Chapter Text
“Goddamn it!”
Jeff kicked an empty tin can across the floor. The poor thing clattered, spinning a few times before coming to a pathetic stop beside a pile of broken beer bottles. He glared at it like he could will it into dust.
Next to the pile, the half-broken heating generator sat in smug silence.
It was mocking him.
Jeff ran a hand through his greasy hair and exhaled sharply. He’d really hoped to hold out a little longer this time.
Ration the food better, stretch it out. Just a few more days.
But there was no denying it anymore.
He was out of supplies.
No food. No water. No gas for the generator that only seemed to want to work after watching him suffer.
He’d have to go outside again.
Outside meant contact to people.
And maybe someone would die then.
It wasn’t that he hated killing, per se. Sometimes it was the only thing that made his blood feel warm. An itch inside him that didn’t care about morals or consequences.
Seeing them writhe in pain. Begging. When he himself was the one that should have been in their place instead.
But most of all, it was a dark and gruel necessity. After all, he would cease to exist if he didn’t.
His instincts to survive and fight were still stronger than the guilt of wandering among the living. Even if that meant to kill.
Not that he would ever admit that he felt guilty about anything that had happened.
Admitting meant shattering to pieces.
He didn’t kill when he didn’t have to.
But going on a possible spree in the middle of a goddamn winter night? With the cold gnawing at his bones, creeping under his skin like a parasite?
That was a different kind of misery.
Jeff might have been a murderous, fucked-up excuse for a human being, but he drew the line at freezing his fingers off.
But there was no use complaining, was there?
He sighed, shaking out his stiff limbs. He grabbed another tattered jacket and threw it over the one he was already wearing, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
Either he went, or he died. It was as easy as that.
The second he stepped outside, the air hit him like a slap. His nose wrinkled in disgust. Oh, of course. He tipped his head back, glaring at the thick, lazy snowflakes drifting down like the sky had all the time in the world to bury him.
“Really? Now it decides to fucking snow?”
His voice was rough and jagged, like it wasn’t used to being used. And maybe it wasn’t.
Not like he had anyone to talk to.
He shoved his scarf higher over his face and picked up his pace, leaving his rundown hideout behind. The forest ahead was already dusted white, branches sagging under fresh weight.
Eleven years.
He’d been running for eleven years.
Always moving. Always hiding. Always angry.
The police never stopped looking, so neither did he.
Jeff had learned how to survive out in the streets and the wild, but winter - fucking winter - was the one thing he hated.
He trudged through the thick snow, muttering curses under his breath. The itch in his fingers flared, as it always did when things got quiet enough for him to hear himself think.
It never went away.
Neither did the faces.
Neither did the voices.
He’d learned how to drown them. He’d learned how to keep walking anyway.
By the time the streetlights of a small village blinked into view through the trees, snow clung to his shoulders in melting patches. His clothes were damp. His breath came out in harsh, heavy puffs.
“Fucking finally.”
Now, he just had to pick the right house.
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The blue house was perfect.
Large yard. Barely any lights on. Jackpot.
Jeff smirked, gripping his knife tighter in his pocket. He crept through the snow, ducking behind bushes as he scanned the windows.
No movement. No signs of life.
Easy.
With practiced ease, he picked the back door lock and let himself in. The hinges creaked in protest, but no one stirred.
Kitchen.
The cold glow of the stove clock, the neat arrangement of kitchen utensils. The normalness of it made something sour twist in his gut.
Not wasting time, he rummaged through the cabinets, shoving food into an old backpack he found in one of them.
He wasn’t exactly silent about it, but who cared? It wouldn’t take him long anyway.
Canned beans, fruit, fish - whatever looked edible went straight into the bag.
And then-
A scream.
Jeff froze.
The air in the kitchen turned razor-sharp.
The sound had come from upstairs.
Then - silence.
Jeff knew he needed to check up on what might have happened. Maybe they had cameras and they had seen him, or the resident just woke up from a fat spider scaring them shitless.
Knife in hand, he moved in direction of the stairs.
Whatever had happened, he needed to make sure there were no possible witnesses or he had to move places once again. He hated moving places.
The wooden stairs creaked under his weight. No more screams were to be heard.
Nothing; actually no, that wasn’t true.
As Jeff ascended he heard wet sounds. Something dripping. Smacking.
Jeff stood in the bedroom doorway now, breath caught in his throat.
The body of a woman dressed in a sleeping gown lay sprawled on the floor.
And someone was crouched over her.
It was a figure, half-shadowed in the moonlight, hunched over the unmoving body.
Jeff’s eyes widened as he realized what scene was unfurling in front of him.
The man, if he could even be called that, was eating her.
In the strangers hand seemed to be flesh, raw, glistening in the dim light. Thick blood dripped all over the floor.
Jeff’s stomach twisted, but not from disgust. No, this was something else.
It was fascination.
