Psycho Killer

Take 1: Brownie Batter & Killer Trophies

Enid's POV:

The differences between a serial killer and a writer are few. The differences between a film artist and a psychotic murderer are fewer, and more often than not, the psychopath is saner. It is the countless horror films and never-ending comparisons to my friends that led me to this conclusion. In fact, it's the countless movies, full stop, consumed by us. After all, the horror genre becomes a bigger hit or miss with every passing moment.

Despite my comfortable setup, with a knitted blanket and my feet tucked under me, I'm still not as scared as I would be while watching certain romance films. Much more to my fascination, Tarek watches with a hesitant stare as the cliché axe-wielding killer stalks after the last victim of the movie. My job at this moment is simple and always called for...

"Boo," I shout with force, a laugh already working up my throat as he jumps out of his skin, a non-descript scream leaving his mouth.

"You-," He stops himself. I don't think I've ever heard this man use a curse against me. It makes him more charming than he needs to be. "I can't believe you." He shakes his head. There's this tiny part of him right now that's pissed off at me. It disappears in moments.

"You wanna know something?" I say, leaning back against the headboard of his bed.

"Not really, but go ahead." He grumbles, acting as though that previously mentioned part of him still exists.

"It doesn't matter how many of these movies I watch with you, I don't understand how you can be so wound up by them."

"I think this might be the moment I remind you that you're not a psychiatrist, you're a film student." He offers in response, sarcasm enveloping the words.

"This is where you're wrong because if I ever made a movie as terrible as this one, I need to analyse what causes... fear... in people like you?" I retort though I'm not sure fear is the right word for this discussion.

"Information that you'll never get out of me because if I allow you to combine your ideas with my illogical phobias, I'll be burnt or buried sooner than I would like." He shakes his head before he shivers.

"That scary, huh?" I pout to a comical extent.

"You wish." He scoffs, "It's cold tonight." He pulls the blanket a little higher up his body. I want to tease him more, but I can't deny his statement. I've had goosebumps for most of the evening. Not my usual kind, either.

The killer catches up to the last victim. She is on her knees, staring at the axe buried in her midsection.

"I could make you an entire PowerPoint on how we'd both be terrible in a slasher situation." My words cut through the silence again. I am the worst kind of person to watch a movie with. Sometimes I forget that the only reason he doesn't throw me out the window is because he is just as bad.

"Skip the presentation. Just give me the main reasons." His head rolls against the headboard, looking down at me because of my slouched position. I know now that both of us are going to miss the ending. I have officially opened a movie-themed can of worms.

"You'd be dead by now and I'd let the masked manic have me any which way, nine ways 'til Sunday." I shrug as if the reasoning isn't a touch unhinged.

"Come again?" The rearing of his head is an exact representation of what my words have done to his mind.

"I would intend to, again and again and again... provided he didn't call it quits after the first round. I mean-," A hand is wrapped over my mouth before I can continue.