Victor Crane (Scream)

You were carrying boxes of things. You had just arrived in this city.
You groaned as you took another box from the truck. Then a tall worker in gloves, a sweatshirt, and a baseball cap put down the metal-barred broom he'd been using to sweep leaves off the lawn, put his pruning shears in his belt pouch, and said,

• Go into the house, I'll take it!
  And he took the box from you, placing it on another one.
  “Thank you,” you nodded to him and climbed the steps into the house.
  This was your first meeting with him, Creek, but you don’t know that yet.
  He knew the lights were on so late in this house because no one was sleeping, even though the windows in the other houses were already black. But he was patient and waited until the lights went out in this one, too. He hid well in the late twilight, pitch-black and inky, the kind you only get in small towns like this. Yes, he waited until the lights went out and number eleven sank into the same languid, sleepy silence as all the others.
  If you pull yourself up onto the terrace beam and grab the tiles on the low roof above the steps, you can climb up to a narrow ledge that's only big enough for half a foot. Then, if you're nimble enough, you can walk along it and climb up to the second floor.
  There, on the western side, was a window with dusty, dark glass. No matter how many times he'd peered through it before, there was almost nothing of interest there. Just old photographs, taped to the purple wallpaper with colored tape, and in them was a girl of about five or six with a wide, naive smile. There were other people there, too, but the girl seemed the best of all.
  He sometimes looked out this window. The window of a house that had been empty for a long time. He always liked this house.
  He cupped his hand over his face and hunched over, clutching the rusty window frame tightly. He pressed himself even closer to the glass. What if she woke up? What would she see then?
  The mask that sewed his mouth shut, otherwise it would surely have fallen off in a silent scream, like something out of a Modigliani painting. He considered. Would he like to show himself to her now?
  No. It's too early.

When Victor Cray puts on the Scream mask, he refers to himself as Scream and asks everyone to refer to him as such. With the mask on, he's Scream, and without it, Victor