Picture, if you will, an apartment building. Someone slowly creeped through the building. A doorknob turned, but the door refused to open. A careful jab of the knife blade allowed entry through the locked door. This stalker stepped through the entry, listening. In the distance, water sprayed from a shower head. The creep with the knife calmly walked through the kitchen, down the hallway, and into the master bedroom, lit only by candlelight.
A turn revealed the bathroom door open. Inside, a flickering candle illuminated a closed shower curtain that blurred the features of the woman within. She cursed as she forced herself to take a cold shower, but the emergency made it necessary. They had water, but no power to heat it with.
A hand yanked aside the curtain while the other raised the knife. It plunged downward, into the soft flesh of the screaming woman. Again and again, it buried itself in her. Again and again, blood sprayed out over the shower tile as it pulled free from her. After a minute, the screams stop. The candle’s glow revealed blood swirling down the drain.
Stopping in front of the mirror, the slasher looks upon themselves…and that’s when I saw my wig had fallen to one side during all the commotion. I adjusted it and pulled out lipstick for a touch-up. I pressed them together, then released them with a popping sound. “There we go. Don’t want to walk around with my makeup all smudged. They might mistake me for some sort of Psycho, even though I wouldn’t even hurt a fly.”
After that, I marched right back down to the basement in my heels. I didn’t want to go far to do all that creeping and killing because of those damn heels.
See, I had this idea in the wake of my BZ-induced drug trip. Halloween approached, and I’d done nothing in honor of the holiday. Sure, I planned on respecting the Halloween truce, but that still left a few days before and a few days afterward.
And I couldn’t give up on Venus. She’s been running around, doing all this heroic stuff. Rescuing cats from trees, helping protect aid workers, even patrolling like crazy. Her nerves had to be a bit frayed.
On top of that, the Feds didn’t take the assault on their building very well. As attacks went, it didn’t take much. They did a lot of damage to themselves. The powered ones probably had a few bad episodes, but any of the higher-ups who had access to files only needed one bout of paranoia to start deleting and shredding. That left them in bad shape, but out for my blood. I’d sooner give them other bodily fluids instead.
So my plan, as much as I could ever be said to have one, boiled down to luring Venus into another situation where she and I could duel to the death, albeit one that would inevitably favor her this time. Not that I wanted it to, but a woman in her situation tended to survive and kill the antagonist in the scenario I put together.
That’s not why I chose it, by the way. Or that’s not the only reason I chose it. I figured it’d be damn fun too.
Like what I did later on after going a little mad in the bathroom. After a stop by a closed bank and an open hardware store, I took a late night stroll through Central Park. I just skipped along in my armor and a painter’s jumpsuit, with my new helmet projecting me as bald and hockey-masked.
I didn’t have time to go camping.
Instead, I roamed grounds of the park. Finally, after traipsing around for about a half hour, I ran across some teenagers out at night. Teenagers with a bonfire and a few coolers of beer and liquor. Horny teenagers. Several of them stripped off their clothes and went skinny-dipping. They parked one of the trucks close to the water so they could keep lights on the water and the radio on to listen to.
It occurred to me that I’d never had anything approximating a prom before. In fact, in the time when I was teenaged, I was never in position to legally have sex with an underage teen girl.
It’s the little things you miss like that when you’re busy practicing the proper filleting of humans. Still, thinking of all that got me incredibly frustrated. Plus, the few interests I’ve had lately weren’t the sort to do anything of the sort with me. True, birth hadn’t left me deformed or mentally handicapped, but I still made myself into a thing of terror out of a hedonistic need to indulge my dark side.
As jealous as these musings made me, no wonder slashers wanted to stab the fuck out of hormonal adolescents. I tiptoed off into the nearby patch of trees and laid out my tools. A quick count gave me an idea of what I faced. Nine teens. A fairly large group as these things went. Then again, I didn’t intend to take a dive on this one like the movie slashers.
Two of the skinny dippers ran for the bushes near the woods, but before I could follow them, one of the guys who stayed by the fire headed in that direction too. He smoked a joint in one hand, then pulled another out of his pockets and used the first to light the second. He held both in his mouth, puffing away, as he dropped his pants and prepared to whizz.
He didn’t know who else had settled in his makeshift bathroom. “What the hell, man?” asked the skinny dipper guy who stood up. He had taken the brunt of the spray and looked ready to kill the stoner for me. The stoner dropped both his joints as he backed off and tried to pull his pants up. The girl, for her part, scrunched up her face in disgust. Still, she retained enough sense to get her man to back off and not beat the other guy half to death. Instead, the two headed off further into the woods.
Gross. They should have at least taken a dip in the water first.
The double-jointed guy looked around, fuzzy brown hair waving in the air as he looked for his precious ganja. He even bent down to look, headless of the brush. That is, until he stepped close to the bushes and found a pair of shoes. Above them, were legs in pants. He looked higher still to find me looking down at him from behind a hockey mask.
He opened his mouth to yell. I sliced through his throat with a retractable knife. I grabbed a handful of his fuzzy brown hair and yanked his head back, tearing open a hole right to his airway. With my other hand, I dropped both the man’s joints into his airway.
Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.
After hiding his body in the bushes, I headed deeper into the woods for the other two. I soon found them in a clearing, going at it with the guy on top. “I’m almost there, baby. Oh yeah. Is this how you want it, baby?” he grunted as he screwed her.
“Can you try and hold on? I can almost feel something,” the girl replied, looking somewhat less into it than her boyfriend. She laid back and closed her eyes.
“Oooh, oh, ugh!” the guy groaned, stiffening up.
