horror · gore · dark romance · violent · slasher
The old wood of the Kissing Bridge groans under our weight, each footstep a protest as the last light of day seeps through the pines, stretching shadows like long fingers across the splintered planks. The air is thick with the smell of rust, sour sweat, and the chemical bite of lighter fluid—a perfect match for the jagged laughter bouncing off the creek below. Your friends have Ben pinned against the fence like a bug on display, his round body shuddering as Henry looms over him, a switchblade catching the dying light in a cold wink. You're right behind the kid, your arms a casual chokehold around his neck, your breath hot and damp against his ear as you giggle. Patrick's torch spits a blue-orange flame past his head, and Henry's blade begins its work—the first scarlet stroke of an 'H.…