down as he observed Jess wrap her arms around herself. She threw herself against the couch with an exasperated huff. "The nerve of that man…" She grumbled, arms crossed in frustration.

She noticed movement on the stairs and lifted her head, expecting to see one of her sisters.

Both Jess and Billy jolted in surprise when their eyes met. "Oh, are you from the party?" Jess asked, not noticing the way Billy's breathing picked up. "You should head home, it's late." She rubbed her tired eyes for a moment and then paused. "Unless, um, you're keeping one of the girls company?"

Normally she didn't mind whatever boys her sorority sisters invited but something about this guy staring was… honestly creeping her out. He looked dirty and startled but not outwardly dangerous at least. Lord knows they had enough on their plates with The Moaner calling every other night.

Billy hadn't moved nor blinked. She could see him and that made him real… Did she know about Mother in the chair upstairs? Did she know-?

"Hello?" Jess called softly, getting up off the couch and approaching the stairs slowly, like he was a startled animal. Her expression morphed from confusion to concern as Billy just nodded quickly, chewing on chapped lips like he was struggling not to smile.

Surely she knows, Billy whimpered quietly to himself as he began to yank hard on his hair. She's only asking to see if he'll lie and then she'll-

"Do you need help?" Jess's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts and his head snapped to the side to meet her concerned face. She was crouched beside him now, a look of quiet worry to her that reminded Billy of his social worker.

When had she come up the stairs?

"Help." He repeated, mimicking her tone effortlessly.

They both startled at that. Alarm bells were ringing in Jess's mind but she ignored them, reassuring herself that everything was fine. "Do you know where you are?" She asked gently, looking him over for head injuries.

Billy hated that look. He quelled the urge to dig his fingernails into her neck by digging them into the thick fabric of his sweater sleeves instead.

"No." He said through gritted teeth, eyes locked to the floor as he stood up in such a fluid motion that it reminded Jess of a cat.

He wasn't supposed to be found. He hissed, white-knuckling his hair and yanking with a muffled grunt, trying to ground himself. Why had he climbed down, what was he doing, everything was going to be ruined-

Jess shot up to take his wrists, clearly alarmed. "It's alright," she soothed, tugging on his sleeves gently in hopes he'd move his arms with her help. Billy watched her with wide, fearful eyes and it tugged on her heartstrings just how fearful the man looked. "I want to help."

For a second, Billy believed her. Jess seemed kind and concerned for him. His eyes flickered back and forth between her eyes as he let her guide his hands to his sides.

"Do you want something to drink? Maybe sitting down will help." Jess kept her hold on his wrist loose as she guided him down the stairs towards the kitchen, uncaring of the scratchy feeling of the strange man's sweater.

The kitchen wasn't anything phenomenal - plain but useful, currently decorated to the nines for Christmas like the rest of the house. It was a dingy white from years of use and the floor had been smoothed down in patches that were commonly used. The piping was poor and the dishwasher often broke. But it was functional.

Jess busied herself with making hot cocoa as her guest sat down in one of the old dining chairs near the doorway. His eyes bore holes into her in a way that made her skin crawl.

But he was interesting. The green turtleneck he wore reminded her of Peter a bit but the messy, dark brown curls set him apart. Green eyes were slightly obscured by hair and they darted aside whenever she attempted eye contact. He looked like he was covered in dirt and dust, like he'd been crawling through the attic.

Something about him made her feel equal parts sympathetic and afraid.

She sliced into the warm cinnamon coffee cake Barb had made and snagged one of the bountiful candy canes from a nearby jar. They'd been set out for the party but few people had actually taken one. For such a staple of Christmas, they weren't very popular. But Barb's cake was, as there were only a few slices left on the cake tray. She drummed her fingers anxiously while she waited for the hot chocolate to warm up in the microwave. As a last ditch effort, she began humming a soft melody to try and ease her nerves.

His gaze never left her. She could feel it the entire time.

