Chapter Text
Billy heaved over the lifeless bodies of your sisters, hands trembling with white knuckles, clutching onto the glass unicorn figurine. Blood dripped from the spiraled-horn and began to cascade down his slender fingers. With blown eyes, Billy came to the realization with what he had done.
He gasped, gulping mouthfuls of air. When he breathed out, Billy let out a chuckle.
He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to.
They were…
He was…
His train of thought couldn’t rationalize, couldn’t process what was going on.
All Billy could do was laugh. He couldn’t help it. Nothing about this was funny to him. But he continued to cackle maniacally, uncaring of who could hear him now that he had done it.
He was done for.
His head was screaming at him to get away, run away. Like how he always did when he was naughty.
NAUGHTY. NAUGHTY. NAUGHTY.
Billy let out a scream that was filled with pain and sorrow.
You blinked awake from the deep sleep you were in, startled by whatever had woken you up. You sat up, listening intently to the sounds outside your bedroom door. You debated on going back to sleep, but you had a feeling something was wrong.
Very wrong.
You got up from your warm bed and made your way to the bedroom door. You creaked it open to see through the crack, looking down the hallway. Everything looked in place, and all was eerily still.
You fully opened it and slowly walked, creeping silently while listening keenly for any sounds. For a house filled with several girls, it was too quiet.
Before you went to bed early, you tried to recall what happened. You knew that you were the first to call it a day, but you couldn’t say that for the rest of your sisters.
“Barb? Phyl? Jess?” You called out the names of your sisters, hoping for an answer. But you were met with silence.
From the top of the stairs, you could see down into the common room, noting that nobody was there. Despite the lit fireplace, the house felt cold. You could hear the radio in the kitchen play Christmas carols quietly, and it filled you with dread. It sounded almost ominous, regardless of its joyous tune.
You turned back around, wanting to check the bedrooms for them just in case before you moved downstairs. You passed by Claire’s room, your heart filling with dejection, but you continued on. Since Claire’s disappearance, the atmosphere of the sorority house had changed along with her.
You checked each room but all of them were locked, all except Barbs’, who’s door was cracked open.
Your gut wrenched at the thoughts of what laid beyond the door. She didn’t respond to your calls. You reasoned she could’ve been black out drunk and passed out, but then where were your other sisters? Could they be with her?
You gently nudged open the door, holding your breath, standing underneath the frame.
You squinted against the dark, the light from the hallway barely lit the room. From what you could make out made your heart drop.
There laid your sisters, Barb, Jess, and Phyl, draped over each other with dull eyes open.
You wanted to believe they were just pulling a prank on you. You wanted to believe that the blood dripping from their mouths and the blood that stained the satin bedsheets that looked to real to be fake were.
But you knew better.
You couldn’t call out to them. Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t cry. You couldn’t hear anything but your labored breathing and rapidly beating heart.
But you noticed movement from the corner of your eye.
And your breath stilled as you saw the figure of the man, whose blown eye was lit, hiding behind the door and peeping through the crack.
“Hey, it’s me, Billy!” The man named Billy introduced in a hushed tone. “Don’t tell them what we did, Agnes...”
You recognized that voice.
The Moaner.
Time stopped, and it left you alone with Billy.
“You…” you whispered, “How could you?”
All you saw was red.
You smashed the door into his body, and he let out a yowl of pain and anger.
You ran down the stairs and into the living room, but Billy was right on your tail. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, and you screamed and thrashed into him. The two of you collided down the staircase together, your bodies falling in a heap on top of one another. You groaned in pain but quickly scattered away from your oppressor.
A cold hand held onto your ankle with an iron grasp and pulled you towards him, and you tumbled back down. You turned around, kicking at Billy ‘til he let go. You couldn’t see anything, couldn’t see him. Everything was a blur. But you felt anger and vengeful and fearful, and it drove you to continue fighting.
You got up and ran to the kitchen, eyes wide and snapping around the room to look for the knife block. You quickly grabbed the biggest one you could grab and ran away to the next room. You could hear Billy’s footsteps thudding behind you and you felt his eyes ravaging your form.
You backed into the dining room, distancing yourself between Billy, placing the dinner table in between the two of you. The both of you were heaving and breathing gasps of air, tired from all the running and fighting you’ve been doing. And you finally met the deranged eyes of his.
