Chucky's Playground - Trilogy Of Terror

[smngry]

The moon hung in the cold, clear night as the clouds parted, the light shining through and lending an intimidating sparkle to the immediate environment, the concrete jungle basking under the lunar illuminations. As rats scurried between various trash cans, the scratching of their claws grew louder and louder, such was their desperation as they searched, valiantly for food. The results, as usual, a huge, disheartening negative. The rats stopped, as one, collectively pricking up their ears before instantly scattering in all directions as footsteps approached in the distance. Three figures, crouching and gliding across the moonlit landscape as they approached, doing a spot of searching of their own. Finding a gap in the chain link fence they stopped abruptly, almost clattering into one another, such was the surprise. A hand shot out, through the gap, grabbing the wire mesh and violently yanking it back, creating an adequate opening for the trio to squeeze through as they entered the abandoned car park, the signs warning off any would be trespassers going completely ignored. As the small group stopped, they each took a long look around, the huge, hulking building in the distance lit up by the cascading moonlight.

“This is it?” Asked one.

“Yeah.” Another replied. “I think so...”

“Dammit Spanky,” The third member of the group suddenly spat in frustration. “Is this it or not?”

Spanky looked at his two friends, bewilderment in his eyes as he reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved his cell phone. Staring at the screen, his breath visible on the freezing air of this cold October night, he allowed his eyes to flit occasionally to the huge building stood in their way before looking up and addressing the angry frame of Danielle, known affectionately to her friends as Gee.

“Yeah.” He repeated as Gee stared at him, more than a little pissed off.

“You sure?” She asked again, her Canadian drawl splitting the air.

“I think so...” He calmly replied.

“For fucks sake!!!” She screamed, her voice echoing around the abandoned industrial estate, rats could be heard running for cover, such was the intensity in her voice.

“Calm down.” The so far quietest member of the group interjected, his hands shooting up, palms held outwards in a sign of peace, his British accent interrupting the calm, serene night. “It looks like it.”

“Everything looks like it Simon!” Spanky replied, frustration evident. “That’s the fucking problem. All these fucking buildings look the same.”

“Jesus!” Gee muttered under her breath, crossing her arms and shivering as the cold began to creep up on her. “Shouldn’t there be like a sign or something?”

As she looked around, Spanky and Simon both stared at the cell phone, the Google Earth app struggling to keep up as the signal intermittently dropped. Sure enough, the display verified the building in front of them as being the desired location. After a full night of moving from one area to another, the trio of friends had finally found their target, the night not entirely wasted after all.

“Would you calm the fuck down?” Spanky turned to Gee. “I told you we’d find it, and we have. Stop your whining. It’s like taking my fucking mother on a road trip half the time.”

“What did you fucking say?” Gee spun on the spot, her arms dropping to her sides, fire igniting inside her.

“You heard what I said.” Spanky shouted back as he took a firm step towards her.

“Guys!!!” Simon once again interrupted. They both turned and looked at him, their anger beginning to get the better of them after countless hours searching. “We’re here. Pack it in, Jesus!”

As Simon started to walk towards the huge shutter door, Spanky and Gee exchanged nods and turned, following on behind, their rage starting to subside.

“What do you think’s inside?” Simon asked as he came to a stop in front of the shutter door.

“God knows.” Gee replied as she stood beside him, her eyes taking in the huge door, her hair spiralling past her shoulders.

“Only one way to find out.” Spanky sighed as he stood forward and grabbed the shutter door.

Grabbing the door in any way he could, Spanky began to groan and grunt under the weight, his legs beginning to immediately skid from underneath as he struggled to grip the floor whilst at the same time lifting.

“Dude.” Simon said, trying to grab his attention, Spanky oblivious to his friend. “Dude!!!” Simon tried again, suddenly covering his ears, the scream of Gee taking him completely by surprise.

“IT’S NOT MOVING FUCKTARD!!!” She cried.

Hearing this, and acknowledging the fact, Spanky stopped trying to lift the door, giving it up as a bad job and taking another look around.

“Right.” He panted, catching his breath as his face returned to its normal shade. “There must be another way in. All we gotta do is find it.”

“Yeah.” Simon nodded, looking left, then right. “Let’s split up. You guys go that way, I’ll go this way.”

Spanky nodded and started to move towards the left hand side of the building, Gee following him. As they made their way down the side of the steel hull of the factory, they talked in a calm and slightly more subdued manner.

“What do you think we’ll find?” Gee asked.

“No idea.” Spanky turned and answered. “But the worst we can find is nothing huh?”

“You think we will?” She asked again.

“Look, I have no idea.” He stopped and held his hands up before carrying on slowly walking once more. “All I know is that I thought this was gonna be a bit more fun, ya know?”

“What do you mean?” Gee was taken aback.

“Well, it’s taken forever to find the place, you’re pissed off because you’re cold, and be honest...” He dropped his hands and shook his head. “... Can either of us understand half the stuff that limey bastard says?”

Gee laughed as Spanky looked up, returning her smile tenfold and giving a little laugh of his own.

“He’s not that bad.” Gee calmly said as they started walking again, zipping her jacket up to her neck, burying her mouth behind the now erect collar, anything to keep the cold out.

“I know.” Spanky replied, digging his hands into his pockets. “Glad he’s here really.”

“Yeah?” Gee turned her head and looked at her man as they walked.

“Yeah.” Spanky continued. “If there ‘is’ anything in there, then I reckon it’ll go after him first.”

They both laughed again. Suddenly, Gee noticed something up ahead. It could be just what they’d been looking for.



As Simon took the right hand side, he quickly noticed this was going to be a pointless task. No windows, no doors, absolutely nothing as he made his way along the rusted, corrugated walls of the factory. He couldn’t see much, but as he moved he sensed there were rats around his feet, swarming underfoot, squeaking hideously as he took his time treading carefully. He hadn’t wanted to go on his own, not at all. Not because he was scared, but because he would rather have somebody there and not need them than the opposite way around. The deeper Simon went, the more his mind kept replaying scenes over and over again, only one lingering on, as with each step Simon began to recall the events just 48 hours previous, that had brought the three of them to this place



Jet lag still lingering after the long flight from the UK, Simon had decided to grab an early night as Spanky and Gee sat watching the late movie, arms entwined as they cuddled on the couch of Spanky’s apartment. Simon was just about dropping off when it started. The noise of Spanky’s headboard constantly slamming against the thin wall separating the two bedrooms as Spanky’s groans of joy echoed through the small, humble dwelling. After trying to ignore it, Simon reached for his bag and grabbed his headphones, turning his phone on and firing up some music, anything to drown out the sounds of Spanky’s pleasure. It didn’t work though, the vibrations of the wooden headboard smacking into the plaster just inches away proving too distracting as Simon switched off the music and climbed out of bed. It wasn’t too late, about 10pm, as Simon sat on the edge of the bed trying in vain to think of something to do, anything that would blow the cobwebs away and maybe wake him up a little in the process. Standing and getting dressed again, Simon grabbed his jacket and quietly headed for the door of the apartment, the bathroom door yanked open in front of him to reveal Gee, towel wrapped around her, held tight as she jumped a mile.

“Jesus man!” She hissed. “I thought you were asleep.”

“No such look with that noise.” Simon replied, suddenly confused. “Hang on... If you’re in here then...”

Gee waved her spare hand, her other holding the towel to preserve her modesty.

“He’s doing it to fuck with you!” She spoke quietly at first, the sentence ending as a scream as she made a point of letting Spanky know he’d been rumbled, the incessant thud of the headboard stopping instantly as a low giggle reverberated through the apartment. “Look, this is your second day. He usually gets more tolerable by day three. I promise.”

“Let’s hope so.” Simon smiled. “I’m heading out for a walk.”

“Okay. Be careful.” Gee started walking back to Spanky’s room. “Strange neighbourhood and all.”

With that Simon had exited the apartment and headed into the cold, damp, Chicago evening. He hadn’t a clue where he was headed, the entire area was new to him, so he decided to just keep heading down the street, taking each corner as it came. Finally, about twenty minutes later, as the rain started to come over a little heavier, Simon happened upon a bar. The neon light in the window, the rock music emanating from the interior, Simon pushed past the assembled bikers gathered around the entrance and made his way to the bar, pulling up a stool and ordering a beer. He’d probably been there about thirty minutes, the third beer sliding down a treat as the stool beside him suddenly shot back, the stunning figure of a blonde woman taking her seat and sliding the stool back in, offering Simon a smile as she did so, crossing her amazing legs and resting her purse on the bar. She signalled to the young girl behind the bar, catching her attention before ordering a vodka with a twist, turning to Simon once more and offering that attractive smile once more. This was without a doubt the most beautiful woman Simon had ever seen, stunning, sexy, curves in all the right places as she turned her attention back to the young girl and pulled $10 from her purse, telling the girl to keep the change.

That was the only contact Simon had with the blonde, the only contact he could ever dream of having as he emerged from the restroom five minutes later to find the blonde stood waiting, a vodka in one hand, a beer in the other as she offered him a smile and flicked her shoulder length blonde hair away from her eyes. The fantastic, hourglass figure, the heaving breasts and the longest legs accentuating the shortest dress imaginable, Simon couldn’t believe his luck as the woman leaned in and whispered. She had an offer, willing to pay handsomely, and she was hoping Simon would be interested.

Needless to say he was, but after hearing the woman out, Simon made the call and owned up to her on the spot, explaining how she may be able to tell with the accent that he wasn’t from around these parts so wasn’t sure where this factory she’d mentioned actually was. She’d been fine with it, grabbing her purse and downing the shot of vodka in once gulp as she stood to leave, mentioning how she understood completely, but $25,000 seemed a lot to turn down. On hearing this, Simon’s hand instinctively shot out grabbing her wrist as she turned to leave, the woman spinning immediately back to him, her eyes wide in disbelief as she looked at Simon’s hand grasping her wrist. Noticing this and sheepishly relinquishing his grip, Simon had then agreed to help the woman out, but only if his two friends could help out. He didn’t want any more money, but he’d need help finding the place.

And with that, the woman’s face lit up, agreeing instantly and divulging her instructions, Simon’s face dropping as she explained exactly what she needed from the abandoned factory that now stood before him.




It was at this exact moment as these thoughts ran through his mind that he stood on a rusty old garden rake, the handle springing up, almost hitting him square in the face, his reactions only just enough to ensure he didn’t land himself a black eye. As far as he could see, this whole side was closed off, this was pointless. All of a sudden, he heard a scream, at first fearing for his friends, before realising they were screams of delight, happiness soaking the voice from the other side of the factory. Gee, the more vocal of the two, bellowing at the top of her lungs for Simon to come join them.