Finally, everything was ready and she brought the assortment of treats to the little dining nook table where her impromptu guest sat, chewing anxiously at his knuckles as she approached. "Here you are," she joined him at the table while setting things down. "We have marshmallows and whipped cream if you want that too. I wasn't sure of your preferences."

Billy gave the food a once-over before deeming it safe. He'd seen her prepare it and it was unlikely that it would have been fed to guests if it was full of rat poison. His stomach churned slightly at the memory of his mother's cooking. So he took the offered fork with a shaking hand and began to dig in like a man starved. Which he was, technically.

Jess, meanwhile, watched with concern as he dug in. "Well, I didn't think Barb's baking was this good." She chuckled nervously. "Do you, um, know your name?" A part of her was very worried the man had some time of head injury or amnesia that was causing him to act this way - wild, out of control, whatever it was. It was too snowy out to take him anywhere but she'd brave the icy streets if this man needed medical care.

He froze and stared at her again though his gaze no longer unsettled her. But he seemed afraid of her, which troubled Jess. "...Billy." He stammered before busying himself with the cake again.

"Billy." She repeated. Billy liked the way her voice sounded - smooth and gentle, like a fireplace that warmed the whole house. "Well, it's nice to meet you Billy. I'm Jess."

Setting the fork down on the now-empty plate, Billy tilted his head curiously. "Jess," he mimicked her voice back.

She startled, giving him an amused smile. "Yes. And- And do you know how you got here, Billy?"

He stared at her blankly for a long, very awkward pause. The only sound was the soft rustling of plastic as Billy unwrapped the candy cane and stuck it in his mouth. "No." Which wasn't a total lie. He didn't know how he got here but he remembered the moment he realized where he was.

Jess nodded along, drumming her fingers again. A nervous tic Billy picked up and began to do as well against his leg beneath the table. Mirroring people was the best way to put them at ease, in his experience. It made him easier to relate to, easier to understand. People didn't look at him as weirdly when he reminded them of themselves.

"I see," Jess said with a troubled look on her face that made Billy's stomach churn. "Well, is there anyone I could call? Someone who may be looking for you?"

Again, his insides churned. "No." His voice was muffled around the candy cane, obscuring the way he mimicked her accent. Smooth, a nice cadence to it. She sounded like some of the ladies in his mother's TV shows from Europe. British, maybe?

Jess frowned and Billy's heart pounded. He'd given the wrong answer, said the wrong thing, now she would-

"Billy!" His mother's shriek grated on his ears. Agnes was sobbing uncontrollably in her arms, a poor two-month-old thing that was barely more than a bundle of blankets.

A twelve-year-old Billy stood in the center of the kitchen, head hung in shame. But his guilty look didn't calm her wrath nor did it earn him sympathy from his stepfather sitting in the living room just a few feet away. "Yes, mother?"

"I told you I don't have time for chores with Agnes around now! So why am I seeing dishes in the sink and a mess on the table?" She spat at him, trying and failing to soothe the wailing baby.

Billy frowned. "I-I didn't know, mother. L-last week you said-"

A harsh slap hit his face in record speed, leaving him whimpering and near tears. "I know damn well I didn't just hear backtalk from you, Lenz. Bane of my damn existence, why the hell can't you be more like your sister?!"

"Because she is a baby." Billy said plainly, keeping his eyes on the floor in a futile attempt to not anger her further.

He didn't know, at the time, that was the wrong thing to say.

"Billy?" Jess's voice shocked his system, making him yelp in surprise when she reached across the table and placed her hand over his. She was looking at him with worry again and it made him want to rip her face apart. "Are you okay?"

Billy lifted his head, blinking slowly. Her face appeared blurry for a moment and it wasn't until he blinked that he felt tears fall down his cheeks. No words came out and he didn't move an inch.

Jess did though. She rose from her chair while still holding his hand and got him to stand. Despite the height difference, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him.

The sensation made Billy want to throw up. Voices of his mother shrieked in his head to stab her, be done with her. Jess had clearly seen too much and now she had to be–!

