AUGUST 2, 1986 – 7:45 PM
The sun bleeds out over the quiet streets. Jake stands at the mirror in his bedroom, fixing his collar. The radio plays softly — Duran Duran's "Hungry Like the Wolf."
From the hallway:
Grandma (calling out): "You sure you're gonna be okay out there, sweetheart? These parties get wild, you know…"
Jake hears his grandmother's voice echo down the hall, but he doesn't answer. He gives one last glance at his reflection in the mirror, adjusts his jacket, and grabs his keys. The room is dim, the sound of the radio filling the silence. It's 1986, and the world outside is full of possibility — or so he thinks.
He slips out the front door, careful not to make too much noise, and steps into the cool night air. The smell of wet pavement lingers in the breeze. His grandma's worried face, all those kind words, fades behind him as he walks toward his beat-up car — a rusted Chevy Nova — parked by the curb. It's a short drive to the party, a house just a few miles away in a part of town Jake doesn't know too well.
As he drives through the quiet streets, the dim glow of streetlights flickers in his rearview mirror. His mind starts to wander — to the invitation he got earlier that week. He doesn't really know the girl who invited him. Jessica, her name was. But he heard some things… rumors…
CUT TO: 9:00 PM – The Party.
The music is loud, heavy metal mixed with the sounds of laughter and shouting. People crowd the house, spilling out onto the porch. The walls are lined with posters of bands Jake's heard of but doesn't listen to — Judas Priest, Metallica, Slayer. Red Solo cups everywhere, a haze of cigarette smoke in the air.
Jake steps through the door, scanning the scene.
Jessica, the girl who invited him, spots him from the kitchen. She waves him over.
Jessica: "Hey, Jake! You made it! Come on, come meet some people." Her smile is wide, maybe a little too wide. She looks different tonight, more confident, her hair teased high and her makeup thick.
But as she gestures for him to follow, something about the way she does it — too eager, too fast — feels off
AUGUST 2, 1986 – 9:03 PM
Inside the Party House
Jake pushes past a couple making out by the hallway and steps into the kitchen. The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead. Jessica stands by the counter, sipping from a red cup, flanked by two other people — a guy with long blond hair and a denim vest covered in band patches, and a girl blowing smoke from a clove cigarette.
Jessica: "Jake, this is Ryan and Mallory. They're cool."
Ryan nods, barely interested. Mallory smirks, sizing Jake up like he's new prey.
Jessica leans in closer to Jake, her voice dropping a little.
Jessica (whispering): "Don't mind them. They're always like that. You want a drink?"
Jake: "Sure. I'll have whatever you're having."
Jessica's eyes light up.
Jessica: "Atta boy."
She pours something dark into a plastic cup from a bottle labeled Old Crow — cheap bourbon, strong and bitter. She tops it off with a splash of soda. No measuring. No ice.
Jake takes the cup and sips. It burns going down, but he doesn't flinch.
Jessica: "So… I'm glad you came. Most guys don't show when they barely know you."
She leans against the counter, her eyes locked on his.
Jake: "Yeah… I figured why not."
He glances around the kitchen. Ryan and Mallory are gone. Just the two of them now.
Jessica (smirking): "You always this quiet?"
She walks past him, toward the hallway. Then turns, one eyebrow raised.
Jessica: "C'mon. Let's get out of the kitchen. Too many eyes here."
She leads him down the hall — past closed doors, loud music behind some, silence behind others — and opens one near the end. A bedroom. Dimly lit. A lava lamp glows on the dresser. Posters on the walls — The Cure, Siouxsie and the Banshees, a sketchy black-and-white one of Charles Manson. That last one is torn slightly… as if someone tried to rip it down, then changed their mind.
Jessica shuts the door behind them.
Jessica: "So, Jake… what's your story?"
She sits on the bed, crossing one leg over the other.
"You got secrets?"
Jake leans against the dresser, holding the cup loosely in one hand.
Jake: "Nothing special. Just me and my grandma."
Jessica tilts her head.
Jessica: "Your parents?"
Jake (shrugs): "Gone. One left, one died. Grandma raised me. She's sweet… always worried about me. Thinks the world's more dangerous than it is."
Jessica smiles, but there's something cold behind her eyes.
Jessica: "Maybe she's not wrong."
Jake says nothing. The silence lingers — thick and uncomfortable.
Jessica leans forward.
Jessica: "You ever feel like… there's something inside you? Something waiting?"
She taps her chest with a finger.
Jessica: "Like, people think they know you, but if they really saw what was in here…"
She pauses.
Jessica: "They'd never look at you the same."
Jake doesn't answer right away. He looks at her — really looks.
Then he hears something. A knock. Sharp. Two raps on the door.
Jessica's smile drops for just a moment.
Jessica (loudly): "It's busy. Go away."
Silence.
Then a faint voice from the hallway:
Male Voice: "He shouldn't be here…"
Jake's blood runs a little cold.
Jessica: "Ignore that."
She gets up and walks over to him, close now.
Jessica: "You're not like them, are you?"
Jake doesn't flinch.
Jake: "What do you mean, like them?"
Jessica studies him for a beat. Then she smiles — but it's different this time. Not flirtatious. Not friendly. More like... amused.
Jessica: "You know. The ones who pretend. Who follow rules. Who act like they've got everything figured out."
She circles around Jake slowly, still talking.
Jessica: "But some of us… we're just wired different. You ever feel angry for no reason? Like something in your head just clicks off? And suddenly everything's clear?"
She stops behind him now.
Jessica (whispering): "You ever dream about hurting someone?"