As he approached them, Simon noticed the absence of rats and gardening paraphernalia, quickly making a comment regarding this.

“Wow.” He muttered. “Your side’s clean!”

“That’s not all man!” Gee beamed as she struggled to hide her excitement, almost jumping on the spot. Standing to one side and revealing Spanky behind her, Simon noticed that they had found a large piece of the corrugated steel wall had corroded. Enough so, that Spanky had been able to partially kick through it making a hole. Once he managed to make a hole big enough, Spanky wrapped his hands around the corner of the steel wall and carefully prised it open, the gap big enough for them all to crawl through, the deserted factory beyond ushering them into the unknown.

Whatever terrors awaited them.



It wasn’t that impressive at first, anticipation seeming to immediately give way to disappointment as the trio of intruders took in the sweeping view of the abandoned Play Pals factory. Cob webs decorated the vast area before them, hanging from various machinery, parts and toys that lay scattered across the floor. Not only were there cobwebs, but also dust too, thick enough to bury a corpse. As the three swung their heads they each acknowledged the same disappointing scenario they now found themselves in.

“What the fuck?” Gee sighed flatly.

“I know.” Simon replied.

“What the fuck were you guys expecting?” Spanky asked as he stepped forward and grabbed a creepy looking, plastic dolls arm. “This place has been abandoned for years. They’re not exactly gonna employ a cleaner now are they?”

“No, but still.” Gee took another look around.

The machinery that greeted them consisted of cranes, conveyor belts, huge vats of solid plastic, left over the years to harden. Even the most untrained eye could tell the place had fallen beyond simply needing a little TLC as rust adorned the huge equipment, rivets seizing, some perishing completely and allowing the odd piece of machinery to partially collapse. Following Spanky, the group waved their arms, cutting through the thick forest of silver cob webs before finally reaching the bottom of a stair well, the steel, grated steps leading up to what looked like an office, before continuing way up into the rafters of the factory.

“Why don’t we head up there?” Simon asked the others as he turned his gaze up towards the office.

Gee followed his eyes and turned to look. The door was closed, but she figured if they could gain entrance to the office, then they may have a better chance of spotting the thing they hunted. Only problem was, part of the roof had cave in, debris blocking the entrance to the caged off stairway. If they were going up, then they were going to have to shift the huge girder and various sheets of metal blocking their way. Gee suddenly turned, noticing the absence of her boyfriend.

“Where the fuck’s Spanky gone?” She asked spinning to look around, her eyes failing to find him.

“No idea.” Simon answered, also turning to look. “I hate it when he does that. Does he think he’s fucking Batman or something?”

Gee laughed, flinching immediately as suddenly a huge ‘clunking’ noise echoed into life around them. Before either of them could speak, Spanky appeared behind them, completely oblivious that his disappearance had so far gone unnoticed.

“Power’s out!!!” He shouted, running his hands together. “Partly anyway. Must be some fuses that’re fucked. We’ll have to see if we can’t find a reset switch somewhere.”

“Simon thinks we need to head up.” Gee acknowledged him as he came to a stop beside her, the darkness no less intimidating.

As Spanky looked upwards towards the office, sat hidden behind the thick webs and darkness, he gently nodded his head and agreed before lowering his eyes and taking in the twisted chunks of metal blocking their path.

“Can we not go round this?” He asked as he took it all in.

“Don’t think so.” Simon replied. “Only one way up by the looks, and it’s caged off.”

“Only one way up then?” Spanky looked at Simon, taking a step forwards and grabbed the girder with his hands, attempting to pull it free. Failing in the process. “Jesus this thing’s heavy.”

“Here, let me help.” Simon stepped forward also, grabbing the other end of the twisted girder. “Looks like we’re gonna have to twist as we lift it, it’s stuck under some of the other debris.”

Gee took a step backwards and raised her hands, opting to sit this one out.

“I’ll let you too take care of the lifting.” She laughed. “I did not sign up for any of this. I’m here purely for the thrill of finding that thing.”

“Come on.” Spanky addressed her as he grabbed the girder again. “There’s a shit load of dust and cobwebs. Can’t you get to work on cleaning the place up?”

He laughed as he turned to Simon, also having a laugh at the joke.

“Sexism,” Gee shot back as she turned and took a seat on one of the rusted conveyor belts, wiping away the dust and webs. “Real nice.”

As Spanky stood on one side, and Simon the other, they both nodded and gave a count to three before both throwing their backs into it and attempting to lift the huge steel girder, giving up a few seconds later.

“Fuck.” Spanky grimaced as he stood straight for a second. “Are you even lifting bro?”

“Don’t even dare call me on that.” Simon answered.

After giving it a few seconds, both men bent over, grabbing the girder again and trying once more to clear their path. Nothing happened though, the girder staying firmly in place.

“Not gonna budge.” Spanky took a deep breath as he relaxed his arms.

As Gee sat and watched, she called over to Spanky. Always quick to point out where the love of her life was going wrong.

“You’re twisting the wrong way dumb ass.” She laughed, Simon immediately turning to Spanky and giving him an evil look.

“For fucks sake Spanky.” He yelled. “Try again, clockwise this time.”

Clapping his hands together, dust clouding around his face, Spanky once more grabbed the girder, lifting whilst twisting in the opposite direction. As the girder started to slightly move both men started to go red, their faces twisting in determination as they slowly and more fluidly lifted the girder out of the way, finally clearing it from the bottom of the stairwell, suddenly letting it fall to the floor with the loudest ‘BANG’ any of them had ever heard.

“Thank fuck.” Spanky said as he panted, standing straight and rubbing his back.

“Tell me about it.” Simon replied, panting also. “What kind of a fucking name’s Spanky anyway?”

“Don’t even ask.” Spanky lifted his arm and wiped the freshly formed beads of perspiration from his forehead.

“Seriously.” Simon looked at him and held his hands out. “Not knowing is bugging the fuck out of me.”

Gee laughed loudly as she stood from the rusted conveyor belt and approached her two accomplices, bending gently to grab one of the smaller, lighter chunks of metal blocking their path and tossing it to one side, hearing it land with a quieter ‘bang’ than before.

“It was his old teacher.” She said as she ruffled his hair, causing Spanky to wave his arms and fend her off. “Said he looked like Spanky from the Little Rascals. How cute’s that?” She laughed again.

“Get the fuck off me.” He moaned as he kicked one of the remaining pieces of debris away from the steps. “Come on, let’s have a look up here.”

As Spanky started climbing the metal stairs, the other two followed on behind, Gee still laughing, whilst Simon simply shook his head in sheer bemusement. As they reached the top, Spanky immediately reached out for the door handle, hoping to god it was unlocked. Sure enough, the door fell open at the slightest touch, the creak from the hinges reverberating around the immediate vicinity. As they peered in, they found a control room, lifeless, void of power and any semblance of life. In other words... Dead. As they stepped inside, they each took in the view, looking out across the factory floor, thousands of square feet of rotting machinery, caved in sections of wall and roof, and toys, ground to a halt abruptly at various stages of production. Some were missing arms, and legs, others were missing bodies entirely, while the majority were simply missing their hair. The cute button noses and playful smiles sitting on the rubber coated faces of the unfinished Good Guys dolls as they sat in the once colourful mausoleum.

“This,” Spanky started. “Is the coolest thing I could ever imagine.”

“You can say that again.” Simon stepped forward, standing beside Spanky, joining him on the corrugated steel balcony outside the control room as he looked out across the sea of plastic bodies and machinery.

Gee felt a shiver pass over her back, every hair beginning to stand on end, the atmosphere crackling with electricity. Something had her spooked, something was amiss out there, and she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“This is freaky.” She quietly muttered behind them as she remained firmly inside the room, noticing a lunch box, coffee cup sprouting mould and other various reminders of the lives that once sailed happily along during the course of a days shift, right on the spot where she stood.

Spanky and Simon turned in unison, their eyes falling on Gee as she stood, arms folded across her chest, shaking, not only with cold, but with anxiety and unease. As Simon and Spanky approached her, they pulled up a couple of chairs left milling around the room, sitting down and motioning for Gee to join them, before Simon suddenly looked into her eyes and spoke.

“Freaky?” He asked. “I’ll give you freaky!”

And with that...

He began...

[smngry]

Haunting Alan

We begin our story on a cold, foggy, windswept evening.

The life of Alan Harding suddenly to take a turn for the worse, as he learns that there are some secrets that just won’t stay hidden.



Sitting in the back of the cab, the headlights swinging over the wet tarmac as leaves blew in the ensuing gale outside, Alan felt the cool and slightly intoxicating breath of his lady wife as she exhaled peacefully. The events of the night coming to an early end as the long day finally took its toll, the two of them depleted, worn out from celebrations as they watched their daughter, Jenny, gracefully walk down the aisle. Months of planning, thousands of dollars and stress after stress eventually leading to this day, the happiest day of Alan’s life as Jenny and her new husband, Mike, repeated their vows and made the ultimate commitment before sharing a warm embrace in front of the assembled group of family and close friends. The date hadn’t dawned on him until just a few months beforehand, Alan waiting for just the right moment to broach the situation with his daughter, his fears confirmed as she looked tearfully into her father’s eyes and spoke.



“It would’ve been mom’s birthday.” She had started to well up as her voice became a broken quiver, suddenly taking a breather from tidying her kitchen.

Alan had suspected as much, this was too much to be sheer coincidence. Of course, it was only natural some part of Jenny would be missing her mother on what should be the happiest day of her life, but still... Alan hadn’t expected this.

“I know it is angel.” Alan had sympathised. “And I’m happy you thought of her when you arranged all this, but...”

“But what dad?” She asked as she threw the towel on the kitchen surface. “She’s dead? I mean, that’s what you’re getting at right?”

“Jennifer!” Alan had immediately scolded. “You watch your damn tongue young lady! Your mother meant more to me than anything and I hope you know that. But she’s gone now.”

Jenny looked away, her emotions threatening to get the better of her as Alan pulled a chair from her kitchen table, sinking into the soft wicker seat and placing his elbows on the table, his chin resting in his hands.

“I just didn’t notice the date until I saw the invites in black and white.” He sighed as he gently shook his head.

“It just feels right.” Jenny slowly approached her father, reaching out and wrapping her soft and radiant hands around his shoulders. “I just wanted to include her in some way. I never got chance to know her, and this feels like a way of paying tribute. Having her there. Do you see what I mean dad?”

