The night air was heavy, as though the world itself was holding its breath. Jason's house stood at the edge of the street, dim lights burning inside, a place suffocated by grief. They had buried Jason only a few days ago, and his family had not yet recovered from the horror. His mother barely ate, his father drank himself to sleep, and his siblings moved through the house like shadows, too broken to understand the depth of what had happened.
But Daniel was not moved by grief. He saw their tears as weakness, and tonight, he would turn their mourning into screams.
He had stalked their home all day, learning their patterns. He knew when they ate, when they prayed, when they collapsed into restless sleep. Now, at the dead of night, he slipped through the back gate with the silence of a shadow. In his hands was not only the cold steel of a knife but also the certainty of what must be done. His rage demanded it. His sister's ghost demanded it. Jason's blood had been only the beginning — now the bloodline itself would drown in torment.
The Game Begins
The house was quiet, save for the faint creak of an old ceiling fan spinning overhead. Daniel pushed the door open, slow and deliberate, like a predator entering a cage where its prey was trapped. The smell of stale alcohol and unfinished meals lingered in the air.
Jason's father was asleep on the couch, his shirt unbuttoned, his chest rising and falling heavily. Daniel stood over him for a long moment, listening to the man's uneven snores. He could have killed him instantly, but that was not what he wanted.
Daniel leaned close, so close that his whisper brushed the man's ear.
"Jason's waiting for you…"
The man stirred, his eyes snapping open. Before he could even react, Daniel drove the knife through his palm, pinning his hand to the armrest of the couch. The man screamed, thrashing, but Daniel pressed a gloved hand over his mouth.
"Shhh," Daniel hissed, eyes glinting. "Don't wake them yet. We'll play… one at a time."
The father whimpered, tears welling, but Daniel only smiled. Slowly, with a twisted patience, he slid the blade upward, carving through flesh until it tore from the man's wrist. The scream that followed was muffled, strangled, but the pain shook the entire house awake.
The Family Awakens
Upstairs, footsteps pounded. Jason's mother rushed to the staircase, her nightgown dragging across the floor, her eyes wide with terror. Behind her were Jason's younger sister and brother, barely teenagers, still clutching pillows as if they could shield them from what was happening.
"Papa!" the girl screamed.
Her father was already writhing on the couch, his arm a mangled mess of blood and bone. He reached out with his good hand, trying to warn them, but Daniel turned, his shadow rising over the family like death itself.
"Good," Daniel said softly. "You're all awake. It wouldn't be fun if you slept through this."
He shoved the father off the couch, letting him crash to the floor. Then, slowly, he stepped toward the staircase, each footfall deliberate, echoing through the house like a drumbeat of doom.
The children clung to their mother, trembling. She tried to push them back, her voice shaking as she shouted, "Please! We've done nothing—"
"You raised him," Daniel interrupted coldly. "You gave birth to the monster who killed my sister. And now… you'll all follow him."
Breaking Them Apart
Daniel grabbed the mother by the hair, dragging her down the staircase as she kicked and screamed. The children cried, begging him to stop, but Daniel only laughed. He loved the music of their terror.
He tied the mother to a dining chair in the center of the living room, facing her bleeding husband. Then he turned to the children, his voice mocking, almost gentle.
"Run. Hide. I'll find you."
The siblings froze, too scared to move. Daniel clapped his hands once, loud and sharp.
"RUN!" he roared.
They scattered in panic — the boy rushing upstairs, the girl darting into the kitchen. Daniel chuckled, wiping the blade across his sleeve, leaving streaks of crimson.
"This is how we play," he told the parents. "One by one, I'll bring them back. And you'll watch."
The father tried to rise, but his strength was gone. He collapsed back onto the blood-soaked carpet, helpless, tears streaking down his face.
The Daughter
Daniel went into the kitchen first. The girl had crawled under the table, hands pressed over her mouth to stifle her sobs. Daniel crouched, his eyes meeting hers in the shadows.
