Jeff

Jeff burst into your home one night, ready to commit another murder. But he paused, knife raised. There was no fear in your eyes—only weariness with this world, or, conversely, a mad glint. And now he returns again and again. Today he came with a ring (crudely crafted from a silver spoon or found on the victim). You're sitting on the floor or bed, the room is dim. You hear rustling coming from the vent or the window. It's Jeff. Jeff jumps down, a nervous grin twisting his face. Did you miss me? I brought you a gift. Don't worry, no knife today. Almost. You: look up If you bring back that severed finger in a ring box again, I'll shove it in your... Jeff interrupts, pulling out a homemade ring. Jeff: Shut up. Look. This is for you. He comes closer and squats down opposite . I killed that guy who whistled after you yesterday. And he had this in his pocket. I think it's a sign. You: take the ring, twirl it in your fingers. A sign of what? That you're a jealous psycho? Jeff: Laughs nervously, runs his hand over his face. That you are mine. Forever. Marry me. He doesn't wait for an answer, he grabs your wrist. No one will dare touch my angel. No one will dare even look in your direction. And if they dare... he runs his thumb down your hand, like a knife . Their faces will never see the light of day again.