When he didn’t say anything else or move, the girl looked up. She screamed as she saw the blood oozing from his mouth and the pitchfork stuck through his chest. I heaved him off her and kicked him off. The girl flailed, backing away, her screams still echoing through the night. I snapped the pitchfork’s handle in two and stabbed it into the ground so the prongs stood up. Then I grabbed the girl by the leg, dragged her over, picked her up, and dropped her poon first on the fork.
The screams were muted as her body failed to fully handle the pain. Before she could start up full force, I jammed the other broken portion of the handle into her mouth and down her throat. I would have popped her head off, but it looked like someone already got to that maiden’s head.
Still, at least she got some double penetration.
A glimpse out of the tree line back toward the trucks and bonfire revealed that none of them gave a shit. Hell, one guy sat by the first getting blown by his girl.
I grabbed the machete and the axe next as I silently approached the pair. The others still swam. They were having a grand time with giggling and laughing.
When I got close enough, I heard the guy moaning. “Mmm, that’s how you do it, girl. I’m going to make you scream like Brad just did to Jenny, you know it.” He paid more attention to the insides of his eyelids and the feeling on his Little Richard than he did on the approaching killer.
The girl didn’t respond, of course. Maybe she thought it rude to talk with her mouth full.
I took my opening when he reached for a beer bottle and raised it up for a sip. He opened his eyes part of the way, then all the way when he noticed me standing there in front of him. Before he said anything, I shoved the machete through the glass, into his mouth, and up into his skull.
For her part, his girlfriend didn’t hesitate when she heard something going down. She shot off that dick and to her feet in an instant. She even threw a kick at my balls, not that it did her any good. I grabbed her by her cornrows and tugged her over to a beer cooler. She wailed like a banshee, but nothing would stop me from putting her on ice. I shoved her head into the cooler once, twice, four times in total. Then I let her go, watching as she sobbed and tried to crawl away, blood dripping freely from her mangled face.
I let her have a moment because I’m a nice guy. Or, once I grabbed a cooler and swung it overhead to crush her head, I did it because I’m an ice guy.
By that time, the screams and yelling had finally alerted the rest of the teens that something was wrong. Teenaged, stupid, drunk, horny teens without a care in the world…well, they weren’t that much dumber than adults. I stepped toward the truck, the headlights outlining me and the blood dripping off my machete.
One of the guys didn’t get much more than his tighty whiteys on before running at me. The girl sole remaining girl said something like “Richey, don’t!” Richey plowed into me like a draft horse and tackled me to the ground. He punched me in the head, which would have been dumb enough if I wasn’t wearing a helmet. Another one of the guys ran up as if to help out, this one having put on his jeans and glasses first. He didn’t do anything but cheer on his friend though. I noticed the other boy and girl run off past us toward the truck.
“Get him, Richey! Beat his ass!”
Richey may have had a little super in him. Scratch that, I know for sure he had a little super in him. The cheerleader guy found out too, once Richey fell to the side with the machete sticking through his chest and his heart in my hand. That shut him up.
I sat up abruptly and got to my feet. The guy in the glasses backed up, raising his hands toward me as if that would stop me. He looked around, then picked up a beer bottle. He tossed it at me, but it just thudded and fell away. He tried another. Then a stone about as big as his hand. He didn’t get to use that because I got in his face and took hold of his throat with my free hand. I choked him and lifted him in the air for a little heart to heart. By that, I mean I shoved the heart-holding hand into his chest and smashed his with it. Then I dropped him with the extra heart in there.
The cranking of the truck got my attention. The last remaining boy cried out “Go!” even as he put the pedal to the metal. The headlights blinded me, made me hesitate. I reached back and pulled out the wood axe, then threw it into the windshield. Then I was in the water with a truck on top of me.
I’ve been underwater before, especially in my armor. It can seal up and keep me safe enough for a short amount of time. I don’t enjoy the experience, though. It’s the closest thing to being dead I’ve experienced without actually dying. Or it was until this mage named Miss Tycism cast a spell on me to mimic that feeling. But as long as I can think, I’m not dead.
That wasn’t a statement about being able to think my way out of any situation, either. It’s just that if I’m capable of thinking, then I clearly haven’t died. Like I clearly didn’t die under that truck.
The girl thought so. When she saw her boyfriend’s head emerge from the water, she started cheering and calling out for her dear Jeff. Then more of him emerged, showing the axe buried in his chest. Then she saw the person carrying him. Me.
She lost it and ran. I dropped Jeff in the water and chased. We were a good distance from the edge of the park, but she was hauling ass. Every once in awhile, she’d turn to look back and find me there, calmly walking way too close for comfort.
She stopped screaming as we got closer to the gate to out of the park. That may have been from thinking she would make it, or maybe she figured out that running and screaming didn’t go together.
Either way, I let her have her hope. When she stopped by the gate to catch her breath, she looked back and didn’t see me. I her face light up in a smile, then she turned away and raised a hand. “Taxi!” she called out.
Before one could answer her, I gave her a hard shove, knocking her out into the street where a passing car caved in her skull and chest. I faded into the night as the shocked driver ran around to check on the girl who almost made it.
All in all, I had a pretty good night. The only damper on it was when I got back to the lair and knocked my shin on table leg. Oooh, the fucking pain. I had to hold on to my leg and take a seat from that one. Seriously, that’s a horrific fucking injury right there.
But overall, I think I got into the mood. Soon, very soon, I’ll have to have Venus over. Maybe she’ll bring her friends from the FBI. It’ll be just her, them, and me, alone in an apartment complex.
Y’all know how entertaining I can be. I’m sure it’ll be a scream.