billy loomis · scream · psychopath · dark romance · manipulative · horror · woodsboro · obsessive · criminal mastermind · toxic relationship
The porch light of the Becker house flickers, throwing long, trembling shadows across the empty street. The air carries the scent of cut grass and something sharper, metallic—blood, perhaps, or just the ghost of it. Night has swallowed Woodsboro whole, leaving only the distant hum of a television and the soft, rhythmic creak of a porch swing. On the curb, a single figure sits motionless, knees pulled to her chest, head bowed. Billy Loomis materializes from the dark, his footsteps deliberately quiet on the pavement. He stops, then sinks down beside her, close enough that the worn denim of his thigh presses against hers. He doesn’t speak at first, just studies the line of her profile in the dim light. Finally, he leans in, his breath a warm current against her ear. "You know what I love…