The heart acoustic (Ghostface x reader)

𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜

You looked up to the top of the staircase, praying to whatever deity merciful enough to listen that the source of the sound wasn't something murder-y.  Curled up and struggling to get to his feet was William.  He was holding his chest and scowling in pain, and he tripped on his own feet, sending him tumbling down the stairs.

You rushed over to make sure he was alright, only to see multiple stab wounds in his chest.  The liquid surrounding them and staining his shirt seemed to pink to be blood, but maybe he just had a blood disease or something?

He stumbled as he tried to use the wall to help him to his feet.  You quickly grabbed his arms and helped him up, trying to get a good look at his injuries.

"(y/n)?  What are you doing here," he asked.  "The killer's here, they could-"

You quickly interrupted him by pointing at the door.  You had locked both the knob and the deadbolt, but Stuart and Randal were still shouting and struggling around outside.  William seemed to understand, and quickly held out his hand.

"It's okay.  Give me the gun (y/n)."

You looked at him hesitantly.  Was this really a smart choice?  You had been proven time and time again not to trust people, and that's exactly what William was asking of you.  But you had deducted that the killer was outside...

You took a deep breath and handed William the revolver.  He slowly made his way over to the door, unlocked the two locks, and opened the door slightly.  Randal came flying in, and William slammed the door back shut. 

"Stu's flipped out!  He's gone mad," Randal shouted.

William looked over at him, and holy shit. 

It's decided: you're never trusting anyone ever again.

William had a wicked grin sprawled out across his face, and he didn't look like the boy you had those few interactions with.  He looked like a killer in a scary movie.

"We all go a little mad some times," he smirked.

And with that, he raised the gun, and shot Randy.  Randy went flying back, and crashed into a small end table pushed up against the wall, his body shattering the decorative vase that had been on top.

"Anthony Perkins, 'Psycho,'" William said, quoting his little one liner.

You looked at him in horror, and he stuck a finger into one of his 'stab wounds.'  He covered it in the 'blood,' and stuck his finger in his mouth to lick it off.

"Corn syrup," he elaborated.  "The same stuff they used as pigs blood in 'Carrie.'"

"You're insane..." you managed to say.

Ah yes, insult the killer.  Very good choice.

William's eyes lit up when you said that.  That phrase was printed across his abdomen, along with the other one.  It was definitely confusing for his parents and childhood doctors, but it all began clicking together in his head when he saw your reaction to his question that fateful day.  He already had his plan nailed down by that point.

William Loomis was never one for variables, especially when he had a very specific endgoal in mind.  But you... you were a variable he was willing to keep around.  He hoped it wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass, and luckily for him, it hadn't.

"Well hello there," he said with a cheshire grin.  "This is quite the the turn of events."

You began to back away, only to bump into someone.  You turned around and saw Stu standing there, an unreadable expression on his face.  He quickly enveloped you in a hug, and you latched onto him in fear.

But, he reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a little white box.  On it was a speaker and a microphone, and it was about half an inch thick.  He held the box up to his mouth, and smirked.

"Surprise (n/n)," he said.

You quickly began trying to push yourself away from him, recognizing the sinister voice as the one that called and killed Casey.  The two men began to cackle.  Of course they found this amusing.  They had spent so long dreaming about what you would be like, and here you were!

And now you thought you could run!  You silly goose!

"What's the matter (n/n)," William asked.  "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

"You see, it's all part of the game!  It's called 'Guess how I'm gonna die,'" Stuart shouted.  "It's a fun game!  See, we ask you a question, and if you get it right... BOOGAH!!  You die!"

"You get it wrong... you die," William finished.

You felt a few tears slip from your eyes.  You hadn't even realized they were building up.  But even now, you were still trying your best to hold them in.  You refused to give these two that power over you.

"And you might be thinking that we're crazy, and never going to get away with it," William continued.

"We actually prefer the term psychotic," Stuart cut in.

"Yeah... but we will get away with it.  Just look at Cotton Weary.  You'll never believe how easy he was to frame."

Cotton Weary.  They said the name like it should mean something to you, but you couldn't remember hearing before now.  Although, due to context clues, it was pretty easy to figure out that they had pinned a past murder on him and gotten away with it.

"Watch a few movies, take a few notes... it was fun," Stuart told you.

You finally managed to push yourself away from Stuart, and you began sprinting in the direction he had come from.  You assumed there was a back door or open window, just some sort of entrance that you could use as an exit.  There had to be something.

You made it into the kitchen and were about to dive into the living room, only for Stuart to swing out from around a corner.

"Where you going," he asked with a smirk.

You turned back to make a break for the front door, only to see William enter the room of food.  Then you locked eyes with the knife block.  You ran over and quickly grabbed a knife to use as a weapon.  The two men laughed at this like it were a toddlers antics.

They knew that no matter how hard you tried to seem strong and brave, you couldn't use that.  The thought of the sight of real blood still freaked you out.  You never bent down to check on Randy.  He could be very much alive, and you wouldn't know.

How fucked up was your mind?

On the one hand, they wanted to make sure you were okay.  On the other...

This could work out in their favor.

A/n: SOMEONE COMMENTED THIS IN THE LAST CHAPTER AND I'M MAKING IT CANNON.

Stu never cared about Tate.  Once he was old enough to comprehend the idea of soulmates, whenever he was alone he'd daydream about what they were like, and how'd they'd meet, considering the phrase was... strange, to say the least.