The room feels colder.
Jake hears movement outside the door. Footsteps… then nothing.
Jessica walks back to the bed and lies down, staring at the ceiling.
Jessica: "Forget it. You're probably just another quiet kid from nowhere."
She tosses a lighter up in the air, catching it lazily.
Jessica: "Party's dying anyway. Everyone's just waiting for the fight."
Jake: "…What fight?"
Jessica grins.
Jessica: "It's not a party until someone bleeds."
AUGUST 2, 1986 – 11:48 PM
Driving Home
The party died down around 11. Jake didn't drink much after that first cup. Just drifted from room to room — watched people yell, flirt, wrestle over a boombox. Some guy punched a wall. A girl cried in the hallway over nothing.
Jessica disappeared halfway through the night. Jake never saw her again.
Now he drives home, headlights slicing through the night. Duran Duran plays again, faint on the radio. The same song from earlier.
"I'm on the hunt, I'm after you…"
The air in the car feels heavier than before.
He pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. The house is dark. Grandma's asleep.
Jake sits for a moment. He thinks about what Jessica said.
> "You ever dream about hurting someone?"
AUGUST 3 – DECEMBER 1986
Time Passes
The weeks blur. Jake finishes his summer job at the auto shop. Goes back to high school — senior year. Same teachers, same halls. Same kids who barely notice him. He eats lunch alone most days. Nobody really bothers him, but nobody really talks to him either.
He tries to forget about Jessica.
But he can't.
Sometimes he sees her in the halls — or thinks he does. Once he got a note in his locker. Just a torn scrap of notebook paper.
> "They'll all know who you are soon enough."
No name. No explanation.
Sometimes he wakes up from strange dreams — blood on his hands, a mirror cracking, someone screaming just offscreen.
He starts to feel things he can't explain:
Disgust at small talk.
Resentment toward loud, popular kids.
A strange calm when he imagines… shutting them up.
DECEMBER 24, 1986 – 10:43 PM
Christmas Eve
Snow falls quietly outside the window.
Jake sits on the couch. Grandma's asleep in her chair, Bible in her lap, TV glowing in the background with an old black-and-white Christmas film.
Jake stares out the window. There's a knife in the kitchen. He saw it earlier while helping with dinner — a clean, sharp one. The thought lingered.
He gets up and walks to the hallway mirror.
Looks at himself.
The Christmas lights blink red and green behind him.
He doesn't blink.
He smiles — just a little.
Something has changed.
Something inside him… woke up.
FLASHBACK – AUGUST 1979
Jake's Childhood Home – Age 9
The sound of flies buzzing. A kitchen window left open. Summer heat presses against the small house like a hand.
Jake is on the floor, sitting cross-legged. In front of him: a line of ants crawling across the tile.
He watches them for a long time. Quiet. Motionless.
His mother's voice yells in the background. Something about money. A man's voice yells back.
Jake flinches, but doesn't move. Just stares at the ants.
He lifts a magnifying glass. Sunlight through the window sharpens to a point. He holds it steady. The ants begin to smoke, then curl.
He doesn't look away.
---
Later that night, he hides under the bed, clutching a small rubber toy — its face half-torn. His mom is gone. The man is gone. The house is too quiet.
Grandma finds him the next morning, curled up in silence. He doesn't cry. Just looks at her.
Jake (age 9): "They deserved it."
She never asks what he means.
She just pulls him close.
---
BACK TO PRESENT – DECEMBER 24, 1986
Jake stands in the hallway, looking into the mirror.
His reflection flickers slightly — maybe it's just the lights.
Or maybe it's her.
Jessica stands behind him, smiling.
> Jessica (but it's really Jake):
"You ready now?"
He nods.
He picks up his coat. Opens the front door.
The snow crunches under his boots.
Tonight… he'll find someone.
DECEMBER 24, 1986 – 11:18 PM
A Few Blocks From Home
Jake walks under flickering streetlights, the snow falling heavier now, quieting the world around him. His breath puffs out in short clouds. In one pocket — a folding utility knife he grabbed from the kitchen drawer. The kind Grandma uses for cutting rope in the garden.
It feels heavy now. Warm.
He walks for twenty minutes. No plan. No destination. He passes shuttered shops, parked cars covered in snow, Christmas lights glowing in empty houses.
Then he sees her.
A woman, maybe mid-30s, getting out of a car in front of a small duplex. She's alone. Holding a paper bag with groceries — milk, bread, and something wrapped in foil. Last-minute holiday stuff. She fumbles for her keys with one hand.
Jake stops at the edge of the sidewalk. Just watching.
She doesn't notice him.
The world is silent.
Jessica's voice (his own voice) floats in his head:
> "It's not about hate. It's about feeling everything go still. Like you're the only thing that matters."
The woman turns. Sees him.
She hesitates.
Woman: "...You okay?"
Jake tilts his head slightly.
Jake (quietly): "Cold night."
She nods nervously, starts to unlock her door.
Too late.
---
Fade to Black.
We don't see it. Not fully. Just:
A sudden rustle in the snow.
The groceries hit the ground.
A faint gurgling sound.
Jake's heavy breathing.
Her face — wide-eyed, confused, then still.
---
DECEMBER 25, 1986 – 2:14 AM
Back Home
Jake strips off his jacket in the garage. Washes his hands at the outdoor sink. Scrubs until his knuckles turn red.
In the mirror, his reflection stares back.
No Jessica.
Just Jake.
Calm. Blank. Rewired.
His first kill.
And no one saw it coming.
END
Chapter 2..... 2025 September 10th!