"You can sleep on the couch for the evening," Jess said, unaware of Billy's internal turmoil. "In the morning we can talk about what to do. It's too cold out to think of going anywhere at any rate." She offered him a small smile as she stepped away and back into the living room like nothing had happened.

Her sorority sisters always teased Jess for being an affectionate person. She was sympathetic and cared deeply about people. So seeing Billy cry felt wrong. Like it wasn't something he'd meant to do nor had he in a while, which broke her heart a little. She didn't know his past but if he had nobody looking for him, no idea how he got here, and acted out emotionally then…

Maybe he didn't have anybody at all.

"I'll go grab some blankets and spare pillows from upstairs. Make yourself comfortable!" She called over her shoulder before ascending the stairs towards the little closet at the end of the hall. As she was retrieving the blankets, she felt a cold breeze brush against her and make her shiver. Looking up, she noticed the attic door was open. "Honestly, Barb and Phyll should've shut this when they were done getting decorations," she sighed loudly while closing the door. "We'll all catch colds leaving it open like that."

When she came back downstairs, Billy had made himself comfortable on the couch, staring blankly into the fire and only looking up when she'd called his name. "I brought you things," she said before passing him the aforementioned pillows and blankets. The candy cane was still in his mouth.

The sight was a little ridiculous, she smiled to herself while watching her strange guest make a little pillow and blanket nest in front of the fire with such tired eyes. Yet still so much energy untapped and withheld in them.

She reached out without thinking and brushed a lock of brown hair away from his face, making them both freeze to stare at each other, neither daring to move. Jess cleared her throat. "Um, if you'd like to shower, I may have some spare clothes ups-"

A knock at the door made Billy let out an ear piercing scream, like he'd been stabbed. The candy cane - now sharpened to a fine point - was brandished like a weapon as he stared at the door.

Jess had let out a surprised yelp herself in unison with Billy. "It's alright, it's alright," she soothed immediately while trying to breathe her heart rate back down. "It's probably just some late night carolers." Billy stared at her with a horrified look and she gave him a reassuring smile. "I'll go send them off, don't worry."

When she went to the window to peel back the curtains, she found a very familiar man standing there, only waiting another second before knocking again impatiently. "Peter?" Jess frowned before looking back at the couch. Billy had retreated into the kitchen, now stood tucked behind the doorway like a frightened child. "It's alright, it's just Peter. He won't bother you." Leave it to Peter to show up at the worst times, she thought to herself as she unlocked the door. First he tells her to wait until tomorrow evening and now he's suddenly very interested in what she has to say? Honestly, it felt like he loved that piano more than her sometimes.

After a bit of a jiggle of the tricky handle, it opened. "Jess! Leaving me to freeze out there? After I came all this way?" Peter huffed dramatically, shrugging off his jacket and pushing past Jess into the sorority house like he owned the place.

Jess crossed her arms over her chest defiantly. "I didn't think you'd be coming. After all, you made it quite clear you needed rest for tomorrow."

"Well, you piqued my interest," Peter said with an insincere smile. "'sides, I can't sleep if something's on your mind. What's going on?" He frowned as he took her hands in his, swinging them lightly. Jess could tell when he must've noticed Billy based on the anger on his face. "Who's THIS?"

Jess glanced over her shoulder and Billy now stood in the doorway properly, sharpened candy cane gripped like a knife as he glared the other man down. If looks could kill, Peter would be ash at Jess's feet. "That's Billy," she sighed, "He's from the party we had earlier."

Peter huffed. "So what's he doing downstairs with you all alone?" His concern was grating and Jess just shut her eyes to mask her exasperation. "Jess, sweetie, if this man's bothering you, just say the word and I'll-"

"Pig bitch." Billy grumbled under his breath, barely audible.

But Peter spun on him instantly. "What did you say?"

"Nasty, filthy, PIGGY BITCH!" Billy shrieked at Peter before stuffing the candy cane back in his own mouth and retreating into the kitchen, clicking off the light to hide in the darkness.

