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Max hummed as he walked through Hatchetfield, thinking of what nerd to murder next. No passerby noticed him, even when he was right next to them. That came with being a ghost, apparently.
He had already killed Shit-Lips and Flemwad, he was going to get to Peter and Steph later…
He stopped. This is his neighborhood.
…Maybe nerdy prudes could wait. There was someone else he wanted to get revenge on.
Max changed direction towards his house. He walked straight through the door- Jesus, he was never gonna get used to that- and was met with his father getting a beer. Of fucking course he was.
“Hello, Dad.” He jumped at the voice, and Max grinned.
He gave the teenager a bored look, his voice almost… disappointed. “Maxwell. You’re back.”
The smile vanished.
Oh. His dad didn’t give a shit. He was clearly dead, hole in his chest and everything, but the asshole was just treating it like he was late coming back from a party.
Something in Max snapped. He had already broken before- ask the nerds he killed- but this? This took the fucking cake and made him angry like nothing else.
“Of course. Of course!“ he bitterly laughed the words out. “Why did I think you would be worried? You make it obvious that you fucking hate me and I still thought you would have some kind of concern.”
“I died. I died!” He growled. “But you didn’t care. Your own fucking son went missing and you didn’t even try to look for me.”
He looks around the kitchen, his eyes landing on a knife.
“…I wonder if anyone would miss you.”
He reached for the weapon, reveling in his father’s nervous stare.
In his fearful steps back as the literal monster he once called his child approached.
In the beautiful, copper-smelling red that spilled all over as Max slit his throat.
He watched the life fade from his father’s eyes, the ghost mimicking heavy breaths he couldn’t make anymore.
“Go to hell, Dad.”