Chapter Text
“What the fuck is that?”
Your eyes immediately meet your worst fear: a trapper hat. Not only was it a trapper hat, but it was a trapper hat worn by the stupid German asshole from earlier. This is awful. This is the worst thing that could possibly happen, actually.
No, wait. It just got worse.
He’s hanging out near your car. What the fuck is this little shit doing? He looks like he’s trying to find a way to break in. Not on your watch.
You stomp over, nearly slipping in the process, but you stumble instead. Finally, you reach him, fuming. Steam was nearly coming from your ears and your face felt red hot.
“What the fuck are you doing? Are you trying to break into my car, you little shit?” You seethed at the boy, baring your teeth.
“Ich? Nein. Natürlich nicht. Dein Auto ist ein Stück Schrott,” he responded slyly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight. His head twitched to the side, his neck cracking with the movement.
God, you hated that.
“I know you speak English, asshole. What the fuck are you trying to do?”
“Cuh-calm do-own lady, jeez-z,” he started with an eye roll before continuing, “no, I’m not trying to break into your shitty junker,” he stuttered, pointing at your 2015 Toyota Camry.
Your eyes narrowed at him. You were about to wring his fucking neck.
“Then what? Gonna key it? Break a window? What?”
“Fuck no. I came to give you your goddamn chapstick, bitch. You left it at the pharmacy after paying. You were in a real big hurry, weren’t you? Couldn’t wait to stuff your pig face, huh?” He sneered.
“Oh you little shit.” You were about to punch him on his ass before he stuck his hand out, the chapstick in his palm. That stopped you in your tracks.
You took it, backing up slightly.
“Your hat is fucking stupid, by the way. Trapper hats look hideous. Not like taking it off would help your case much anyway,” you snapped at him before turning around, preparing to go back inside until he leaves.
Well, aren’t you just so lucky? Cowboy hat guy is back!
There he is, standing beside an old, white sedan of all things. You thought he’d drive a truck, but you were wrong apparently. Well, damn. He’s staring right at you.
You focus your attention on him now, stomping towards him.
“What the hell is your problem, dude? Think I’m hot or something? You’ve been staring like a goddamn creep for the last hour. Got something to say, pal?” You were raging now. You just couldn’t get a break from assholes.
“Goodness gracious. Are you always this friendly or am I just special?” He chuckled, offering you a grin. Your anger only grew.
“Oh don’t give me that look. I’m just joking, don’t get your feathers ruffled,” he scoffed. “I thought I recognized you, but now that I’ve seen you up close, I’ve realized I was all wrong. Forgive me for that.”
You began to calm down a little, now fidgeting with your nails instead. You refused to meet his eyes now.
“Didn’t mean to embarrass you, sweetheart. Say, you’re house-sitting for the Millers, right?” Your gaze snapped to him almost immediately. How the hell did he know that?
“Yeah.. uh.. how did you know?”
“Small town, word gets around fast,” he smiled again. Now that you weren’t fuming, you could actually appreciate it. It was charming, sweet. A good smile. You wouldn’t mind seeing it again.
But the way he said it- it sounded like a test. You were done villainizing people for the day, though. How awkward.
“Say, why don’t you give me your number? I’d like to see you around more often, that is, if we don’t keep running into each other by chance,” he chuckled as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, offering it over.
You paused for a moment, debating putting your number in. He was handsome, sure, but he was a bit too much of a wildcard for you. Oh well. You typed your number in, adding your name as the contact and taking a quick photo, angling the phone down at yourself and smiling.
You then handed the phone back, allowing him to observe your work. “If we go out to dinner, you’re paying,” you joked, giving him a quaint smile. You were still really embarrassed by the entire situation, but you’d get over it with time.
“Not bad. Not bad at all. I have to say, you look better in-person than in photos.” He looked up from his phone, grinning at you.
“Wait, what’s your name?”
“Timothy, but you can call me Tim,” he paused, “or daddy if you swing that way,” he joked, laughing out loud at his own words.
You stared at him, your smile falling for a brief moment and your eye giving a small twitch. You fixed your face and huffed out an awkward laugh before responding. “You’d have to pay me good if you’re wanting me to call you that.” A bit of an odd joke, but still funny, you supposed.
“Well, Miss. Camry, I’ll be seeing you around.”
