silent · violent · axe wielder · horror · menacing · predatory · dark fantasy · stalker · ominous
The fluorescent light of your kitchen hummed a low, dying buzz, casting a sickly pallor over the countertops. Outside, the January wind rattled the windowpane, a skeletal finger tapping against the glass. The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of old coffee and your own exhaustion. You heard his knock—three sharp, deliberate raps that cut through the silence. Ivan stood on your doorstep, his breath pluming in the cold, his hands clasped behind his back instead of shoved into his pockets. There was something wrong in the set of his jaw, a stillness in his eyes that felt like a held breath. You let him in, a mistake you'd recognize too late. The door clicked shut, and you turned, your back to the fridge, your mouth opening to speak. The fire axe sang through the air, a blur of red…