[ WP ] A serial killer has found his next victim and begins his normal routine of peeking through windows and popping up in mirrors , looking for that rush he gets off on . Unfortunately , his newest victim is a horror movie fan and has constructed his life around the prevention of such jump scares .

He sat across the street from her house, making sure he had all the necessary supplies for the night. Susan Burbank, late twenties, red hair, just like the 23 others before her. He suppressed a grin, humming quietly as he worked, reminiscing over all that had happened these past several months. The first months of his new life, his *real* life. He stopped fighting the urge to smile. 
 
 He could see her through the brightly-lit kitchen window, busying herself with something at the stove, serene and blissfully ignorant of her fate. She had just recently moved to Danby, the little town in the corner of Vermont that he called home. Guessing from the plethora of blockbuster thriller posters, t-shirts, and other knick knacks littering the house, she'd most likely heard of this place through all the recent coverage surrounding his exploits. A fan of his work—the media would have a field day. Not that they were n't enjoying themselves already. Always one to play with his food, the sensationalism and drama of the crimes was his favorite part, and he continuously tried to up the ante. There were a few things he always kept the same, calling cards of sorts—his victims were all young, red-headed women, all residents of Danby, and at each crime scene he left something red, just out of place enough for people to catch on. Within these parameters, he tried to get creative. One woman he left diced up in her bathtub, filled to the brim with tomato sauce. He painted all of one victim's walls bright red, her body in a red dress to match. His personal favorite was the time he'd sewn into the girl's stomach a bright red cellphone. The scream of the maid that found her when he called it coud've been heard miles away. The headlines were splattered with every pun and nickname imaginable; `` The Crimson Killer'', `` Added Red-Head Dead'', `` Slaying in Scarlet''. The soon-to-be ghost town came alive again; places stopped closing and old places reopened, friends moved back in and people stopped talking about moving away, folks could finally rest easy without having to worry about the impending economic collapse. Nor would they ever have to from now on. After this, no one would ever forget Danby ever again. And they would never forget him. 
 
 Almost time. Like clockwork, Susan appeared on the front step, ready for her nighttime jog. He pulled his mask from the duffel bag. It looked *mostly* human, but was just different enough to be something `` else'' and incredibly unsettling. A strange man coming at you was scary enough, but he'd found that what scared people most was what they did n't understand. Not only did the mask help hide his identity, but it created the illusion that he was not human at all but something unknown, even supernatural. Even better, he'd allowed the police to catch a few shots of him with the thing on near some of the crime scenes, so that when his victims spotted him all they knew was the horrible future that awaited them. All these factors helped add to the fear in his victims; their struggles, their screams, the fear in their eyes. That was the best part: the fear in their eyes. 
 
 Following silently for a while, he positioned himself behind the girl at the end of a long, narrow, dimly lit street. He made a slight scraping sound with his shoe against the concrete, at just the right volume. The girl slowed and stiffened. After a heartbeat, she turned. And saw him. 
 
 He started to run. 
 
 With unlikely speed, Susan sprinted towards her house. This did n't bother him as he did n't plan on getting her in the street. What did bother him was the look on her face. *That* look. Or rather, the lack of it. The moment when they see him, that look of dawning realization, had been absent from her face, replaced by an undecipherable expression. Mildly troubled, he continued the pursuit, his worry quickly giving way to a fevered anticipation. As a fan of his work, Susan would be priviledged to something a little more elegant than the usual whore. He planned to completely empty her out and stuff her full of dark red rose petals, leaving more scattered throughout the house and yard. While she was still alive and screaming, of course. 
 
 Susan reached her door and unlocked it after minimal fumbling with her keyring, slamming it behind her. Not that that made any difference, as he was going through the bathroom window. He wanted to make her feel helpless and hunted first. Make her feel afraid. He easily slid the window open, having unlocked and oiled it a few nights before, and slipped inside. 
 
 Something immediately collided with his face, forcing his head to the ground. He briefly registers his own panicked confusion and the red-haired figure above him before the chloroform takes effect, and he blacks out. 
 
 
 
 ************** 
 
 
 `` Okay, open your eyes!'' 
 
 Trent Burbank did as he was told. His wife always loved planning surprises and giving gifts; he knew she had tried particularly hard for his birthday this year, and by the tone of her voice he guessed this gift was a big deal. He was n't wrong. 
 
 He let out a small gasp and a long low whistle. 
 
 `` I ca n't believe it, how did you get this?'' 
 
 She smiled, delighted at his reaction. 
 
 `` Honestly, I was expecting it to be a little more difficult.'' 
 
 He laughed, shaking his head and pulling his wife in for a kiss. He gingerly takes the mask out of the box. 
 
 `` Let's go put this with the others. Where to next?''
