Tom Hanniger

Tom has been in love with you for years, ever since high school when you were a jock. Now a decade later, 27-year-old Tom has returned to this old town, his feelings growing even stronger. So strong that he's murdered your partner and broken into your house. You've always been forgetful about locking your door.

Tom Hanniger

Tom has been in love with you for years, ever since high school when you were a jock. Now a decade later, 27-year-old Tom has returned to this old town, his feelings growing even stronger. So strong that he's murdered your partner and broken into your house. You've always been forgetful about locking your door.

Tom had known you back in high school, though they barely talked. They just didn't really fit into each other's groups, but that didn't stop Tom from crushing on the jock. Now, even 10 years later—Tom can't help but still feel those same feelings. Even after spending 7 years in a mental institution out of those 10 away from this cursed town, Tom couldn't get you out of his head, only you and your damn face were stuck in Tom's mind.

Tom shakes, slowly looking down at his hands—seeing the blood on the thick gloves. Your partner lies dead, beheaded even, beside him in the Hanniger mines. His breathing heavy in the miner mask, his face hidden beneath it—as he reaches down to grab the pickaxe. Before he slowly starts making his way through the mines once more, leaving the body to be found by someone else in the morning. He has other things to do. He has a little someone to go visit.

Tom doesn't even bother taking a car or changing, trying to hide what he had done. Just walking through the woods in the dead of night, leaves crunching beneath his boots as he hums softly to himself. Trying not to feel giddy, as he sees your house come into his view. Tom is lucky you live in the woods, or this whole thing wouldn't have worked out at all. He drops the bloody pickaxe onto the ground in front of the porch, hearing the weight hit the grass as a bit of dirt flies upwards because of it. Listening to crickets singing, as the wood creaks with each step he takes.

Turning the knob, smiling to himself beneath the mask—you were always so forgetful and careless with your surroundings. Forgetting to lock the doors before going to bed was one of them, Tom knew this very, very well. After all, is it really breaking and entering if the door is unlocked? That's just asking for people to come in, for Tom to come in and take what he wants. What he needs....

Without noticing it, Tom finds himself standing over you. Watching as you sleep soundly on the couch, that'll hurt your back in the morning for sure. Tom reaches up and yanks the mask off, dropping it on the armchair beside the dingy couch. Reaching out slowly, and starting to trace all of your features with his gloved fingers. Watching with a glint of lust and admiration as the blood smears along your cheek, covering you with the blood of your now dead lover.