The sun rose over the forest to reveal an old broken down farmhouse.Â The white paint was faded and chipping off, as well as the once green shutters hanging by one nail. The holey screen door was lying on the porch, like the discarded carcass of a worthless dead animal, that was too unimportant to bury.Â The weeds around the house were as brown and dead as a half eaten woodchuck that was left for other scavengers, in the late August heat.
Being Six in the morning, it was already a humid eighty-three degrees in the shade.Â There was no wind, for a reliving breeze to sooth a poor soul.Â The only escape from the heavy laded torture of the swelling heat was the lake that was through the woods, and even that was only temporary.Â The critters of the forest had just come awake, and you could hear their endless chirping, in the distance.
The forest animals couldnâ€™t have cared less about the two people standing near a body in front of the old decrepid house.Â A young man and young woman stood there watching the mans blood soak the dried baked dirt.Â The earth soaked up the blood like a sponge to water.Â The girl was crying, but the man just looked as if he had just been told that his girlfriend was breaking up with him.Â His eyes were drained and listless. He looked down at the machete in his hand, and tossed it away in disgust.Â His shirt was covered in blood, whether it was from his own cuts, or the blood of the nameless man lying there, he wasnâ€™t sure.Â Nor did he care.
He looked over at the girl as she asked, â€śDo you think heâ€™s dead?â€ťÂ She had her hands up to her bloody face, and he could see that she was still scared.Â He wanted to go to her and hold her, but he found his own body was still shivering.Â He tried to get his body under control, but it was impossible.Â He knew he couldnâ€™t be a comfort to her if he himself, was still afraid of the man.
The man that was laying on the ground wore a mechanic jump suit, and a homemade deerskin mask, that looked as if it had been sewn to his face.Â He had flesh missing from what he could see of his face, and whole chunks of scalp was also missing revealing his skull underneath.Â The mask showed no shape of a nose, and the eye holes showed no eyes.Â He wore a workmans belt, with an assortment of weapons around his waist.Â Darts, arrowheads, knives, and maybe worst of all a pouch of black powder. The man himself was at least six foot three, and had to weigh at leastÂ two hundred and fifty pounds.
â€śI donâ€™t know.â€ťÂ He said, thoughtfully, while shaking his head.Â â€śI just donâ€™t know.â€ť
â€śWell, poke him or something!â€ťÂ She cried out hysterically, as she brought out a fresh round of tears.
He looked at her as if she went crazy.Â â€śFuck that!Â Iâ€™ve seen enough horror movies to know that a killer in a mask, doesnâ€™t die easy!Â If I poke him, the mother fucker will just wake up and kill us both!â€ť
She turned from him, and looked out to the forest,Â â€śI knew it.â€ťÂ She whispered,Â â€śYouâ€™re a coward.â€ť
The man could not believe his ears, as he gave a shocked look.Â â€śWHAT?!â€ťÂ He asked, screaming at her, as she broke down into more sobs.Â â€śWhat the fuck do you think just happened here?!Â This asshole killed Tina, Jake, Kirk, and Melissa, and God knows how many more people! You think that Iâ€™m going to risk getting myself killed! If youâ€™re so high and mighty why donâ€™t you poke him!Â Youâ€™re as fucking crazy as he is!Â Iâ€™m out of here!â€ť
He turned and walked towards the woods.Â He knew that she would want to stay with him, and he would let her, but he was tired of hearing her whining.Â He knew that the van was useless, they had tried to get out using the van after they had found Kirk dead.Â The killer had slashed the tires.Â He decided they would trek through the woods, until they found a place with plenty of people.Â Then they would be safe!
â€śJohn!â€ťÂ She cried out, like he knew she would.Â â€śDonâ€™t leave me here!â€ť
â€śWell, hurry and catch up!â€ťÂ He yelled out behind him, as he kept walking.
He expected to hear her running footstep, but instead she yelled back,Â â€śWait up iâ€™m co…â€ťÂ She let out a gasp, and stopped in dead sentence.
John turned around, and saw the killer was up, and strangling the girl!Â â€śHonor!â€ťÂ He bellowed as he began to run towards them.Â Each step felt like a lifetime, and he was surprised to see the masked killer let go of Honor, in favor of taking him on again.Â She was kneeling on the ground choking and puking.Â The killer was more interested in him then he was in Honor, but that scared him even more.
John jumped in the air, and kicked at him with both feet, meaning to slam him down to the ground.Â The masked killer simply batted Johns feet away like a rag doll, and John fell to the ground.Â Getting up, John shook his head to clear it, and noticed that the killer was picking up the machete, that moments before John had tossed away.Â He turned his head as he stood up.Â â€śHonor! RUN!â€ťÂ He commanded.