Twisting his neck slightly, Alan looked up into Jenny’s eyes, her beautiful young face and cascading curls of long golden hair melting his heart as he took in the most beautiful sight a father could ever wish for. Gently, he lifted his head and placed a hand across his chest, resting on Jenny’s hand as she slowly rubbed his shoulder.

“Of course I understand sweetheart.” He smiled. “You just took me by surprise that’s all. That date will be with me until the day I die. I mean don’t forget, we had a lot of wonderful years together your mother and I.”

“I know you did dad.” Jenny whispered, before allowing her voice to grow slightly in volume as she relinquished her grip on her father’s shoulders and pulled up a seat beside him. “But you’ve been able to move on, you’ve got Pam, you’re so happy the two of you.”

“Yeah.” Alan laughed. “Ya know, I have to admit... After your mother was taken from us, I never thought... Well... You know.” Alan sighed deeply.

“I know dad.” Jenny rested her head on his shoulder. “I know...”



Now as he sat in the rear of the cab, slowing to a stop at the end of the long gravel driveway, Alan felt a sense of accomplishment as the day had finally passed without so much as a tear. Sure there had been a couple of moments when Jenny looked deep in thought, Alan had wondered what could be racing through her mind, deciding at the last minute to leave it, let it pass. Why drag up history? It was nearly twenty years since Andrea had been taken from them, and at the young age of thirty two no less. But sulking about it wouldn’t help, and the last thing Alan wanted was for Jenny and Mike’s day to be derailed by a long forgotten tragedy. As Jenny had been growing up she had always had Pam as a mother figure, not learning the truth about her mother until Alan felt she was old enough, and even then he’d skipped over certain details. True, she had been hit by a car whilst out for a jog one night, and that’s all Jenny needed to know. The driver never found, no witnesses coming forward, the hit and run consigned, along with thousands more, to the ‘unsolved’ section of Los Angeles Police Department’s homicide files. All of a sudden, Alan was snapped from his thoughts as Pam too woke up, alerted to the fact they had reached their destination.

“Here we go boss.” The driver said as he applied the handbrake and spun in his seat. “That’ll be forty two fifty.”

Reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, Alan removed his wallet and narrowed his eyes as he counted the money, Pam sitting upright and looking into the gale blowing outside.

“Thirty... Forty... Fifty...” Alan finished, placing his wallet back in his pocket and handing the folded notes to the driver. “Keep the change my good man.”

“Hey, thanks.” The driver accepted the cash and spun back to his normal position, counting the notes as Alan and Pam opened their doors and emerged into the miserable weather, the wind whipping at Pam’s elegant green dress, Alan’s suit jacket flapping behind him as he slammed his door shut, giving the roof of the cab a gentle slap with the palm of his hand. He had only just retracted his arm as the cab driver flicked on the rooftop light of the yellow cab and gently pulled away from the kerb leaving Alan and Pam stood at the security gates guarding the entrance to their modest property. As Alan stood fumbling for his glasses Pam crossed her arms and hugged herself in a desperate attempt to keep warm, the cold unrelenting.

“Dammit Alan,” She chattered as she spoke. “Could you hurry up a touch, I need to get indoors.”

“Not be a second baby.” Alan replied as he studied the keypad, carefully entering the four digit code, the two of them taking a step backwards as the huge iron gates gave a crack before slowly starting to open inwards.

Linking Pam’s arm, Alan pulled her near to him and removed his suit jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders as the two walked, the driveway seeming longer than ever in the sparse lighting on offer. As they walked, the wind whistled, the cold digging in as the rain started to slowly spit from the heavens, the house creeping into view as they followed the gravel driveway and cleared the row of trees lining the way as the moonlight seeped through the expanse of branches.

“Jesus,” Pam whispered as she tried to catch her breath, the cold taking its toll. “I feel like shit!”

Alan turned his head and offered her a smile.

“I mean it Alan,” She turned her head and took in his gaze. “When I get in I’m getting straight undressed and climbing into bed.”

“Now you’re talking.” Alan cheekily winked at her as they approached the house, never failing to feel aroused whenever Pam made even the slightest hint of going to bed. As he looked at her now, her brunette hair flowing majestically down her back, the wrinkles adoring her face serving only to highlight her natural beauty, he pulled her close and felt her sexy figure, hidden away under only a millimetre of silk as the dress hugged every curve, her stockings reaching the top of her firm, tender thighs as her heels crunched into the gravel with every stride as they reached the steps leading up to the front door of the huge house.

“You can cut out any talk of that kind of stuff tonight.” Pam pulled up her purse and opened it, fishing for the key, finally retrieving it and sliding it into the lock before twisting and opening the solid oak doors, the lights of the grand entrance flickering into life automatically as they entered.

“You really not well honey?” Alan asked as he turned and closed the doors, Pam lifting her legs one at a time and removing her heels with a sigh. She did look pale, that much was evident in the generous lighting of the hall, portraits and framed photographs watching over them as they removed their shoes and coats.

“I’ll be okay.” She answered as she gripped her heels in her hand, slowly making her way to the bottom of the staircase. “I just need to get to bed. I feel drained.”

“You want me to come up with you?” Alan asked. “You look dreadful.”

“Thanks for that.” Pam laughed. “I love you too.”

“You know what I mean.” Alan threw his suit jacket over the banister as he stopped beside her. “You look tired. Head on up and get some sleep, I’m gonna catch up on the news.”

Pam nodded as Alan leaned in and planted a soft tender kiss, lingering for a few seconds on her lips before withdrawing and placing his hand gently on her cheek, looking into her eyes and smiling delicately.

“Night sweetie,” Alan whispered as Pam grabbed his hand and closed her eyes, his touch always able to make her feel that little bit better. “Love you.”

“I love you too.” Pam replied before slowly turning and making her way up the staircase, one step at a time.

Alan watched affectionately as she reached the top and disappeared round the corner, out of sight and headed towards the bedroom. Kicking off his loafers, Alan put on his slippers and proceeded to make his way into the living room, grabbing the remote control and flicking the TV into life instantly as he crossed the plush carpet and grabbed the bottle of single malt scotch from the drinks cabinet, carefully unscrewing the cap and pouring himself a generous glass before setting the bottle back down. Turning to make sure Pam hadn’t decided to come back down, Alan opened the drawer of the cabinet and removed a box of Cuban cigars, lifting the lid before taking in a lungful of the fresh aroma they offered him. Grabbing one of the cigars, he replaced the box and picked up the mini guillotine, cutting the end from the cigar and lighting it using the Zippo he kept hidden next to the box. Then, quietly closing the drawer and picking up his glass of scotch, Alan made his way to the couch, taking a seat and setting his glass down on the table beside him, cigar chomped between his teeth.

After about five minutes, Alan grabbed the remote and changed the channel, the newscaster beginning to irritate as they passed over the same story, time and again. It was just as Alan was changing the channel, that he noticed something in the corner of his eye. A blur, darkness, hovering around the drinks cabinet. Snapping his neck to the right Alan’s heart skipped a beat as his eyes caught up and relayed the image to his brain.

Nothing there.

Absolutely nothing.

As he let his eyes wander over the area, Alan felt a chill pass down his spine, a darkness seeming to pass behind him as he leapt from the couch and spun on his heels, focusing on the kitchen door, the area his peripheral vision had caught sight of something.

Once more nothing.

Alan deciding his mind must be playing tricks on him as he set his cigar in the ash tray beside his glass of scotch and made his way quickly to the kitchen door, reaching round the door frame and hitting the switch blindly with his hand, the kitchen immediately lit up as the overhead lighting burst into life revealing an empty and incredibly tidy kitchen. Not a thing out of place, the work surfaces impeccably clean, towels neatly folded and stacked obsessively beside the sink. Alan did notice one thing though. The refrigerator door sat wide open as the motor inside began to hum louder and louder, Alan quickly making his way over and yanking the door further open inspecting the contents to see if anything had begun to spoil. Placing his hand on the various contents, he was surprised, everything still ice cold.

“What the hell’s happened here?” He asked himself quietly as his eyes noticed something amiss. A bottle of champagne that had rested in the refrigerator for the past month or so, now mysteriously gone, vanishing without a trace. Trying to get his head around things, a light bulb flickered deep inside Alan’s head as his eyes sparkled at the thought now spreading through his mind. Maybe Pam wasn’t feeling so bad after all. Softly closing the refrigerator door, Alan loosened his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt as he strode from the kitchen and into the huge, open hall of the house. Reaching the stairs in no time at all, Alan missed the mysterious shadow as it crossed the floor and made its way up the far wall. As he bounced upwards, missing the occasional step, such was his excitement, he allowed a sly smile to cross his face, the odd dirty thought to gallop through his mind. Reaching the upper hall, Alan silently approached the door to the master bedroom so as not to give away the fact that he was onto Pam and her sexy little surprise. Even after all these years, she could still make his heart pound in his chest, fill his body with excitement and anticipation as she playfully teased him into a vulnerable position before allowing herself to explode and have him, making him feel twenty years younger every time. As he let his hand grasp the round handle of the bedroom door, Alan took a deep breath and quietly twisted, the latch releasing with a faint ‘click’ as he took a step forward into the darkness of the room, the only light flooding in from the moon resting high amongst the clouds. He’d expected to walk in and be pleasantly surprised, find Pam half covered with the silk bedding, a seductive smile on her face as she eyed him up and down, champagne in hand, head resting on her hand as she waited patiently for him to slide under the covers and gently take her, make her wildest dreams come true.

But all Alan could hear was the sound of retching emanating from the en-suite bathroom in the far corner of the room. Pam really had come down with something as Alan could hear, the fight with her own stomach commencing just beyond the door to the bathroom, the sound of vomit hitting the bowl of the toilet making him cringe slightly as he felt the mood dampen incredibly. As he stood, taking in the unappealing sounds of straining and groaning, the air dropped remarkably quiet. Silence suddenly bestowed upon the bathroom. It took maybe a minute before Alan approached the door with apprehension, still able to hear something as he leaned forward and placed his ear flat against the wood of the door. He could hear something alright. A voice, but it didn’t sound like Pam, and he couldn’t make out what it was saying. It wasn’t that it was too quiet, but it sounded almost foreign. Suddenly the door to the bathroom swung open, Pam taken by surprise as Alan almost fell on top of her, reaching for her chest as the shock hit home.

“Jesus Alan!” She sighed as she stepped into the bedroom, her hair hanging loose, the white night gown ruffled and hanging from her gaunt figure, Alan couldn’t help but notice how ill she was looking.

“Sorry.” Alan replied as he stepped aside to let her pass. “How you feeling?”

“Like shit.” She said grumpily as she slumped into bed and pulled the covers over herself, burying her shivering body deep under the warm bedding.