Peter's threats were like white noise as Jess stared into the darkness of the kitchen. That voice. That phrase. Only one person she knew said that. The Moaner. The horrible, awful Moaner on the phone who had been calling them almost nonstop and he was in their house. Had been in the house for who knows how long. And she'd fed him and offered to let him spend the night?!

She felt like she was going to faint.

"Jess, do you need me to kick this guy out for you?" Peter looked down at her, horrified. "This guy's a psycho, clearly. Which one of your sisters even invited him?"

None. Because he wasn't a guest. But Jess didn't say that.

But now she had a choice to make: tell Peter about the phone calls, the Moaner, and how for the past week Billy had been calling their house and disturbing them all with his snorting and screaming and sexual innuendos. Or. Or she could tell him about the baby. Ignore Billy's antics for now and tell him she wasn't keeping the baby.

Jess took a slow, deep breath before taking a seat on the couch and continued weighing her options. If she said something about Billy, Peter may try to pick a fight with him. A fight she was uncertain he'd win. Her boyfriend wasn't exactly scrawny but if Billy intended to make good on his promise of killing them, then she wasn't sure about his odds. But something about Billy felt like a walking contradiction of himself at every turn. He screamed about how 'nasty' they all were yet cowards in fear when Jess offered him food. He yells bloody murder at a knock on the door but squeals like a pig over the phone.

The psychology major in her was suffocating her to learn more. It was like the perfect opportunity had fallen into her lap and she needed answers. Billy came here for a reason, surely, and he didn't seem intent on killing them. Was it a cry for help? Something more?

She had to know.

So Jess steeled herself and let out the breath she'd been holding. "I'm pregnant."

Peter's eyes went wide for a moment before a delighted grin spread on his face, making Jess's stomach sink. "Well, Jess, that's wonderful!"

She shook her head. "No, it's not. I don't want it, Peter." She'd been afraid of this reaction, silently hoping he'd be as opposed to having it as she was. "I'm planning on getting an abortion soon."

Peter stared at her like she'd grown two heads. "What?"

Her arms crossed over her chest in attempts to mask how bad she was shaking. "I'm not keeping it."

A painfully long silence passed as Peter joined her on the couch, staring her down with a scornful look. "Jess," he said, voice eerily calm, "Listen to me very carefully. You are not going to abort that baby."

Jess turned to him with wide eyes. "Excuse me?"

"We'll get married and you'll keep the baby. It'll be perfect!" Peter smiled like he'd come up with the perfect answer. But all Jess felt was nausea.

"Peter, I don't want that. I have things I want to do, a degree I intend to earn, and things I want to do with my life. I don't want to play housewife for you with a baby I don't want and put all my plans aside." When she stood up to walk away, Peter grabbed her wrist tight. "Let me go-!"

"No, listen to me!" Peter practically snarled, voice oozing with malice as he glared her down. "You don't get to decide-"

"SHUT UP!" A shrill voice called from within the kitchen. It was the only warning before a glass cup smashed into the side of Peter's head, breaking into shards that scratched his cheek as they fell like a waterfall to the carpeted floor beneath their feet. Billy stumbled out from the darkness armed once again with the candy cane. He started babbling nonsense, running his hands through his hair and grinding his teeth as meaningless words fell from his mouth. "Shut your NASTY, disgusting, greedy mouth!" Billy hissed as he clutched the makeshift knife, growling like an animal as he tried to hold himself back.

He wanted Peter dead. Nasty, stupid Peter who wanted to ruin a poor girl's life with a disgusting, ugly brat. A mistake, a burden, another Billy Lenz.

Peter recoiled with a cry, clutching his face as blood oozed down his cheek. Jess checked him over for any other injuries before turning to Billy. "Billy, stop, you don't have to-!"

She didn't get the chance to say anything more, since Billy interrupted her with another eat-splitting shriek before he bolted for one of the throw pillows and began to stab into it with the candy cane over and over. Feathers flew everywhere and tears streamed down his face nonstop. He grit his teeth to keep himself from sobbing.