He watched as the girl took off towards the woods, and was glad when he seen her enter them.Â John felt a slight pain in his wrist for a second, and then his wrist was throbbing.Â He looked down, and realized that his hand was gone!Â He wanted to scream but he would give this man no such satisfaction.Â He went to the ground and looked up at the man who he knew would take his life. â€śYou son of a bitch, do it!Â Just do it!â€ťÂ He said through gritted teeth.
Â The masked killer stood there watching John for a second and with his jaw working under the deer hide mask sewn to his face, spoke in a gravely voice.Â A voice that said that he hadnâ€™t used it in a long long time.Â â€śMy name is Vincent Proctor… Bitch!â€ť
Regretting calling John a coward, Honor stood behind a tree and watched.Â She sobbed as she watched in horror as the killer cut off Johns hand, but she stayed back.Â She heard the name of the killer as plainly as she could hear the sound of the blade of the machete come down onto Johns neck.Â She screamed, as she watched his head roll to the ground and away from his body.
Vincentâ€™s head jerked to the sound of her screams, and he started walking.Â Honorâ€™s eyesÂ widened as she realized that she gave away her location to the masked man, and that now he was coming for her.Â She felt her adrenaline flow as she turned into the forest and ran.Â She knew that he would be upon her quickly unless she fled, and found a place to hide.
Â Running between the trees, and the undergrowth, she zigged and zagged, stepping on the crunching decaying leaves that laid all over the ground.Â Every sound that she made was amplified to her.Â She knew that if she could hear it then Vincent would hear it too.
Honor knew she was close to the lake, because she could smell the putrid wormy stench, that came off of the slime covered water.Â She had to rest for her legs were starting to hurt, her breath had become labored, as she leaned against a tree.Â Â After she caught her breath, she leaned over to rub her cut leg.Â Blood slowly oozed out of the cut, but it wasnâ€™t enough to be really concerned with.
She felt something hit the tree above her, and bounce off.Â It was the machete that Vincent had.Â He had thrown it at her, and she grabbed it off the ground.Â Looking up she could see that he was just standing there.Â He did not move, did not speak.Â He just stood there.Â Honor took that as meaning that he was finally scared of her.Â â€śIs this what you want?Â You sick son of a Bitch?!Â Well come and get it!â€ťÂ She taunted, holding the machete.
â€śCome on!Â Come on!â€ťÂ She yelled, with an insane intensity.Â Â She knew that it was down to the last straw and that it was either going to be him, or her that would die, and she swore to herself that she wasnâ€™t going to let this asshole win.Â She had the upper hand, and she wasnâ€™t going to lose it.
Vincent took a step towards her, and she laughed to herself.Â She thought how cautious he was being, and that gave her a false sense of security.Â She crouched down a bit and felt the weight of the machete in her hand giving her comfort.
â€śCome on!â€ť she spat the hatred in the words, above a whisper.Â He walked to her in a fast pace, as she raised the machete above her!
He was upon her in a flash, and grabbed her by the neck.Â She could feel the power in his arms closing in to crush her windpipe.Â With all her strength, she brought the machete down, slicing deep into his left shoulder.
Vincent roared in pain, as he let go of the girl.Â The machete was still deeply rooted into his shoulder, and he grabbed the hilt, to free it.
Honor stood up, and ran through the woods to the lake.Â She knew that the motorboat was here somewhere and that that was her only hope.Â It was at the end of the pier, about fifty yards away.Â She knew she could make it, and hoped that Vincent was still in the woods crying his eyes out.Â She ran to the pier and down the wooden planks to the motorboat.
Vincent pulled the blade out, and shrieked.Â The pain only made him angrier, and he was more determined to kill the girl.Â He took off to get her and this time he would kill her, without hesitation.Â As he walked through the woods, he heard the whining of an engine.
Honor got into the boat, and noticed the dead man sitting in the drivers seat.Â She was startled at first, and let out a gasp.Â She knew what had to be done, as she pushed the dead man over the edge of the boat, and into the water.
She pushed the button that would start the engine, it whined, but didnâ€™t catch.Â She tried again, but the same thing happened.Â She looked around desperately and grabbed the gas can that sat in the boat with her.Â Dumping the gas into the fuel tank, she ran back to the drivers seat.Â She pushed the button, and it sputtered and caught on.Â She clutched the transmission, and the boat slowly took off.
The windshield next to her shattered, as an arrow lodged itself into the hood of the boat.Â She screamed and looked back.Â Vincent was standing just off the pier watching her speed off.
â€śFuck you, Vincent!â€ťÂ She yelled while flipping him off.
She turned around, and sped off, leaving the terror who took her friends away from her, standing on the shore, by himself.
A SHORT STORY FROM THE MIND OFÂ THE AUTHOR OFÂ â€śCHAT”
E. L. DAWSON
Â© 2011 E. L. DAWSON
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