“If I call you back, sure,” you replied slyly.
“We’ll see if that’s the case.”
Something about that made your blood run cold. Sure, he could be talking about just seeing you around town, but what if he wasn’t?
You’re just getting in your own head. Too on edge today. Get over yourself.
He had already gotten in his car and driven around the diner before you could ask any questions. You turned around to your own car, seeing that Trapper Hat Asshole wasn’t there anymore, thank god. You wondered when he had walked away.
You slunk down into your own car, starting the engine and letting it warm up. Then, a light popped up on your dashboard.
Low gas, great. Just great.
You groaned, hitting the steering wheel before pulling out of the parking lot and driving to the nearest gas station.
It was possibly the dingiest place in town, being a sad, flickering place that probably hadn’t been updated since the start of this century. You were surprised they were still in service, to be honest. Even if you were desperate, you’d rather piss in the bushes than go in that bathroom.
You pulled right up to the pump, putting your card in. Declined.
Great.
You shoved your card back in and waited. Declined again.
Well, fantastic.
You locked your car, walking into the disgusting gas station. You were fairly sure that even touching the door took ten years off your lifespan. You shuddered at the thought of it.
You stepped right up to the counter, glaring at the poor guy just trying to do his job.
What the fuck is that on his head?
A visor. It’s a goddamn visor. That’s going right on the list.
- Trapper hats (fucking Pharmacy Asshole)
- Trucker hats
- Visors
- Baseball caps
- Bobble hats
- Cowboy hats
- Beanies
You were beginning to forget all of the stupid hats you had seen in the last day alone. You’d need to write this down soon.
“Is there something on my hat, ma’am?” He asked quietly. He was a skittish little rat for sure. This made you realize you had been staring at his hat for a bit longer than socially acceptable, though. You met his eyes.
“Gas. Pump 4, 20 bucks. Make it quick.”
“Y-yes ma’am.” He slunk back a little.
You took a moment to note his appearance down in your head. Stupid ass visor, shaggy blonde hair, blue eyes, a little taller than you, has a little muscle to him. Hey, he’s not half bad!
You’ve said that about every man you’ve seen today. Maybe you’ve been inside for a little too long. Good thing you’re getting out right now.
You slammed a twenty-dollar bill down on the counter before turning on your heel and walking out.
The pump was really fucking slow. It was like the gas was molasses. It was too damn cold to be stuck out here like this.
Fuck it, you’re walking back inside.
You go back inside the gas station, picking out a snack. Chips would be good. Or chocolate. Chocolate helps with the mood. Chocolate is probably best.
You grab a chocolate bar, turning back to the register. The boy was watching you. You walked back, half-throwing the chocolate bar on the counter in front of the poor boy.
“Would that be all for today?”
“Yeah. That’s all.”
There was a beat of silence before you spoke up again.
“Sorry about earlier. I’m in a pissy mood today.”
He straightened out almost immediately.
“Oh, it’s okay. Hey, you’re the one house-sitting for the Millers, right?”
Not this shit again.
“Yeah,” you replied, looking at him suspiciously. “How’d you know that?”
“Small town, word gets around fast,” he responded, scanning your singular item.
You’d heard this before. That was the same thing Tim had said. What the fuck?
“Hey, you go to the college in town, right?”
“How do you know that?” You panicked, taking a step back.
“We had Econ together this last year,” he chuckled. “Name’s Eli, remember? I sat right behind you!”
Oh shit. You didn’t remember him at all.
“Ohh… yeah!” You said awkwardly, looking towards the walls, begging them for help here. They would not help you. They are not alive. Damn it.
You paid with card this time, walked out the gas station and towards your car. You glanced back to see him staring at you still. What a fucking creep.
You put the nozzle back and quickly got in your car, locking the doors. You sat back for a moment, letting the heat blast on your face while your fingers thawed out on the steering wheel. You were cold, tired, and irritated, but not shaken. No, you weren’t put off by that. He’s just a weirdo.
Despite what you keep telling yourself, his voice wouldn’t stop ringing in your head.
“We had Econ together.”
No. There was no fucking way that was true. You didn’t remember him one bit, and you were fairly sure you’d remember some creeper who can’t stop fucking staring.
You slammed on the pedal, pulling out of the parking lot with screeching tires before heading home.
