Watching You | Ghostface x Fem Reader

Home sweet home

I got out of my car swiftly, locked it, placed the keys in my saggy lilac cardigan pocket before scurrying to my front door to avoid getting drenched completely. In my left pocket, I fished out my keys and opened the front door to my house.

I stepped in and closed the door behind me, taking in a long breath as the warm air hit my cold, damp cheeks. I kicked off my converse and removed the woollen fabric which stuck to my wet arms. It was a pleasant feeling to take it off. I reached for my phone in my back pocket and wasn't surprised at all to see I had no notifications, only one notifying me of a software update to occur later in the night. I slipped my phone back into the back pocket of my jeans and walked through the hallway to my living room. My garden was dark through the slidey doors and I was slightly scared by it, weirdly enough. I sat on my couch for around 3 minutes maximum and then decided on shutting the curtains to ease myself of my irrational fear.

I lounged on my couch and flicked on my TV, not switching the channel when I saw South Park was on. I placed the remote on the glass coffee table next to my scented candle, which my sister had bought me a couple days ago when she came over to visit. I haven't heard from her since but I appreciate that she, too, has a life.

I sat up slightly, my hand reaching for and grabbing the small, frayed match box from the table. It had seen better days. I slid out the small compartment that contained exactly a dozen match sticks. I plucked out one of the tiny wooden sticks and swiped it across the brown pattern on the side, striking it alight. I moved it to the wick of the sweet scented candle and once it ignited I shook it out. I placed the half burnt stick on top of the match box and took in a good whiff of the fragrant candle. It was a sweet berry aroma but it wasn't too sweet, not sickening at all.

All this would typically comfort me but something was wrong. There had to be an underlying reason for this sense, but as hard as I tried I couldn't put my finger on it.

I shivered slightly, January was always cold. Part of me hated it but the other thought the complete opposite.

Time passed and my clothes started to annoy me, laying down in them while they were damp made me uncomfortable. I fought the urge until it became unbearable. I didn't feel like moving at all. I groaned and pulled myself off the couch, through the hallway and to the staircase.

Up in my bedroom, I undressed, down to my undergarments. As I stood there in my exposed state, my eyes shifted over to my window, the curtains were open, I knew no one was watching, especially not at this time, but something told me otherwise. I quickly stripped off my bra, ignoring the icky feeling it gave me and I grabbed the shirt I had picked out to wear. It was a loose Joy Division t-shirt. It always smelled so nice, I'm not really sure why but it seemed to smell a lot better than all my other clothes. I chose a pair of black sweatpants to wear on my legs to keep them warm, and keep them warm they did. Now, I wasn't gonna go walking around on wooden floors with bare feet in the middle of winter, I wasn't some maniac. I put on a pair of fluffy bed socks and decided I was happy with that state of comfort. Of course, I had to wear a cardigan over it. (Sorry if you aren't a fan of cardigans, you could imagine a hoodie instead). When I slid on the dark gray fabric, it felt completed.

Back downstairs, I settled down on my couch with a bag of cheese puffs and a blanket, still watching South Park. I chuckled at the iconic 'You killed Kenny! You bastard!' line, hearing it for what felt like the millionth time, but it never getting old.

An hour had passed and I was fast asleep, curled up in my blanket, dreaming away, comfortably.

I was awoken by a chilly breeze seeping in through the window to the side of the slidey doors. I also noticed the curtain was slightly ajar. My heart skipped a beat as I sat up abruptly. My tired eyes moved through the dark living room and to the TV. I reached for the remote and turned up the volume, to find it was only on 5. I'm sure it was way louder. Great, so someone's in the house and they decided to turn the TV down? Ok.

I unwrapped myself from my once comfortable state and stood. I reached for the lamp light to give me some vision when I'm searching for this fucker. As collected as I seemed, I was really petrified. My mind drifted back to the serial killer in my town who had suddenly emerged three weeks ago. But why
Mentetwin? I got lost in thought, a bad, now life threatening habit of mine as a figure charged at me from the stairs. I screeched as I dove aside, onto the island in the kitchen and sliding over it, hitting the floor. I had landed on all fours and darted up towards the knife block. Too late. He had beat me there.

A dagger skimmed the back of my hand, in place as a sort of threat. My breath hitched and I looked up fearfully at my attacker.

It was him. The Ghostface. The perpetrator of all of the Ghostface murders. I whimpered in desperation as I moved my hand back, sinking to the floor. I had accepted defeat. I saw the leaked photos of all the victims on the newspaper. They were all viciously killed, clearly a slow and painful way to go and I just wanted it to be over with. I slouched, my back against the counter as I bawled my eyes out, not fighting it. The man in the mask looked down at me, confused but maintaining composure.

"Kill me. Go on, or do you not like fragile little bitches? Stab me, go on, I can take a beating, I've been pushed around! I want it all to stop. Please?" I gave pleading eyes to him, not seeing his facial expression but hoping he would understand and get it done.

When I looked up at the white mask, memories as far as they would roll back played in my mind. It hit me, for as long as I could humanely remember, I was being used... manipulated. No matter how hard I tried or how nice I was, the evil in this world would always bite me in the ass.

"Stand up." A mechanical voice came from the mask, sounding the same as it did over the tapes of the phone calls. Wait. Doesn't he call his victims first to taunt them? Well, I was asleep so I probably slept through it and so he just waltzed on in.

I obliged, rising to my feet and wiping my eyes with the sleeves of my cardigan. "Hands behind your back, turn around." Without question, I did so. It was taking too long and my anxiety was skyrocketing.
A rough texture rubbed against my wrists, I had caught onto the fact that it was a rope. He hastily tied it, tight and sturdy.

Black.