“P-Piggy, stupid fucking cunt,” He hissed, clutching at his side were he’ll most likely be bruised, maybe even a few broken ribs.
Good.
Billy walked around the table, trying to reach you, but you walked along it as well, keeping up the space in between you. He continued to spout vulgarities, calling you all the names in the book, but you continued to stare him down, holding the knife tightly to your side and ready to aim.
“F-fucking BITCH!” He jumped across the table and reached over for you, but you swung back at him. He dodged your attack and took the open opportunity to tackle you. You let out your own scream, trying to stab him but he held your wrist tightly.
His body was leaning over yours, his legs around your waist as you thrashed underneath him. He tightened the hold on you and leaned closer to your face, his brown locks framing his face.
“I’m going to kill you.” He said with certainty, coldness in his voice.
You growled and leaned close to his neck, and Billy gasped at the proximity of your breath hitting against his hot cheeks. And then he howled in pain as your teeth grazed against his pale skin, biting down hard ‘til blood bloomed underneath the pressure.
He let go of the grip he had on you and you pushed him off of you, catching your breath and grabbing for the knife. He cradled his neck and checked his hand, seeing his own blood on his fingertips. You pounced on him, aiming the knifepoint over his chest, but he lashed out and caught your attack in time.
You struggled against his strength, your tired muscles screaming for you to stop, but you couldn’t. You wanted to get back at the bastard who killed your friends. Memories of their fear-stricken faces flashed through your mind, and you screamed down at Billy.
“How could you!?”
Your eyes began to gloss over, tears spilling over your eyes and down below onto him. Billy looked up at you with wide eyes, mouth breathing heavily as he saw the inner turmoil inside you. His grip began to soften when he saw your hands shake, though he kept your hand steady.
He felt your tears run down his cheek, leaving a cold wet trail. He wanted to say he was sorry, that he didn’t mean to. He didn’t want any of this to happen. He couldn’t control himself. He couldn’t fight the urge that his head was screaming for him to kill, hurt, bring pain onto others.
But that was no excuse.
He was still the one with blood on his hands.
He still hurt others.
He hurt you.
You gasped and wept, long forgetting what had transpired a few minutes ago. Your grasp on the knife grew weak, your fingers feeling numb for how long you held onto the object.
You stupidly closed your eyes, but you could care less. You were tired and were grieving, no longer feeling the blazing fire of rage and now felt the whispering smog of despair.
You opened your eyes when you heard giggling below you and your grasp tightened as you felt resentment rebuild, but you stopped as you saw Billy smiling with no mirth in his eyes. Tears streamed down his face, of which was not your own, and Billy continued to laugh.
But he didn’t mean to.
You tried to catch your breath as you watched him cry and laugh maniacally, now confused at was happening. Your brain could no longer process what was going on, and your weapon now dropped beside you uselessly.
You stumbled off him, deciding you couldn’t pull through with killing him. And it seemed like neither did Billy.
You fell down beside Billy, who was wiping away his tears and trying to muffle his laughter. You groaned as you felt your muscles ache from the exertion. Your eyes drooped but you didn’t fall asleep. You couldn’t, knowing what waited before you in your dreams.
The two of you laid there amidst the cluttered scene. Billy’s sniveling and laughter quieted down after a while.
“I-I’m sorry.”
You would’ve almost missed his apology if you weren’t staring at him the whole time. You got a look at him, adrenaline no longer flooding your system leaving your mind in a haze. He wore a tattered green sweater, which was now stained in a deep red from your sisters’ blood and his. On top of that, he wore a pair of bellbottom jeans with leather platformers.
If you had met him on the street, you would have considered him a normal-looking man. Good looking too. You used to be terrified whenever the girls retold you about The Moaner’s calls, feeling paranoid and weary. But now that you see him, crying, you just see a simple man.
“I-I… Billy didn’t want this to happen. For any of this to happen.” He turned to face you, his skin flushed from crying and cheeks wet. “I’m sorry.”
You stared into his eyes and could see how remorseful he was. How lucid he was. Earlier, when your eyes met his, you saw the deranged and malicious intent. But not here.
“But it still did.”
It was your only response.
The two of you continued to lay in silence, the Christmas caroling playing on the radio filling the silence between you two.
