Lethal •My Jeff The Killer Origin Story•

Part. 1, New House

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4203 Words.

The morning sky was gloomy, clouds flooded over the sun like a vast deadly sea. Rain fell in large pelts onto the sidewalk, staining it dark gray.

The droplets slid down a dull, plain house, before plummeting into the street gutter, along with any strip of enjoyment the foundation said house could've held. The paint coating was almost completely eaten away, being the first sign that this weather must be common around here.
A moving truck sat along the damp sidewalk, and had the obnoxious drawing of a mattress on the side, along with the name of the company in tremendous bold letters. It was a hideous yellow, that stood out amongst the dull suburban street.

A family of four, all lurking under their umbrellas to protect themselves from the rain, stood near the truck after just exiting it, witnessing the sad spectacle of their new home.

Their disappointment could be seen from miles away.

One of the members, a teenage boy with freshly trimmed honey-brown hair, smiles. His cyan eyes looked around the hazy predicament of the house in a joking manner as he mindlessly played around with the neon wristbands around his arm, occasionally snapping it against his wrist." I think It's totally cool," He spoke, and his younger -- rougher around the edges, brother sneers a chuckle next to him, browsing through a paper that he found on the ground. It was a missing person report.

He tossed it down again, turning his fawn-toned face upwards to show his grimace.

"Whatever. I still think we could've stayed in New Jersey, while Dad left for this hell." The teen's father gives him a taunting flick on the arm, and the murky brunette rolls the gloomy green eyes of his. He was the most upset out of them all.

The older man shook his head at his youngest son, before turning back, his just as gloomy brown eyes watching, disappointed, under his long black hair, most of which was tied back in a ponytail with a thick scrunchie.

This isn't what he expected at all. He was guaranteed a house in a safe environment, but now he was glued to his family here.

The small family had moved from New Jersey to a sleepy little town named Rosswood because the boys' father had gotten a promotion at work, earning them to be stuck in this 'hell' for a year at the least.

"Either way, we have to make the best of the circumstances. It's not every day you get offered such a promotion." Their mother, a normally strict-positive woman, announces in a depleted voice.

She combed her hand through her blonde hair while she went over her purple coat and ivory summer dress, hoping it was good enough for her upheld image.

"Right. Because we haven't heard that for hours." The blonde lets out, grinning. Their mother laughs, and kisses his cheek." You know I'm just proud of your father." Said man awkwardly chuckled, deciding to seize the first step into the dying-soaked lawn.

The family man wasn't exactly stand out looking, per say-- he had a long face and skinnier build. His hands held calluses from hard work, and his hair was thinner than you'd think it'd be. His brown eyes were tired, and most often red from his smoking habit. Said smoking habit took a toll on other things as well; he wasn't miraculously smart, and wasn't at all kind. His wife was the real star: beach blonde highschool cheerleader, it surprised everyone, even them both when she suddenly revealed she was pregnant. Margaret was pretty, Margaret was likeable enough to keep face in front of others. She was perfect, perfect enough to hide the plainness of her husband.

Peter, the boy's father, hauls open the small metal gate. He grumbled in distaste for the pitch it made when the rust ground together. More to fix, and all he can think about is how tired he is...