Yandere Toons x Reader: An Anthology of Headcanons and Scenarios

Bob Velseb (Flash Fiction) (Spooky Month: Tender Treats)

Warnings: Cannibalism, Blood, Violence, Use of Firearms, Home Invasion, Toxic Mindsets.

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When the door came flying off its hinges, you pulled the trigger.

A thunderous bang did echo within the house, followed by the jangle of the bullet casing as it bounced around the floor.

Looming in the doorway was a bulky man dressed for the cold, yet all the bullet managed to do was poke a hole in the fabric of his red turtleneck sweater.

It had been a straight shot at his heart. Any human would have been felled and lying in a dark puddle, but he stood tall and looked down his nose at the wound.

A smile was beaming across his face, the kind that made your latest meal rise in your throat and your hold on the pistol weaken until sweat beaded on your forehead.

His eyes, wild and monstrous, rolled up to yours. "Howdy, neighbour!" There was an ominous deepness and slowness to his voice that simmered with barely contained enthusiasm.

The news bulletin flashed in your mind's eye, and the line between reality and a face on a screen blurred as Bob Velseb stalked into your home.

He moved with the swiftness and quietude of a hunter, the music of Halloween at his back.

Atop his head was a pair of devil horns, plastic and red as the mask covering his hair and face. The curve of the horns formed the same crescent as the upward turn of his lips. His front three upper teeth were visible, catching the silvery moonlight in a grin that reached from one ear to the other.

A mix of saliva and blood dripped from his chin, the clear sheen of his drool having blended into the sanguine fluid in a viscous trail that fell in drops to the floor.

The pitter-patter of these droplets splattering over the floorboards rippled among the silence of the house. Its supremacy came under challenge as the breaths emanating from Bob grew into hungry, panting scrambles for air.

A pinkish tint swelled brighter inside his cheeks with each puff, and this, combined with his unblinking stare and wide-open mouth, gave the illusion of a child bursting with excitement.

Bob jerked forward in a step so rapid that it was hardly noticeable. The board creaked underfoot for just a moment, letting out a squeak like that of a mouse.

The blade, pulled taut in his right hand, bared its pointy end at the floor. It glinted in the dim light of the night, which was filtered and splintered through the shutters of the living room window.

The hulking shape of Bob was silhouetted against this window, all except for the whites of his eyes. His eyes glowed with a cyan tinge, and they strayed from you to the bowl of candy on the kitchen counter for a mere second.

"Did you know?" he mused, lapping his lower lip with his tongue and speaking with the casual freedom of friends chatting over Sunday dinner. "In some cultures, the recently deceased are eaten by their families—" he cocked his head, pupils dilating and grin stretching wider "—as a way of feeling closer."

Bob had raised the index finger of his free hand and was jiggling it alongside his words. In that instant, he resembled a schoolteacher giving a presentation in front of the blackboard.

The smile on his face tightened into a snarl as soon as you started to creep backwards. His veneer of innocence was torn away like an unwanted curtain, and in its place was a glare, a predatory and deathly one.

"Going somewhere?" The tip of his knife was lifted in the direction of your chest. He was salivating like a dog, streaks of froth leaking from the corners of his lips.

A twitch began to infect his fingers as if he were itching to grab and hold.

You calculated the distance between where you stood and the back door. It was half the distance between you and Bob, which he went to close with an eager dash.

The blade rang as it sliced the air, and if not for a duck and a dodge, your blood would have stained the floorboards. Bob swung his knife with wanton passion and charged at you, each swing holding the weight of a brick wall behind it.

Your back collided with the locked door and rattled it upon impact. The stiff and bumpy texture of the wooden frame pressed against your skin as the full force of Bob was caught in your hands, with your fingers wrapping around his wrists and pushing them away from your head.

The pointy end of his knife hovered near your eyeball with a slight shake. Bob bore down on it with all his might, and he leaned forward so that his warm breath was fanning your face.

When his attention flitted between your eyes and the hand of yours that restrained his knife, you predicted the chomp and subsequent spike of pain that came next.

Bob sunk his teeth into your forearm as if it were a delicacy. The pressure was akin to a bear trap snapping shut around your flesh. Lines of saliva traced the length of your arm, intertwined with the driblets of blood secreted by the punctures.

He refused to let go no matter how much you squirmed and wrenched your affected limb. A yelp escaped you that made his cheeks turn red-hot, and his eyes gazed into your crinkled own as if he were seeing something beautiful.

It took you cracking him in the head with the butt of the pistol to loosen his grip. Still, Bob held on and thrust his knife at you every time you attempted to slip past him.

Just as your legs were beginning to buckle, the shrill wail of a police siren cried out in the night. Revolving stripes of blue and red skirted the shutters and painted the interior of the house every few seconds.

Bob ripped his teeth out of your arm and recoiled, head whipping towards the front door. His face contorted into a vicious scowl, and a cyan light flared in his eyes. A rumble in his chest evolved into a growl climbing high in his throat, deepening and strengthening into a roar.

He yanked himself away from you and brandished his knife at the doorway. "Don't interrupt us!" Spit flew out of his mouth, dotting the floor in uneven splotches.

Footsteps thundered across the driveway and up the doorstep, and in a flash of metal rising from holsters, a pair of police officers flooded into the living room with their handguns drawn and pointed.

"Stand down, Bob!" shouted the moustachioed officer.

Bob had a feral look in his eye, and as his body shook while his hand clenched the knife, a bloodthirsty rampage on par with a wild animal seemed all but destined.

However, Bob kept his arms at his side and his teeth to himself when the police officers approached him with handcuffs. At the chink of the cuffs latching onto his wrists, his head swerved towards you.

He was led to the doorway, where a police cruiser idled on the street with its lights flashing against the blackness of the twilight. Before Bob was forced out of your sight, his lips curled into a grin that glowed under the moon.

"See you soon, neighbour!"