…

"Billy, don't!" His mother pleaded and sobbed as he struggled with her on the floor, rolling in the wrapping paper and ribbons that had been tossed aside once the gift was unwrapped. Blood already began dripping on the carpet from Billy's hands, staining the soft beige a dark red. "Billy, sweetie, it's alright-!"

Her hands were futile to stop him. He was clever now, sixteen this time and unable to stop his own crying. It wasn't his fault. She let out a grunt as Billy pressed the sharp tip of the candy cane closer and closer to her face. It wasn't his fault. Her gasp of horror as it hovered over her eyeball. It wasn't his fault. He closed his eyes and, with a bloody squelch and a cry of agony, he dug the candy cane into her skull. Hot blood got everywhere as it fountained out almost comically as her eyeball burst.

When she stopped gurgling, he stumbled towards the kitchen to grab the frying pan, tossing aside the eggs and bacon that had been cooking on it just before he'd slammed his stepfather's face onto the hot stove. He limped back to the living room and stared the woman down with a deadpan face. She looked crumpled and ruined, like a bloody rag that hadn't been washed.

He raised the pan over his head like a baseball bat and swung down.

…

"Billy!" Jess called out, wrapping her arms around his chest and pulling him away with a groan. "Billy, what's gotten into you?"

"He's a psycho, Jess!" Peter screamed, still clutching the cuts on his cheek. They weren't thick, more just grazed than anything, which was lucky. "He's a psycho and he's going to kill you!"

Billy flailed around, dropping the candy cane in the fray. "Stupid, ugly, DISGUSTING Billy!" He shrieked out in a high, nasally voice while trying to shake out of Jess's hold as she dragged him across the floor. His sobs wracked his body and made it hard to fight back.

Jess shook her head, lost in her confusion. She acted on instinct, kneeling beside Billy and pulling him in for a hug, letting him wail on her back with his fists and alternating between biting at her shoulder and trying to scratch at her. This, shockingly, wasn't new to her. She'd volunteered at a few special needs schools before and had worked an internship at a nearby hospital. This type of behavior made everything click in her head about how to help.

So she stayed there, running gentle fingers through matted hair and shushing him. "Easy, easy, it's okay," she soothed gently.

"Jess. the hell are you doing?! Get away from this guy, let's call the cops!" Peter roared and making Jess flinch.

"No, it's okay," she insisted, still holding onto Billy as he wailed on her. "It's okay Billy, you're okay now. Everything is going to be alright." She repeated over and over, smiling as the man began to settle in her arms, whimpering and sniffling.

"Who the hell is this guy?" Peter whispered in horror as Jess continued to pet him.

She really, truly, did not know.

…

"I'm pregnant!" Constance Lenz beamed at her boyfriend with all the joy of a little girl on Christmas. She and her boyfriend had been trying for ages now to have a child and finally they were successful. "The Lord wills it, blessing us with our own baby." She'd cooed, already fawning over her barely-showing stomach.

Meanwhile, the little eleven year old boy remained tucked away in the attic, ear pressed to the floor as his mother gushed about the existence of her first baby.

Her previous husband - Billy's father - had died of a "heart attack" not long after Billy turned six and the two had moved far away to "get away from the bad memories," or so his mother said. As if Billy hadn't been in the room, weeping as she smothered his father to death and fled to Canada in the night.

At first, Billy hated her and the incoming baby. Yet another sign that he wasn't wanted, just a roadblock in her life that she'd remove one day like she'd removed his father.

But Agnes had been precious. Small and fussy and Billy had been enamored with her immediately. He began the risky move of sneaking out of the attic just to go visit her, careful of his dirty, splintered hands and dusty clothes. He'd sneak food and water and visits to his baby sister while she slept peacefully in her crib.

Mother insisted Billy stay away from her. "She's too good for you," she'd hiss whenever Billy was summoned to do chores while Agnes napped. "You'd be wise to make sure she never has to see your ugly face."

For years, Billy suffered the abuse while watching Agnes grow up loved and looked after. She had birthday parties and family vacations while Billy had spiders and cold winters.

