Rubbing my eyes awake, I stepped into my cold kitchen, the morning light beaming in through the windows. Yawning, I fixed myself a mug of coffee, sitting myself in front of the living room television and turning it on.
The TV was mostly for background noise as I sipped on my steaming drink, scrolling through Twitter. "A body was discovered this weekend, in the alleyway between Drop Of Sun, a small cafe, and Nailed, one of Brighton's most well-known nail salons. The body has yet to be identified, but judging by the cause of death is said to be suspected that he was involved in some gang rivalry and that someone intended to send a message, as the man- believe to be in his early twenties- was found with his throat slit. The job was messy, which indicates that the murderer elwas either enjoying themselves or was in a hurry. A wallet has not been found, so a mugging gone wrong is not off the table. More on this tonight at eight. Stay tuned."
A deep rut appeared between my eyebrows. A murder? That rarely happens around here. Wee get next to no crime, much less murder. And so close by, too. I love Drop Of Sun. I know this won't be good for business.
The day proceeds as normal, but this time, I'm sure to check back into the news at eight, sitting down after dinner to listen to, what will hopefully be good news on the body.
"It seems only a few hours after reporting this morning's news, another body has been found, in the same manner. This time, however, the man had his wallet on him and has been identified as Edwin Richardson, a local photographer. No new information on this mornings victim has been brought to light, but investigators seem to be pursuing the possibility of a serial killer. That's all from us, goodnight Brighton and stay safe." As the news anchorman signed off, something heavy settled in my chest.
A serial killer? Here? Something seemed off, but I couldn't quite place it. Frowning, I made my way into my recording studio to double-check some of Robin's edits before posting them.
The very next morning starts off with the same story from yesterday. There are new details, but nothing significant. All we can do is hope that we don't have a serial killer amongst us.
The day passes and I check the evening news. Same story, different details. The next day; same thing, new body. Nothing stands out. By the fourth body, it is confirmed that they are looking into a serial killing case. Unease follows me. Something still seems off.
Finally, a fifth body comes to light. Same cause of death. Random person with no ties to any other victims. It's the same story on the news everyday, talking about this killer. He hasn't gained a name from the media, but I know it's only a matter of time.
As predicted, I'm watching the morning news when the anchorman mentions the newly-named serial killer. "Some are calling him 'The Wicked,' as nicknamed in an article by Joanna Monset in Brighton's Daily." The Wicked? Suddenly, a pounding headache overcomes me amd I crash to the floor on my knees, images flashing through my head. Terrified faces as I come at them with a knife. Familiar faces. The faces of the victims.
Miss me? A voice stutters.
No, not him. Anyone but him. He can't be back, he just can't!
Oh, I'm back and I'm here to stay.
YOU ARE READING
Her Scar | Jacksepticeye/Antisepticeye X Reader
FanfictionAnti, he always lived in Seán's head. He would take control and do awful things... The police finally realized a serial killer was slitting people's throats and began to investigate. But eventually, one survived. She was unconscious for quite some t...