“So...” Alan started. “You didn’t fetch a bottle of champagne up here?”

Pam stared at him through tired eyes, a look of disbelief spread across her face. She looked old, not like her normal self.

“Do I look like I have a bottle of champagne up here?” She asked with minimum effort.

“Sorry, it’s just...” Alan started, Pam cutting him off in an instant, growing tired of his questions already.

“I don’t care. Okay?” She turned over, showing her back to Alan. “Just let me go to sleep.”

“Okay.” Alan gasped as he took in the view of Pam’s back.

Deciding not to risk upsetting Pam any more, Alan quietly stripped off and headed to the bathroom, his clothes destined for the laundry basket. As soon as he entered the bathroom he felt sick, the smell hitting him like a ton of bricks as he fought the urge to retch himself. It smelled like something had died in here. Quickly throwing his clothes in the basket marked ‘Laundry’, Alan turned and made his way back to the bedroom as quickly as possible, closing the door behind him and taking a quiet, yet very deep breath. Pam still lay in the same position as Alan glanced at her, crossing the room to the wardrobe at the foot of the bed, opening the heavy double doors in one fluid movement and retrieving his dressing gown, slipping it on before quietly leaving the bedroom and making his way back downstairs. Gliding across the upper hall and reaching the top of the carpeted staircase, Alan reached for the thick, oak banister as he skipped nonchalantly downstairs, reaching the bottom at a canter and heading straight through the arch of the living room. As he slumped onto the couch his arm shot out, grabbing his glass of scotch and swinging it to his lips, surprised to find the glass empty.

“Jesus.” Alan mumbled to himself as he pushed himself forward, groaning as he lifted his frail, yet well toned body from the couch, glass in hand. Opening up the drinks cabinet, Alan casually gripped the bottle of scotch and quickly unscrewed the cap, pouring himself an extra large measure before returning the cap and placing the bottle back in the cabinet. His eyes on the TV, Alan approached the couch and was about to flop down once more when he noticed something.

His cigar...

His cigar, freshly lit just fifteen minutes ago had disappeared, the smell of burning suddenly sneaking up Alan’s nose and panicking him. Hurriedly placing the glass of scotch on the table, he sunk to his knees, the smell growing stronger all the time, instantly spotting the cigar lying under the table as the burning tip slowly but surely scorched the carpet, the smoke beginning to intensify as Alan reached for it. Confusion reigned once more as Alan rocked back on his knees, examining the offending cigar butt, shocked to find it almost fully burned out. Standing steadily Alan had to admit to himself that it was a mystery how it had ended up on the carpet, so far under the table too, but almost fully smoked? It struck him as strange, but he figured there had to be some kind of rational explanation, he was just happy he’d come down and found it. Had his sexual intuition been correct just moments ago, the house could have burned down as he and Pam were otherwise engaged. Leaning forward and stubbing the cigar out, Alan returned to the drawer of the drinks cabinet and fished another from the box, once more taking time to remove the end, lighting it and returning the box to the drawer before sinking back into the soft leather of the couch and grabbing his glass full of scotch. As the sports channel played on the TV, he picked up the remote and turned the volume up a touch, his interest peaking as the scores of the NFL games flashed up, the anchors promising highlights to follow. It was at this moment, as Alan’s attention was fixed on the NFL scores that something dark appeared behind him once more. A shadow, not moving effortlessly across the wall, but floating, hanging in mid air as it shifted its shape just over Alan’s left shoulder, a face forming from the blackness and scowling as it appeared to cast its gaze over Alan, sat oblivious just feet away, before making its way across the room and through the door of Alan’s study. Disappearing into the darkness with a faint hiss, the foul smell lingering on behind, Alan caught a lungful as he breathed in almost choking on his mouthful of scotch such was his disgust. He looked at the cigar, lowering it as he sniffed the air around him. To Alan it reminded him of the smell of blocked drains, rotten and foul, the air around him seeming to get thinner as he once again stood, placing his cigar in the ash tray. It was then that he heard a noise. Not much of a noise, but a ‘cracking’ noise nonetheless, seeming to originate from the study, short and sharp. Wondering what else could possibly happen tonight, Alan walked slowly around the couch and headed to the study door, freezing as he reached it, his instincts telling him to play it safe. Clutching his glass of scotch in one hand, he threw his arm around the door frame feeling the switch under his fingers, throwing it as the lights immediately illuminated the room before instantly cutting out. A bad bulb picking its moment to die as it cast the room into darkness. Slowly and apprehensively creeping inside, Alan could make out his desk in the far corner of the room, the light from the living room enough for him to make his way inside comfortable with his surroundings. Approaching the desk, scotch still in hand, Alan soon found where the noise had come from, the framed photo of Pam lying face down on the desk, a shard of glass next to it. Disturbed, Alan lifted the frame and examined the damage, a chunk of glass missing from the face of the picture, the frame obviously falling with some force. The hairline crack running from one corner to the other had cut straight through Pam’s beautiful face before the loose piece had been thrown free, Alan picking it up and placing it back in the cavity, a perfect fit. This picture happened to be Alan’s favourite, the reason he kept it on his desk being that in moments of stress, whether it be through work or otherwise, he only had to catch a fleeting glance of Pam’s soft, tender beauty and he would soon find peace, a genuine sense of calm gratitude as she smiled her million dollar smile straight back at him. Turning the frame over in his hand, Alan slowly made his way over to the French doors of the study, the moonlight flowing in through the glass and providing enough light for him to assess the damage. Just as he suspected the frame hadn’t been damaged, just the glass. As he held the picture, a smile crossing his face as he admired his wife one more time, Alan lifted his eyes to take in the view of the vast garden stretching endlessly from the house. This was the moment that shocked every nerve and muscle in his body, terrifying him to his very soul as his eyes made their way up the glass of the French doors and suddenly fell on the face resting behind him, just over his shoulder. Bright red and with an evil sneer stamped across its face it seemed to be floating. The horns on its head, although small, razor sharp as it opened its mouth and displayed row after row of teeth, the mouth continuing to open as it began to stretch further back over the evil face, the skull underneath beginning to emerge as though vomited by some demented demon. In a state of panic, Alan spun around, dropping the frame and glass of scotch as he was greeted by sheer emptiness, the room in front of him completely void of any life other than his own. Breathing sharply and getting his breath, Alan felt his heart thudding repeatedly in his chest, the pulsing audible in his ears as his body began to calm down, the adrenaline slowly leaving his system. Looking down he remembered the photo frame and glass full of scotch, the remnants of both laying before him across the carpet, the first thought to cross Alan’s head being that tomorrow morning, as the sunlight cascaded through the doors of his study, that scotch was going to stink the place out leading to a lecture from Pam. Reluctantly, Alan headed for the door and into the hall, his next destination being the kitchen, get some warm water and a few cloths to clean up the alcohol, maybe at least dilute it by soaking the carpet through. He had just bounded into the hall when he noticed something once more in the corner of his eye, at the bottom of the stairs. Snapping his head to the right, Alan was surprised to see Pam stood at the foot of the stairs. Standing perfectly still, her feet pointed slightly inwards, her head hanging low as her hair covered her face, her white night gown smeared around the naval with what looked like blood, Alan took in the sight before him stunned. He was just about to ask what was going on, was she feeling alright, when without warning Pam started to urinate, the steady stream of urine hitting the tiled floor and splashing every which way as it eventually died to a trickle before cutting off fully.

“Pam!” Alan started to race to her, reaching her just as her legs buckled, caching Pam before she could fall flat on her face. As he held her, unsure what to do, she threw her head back, the hair parting and revealing a wrinkled, weathered face, in the space of the last few minutes she seemed to have aged years, almost as though something had sucked the life from her body.

“Alan.” She coughed. “What’s happening to me?”

“Baby I don’t know.” Alan tearfully replied as he held her, distress coursing through every vein in his body. “Put your arm round me, let’s get you back upstairs. I’m calling Dr Fitzgerald.”

Standing slowly, he held Pam’s arm around his neck, his other arm wrapped around her waist as he helped her step by step back up to the bedroom. They took their time, but eventually and without further incident, they soon found themselves back in the bedroom, Pam slipping into bed without so much as another word. Alan once more noticed the blood across the waist of the night gown and slowly lifted it, shocked by the sight that greeted him. He didn’t know what she had been doing, but she looked like she’d been attacking her genitals with something sharp, the blood drying around the area in no time at all and making a mess. Lowering the night gown, Alan pulled the covers back over Pam as he sat beside her on the bed, his eyes never once leaving his wife as he reached for the phone, not needing to look as he dialled the home number of friend and family doctor Derek Fitzgerald. Lifting the receiver to his ear he was surprised at how quickly the call was answered, the phone at the other end having next to no time to ring before being answered.

“Hello?” The female voice answered enthusiastically.

“Is Derek there?” Alan barked down the phone.

“Sorry Alan.” The voice spat angrily. “Derek is... Unavailable right now!”

It took Alan a few seconds, the hostility baffling him at first, before the voice hit home, the familiar tone, the venom, the sneering quality.

He knew this voice.

As Alan’s hands started to tremble, he felt fear gripping him, his body paralysed with unrivalled terror as the voice turned even more intimidating, the sickness infecting it becoming more intense with every word as it started to growl and snarl.

“I KNOW WHAT YOU DID YOU SICK FUCK!!!” It screamed at him.

Alan pulled the phone from his ear and looked at it, his brain spinning as he took in the view that met him, the severed hand gripped in his fist, blue, cold and lifeless. He gasped as he released his grip and watched the ripped limb fall to the ground, rolling under the bed as it bounced. Alan lifted his hand to his mouth, disbelief stretched across his mind, the phone call sounding like a forgotten, direct line to Satan himself. Looking back at Pam, who now seemed to be asleep, Alan gained some composure, rubbing his eyes and taking deep breaths, suddenly dropping off the edge of the bed and onto all fours, carefully lifting the side of the bed covers as they hung over the end of the bed obscuring his vision. Sure enough the hand had disappeared, the only thing to be seen was the phone itself. Breathing a sigh of relief Alan reached under the bed and towards the phone, pausing as laughter suddenly emerged from the ear piece, startling him and stopping him dead in his tracks before fading as the buzzing of the dial tone became audible. Retracting his hand and standing straight, not a second to waste, Alan fled the bedroom and raced downstairs leaping three steps at a time, landing in the hall and nearly vomiting as the puddle of urine sat waiting, the smell consuming the area and making Alan retch as he reached the study. Sprinting from the door and into the darkness of his study, Alan grabbed the phone from the desk. He was just about to dial when he suddenly heard the crashing of glass out in the hall, the sound reverberating, filling the house with chaos as the empty space served only to amplify the volume making Alan drop the phone and cover his ears as he struggled to concentrate. Wondering what had happened, Alan raced back out into the hall his eyes taking in the devastation that awaited him. Every picture, window, clock, anything containing glass had shattered, the floor now littered, buried under a sea of glass, the crunching under Alan’s feet inflicting cut after cut as he stepped forward gingerly taking in the scene before him. It all became too much for Alan as he stood, spinning on the spot, the pictures still adorning the walls, minus glass, as face after face peered down at him, some seeming to follow him with their eyes, another few looking to smirk slightly as he lost it completely, turning and stopping as his eyes noticed something in particular. Kicking fragments of glass out from under his feet, Alan walked to the bottom of the stairs his mouth agape, the huge portrait of Pam in her wedding dress, beautiful smile, sun setting in the background, vandalized. A single word scrawled across the perfect white of Pam’s wedding dress in a childish, mischievous scribble.