The figure wore a mask. Blue, sleek, almost featureless. The hood of his dark clothing obscured the rest of his face. Bloody Claws.
Jeff’s brain caught up.
“What the fuck?” The words left his mouth in an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp.
The thing didn’t react.
Jeff’s fingers twitched around his knife.
“Hey! Deaf or something?”
Nothing.
The stranger kept eating, tearing into the flesh with unnervingly sharp teeth, completely unfazed, like Jeff wasn’t even there.
Jeff’s eye twitched.
“So, not just deaf, brainless too, huh?” He sneered, the fire inside him crackling to life. “What, too scared to look me in the eyes, freak?”
Still nothing.
Oh, hell no.
Against his better judgement, Jeff lunged.
His knife went for the bastard’s neck, but before he could even blink-
He was on the ground.
The impact knocked the air out of his lungs. The knife went skidding across the floor, out of reach.
Jeff struggled, but the grip on him was like iron, pressing him down with an effortless strength. The cannibal straddled him, rendering his limbs useless. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t-
That’s when Jeff saw them-
The eyes. No, not really. Not eyes.
They were black
Endless.
Oozing.
Thick, Ink-dark liquid dripped from the corners, streaking down out of the stranger’s mask like unnatural, bleeding tears.
Jeff’s breath hitched.
His heart, his traitorous, stupid heart - slammed against his ribs.
The stranger merely tilted his head.
Jeff barely managed to snarl, “Let me go or I’ll rip you to shreds.”
No reaction.
A drop of blood dripped from the stranger’s chin. It landed, warm, on Jeff’s cheek.
Something inside him snapped. “You fuck - say something!”
And then-
The fucker laughed.
A low, dark chuckle. Curling in the space between them like smoke.
Jeff saw red.
He lashed out, trying to free his wrists out of the clawed hands. Trying to squirm his body free from being trapped under that freak. Trying not to look into those eyes again.
But it was to no avail. Jeff was at the strangers mercy. He was overpowered. This was his end. Didn’t it suit him to be eaten by a cannibal in the end?
“You’re pathetic,” the stranger said simply.
“Oh, now you talk, huh?” Jeff spat, looking up at the mask, but not at his eyes.
A shrug. “I’d rather talk to dirt than to you.”
Jeff bared his teeth. “And I’d rather shove your ugly face into the dirt.”
The stranger smirked. “You’re welcome to try.”
Jeff hesitated.
The bastard knew he was stronger. And the worst part? He was right.
The stranger loosened the grip on him and stepped back as if he’d already lost interest. He was dusting himself off.
“Nice chat.” He turned, walking toward the doorway. “I’m needed elsewhere.”
Then, just like that, he was gone. As if nothing had just happened.
Jeff blinked. What? The fucker just left? Jeff scrambled up, grabbing his knife, but by the time he reached the stairs-
The house was empty.
Gone.
Not a single trace.
Jeff clenched his jaw.
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Jeff didn’t remember the walk back.
He remembered the cold. The way the snow kept falling like it had nowhere better to be. He remembered the taste of copper in his mouth from biting down too hard on his lips. He remembered the woman on the bedroom floor and the way the air had felt wrong around that thing in the mask.
And he remembered those eyes.
Black voids.
By the time his hideout came into view in all its glory (an old abandoned hunters shed), Jeff’s hands were shaking inside his pockets. He told himself it was because of the cold.
But then again, he told himself a lot of things.
Inside, the generator sat exactly where he’d left it. Silent. Dead. Like it was satisfied.
Jeff dropped the backpack on the floor and stared at the pile of cans inside it.
Not enough.
It should’ve felt like a win. Food was food. Food meant time. Time meant distance. Distance meant not getting caught.
But his skin still felt like it was buzzing, like something had crawled into his bloodstream and started tapping against his bones.
He paced. Stopped. Scratched at his wrist until the skin reddened.
“Whatever,” he muttered.
He ate half a can of beans cold, not tasting it. Forced himself to drink what little water he had left. Forced his hands to stop shaking.
Sleep didn’t come.
Every time he shut his eyes, he saw blue.
So he stayed awake until the sky turned the color of bruises, and he watched the snow pile against the door like a warning.
———————————————
Jeff groaned, rubbing his temples as he stared at the dwindling pile of supplies. Only half the week had passed, and he was already running dangerously low. Again.
He needed to go out. Again.
But could he really afford to go back to that village?
It had only been a few nights since the incident, since that thing in the blue mask had ruined everything. And after someone had died there, the villagers would be on edge, maybe even armed. The last thing Jeff wanted was to get picked up by the cops because some paranoid local got lucky.
His lips curled in frustration as he slumped onto a tree stump outside his hideout. The cold bit through his hoodie, making him shudder.
He had to go. He had no choice. Either he went, or he froze to death before spring.
A sharp flicker of movement in the distance caught his eye.
Something dark. Something blue.
