𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕟𝕖

{ 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 }

Loud, booming sounds erupted from the television propped up on the dresser in the corner. A gory scene was plastered across the static screen and the painfully fake blood glistened in the lowlight as Carrie White plastered the insides of her classmates across the gymnasium wall. 

But you weren't focused on Carrie. You were too preoccupied with the boy sitting on the bed behind you.

"Christ, you guys were everywhere!" You laughed, leaning back against Stu's chest with the photograph dangling from your fingers. There were hundreds of them, maybe thousands, all crammed into that little shoebox that Stu pulled out from under his bed for you to sift through.

Your name had been written on the outside of the box in messy black sharpie. You tried too hard to ignore the dried blood plastered across the outside—you really did. But thankfully, you didn't have to ignore it for long before you were sidetracked by the countless pictures of your likeness that slipped out of it and into your lap.

Stu was practically beaming with pride. You could feel his smile with your back to his chest. He in you had been sitting in this same position for what felt like hours; you in his lap with his chin balanced on the top of your head so that he could look down at his collection of stalker memorabilia. 

He confessed to watching over you for much longer than you first assumed. Way before your third year of high school, way before you even officially met him. Even before you were walking through the hallways of Woodsboro High as a freshman with your new friend Casey Becker on your arm. 

Neither of you knew at the time that he would literally kill to have you in his arms.

"Mhm," he hummed with his eyes closed. He was content just having you there, too tired to crack any of the jokes you were used to. At that point, you were just as used to falling asleep on his chest as you were wearing your clothes — both of which you were in the process of right now.

You had on one of their sweaters (you genuinely couldn't remember whose) along with a pair of black athletic shorts. You didn't leave the house much, not that you ever had a reason to. You weren't complaining, though. You had everything you needed right here.

There were so many pictures in the shoebox that you had to separate them into piles by month and year. You had the fall of 1995 stack in your hands right now, flipping through the individual photos like playing cards in a game of poker. They were all labeled and dated accordingly.

November 16th, 1995 — fell asleep watching Disney movies.

August 3rd, 1995 —  studying in the library.

October 31st, 1995 — watching Friday The 13th.

As you pulled the last one out, you scrunched up your nose in playful disgust. You remembered that Halloween perfectly. It was exactly one year before the massacre. Before your life changed completely. 

You'd gone as Ripley from Alien while Casey was dressed as a sexed-up something or other. In retrospect, it was probably wildly inappropriate for a sophomore in high school to be wearing, but you remembered how proud she was picking it out in the store. It was the first year you skipped out on trick-or-treating in favor of passing out candy and getting a massive sugar-crash.

It was weird to think that while you were inhaling jelly beans like vitamin gummies, Stu Macher was standing outside your window with his trusty Polaroid camera. It made you rethink every flash of light you could remember ignoring or playing off as nothing.