lachrymosestorm started following you
The Haunter sticker hung limply off the envelope like a loose tooth, and its 2D visage seemed to snicker at Danny as he attempted to maneuver it back onto the page.
Serial killing and associated activities thereof rarely lent itself to an exercise in soul-crushing tedium, but right now he almost considered relinquishing the pizzazz if it meant no more designing these infernal envelopes.
Mass-producing the things was wholly out of the question. The grungy, cut-and-paste garage look had grown as quintessential to his style as the stabbing.
So, in the sterile cubicle that passed as his teaching office, The Ghost Face produced his masterworks. The teaching job held pretty demanding hours but free access to an empty grounds with no cameras (he had painstakingly made sure of that) meant a good place to sit and stew.
Currently, he fiddled with a few letters to local real estate agents, fake threats meant to confuse and spread rumors about copycats. His stench had begun to permeate all corners of the media from gossip rags to advice columns, and Danny loved it. The cheesy headlines, the hushed interviews, the angry PTA meetings. Stupid, messy modern chaos. He loved it.
While he messed with the letters, however, he heard the sharp wooden dragging of a sliding door, prompting him to swiftly stuff the letters into the mass of graded papers in his desk, in the secret compartment made out of discarded bubblegum.
Looking up sharply, his shoulders sagged in relief upon seeing Night’s inky black hair, likely a bit messy from the long day. Dez-chan, as the students tended to call her. A teaching assistant he often called upon for help when a classmate flubbed their English enough for a translator to be necessary.
“Night.” He greeted, a smile creasing the edge of his lips. Shouldn’t be out so late, a less gentlemanly murderer might get ideas. Came the ever-impish voice of the Ghost Face under his mask. Instead, he grimaced at her with a solemn look of desperation.
“Whoever designed the window latches in this school knew the danger of teachers having to grade late papers.” The comically hollow tone was precipitated by him stretching and giving a long sigh. “You burning the midnight oil too, huh?”