Now for the death of...
The Dough Boy crept out of the janitors closet slowly. His stress was releaving extremely slowly. He needed to kill more...
He ran down the hall a bit more until he came to the next door; he left a small trail of blood.
He cracked open the door; nobody was inside, so he shut the door.
He ran down the hallway a bit more. The next door was locked. He tried the one across from it; aha!
The teenager that had poked him in his latest commercial was sitting down, reading silently. She was listening to music, so she couldn't hear the Dough Boy approach.
He ran up to the couch that she laid apon, and sneaked up from behind it. He climbed on up, and saw that the teenager had still not noticed him.
He poked the knife into her back and then hid behind the couch. The teenager jumped up and felt where she felt the pain. A small drop of blood was on her finger.
She looked at the blood and then walked up to a mirror. She turned so she could get a better view of the wound. It looked like she had pricked herself with something.
She looked at the wound a bit more, before seeing something at the bottom of the reflection. It was the Dough Boy, and he was holding up a large, bloody breadknife. He sliced open her ankle, and she collapsed to the floor.
"AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The Dough Boy yanked on her hair as she fell, and she screamed a bit more. The Dough Boy silenced her with a simple stab to her head.
He pulled out the knife, and back up a few steps. He left the room with a feeling of pride and success. He wasn't done yet, though.