It was late now, the sun already dipping behind the trees, casting long dark shadows on the road. Your headlights flicked on automatically. The radio was playing something soft, but you recognized it. You had heard this before, but you didn’t realize what it was until the chorus.
“You’re so vain… you probably think this song is about you…”
You snorted. Fitting.
You turned it up.
You pulled into the driveway as the last few beats of the song played. You stepped out, grabbing your allergy pills, chapstick, and chocolate bar before walking towards the door.
It had snowed at some point today. You had seen the snow on the hood of your car when you pulled out of the diner.
So why were there footsteps leading to the front door?
You froze in your tracks.
Just one set of footsteps. Just one.
And they didn’t lead away from the house.
The porch light is on.
You never touch that thing.
You began to think things through.
What if you had accidentally turned on the porch light when turning the lights off before leaving? What if the mailman came by? The mailbox is by the front door anyway.
But that doesn’t explain the lack of footsteps walking away from the house. What if he was being stupid and decided to retrace his own footsteps?
That must’ve been it.
That had to have been it.
You shook the anxiety off your shoulders before walking up to the front door and sticking your key in the lock.
It was unlocked already.
No.
That’s not possible.
You locked the door this morning. You were sure of it.
What if you just didn’t hear it unlock?
Yeah, that was it.
You turned the knob, opening the door slowly.
You stepped inside, taking a look around.
Nothing else was out of place. You’re fine. You’re just stressing yourself out.
You released a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your shoulders going slack. Every muscle in your body seemed to relax at once.
You shrugged your coat and scarf off, leaving them on the entry table by the door. You then bent down, undoing your laces and kicking your boots off.
Finally, you made your way to the kitchen, heating something small up before sitting on the couch, or as you liked to call it, your humble abode.
You flicked on a movie, letting it play while you ate. Nothing like being back at home after a long day. This was good. This was the life. You enjoyed your movie and meal before falling asleep at some point.
Your eyes shot open at the sound of something tapping the window. You sat up, breathing heavily. You didn’t like this one bit. The tv was buzzing, static on the screen. That’s a bit scarier than it needs to be.
You stood, making a quick detour to the kitchen and grabbing the biggest knife you could find. Nothing was going to get the upper hand against you. You weren’t one to back down, and you definitely knew how to defend yourself against creepy assholes.
You sauntered toward the window beside the front door, taking a careful glance outside.
Where you expected to see the face of a killer, or perhaps gas station guy, you saw nothing but the front yard with your car in the driveway.
You were fucking losing it now. You’re just freaking yourself out with this shit.
You slammed the knife down on the table with your jacket and scarf, absolutely sick of this. You needed a Xanax or something, dear lord.
You plopped back down on the couch, closing your eyes and drifting off to sleep fairly fast. Unfortunately, you didn’t notice that you weren’t the only one in the room. The flash of a camera went off from the corner.
You woke up to a television that had been turned off at some point in the night. You hadn’t turned that thing off. Or maybe you did. You couldn’t really remember.
You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Last night was a blast for sure. You picked up your phone to check the time.
11:00 in the morning. What the hell? You never woke up this late.
Thank god you did though, because you have work in an hour.
You quickly stood, preparing to leave for work. You took a quick shower in the downstairs bathroom before putting on a hoodie and your work-mandated green apron along with a pair of jeans. You were going to be comfortable if you had to go out.
You made an effort to blow dry your hair and brush it out nicely before brushing your teeth. You hated going out looking like shit.
You then grabbed your keys and ran out the door after slipping your boots on.
You looked at your car. There was something different.
A piece of paper was underneath the windshield wiper.
You grabbed it and started your car. Then, you looked at the paper. It was a napkin.
A napkin with a drawing of you on it.
What the fuck.
You wracked your brain, trying to remember where this could’ve come from.
Was it gas station guy? You doubted it.
What about Trapper-Hat Dipshit? No. You didn’t think that was it either.
Holy shit. It was Bobble Hat Hipster. He was drawing on a napkin when you walked in yesterday. There’s no fucking way. Had he been watching you?
What if he was the one who had left those footprints? What if he was in the house right now?
You’re getting ahead of yourself.
You were going to kick his ass nonetheless.
You got into your car, slamming the door as your foot hit the pedal. You floored it to work.
Bobble Hat Hipster best hope you don’t see him today, because you’d be ripping him a new one if you did.