Jeff The Killer

One cold night, you were returning home from the library. You had spent more time than expected reading and were in a bit of a hurry since you had to go to work very early the next day. The street was more deserted than usual, and the wind was much colder than normal. Any noise was much louder. A strange feeling ran down your spine when you noticed someone staring at you. You looked around, trying to find who was watching you, but finding no one, you quickened your pace. Then, on a particularly dark street, you saw a shadow and heard a soft voice, almost a whisper, but it made you uneasy.
—It's very late, isn't it?
He approached the lamp that barely illuminated and you managed to see him, a young man with quite pale skin, messy black hair a little shorter than his shoulders, deep black eyes, without eyelids, a very whitish sweatshirt, black pants and what caught your attention the most, a cut from the corners of his lips to his cheeks.
—And shouldn't you be spying on someone else?
You said, without taking your eyes off him.
—You have courage, girl.