‘GUILTY!’

Alan finally snapped, turning and screaming at the top of his lungs, his chest fit to burst as he screamed himself hoarse, his voice beginning to hurt as his eyes filled with tears of anxiety.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT???” Alan screamed, half in terror, half in anger. “WHAT ARE YOU???”

As he spun he stopped in an instant, the blood draining from his face, his arms flopping to his side as he stood at the bottom of the stairs, his first thought that his vision was playing tricks on him. Suddenly Alan thought back to the mysterious voice on the other end of the phone just moments ago and it all made sense. The voice belonging to somebody he hadn’t spoken to in years. He felt faint as he took in the crude graffiti, the name beginning to appear on the wall of the vast hall, just beside the door to Alan’s study. With each second, the name became more legible the wall seeming to bleed as the wall paper began to blister slightly, the blood trickling down the wall, across the skirting board and pooling on the floor as the name became bolder still. Alan couldn’t believe his eyes. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t possible. He knew the name and he knew it well. Very well in fact...

‘ANDREA’

Alan’s ex wife...

Alan’s ‘dead’ ex-wife...



As Alan stood perfectly still, his body felt the weight of a hundred bags of cement hitting him full on as his memory sparked, his mind instantly travelling back twenty years. The same street, the same house, the same grand hall and staircase. He couldn’t believe it as he turned, taking in the new, yet incredibly old and familiar, scenery surrounding him. Before he could say a word, his hand lifting to his mouth in amazement, he noticed a light flickering in the study at the other side of the hall. His hands out to his sides as he walked, taking in the extraordinary situation he now found himself in, Alan approached the study with apprehension as he heard a voice emerge, quiet and low, almost a whisper. Reaching the doorway, Alan took in the sight before him as a chill ran along his arms, every hair standing in unison. Right there, sat with a glass of scotch, the phone held to his ear and a sly smile etched across his face, sat Alan himself, albeit twenty years younger. The way he laughed, the happy look, Alan couldn’t remember this particular conversation as he stood eavesdropping, his younger self unable to see him standing in the doorway.

“Of course I wish you were here...” He whispered with a grin as he swivelled his chair from side to side, the glass of scotch rolling around in his hand. Who was it on the end of the phone? Listening even more, his ears pricking up, Alan tried to remember, forcing his memory to work overtime as the younger version of himself spoke again.

“Listen,” He laughed quietly. “If it were up to me you’d be here every night.”

The voice on the other end of the phone laughed, he could hear it from the other end of the room.

“I know right?” Young Alan chuckled as he tried to remain quiet. “We will be... Soon... I promise baby.”

Young Alan suddenly looked up, had he noticed the ghostly figure of his older self stood staring? If not then what had made him suddenly pause his fun conversation and turn towards the doorway? No sooner had the question raced through Alan’s mind when he heard a noise behind him, the ‘thud, thud, thud’ instantly ringing bells as he turned slowly and cast his eyes over the source of the noise. As he took in the new sight that greeted him, Alan immediately felt the wind knocked from his lungs, his ex-wife Andrea bouncing down the stairs, her blonde hair scraped back in a ponytail, the grey jogging suit hanging from her petite figure as she reached the bottom and quickly made her way to Alan’s study. As she reached the doorway, Alan looked at his younger self, now sat facing the door and cradling the phone against his shoulder, covering the mouth piece as Andrea sprung into view, her breath slightly heavy.

“Baby.” She spoke, a quirky tone of affection in her voice.

“Yeah?” Alan replied calmly.

“I’m heading out for my jog okay?” She smiled as she spoke, her love obviously still fresh as she addressed her husband.

“Okay honey,” Alan smiled and nodded, still cradling the phone. “Be careful yeah? The weather’s really started to come on.”

“I will.” She made to leave before immediately stopping and turning her attention back to him. “Who’s on the phone?”

“Just work.” Alan laughed. “The floppy disks we backed up our records on are corrupt. Big problems.”

“Floppy disks?” She laughed. “Jesus Alan, this is the 90s, haven’t your people heard of CD ROMs?”

“We’re on it baby, have a good run.” Alan waved to Andrea.

“Oh honey.” Andrea stopped short of leaving once more. “Fernanda’s just putting Jenny to bed then she’s wanting any washing you’ve got down here. Can you sort it out for her? She does so much for us.”

“I will, I will.” Alan replied, beginning to tire of the interruption to his phone call as he turned back to his desk, flicking on the monitor of his computer.

“Oh and Alan...”

He turned once more, what did she want now?

“I know you’re fucking Pam!” Andrea spat, her face not altering, not one twitch or nerve flaring into anything resembling an emotion.

As Alan sat speechless, his mouth dropped open, the phone still held against his shoulder as Andrea turned and left, the doors slamming shut and echoing throughout the vast hall. As Alan stood looking on he felt faint, the evening now becoming more familiar, this latest twist in the tale confirming what little suspicion he had felt previously. It took a few seconds for Alan’s younger self to get his head around what Andrea had just said as he lifted the phone back to his ear, his hand trembling. As he lifted it he spoke.

“Pam?” His voice shook as he called to her down the phone.

“Alan,” Pam answered. “Did she just say what I think she said?”

“Yes...” His eyes flickered from side to side during the silence as he ran through every possible scenario that could branch out from this particular moment.

“What are we going to do?” Pam asked, worry now creeping into her voice.

“I think there’s only one thing I can do.” Alan replied, his voice monotonous and without feeling.

“Alan...” Pam started. “What are you going to do?”

“Only what I have to. If she has her way we’ll have nothing... She isn’t taking my house, my money, my daughter.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Pam begged him, sternness in her tone. “Please, sleep on it. Appeal to her better nature.”

“Pam relax.” Alan removed the phone from his ear, gently setting it down. “I’ll do what I need to...”

Suddenly, and with a speed Alan could never remember possessing, his younger self stood from his seat and raced through the door of the study and into the hall, grabbing the bottom of the banister as he started to head upstairs, two steps at a time as he reached the top and headed down the hall towards his daughter’s room. Blinking, Alan instantly found himself in his daughter’s room as his younger self came bounding down the upper hall. As he entered the room, he felt a wave of relief as he saw his beautiful daughter asleep in her bed, five years old and blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding around her, she peacefully breathed in and out, stirring ever so slightly. Making his way over to the bed, he dropped to his knees and stroked her hair as Jenny rolled onto her back and took a deep breath. Alan remembered this moment so well, the moment he knew what had to be done. As he watched on, his younger self stood from his knees and turned, heading back to the bedroom door, caught completely by surprise as Jenny’s nanny, the house maid Fernanda suddenly appeared in the doorway, towels neatly folded held out in front of her as she jumped a mile upon almost bumping into Alan.

“Mister Alan!” Fernanda almost screamed, such was her shock.

“Fernanda! Jesus!” Alan laughed as he put his hands out and grabbed the towels from her, placing them in the linen basket next to Jenny’s door. Standing at about 5’ 9”, slim with long black hair and extremely attractive, Fernanda had been employed by the Harding family since the birth of their daughter, Andrea finding it difficult to juggle motherhood with a career in advertising. She got on well with Alan and Andrea, despite her broken English, but the two were impressed with the bond she had built with their daughter in such little time, fitting right in with the family instantly.

“Mister Alan.” She gasped again as she placed a hand on her heart and smiled. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were up here.”

“It’s okay Fernanda.” Alan turned back to her as he closed the lid of the linen basket. “I need to nip to the store, just for a few bits. Can you keep an eye on Jenny for me while I’m gone?”

“Of course.” She replied nodding. “Take your time, it’s raining fast and you don’t want an accident!”

“Thank you Fernanda. I won’t forget this.”

With that young Alan raced from the room, his older self looking on, knowing full well where he was headed. As he ran straight down the stairs he reached the bottom, sprinting across the hall and into the kitchen, the door to the garage swinging open violently as he hurriedly dashed through, jumping into the car and firing the engine of the BMW. As the garage door slowly lifted automatically, Alan gave the car some gas before popping the clutch and speeding into the dark, wet night.

Up in Jenny’s bedroom, as the rain smacked up against the window, the lightning flashing across the sky, Alan found himself and Fernanda stood watching as the car tore down the gravel driveway and into the night. Alan knowing full well what happened next, his head beginning to feel dizzy as the room fell dark, a cold drizzle suddenly noticeable on his face as he found himself stood in the middle of the dark street, the rain lashing down with such force it must have bounced two feet high. Over the other side of the road, a few hundred yards away and heading straight towards Alan’s invisible figure, he could see the silhouette of a woman, her ponytail only just visible, swinging side to side as she jogged through the downpour, her head down as she lunged forward with each step, the breath escaping her body with an audible grunt. Further in the distance Alan saw headlights round the corner, the woman taking a second to look back over her shoulder as she drove herself forward. As the headlights neared her she took another look, the speed of the oncoming car seeming to worry her as she glanced back a few more times. Within no time at all the car was upon her as she pushed herself faster, her legs working double time as they propelled her along, adrenaline kicking in as she sensed impending danger. Another look back as Alan watched on, Andrea and the car approaching her, almost in front of him as they met, Andrea taking one last look over her shoulder as the BMW crashed into her. Alan tried to turn away but found it physically impossible as he watched Andrea disappear under the wheels of the car, his young self sat behind the wheel as the car rolled over her broken body, the tyres driving over her skull, fracturing it in an instant, her arm getting caught in the alloys, ripped clean off as the wheel rocketed over her mangled corpse.

Then it was done.