"Peekaboo," he whispered.
The girl screamed as he grabbed her ankle, yanking her out. She kicked wildly, but Daniel slammed her against the table, rattling the dishes. He raised the knife, then paused, tilting his head.
"No, not yet. Let's make this hurt."
He dragged her back into the living room, tossing her at her mother's feet. The mother sobbed, clutching at her daughter, but Daniel shoved her back.
He pulled a candle from the table, lighting it calmly as though nothing were wrong. Then, with terrifying patience, he tipped the wax over the girl's arm. She shrieked as the hot liquid burned her skin, twisting in agony.
"You feel that?" Daniel said, his voice calm, almost soothing. "That's what my sister felt. Pain. Fear. Helplessness. And she was younger than you."
He poured again, this time across her face. The smell of scorched flesh filled the room. The mother screamed, the father begged, but Daniel only pressed a finger to his lips.
"Quiet. She needs to focus."
Then, in one swift motion, he slit the girl's throat, letting the blood spray across the mother's chest. The woman wailed, her body shaking violently as her daughter went limp in her arms.
The Son
The boy was still upstairs, hidden in a closet, trembling uncontrollably. Daniel walked up the staircase slowly, dragging the knife along the wall, the screeching sound echoing like nails on a coffin.
"I know where you are," Daniel sang softly. "You can't hide forever."
The boy held his breath, praying Daniel would pass. But when the closet door swung open, the blade glinting in the dark, his hope shattered.
Daniel yanked him out, pinning him against the wall.
"You remind me of Jason," Daniel said, staring at him. "Coward. Weak. Always hiding behind someone else."
The boy sobbed, shaking his head. "Please… I didn't… I didn't do anything!"
Daniel smiled. "Neither did my sister."
He dragged the boy down to the living room, throwing him beside his dead sister. The mother screamed again, begging Daniel to kill her instead, but he ignored her.
He pulled a hammer from the fireplace mantle, twirling it in his hand. Then, slowly, he brought it down on the boy's knee. The crack was sickening, followed by a howl of pure agony.
"One," Daniel whispered.
He smashed the other knee.
"Two."
The boy writhed, clawing at the floor, his voice breaking into choked cries. Daniel crouched close, whispering into his ear.
"You'll never run again. Just like my sister never ran when they dragged her away."
Then he brought the hammer down on the boy's skull, again and again, until the cries stopped and the floor was painted red.
The Mother
Now only the parents remained — the father crawling weakly across the floor, the mother still bound to the chair, her face streaked with blood and tears.
Daniel turned to her, his expression calm, almost serene.
"You get to watch him die before you."
He lifted the father by his hair, dragging him across the floor, and plunged the knife into his chest. Not once, but over and over, savoring each stab, each spurt of blood. The man gurgled, choking, until his body finally went still.
The mother screamed until her voice broke, thrashing against the ropes.
Daniel knelt before her, wiping the blood from his blade.
"Do you know what the worst part is?" he whispered. "Jason begged too. Just like you. But no one cared when my sister begged."
The mother sobbed, shaking her head. "Please… kill me quickly…"
Daniel smiled coldly. "No."
He leaned close, his lips brushing her ear. "You'll go slow."
He pressed the knife against her cheek, carving a line down her face. She screamed, thrashing violently, blood pouring down her chin. Then he carved another, then another, until her face was a mask of crimson.
Finally, when her body went limp from blood loss, Daniel tilted her head back and slit her throat with a deliberate, final stroke.
The Silence After
The house was silent again, except for the dripping of blood. Daniel stood in the center of the carnage, surrounded by bodies — Jason's entire bloodline erased in one night.
He looked around at the wreckage, breathing heavily. His rage had been fed, but not satisfied. There were still more to kill.
Without another word, he wiped the blade clean on the mother's dress, stood, and walked into the night.
Behind him, Jason's house stood as a grave — not of mourning, but of horror.
Daniel's war was far from over.