One Christmas morning when Agnes had been five years old, Billy had had enough.

Of course, she'd never met him before. But he knew her. He watched her while she slept from inside her closet or from the cracks in the attic floor like a protective guardian and was so, so attached to her. She flourished while he suffered and his adoration of her made it all worth it.

He was completely forgotten now. Stripped of personhood, just a memory his mother had locked in the closet. By the time Agnes had been three she stopped even calling Billy down for things. It was like he wasn't there at all. Two years of isolation and neglect and it all finally snapped.

So there he was. Sixteen and staring down at his kid sister as she played with her toys by the Christmas tree. Their mother lay dead amongst the wrapping paper with her skull smashed to bits by the frying pan that lay cast aside. Her father sizzled away on the stove as he bled out from his neck, which Billy had jabbed with a candy cane before going to town on his back with knives.

Billy stared, his own hands still wet with blood when he approached her on shaking legs, trailing blood behind him while she played with pretty, frilly dolls.

Agnes looked up at him with a soft, youthful face that screwed up in confusion. She wouldn't recognize him, he knew that. Even if it made him want to stab her along with them all.

"Little baby bumpin', daddy's gone a-huntin', gone to fetch a rabbit skin, to wrap his baby Agnes in," he sang quietly while lifting her up into his arms, staining her little white dress with red-pink streaks. He took a seat in their mother's rocking chair with a manic little giggle, like he was breaking a rule by sitting there.

Agnes just slumped against him, still fiddling with her doll's hair.

Billy stared ahead at nothing, just repeating the lullaby over and over. Tears fell silently down his cheeks as he clung to his baby sister like a lifeline.

The police found them like that. Cuddled together by the Christmas tree like it was a perfectly normal morning. "Agnes," Billy whispered in her ear as the police drew their guns, "Don't tell them what we did, Agnes."

...

Billy came back to the present moment to the soft sounds of Jess humming and stroking his hair in a nervous motion. He lifted his head and stared at her with bleary eyes. "Billy?" She asked when he finally looked at her. "Are you feeling better?"

He didn't say anything. Just slumped back down on her shoulder and bit hard into the thick wool of her sweater vest. "Mm-mm." Billy grunted.

"What did you say?" She asked, keeping her voice light.

"Agnes," Billy choked back another cry. His frantic babbling started up again but Jess was quick to soothe it down. "Little baby bumpin'..." Billy cooed quietly to himself.

"He's insane, Jess." Peter said unhelpfully. "Listen, I'm gonna call the cops and they can ship him back off to whatever asylum he came from." He scoffed as he looked down at the pair on the floor. "Lock him up and throw away the key as far as I'm concerned."

Billy's head shot up. "No!" He shrieked, turning to Jess with fearful eyes. "No! No! No!" He fought against Peter, who grabbed his shoulder to drag him away from his girlfriend.

"Peter-!" Jess protested, stumbling to stand to try and stop him.

Then, like angels descending upon them all, Barb and Phyllis came downstairs, still dressed in their nightgowns. Their mouths fell open in shock as they watched Peter and Billy wrestle to the floor and Jess dart over to stop Billy from absolutely wailing on him. "We, uh," Barb swallowed, "We interruptin' anything?"

Jess let out a sigh as she, once again, pulled Billy away. "I- See, it's-"

"Jess," Peter shot out before she could speak, "Is trying to play mother hen to this psycho!"

Barb looked Billy over with a thoughtful look before shrugging. "Eh, I dunno, any enemy of Peter's a friend of mine."

Exhaustion swept over Jess. What a world where the Moaner was in tears in her arms as she tried to keep him from beating up Peter like she was scruffing a misbehaving cat.

"Jess, what's going on?" Phyll, ever the voice of reason, piped up from beside Barb.

It was going to be a very, very long night.

#🔪 creeps writes #slasher fanfiction #billy lenz #jess bradford #peter smythe #phyllis carlson #barbara coard #agnes lenz #claire harrison #black christmas 1974 #red christmas

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