The car disappearing into the distance as Andrea lay in the rain, undiscovered for another thirty minutes. An ambulance would come, but it would be too late. According to the coroner, Andrea was dead within seconds of hitting the tarmac, the weight of the car on her skull causing too much damage, apparently it would have been a miracle if she had survived. As Alan stood looking at the carnage he had caused twenty years previous, he cradled his face in his hands and screamed. He screamed until his lungs were fit to burst, a burning feeling spreading throughout his chest.



As he lifted his head he found himself back in the present, back in his hall as he took in the sight of shattered glass, the graffiti smeared across Pam’s portrait, the bloody scrawl of Andrea’s name staring back at him as he cast his gaze upon it. Leaning forward Alan couldn’t help it, unable to fight it any longer he vomited, the acid spewing from his stomach as the events became too much for him to bear, his head feeling dazed and light as he finally finished retching, his attention suddenly drawn to a cackle of laughter behind him. Still doubled over Alan turned slowly, his eyes immediately catching sight of Pam, stood giggling hysterically at the top of the stairs. Her weathered face aging further still, her skin pale and severely dehydrated as she ran her hands back through her hair, scraping it away from her face as chunks of hair came away in her hands, patches of skin ripping from her scalp. An evil, malevolent look of insanity seemingly scratched into her features, she too leaned forward, vomiting instantly, chunks of blood and mucus flowing from deep within as it started to flow over the top of the stairs where she now stood. As she finished, she attempted to stand upright, her face suddenly taking on an expression of agony, pain rippling through every part of her as she opened her mouth and screamed. Alan felt sick again as he stood completely paralysed with terror, Pam’s teeth beginning to drip with saliva as something buried deep behind them exerted enough force to push them slowly, but surely, free of her cracked and bleeding gums. One by one Pam’s teeth fell to the floor, a set of crooked fangs growing in their place as Pam’s various other features began to alter. Her eyes looked at Alan, as though somewhere deep inside, his wife tried to reach him, the look cast from her eyes one of lingering turmoil as her pupils dilate, her eyes starting to fill with blood as parts of skin up and down her body started to blister and split, blood and puss beginning to ooze from every crack as Pam’s screams carried on, the agony and pain inflicted upon her unimaginable. Suddenly Alan screamed, placing his hands either side of his head and grabbing his short grey hair as he bellowed throughout the hall at whatever was controlling the events he was witnessing.

“PLEASE!!!” Alan yelled at the top of his voice, his anger turning to sadness as he dropped to his knees and began to sob. “PLEASE STOP... PLEASE!!!”

His pleas for mercy seemingly answered, Pam stopped screaming, the house falling quiet enough to hear a pin drop as Alan noticed and looked up. As Pam stood looking down at Alan, her face and body now deformed beyond belief, she seemed to have a moment of clarity, realising what was happening, panic and fear instilled in her words as she spoke.

“Alan...?” She looked at him with a terrified expression, anxious and afraid as without any explanation, she was slowly lifted, her arms and feet hanging like a marionette puppet.

“It’s gonna be okay baby...” Alan tried to reassure her as he took a step slowly forward and up the staircase.

No sooner had Alan taken a step forward, when Pam was jerked upside down, spinning 180 degrees in an instant as her nightgown dropped almost covering her face, her exposed lower half covered in blood as the tail of something inhuman whipped about before disappearing entirely into Pam’s genitals. Letting out a yelp of fear as she started to cry, the blood running from her eyes and trickling across her forehead before dripping to the floor, the puddle forming under Pam’s upside down body as it hung perfectly still, six feet from the ground. Taking another step, Alan was caught completely by surprise as Pam’s body very steadily began to slide to the left, over the banister, now suspended over the long drop to the floor of the hall, the tiles below beckoning her towards them as whatever had a hold of her enjoyed the game it steadily played out. Alan knew what was coming next, it was obvious.

“NO!!!” Alan screamed as he screwed his face up in rage.

Too late...

After falling for what seemed like an eternity, Pam’s shattered and disfigured body hit the tiles head first, her neck fracturing on impact and snapping her head to a 90 degree angle as bone and cartilage protruded from the now open neck wound, killing her instantly. Watching the series of events unfold, and hearing the fateful ‘cracking’ sound as Pam landed, Alan felt his legs go from under him as he fell, sinking to a sitting position three steps up the staircase as the events of the evening began to sink in. As he quietly sat, contemplating what had just happened, he heard laughter. Just the one voice at first, nothing evil, nothing insidious, but playful, like the laughter of a child as another voice joined in. Then another, and then more, suddenly Alan finding himself surrounded by roars of laughter, hundreds of voices at the same time echoed throughout every room in the house, but none louder than right here as he sat on the staircase in the hall. Fury enveloping him, Alan stood and threw his arms to his side as he screamed once more.

“STOP IT!!!” Alan’s face turning red as he screamed. “LEAVE US ALONE YOU BASTARD!!!”

All at once, as though turning a tap off, the voices died in an instant. A single, solitary cackle of laughter, drizzled with hatred as it reverberated. Alan turning in the direction of the laughter was surprised to find it coming from the broken, shattered and quickly decomposing corpse of his now dead wife, a look of evil ecstasy plastered over her rotting face as she lay on the tiled floor. Shaking with anger and fear, Alan slowly walked over to her, the foul smell of methane filling the air and making him almost retch as he reached her. The champagne bottle Alan had earlier found to be missing lay a few feet from Pam’s body, stood for some unexplained reason on the floor of the hall, near the book case. With no other option, Alan grabbed the bottle and turned back to Pam, dropping once more to his knees as the tears flowed, rapidly running down his cheeks, his shirt becoming steadily drenched under the constant barrage. As Pam lay laughing, the damage to her neck now even more obvious, Alan raised the bottle of champagne with both hands, high over his head, regret flooding his mind.

“I’m so sorry baby.” He whispered through his clenched teeth, about to bring the bottle swinging down as he blinked to fight back even more tears.

As he blinked, he opened his eyes with the intention of using the champagne bottle to cave Pam’s skull in, put her out of her misery once and for all as the body of the only woman he had ever truly loved lay before him, a mangled mess of blood and whatever else resided in her. But in that instant between his eyelids clamping shut and reopening, something happened. Pam’s face returned to normal, her neck straightened, her eyes no longer filled with blood, the crooked row of fangs that had littered her mouth just moments ago disappeared, replaced with a beautiful set of pristine white teeth, that million dollar smile hitting Alan one final time as she pleaded, begged with Alan not to do it.

“Please Alan.” She cried. “I’m worth more than this, surely. I thought you loved me!”

Alan was shocked at the sudden transformation, beginning to let go of the bottle held over his head as he smiled a tender, loving smile right back at Pam, screwing his eyes up tight as he prayed for this nightmare to finally end, the things responsible to move on.

It didn’t last long though, as Alan was jolted from his wishful thinking, his eyes flying open as he looked at Pam, suddenly returned to her demonic, possessed state and sneering at him in the now recognisable look of hate and wicked joy. Suddenly the twisted and blistered face screamed at him, causing Alan to rock back on his knees in shock as the voice shook his senses.

“DO IT YOU FUCKING COWARD!!!” The demon lurking deep within the corpse of Pam roared with fury. “JUST LIKE YOU DID WITH ME!!!”

Alan didn’t know what to do, what to say, his mind buzzing with a million thoughts right now as his mouth moved involuntarily, speaking to the manifestation calmly.

“Where’s my wife?” He asked. “Where the fuck is Pam you evil bitch?”

The demon smiled as its hand shot up, grabbing Alan’s dressing gown and pulling him to within an inch of its decaying face, the flesh from its fingers rotting away and dropping off under the slightest contact.

“She’s mine now lover...” It hissed, before smiling and suddenly pulling Alan closer, planting a kiss square on his lips as it slipped its rotten tongue down Alan’s throat.

Alan struggled vigorously as he fought the demon off, pushing it away and wiping his mouth, spitting out a chunk of flesh as he did so before once more raising the champagne bottle and bringing it down with a sickening crack as Pam’s skull effortlessly caved in, the body now becoming limp and lifeless.

Dazed, Alan stood as he began to stagger to the doors of the hall, desperately in need of air before...

Too late, his body doubling over once more as he threw up, clinging to the wall to keep him upright, such was his state. As he felt his way along the wall, he soon found himself at the entrance to the house, grabbing the door handle and pulling the huge door slowly open, taking a deep breath of the fresh night air. As he stood peering out into the tranquillity of the early morning moonlight, the events of the evening started to finally sink him, hitting him hard. How in the hell was he going to explain all this? What was he going to tell Jenny, now most probably on her flight to the Dominican Republic, the honeymoon of a lifetime? More importantly though, what was that burning smell? Only just realising, Alan spun, his eyes widening as he took in the scenes of devastation behind him. The hall had erupted in flames, the inferno spreading quickly upstairs, along the hall, meandering its way through the downstairs too, the kitchen, study and living room ablaze within seconds of the fire igniting. As the flames licked up the walls either side of the hall, Alan was caught off guard as, within an instant, a huge torrent of flames shot up from the centre of the floor, lingering for only a second, the evil twisted face of a demon visible as the flames danced manically. Startled, Alan fell backwards, rolling end over end down the steps leading from the gravel drive and up towards the doors, landing on his face as he took a mouthful of gravel. Looking up, he could see quite clearly how bad things had become, the entire house now a blazing inferno as it lit up the night sky, the heat burning Alan’s face and lending it a healthy red glow, even from this distance. Standing to his feet Alan heard a roar erupt from the burning remains of his home, as though the house had screamed in agony as the searing temperature within destroyed everything in its path. As he peered in through the still open doorway, the flames climbing the frame over and over again as they embroiled the lacquered wood, he saw Pam’s body, Alan instantly flinching as it sat bolt upright before re-affixing the head atop its neck. Suddenly levitating from the ground, the re-animated body started to glide towards the door, the flames whipping round various body parts, charring the already eroded skin. Panicking, Alan raced to the side of the house and lifted the door of the garage, the flames yet to reach this section of the building. Once open, Alan raced inside, the trio of cars facing him as he entered. Beside his immaculate, brand new Audi sat Pam’s Porsche, whilst the third and final car lay hidden away in the shadows at the rear of the garage. The heavy covers obscuring the damaged 1994 BMW 3 Series as Alan’s secret remained hidden for the past twenty years, suddenly counting for nothing as fate, it seemed, was finally catching up with him. Grabbing the keys for his Audi from the work bench, Alan yanked open the door and threw himself into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut behind him and engaging the central locking from within. Placing the key into the ignition, Alan tried to fire the engine into life, the various safety features kicking in and alerting the driver to the lack of seatbelt, refusing to comply until the driver addressed the issue. Turning his head slightly and grabbing the seat belt, Alan wasted no time, yanking it from the pillar of the door over his left shoulder and feeling the ‘click’ as it settled snug in the seatbelt housing by his side. As he looked up, ready to try the engine once more, he let out a terrified scream of surprise as he immediately found none other than Pam’s now unrecognisable body sitting in the passenger seat behind him, giggling psychotically as the evil smile emerged from beneath the ash that had gathered across its face.

