Killer Geek (SLOW UPDATES)

Morning came, but it didn’t feel like morning. It felt like an extension of the nightmare I barely survived the night through.

The sunlight that spilled across the dorm floor looked sickly, pale. I hadn’t slept. Maybe I drifted in and out, but I couldn’t tell. I was still in the clothes I wore yesterday, my blanket tangled around me like a shield I hadn’t dared put down.

The phone was still lying facedown on the carpet. I hadn’t picked it up again. I hadn’t even moved.

A knock at the door snapped me back to reality.
Three quick taps. Sharp. Immediate.

I jumped so hard I nearly fell off the bed.

Another knock, louder this time.

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat as I stood, legs shaky, and padded toward the door. I pressed my eye against the peephole, my breath catching until it hurt.

It was Randy.

Just Randy.

He was shifting on his feet, holding a coffee tray in one hand and a small paper bag in the other, wearing his usual worn jeans and a college hoodie, his hair a mess like he'd just rolled out of bed.

Normal. Safe. Familiar.

But after last night, even the familiar felt… warped.

I hesitated a second too long, and Randy noticed. His brow furrowed and he leaned closer to the door.
"Y/N? It's just me. You okay?"

I unlocked the door and cracked it open, peering up at him.

He smiled — small, tired, but real. "I come bearing gifts." He wiggled the bag. "Bagels. And coffee that will probably burn a hole through your stomach."

For a second, I just stared at him. Like if I blinked too hard, he'd disappear and something else would be standing there instead.

But he didn’t disappear. He just looked worried.

"I... yeah. Thanks," I said, voice raw like I'd been screaming all night.

Randy’s smile dropped a little as he studied my face. He lowered the tray, his free hand hovering like he wanted to touch me but wasn’t sure if he should.

"Bad night?" he asked gently.

I nodded, barely.

"Want me to kill whoever it was in your dream?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood — but his voice was tight underneath. Like he already knew it wasn’t just a bad dream.

I stepped back and let him in.

As he crossed the room, I glanced toward the window, half-expecting to see the black figure still standing there, waiting.

But the street was empty.

Quiet.

Normal.

It didn’t feel like enough.

Randy set the tray down on my desk and turned back to me. "You wanna talk about it?"

I opened my mouth — but the words lodged in my throat.

Ghostface. The phone call. The rules.

The part of me that was terrified he would think I was crazy. Or worse — that he would know exactly what I was talking about.

Instead, I said, "It was nothing. Just...bad dreams."

A lie.

A bad one.