Jeff’s spine straightened, his muscles tensing as his head snapped toward the figure lingering just at the tree line. At first, it was hard to make out through the haze of falling snow, but then-
That mask.
That stupid fucking mask.
The freak from that night.
Jeff’s grip on his knife tightened, the weight of it grounding him as anger surged through his veins.
The masked man leaned against a tree, perfectly still, the gaping black holes of his mask fixed right on him. Silent. Watching.
Jeff shot up to his feet, eyes narrowing.
“What are you on about? Stalking me?” His voice was sharp, the growl of an animal forced into a corner.
No answer.
Instead, the man pushed off the tree and began walking toward him, heavy boots crunching through the snow.
Jeff’s fingers itched to just lunge, to just end this already. But he hesitated. The guy had toyed with him last time. He had been faster and stronger. Jeff didn’t want to admit it, but right now, he wasn’t at his best. His body was weak from the cold, his hands trembling, his stomach empty.
But fuck it. He’d rather go down fighting than let some masked freak keep playing games with him.
“Stay where the fuck you are!”
The man halted. He stood there, hands in his pockets, his entire frame eerily still.
Jeff scoffed, running his tongue over his teeth. “How long do you plan on hanging around, huh? First you ruin my night, now you wanna ruin my day too?”
No response.
Jeff stalked forward, his breath curling in the air. “Talk, goddamn it. Do you enjoy this? I bet you’re one sick-”
His foot caught on something.
He didn’t even have time to curse before he was tumbling forward, face-first into the snow. A sharp pain shot through his ankle, and cold bit into his skin, burning.
“Fuck!”
He shoved himself upright, shaking snow from his hair, a snarl on his lips. But as his gaze darted back toward the masked man-
Gone.
Jeff’s breath hitched.
His eyes scanned the tree line. Nothing. The snow was too fresh, too untouched. Someone dressed in all black should have stuck out like a sore thumb. And yet—
There was nothing.
A slow grin stretched across his face, sharp and delirious. A bubbling chuckle rose in his throat, spilling into the freezing air.
“Haha…hahaha-”
The laughter cracked into something almost manic, his grip tightening around his knife. Maybe he was just losing his mind. Again. Maybe this guy wasn’t even real. A fucked-up hallucination, a little something extra for his paranoia to chew on. Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing his brain had thrown at him.
Still laughing under his breath, he slammed his knife into the rotten piece of wood that had tripped him. Just because.
Then, he forced himself to get moving.
He had a village to visit.
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The village was just as dimly lit as last time.
Snow still blanketed the ground, muffling every step, and the air was cold enough to make Jeff’s exposed skin ache. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, barely suppressing a shiver.
He hated this. The biting wind against his raw, exposed eyes. The stiffness in his limbs. He needed something - anything - to keep warm. Maybe a bigger scarf. Or hell, a whole damn bodysuit.
Turning a corner, Jeff stopped dead in his tracks.
A rustling noise.
His grip on his knife tightened.
His eyes flickered to a nearby bush, its thin branches trembling.
Something was there.
Jeff stepped closer, his breath slow and controlled. The branches shook again.
He pushed them aside-
Two reflective pairs of eyes stared back at him.
Cats.
Two of them. Curled up together, their fur bristling slightly at the sudden disturbance. One licked its paw. The other yawned.
Jeff let out a slow exhale.
“Just cats,” he muttered. For a second, he had thought-
“Oh, they are cute, wouldn’t you agree?”
Jeff froze.
The voice. Low. Familiar. And way too fucking close.
His breath hitched. His fingers clenched around the handle of his knife.
Behind him.
Right behind him.
He felt the warmth of breath against the slightly exposed skin of his neck.
Jeff’s mind screamed at him to move, to turn and stab - but his body wouldn’t listen. For a brief, terrifying moment, he couldn’t tell if this was real. If it was another hallucination.
“You’re just a hallucination,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “No way a freak like you could be real.”
The air was heavy.
Then, a chuckle. Low and amused.
“A hallucination?”
Jeff didn’t respond. He focused on breathing, on steadying himself, on remembering that he still had a knife.
But then-
A hand.
Around his throat.
Not squeezing. Not choking.
Just there. Warm. Resting against his pulse.
Jeff shivered, his body instinctively leaning into the heat before his mind caught up with what was happening.
His muscles tensed.
His blood roared in his ears.
Jeff tore himself away, ripping the hand off his throat and twisting, knife raised-
His blade met flesh.
A sharp, wet sound.
Blood splattered onto the snow.
For a moment, Jeff just stared at it. At the red staining the white. At the deep slash he had carved into that bastard’s arm.
And then; he grinned.
The masked man didn’t react. Not even a flinch. As if he didn’t care.
Instead, Jeff was yanked forward, spun around, and suddenly-
A damp cloth was shoved under his nose.
The smell hit him instantly, overpowering and chemical and suffocating. His vision swam.
“You’ll die out here, you moron,” came the last thing he heard before the world went black.