“Going somewhere?” It hissed at Alan through the smouldering lips adorning its face, Alan shutting his eyes in horror as he tried to move away. As it all dropped quiet, Alan opened his eyes to find the demon gone, disappearing completely in an effort to trick him, like a predator playing with its food. Not taking anything for granted, Alan took a look around the car, the smell of death overpowering as he tried to open the door, nothing happening as the handle of the car door turned to jelly in his hands. Suddenly extra seatbelts burst forward from Alan’s seat, wrapping themselves around him, restraining his arms, legs and head as the engine of the Audi fired into life, the radio crackling into life as Tammy Wynette’s song ‘Your Good Girl’s Gonna Go Bad’ began playing, the sarcasm and twisted humour of the moment completely lost on Alan as he shrieked and closed his eyes, the Audi engaging first gear and wheel spinning from the garage in a cloud of burning rubber, hitting the gravel and taking off into the darkness of the night. As the car approached the huge iron gates of the property, and sensing the end, Alan closed his eyes a pair of hooks appearing from the leather seat he found himself bound to and digging into his eyes, burying under his eyelids, holding them open and forcing him to watch as the gates swung open automatically.

After five minutes of the car swerving in and out of what traffic remained on the roads at such an ungodly hour, Alan recognised the location as he took in the sign to his left as the car sped into the car park.

‘Laurel Gardens Cemetery’.

Entering the car park and not showing any signs of slowing down, the car careered on and into the actual graveyard, only coming to a stop as it clipped the side of a mini excavator and flipped sideways through the air, landing on its roof, skidding along the grass and taking out headstone after headstone before eventually coming to a standstill as the slimy, wet mud started to ooze in through the now shattered windows. Alan let out a scream of pain as the seatbelts instantly released him, landing on his head, his face plunged into a pool of mud. Crawling gently out of the wreckage, Alan tried to stand upright but failed, dropping to his knees as the wind and rain whipped around him. Kneeling on all fours, Alan pushed himself upwards, rocking back on his knees as he felt a pain streak through his wrist, examining it to find a compound fracture, the bone sticking out at an angle as the pain immediately intensified. Closing his eyes and looking to the heavens, Alan drew a deep breath and prayed for the pain to stop before opening his eyes and taking another look. It still hurt, but at least the pain had slightly started to dissipate. As he looked dead ahead, levelling his eyes and taking in his surroundings, Alan felt nausea ripple through his stomach as he recognised the grave he now knelt at the foot of, the name on the headstone not completely unexpected, but a shock nonetheless.

‘HERE LIES
ANDREA HARDING
WIFE & MOTHER
JAN 13th 1962 – AUG 29th 1994’

Looking down at the grave in front of him, the enormous cavity in the ground almost swallowed him whole as he threw himself backwards, not noticing until now that the grave had been freshly dug out, the mountain of mud piled high either side of the grave. As he edged forward shaking like a leaf, his short staggered breaths of air making his chest pound, Alan peered into the grave, recognising the coffin he had chosen twenty years previous laying closed at the bottom. As he allowed his mind to wander for a split second, the coffin opened up, the lid flung to the side and revealing Pam’s twisted, demonic body laying inside the plush interior, arms folded across its chest, eyes closed. Without saying a word, as Alan looked on, the demon opened its eyes, piercing and yellow as it opened its mouth in a vengeful smile, the row of crooked fangs separating slightly as the forked tongue slithered from within. Before Alan could even contemplate moving the demon leapt forward, grabbing Alan by the ankle and pulling him forwards. Alan tried to turn, to run, use the higher ground to his advantage and run, but it was no use. As the demon laughed manically, the rain lashed at his face, Alan found his feet slipping on the wet turf, the demon winning as it slowly pulled him into the grave, the mud from either side magically flying through the air and beginning to fill in the grave. The more he was pulled into the rapidly filling grave, the more it seemed futile as Alan found the mud filling his mouth, choking him as he reverted to breathing through his nose, the cold seeping down his ear canals and finally up his nose and into his eyes as finally, Alan found himself completely submerged. Using all his strength and what tiny shred of breath he had left, Alan screamed as loud as he could.



Screaming his lungs hoarse, the pain, burning throughout him, Alan woke up as he sat upright, sweat dripping from his forehead as the sunlight cascaded through the balcony windows of the master bedroom. Confused and dazed, Alan turned instantly to find Pam lying beside him, completely covered by the thick, luxurious bedding as her head lay beside his, her quiet breathing coming as more than a pleasant surprise to Alan as he felt a euphoric feeling flow over him.

“Jesus Christ!” Alan whispered to himself at the nightmare he had just experienced, the realism, the horror, the sights, disturbing him even now.

As he calmed down, Alan lay back down, the clock behind Pam’s beautiful face indicating the time to be 7:06am. Smiling as he ran his hand under the covers, Alan whispered to Pam as she smiled.

“Morning...” He smiled slyly as he felt for her underneath the bedding.

Pam smiled back as a confused look spread across Alan’s face. He didn’t know what was happening, but he couldn’t feel her anywhere. Becoming agitated, Alan sat up, whipping the bedding away from Pam and instantly feeling sick, the nightmare far from over. Pam’s body not there, completely missing. As Alan turned to look at the severed head that lay before him, it opened its eyes and looked at Alan, quickly winking before suddenly exploding, showering him with blood and bone, bits of flesh and brain raining from the ceiling as the doors of the wardrobe at the foot of the bed flew open, the draft making Alan shield his face as he took in the sight before him, the demon from his nightmare sitting, smiling menacingly through crooked teeth and blistered skin as it lifted a hand and beckoned Alan towards it with an extended index finger. Without warning the bed started scraping across the floor, digging into the carpet of the bedroom as Alan found himself restrained, the bedding twisting into thin rope and securing him to all four corners of the bed.

As Alan screamed one final time, the demon’s smile grew larger still, its eyes igniting with joy and delightful anticipation as the bed finally reached the wardrobe.

The demon lunging forward with a sickening bellow of laughter...

[Gee]

Simon gave a menacing grin to his friends. “And that was the last time anybody ever heard from Alan.”

It seemed like the moment Simon had finished articulating the final word of his tale, a piercing scream bounced off every wall of the abandoned fortress. Simon turned his head to look at Gee, who's eyes were peeled open as wide as they could go, her skin which was pale enough as it was, turned completely white. Simon felt a jolt of pride, that his scary story brought on such a reaction. Spanky quickly jolted to see what was troubling Gee, and shook his head as he quickly learned the reason. A fairly sized spider was slowly crawling it's way down the old factory wall, in all the time he'd known Gee, Spanky knew that was enough to have her faint. He quickly rolled up the map of Chicago that was in his coat pocket, and hit the spider forcefully then checking quickly to make sure he hit his target. Once the spider was out of sight, Gee let out a deep breath and the colour started to return to her face.

“Better?” Spanky asked as he stretched his arm to shake her shoulder amusingly, Gee let out a laugh out of embarrassment and simply replied “Yeah, much”

Once everything was quiet again, Simon crossed his arms over his chest and started laughing. “I must admit Gee, I'm a little disappointed.” Gee turned her attention from rubbing her hands together to keep warm, to Simon. Unsure of exactly what she'd done, she also laughed in return. “Oh really? I must say that's the last thing I'd ever want to do. How did I disappoint you, man?”

The cold was starting to settle in the factory, as Simon too was now trying to hide his hands from the cold. He shoved them in his coat pockets. “It's just that, I was convinced my menacing, twisted tale was what made you scream, not a tiny spider!” Simon busted into a laugh, that Spanky couldn't help but join in. Gee shot Spanky a glare that could kill, before defending her phobia.

“First of all Simon, you weren't sitting where I was sitting, that thing was like the size of my fist!” Spanky interjected, as he always did when he wanted to pull Gee's chain. “That's a major exaggeration, Gee I could hardly see-ow!” Gee had shot Spanky a quick punch in the arm before shouting “Shut the fuck up, Spanky!” Spanky rubbed his arm and muttered “crazy bitch”. Gee ignored him and ran the free hand she had through her hair before quickly putting it back in her pocket.

She turned towards Simon, who was getting a kick out of watching them argue like they'd been married for 60 years. “Second of all Simon, your story was excellent. But I must be honest, I'll still get plenty of sleep tonight.” Gee quickly looked around the room at the abandoned doll factory, all the lifeless doll bodies scattered around seeming so sad, despite the identical smiles painted on all of their faces. “If anything-” Gee continued, “I'll have a hard time getting this place here out of my head.” Simon and Spanky didn't have to say anything, Gee knew that they agreed with her on that.

The cold silence in the room was broken by Spanky, who insisted with a slight shake in his voice “Then let's do something about it, we didn't fly to Chicago to sit on a balcony.” Spanky got up and walked around observing the old machinery and the dolls that laid on them. Simon stood up to join him. “I don't know mate, I feel looking at that blonde was enough for my money's worth, but I agree we should probably get the fuck away from this balcony. We'll never find a finished doll up here”

Gee shook her head and crossed her arms “You can't tell me you're still going on about that bitch?” Gee made sure to walk a little bit faster to keep up, something about the idea of being alone anywhere in this place was a little more than unsettling.

“Where do you say we start then?” Simon questioned, observing the floor directly beneath them. It seemed like everything in the building surrounded the control room, as the second floor of the factory wrapped around the building perfectly to still peer down to view the army of unfinished dolls.

“Right down here looks like a pretty good start, I mean it wraps around the whole fucking building it would probably take us a while.” Spanky said as he led the group down to the second floor. He turned to Simon with a smile on his face. “Did you ever get the blonde's name, man?” Simon shook his head and laughed. “Honestly mate, it was white trash. But that ass, that ass did not quit for a moment.”

Spanky nodded his head in agreement as he brought his hands up to his chest in a cupping motion “man by what you were saying, I'd kill to get a glimpse of such a sweet, sweet-” Spanky's thought was interrupted by Simon hitting him in the arm to direct Spanky's attention to Gee, who looked nothing short of angry. “Game over, man” Simon whispered to him. Gee got real close to Spanky and pulled the collar of his shirt down to bring his head closer to her height. “If you finish that sentence Jacob, God help you. As long as I'm around, you won't be seeing it.” Spanky just smiled at her “I love you” was all he managed to say. Gee rolled her eyes, released her grip on his collar and continued walking forwards.

“Your name is actually Jacob?” Simon questioned as they followed Gee's lead. “Yeah, ha. I hardly ever hear it from her anymore so I know I've pissed her off.” Spanky looked down to fix his collar, and suddenly was hit with a genial idea.

“Simon if it makes you feel better, the hair is still standing on the back of my neck from that story, and that doesn't happen very often.” Simon looked at Spanky and smiled. “Ah well, thanks mate. Appreciated.” Gee laughed sarcastically ahead of them “Hate to be that person Simon, but that statement doesn't have much merit at all. He's 24 years old and still claims to get the 'heebie-jeebies'” Gee started to laugh as she turned around, shot Spanky a wink and continued walking.

Spanky made a face at Gee “Oh what the fuck ever, those are real.” Spanky turned his attention back to Simon, who was beginning to know exactly where Spanky was going with this.

“Don't listen to her man, I have goosebumps. There really is only one thing that I know will make me feel better, that only you can do-” Simon rolled his eyes before interjecting. “Fuck off with that, I'm not saying it!” Spanky let out a sigh and threw his hands up in the air.

“Please! Simon, it would mean the world to me! I thought you loved me!” Simon was laughing hysterically at Spanky's attempts to persuade him. “Not that much, mate. I'm not gonna demean myself because you have this theory that everybody from England sounds like fucking Mary Poppins!”

Gee looked back towards them and shook her head laughingly “You'll never get him to say it Spanky, it's borderline offensive” Spanky rolled his eyes at her “Oh whatever, Gee. Simon, listen I'll pay for your flight home if you say it.” Simon sighed, he knew Spanky would never let off until he said it.

“Oh for fuck sake, this is the only time I'm doing this. I mean only! So never ask me again!' Spanky clapped his hands in delight. “Fucking A! I promise.”

Simon crossed his arms and very monotonously said “You're a wizard, Harry” Spanky let out a roar of joy. “Ah man that was beautiful, so perfect. By the way I'm not paying for your flight that's like $500” Simon shot Spanky a death glare, then laughingly shook it off. “It doesn't matter mate, we do this, I'll be able to fly wherever I'd like, you can get that new car you've wanted and Gee will never have to wonder where her tuition is coming from again.”

The trio stopped dead in their tracks. “What's a matter Gee? Why'd you stop?” Spanky questioned, growing slightly worried. “Did you see that?” Gee questioned back.

“See what, I didn't see anything” Simon began to quickly inspect the building all over, to try and see if his eyes could capture what Gee's did. “It was like a flicker, coming from the other side of the building, let's go!” Gee began to jog her way to where she believed she saw the flickering light, and only hoped her eyes weren't playing tricks on her.

Gee found the spot where the light had been flickering between the doors. She anxiously awaited the other two to arrive before pushing open the doors. All three stood in complete awe and silence until Simon muttered “Jesus” under his breath.

The entire wall was covered in screens with footage from functioning cameras, with the exception of one screen in the dead center, whose screen was flickering. Every crevice of the factory was covered in surveillance. Gee walked in the room, studying every inch of the surveillance room.

“I thought you said the power was out, Spanky?” She questioned, her eyes not moving from the screens. Spanky was confused by the sight of it all. “It was.” Was all he managed to say. Simon observed the room, and found a lounge area in the back corner.

“Typical security room, really. Always have a place to sit around and be lazy.” Simon collapsed on the couch. “It's been a while since I've ran, if I have to be honest”. Spanky rubbed the sweat off his face and nodded his head. “Yeah, I agree with you on that. Let's take a break.” He sat on the sofa opposite Simon, and urged Gee to sit beside him.

“You have another story, Simon?' Spanky asked. Simon smiled. “I have lots of stories, but I'd like to hear one from somebody else.” He raised an eyebrow and turned to Gee. “How about Miss Fearless herself, yes?”

Gee smiled and arched her eyebrows back, testing Simon's question. “Are you challenging me, sir?” Simon shot a smile back at her “What if I am?” Gee crossed her legs and rubbed her hands together before burying them in her lap. “Fine, I accept your challenge. You kids may want to get comfortable, we're gonna be here a while.”

[Gee]

Skin

Our story takes place in the year of 1972, where Rebekah learns the hard way that sometimes ignorance is bliss....





The room was warm, too warm for Rebekah's liking. Days like these, she would often imagine that her small bedroom was a fortress of heat, like a lobby to Hell itself. Despite the lights being turned off and the curtains being drawn to block the sun from coming through, nothing could stop the harsh rays from bombarding their way in. Rebekah lay in her bed staring at the ceiling, as she had done every morning for the past week since she's graduated high school. She was the top student in her class, and had received five acceptances to the top universities in the country. Rebekah turned to her side trying to fight the memory that has brought her the most pain, as she threw the sheet over her head and closed her eyes tightly, trying to escape it all.



Rebekah ran home from the post office that day, laughing and crying so exuberantly as she clutched the open envelope, the run was 5km, but it felt like nothing. Nothing could steal Rebekah's happiness now. When her home came in her view, she turned too sharply and skid on the dirt road. She embarrassingly laughed at herself and stood up and quickly examined her pants, making sure that they had no holes or tears in them, as her mother would lose her temper and Rebekah would never hear the end of it. When everything was all clear, Rebekah ran up the porch steps and bust open the screen door. Her parents who were both in the kitchen turned their heads and looked at her in concern, wanting to make sure nothing happened that was devastating.



“I got in!” Rebekah shouted, with her hands on her knees for support as she tried to catch her breath. She lifted her head up to observe her parents, who were intently reading her acceptance letter. Rebekah felt her way to a chair and plummeted herself in the seat, exhausted and ecstatic at the exact same time. “I got into Harvard, Mutti” Rebekah's mother looked at her and smiled sheepishly before turning right back to the letter



“All those hours of writing that essay, about life changes when we moved to the United States from Germany, they absolutely loved it! This is a dream come true for me!” Rebekah got up and walked towards her parents, she was a little bit unsure of how their reaction was. Her father put his hand on her shoulder, and with pride in his voice told her that “Mutti and I are very proud of your achievement, Rebekah” That was all she needed to hear. She ran up to her room and jumped on her bed, she was finally going to have a life worth living.



That night her mother had prepared Rebekah's favourite meal, and even let her have a small glass of wine. This custom was only ever allowed on the most special occasions. Shortly after dinner, her father had sent all five of Rebekah's younger siblings outside to play, and then joined Rebekah and her mother in the kitchen to lay the heartbreaking news that she was not allowed to go to Harvard. Rebekah had never been hit with grief so hard in her life, between sobs she questioned her parents over and over “Why not?” in the hopes they would run out of reasons and let her go after all.



Rebekah's mother took a deep breath and calmly explained that “There are eight mouths to feed in this house, Rebekah. The cost to live and go to school at Harvard is nearly what your father brings in annually. I'm sorry, we just cannot afford to send you to college. I must be honest, I also cannot afford to lose the helping hands around here with your brothers and sisters.” Rebekah slammed her fist on the table. “That isn't fair! I worked so hard to get this letter! My whole life is dependent on going to school!” Rebekah buried her face in her hands as she sobbed in front of her parents at the table, she could feel the tears roll from her face and down her hands.



Rebekah's mother ran her fingers through her hair in frustration and then pointed to the crucifix hanging above the kitchen door. “Do not think your plan is better than His, Rebekah.” Without even thinking, Rebekah laughed out loud in her mother's face and slowly but surely managed to mutter through angry breaths “Fuck His plan.”



Before she could even blink, she was pinned to the wall by her father who was shouting in her face “What did you say?” she could see his hand raise higher, she could feel the sweat roll off her forehead in anticipation of the pain that was about to take over her body. Just as he was about to strike, Rebekah squinted her eyes open, just to take a look and was surprised and relieved at her surroundings.



She was safe in her bedroom, relieved that the sweat on her pillow and collar of her shirt was caused by the blazing heat of a June morning, and not the adrenaline of just getting a beating from her father. Rebekah heard a light knock on her bedroom door, followed by the creaking sound of it opening, something her mother always did.



“Time to get ready for service, Rebekah.” She said as she sat on her bed. “I know this acceptance letter thing has been hard on you, so I was thinking maybe you could ask Father O'Hare to publish your essay in the Parish Newsletter. It's a very good essay, darling.” Rebekah remained silent until her mother got the hint to leave her alone. Rebekah's mother shook her head and left her bedroom, Rebekah waited until she could hear her mother go down the steps before sitting up. She contemplated making herself throw up so she could avoid leaving the comfort of her bed, but didn't think it was worth it.



“I know it's good, Mutti. That's why I was accepted into the nation's top fucking college.” She angrily muttered to herself as she got up and angrily shuffled through her drawers for something to wear that wouldn't result in old Catholic ladies giving her dirty looks. Rebekah hated Sundays, more importantly now more than ever, she hated God.



It's funny to think, perhaps if Rebekah would have purged herself, it could be her telling this story.



Rebekah's family parish was indeed a small one, as practising Roman Catholics were nearly extinct in these parts. Rebekah alongside her family walked into the old, decrepit church as one would walk inside a prison. She looked over at her family, her stomach turning at the idea of committing her life to serving them, soon enough her father would come home talking about a man he'd like her to marry. Then she would end up just like her mother, somebody she swore to herself she'd never become.



Rebekah sat at the furthest side of the pew with her family, and observed the other people entering the old church doors. Father O'Hare was standing at the doors, greeting families and offering a dab of Holy Water so people could cleanse themselves before they step in. Rebekah hated that man, he was the ultimate charmer of women and she only imagined what horrors happened in the basement of the church during Sunday school. She sat staring menacingly at the priest, gripping her rosary just enough to release all the anger, but not enough to break the rosary and cause a scene, which would later result in the belt from her father once they returned home. Rebekah's angered concentration was soon broken by the warm, friendly voice of the congregation's most beloved members: the Duchesne's.



The Duchesne's were the most wealthy family in town, and have been for generations. What made them so likeable was how humble they were despite their financial situation, and were always the most charitable to those who truly needed it. Their charity only grew more with the death of their only daughter, Edith.



There was not much to say about Edith, she was a spinster at best, if not the definition of the term itself. She lived with her parents in their mansion on the hill, and was never seen outside Sunday service. Edith was a plain woman, who even in her early forties, never married. Early last year, she died of a “disease of the lungs” Rebekah's mother would say. Rebekah didn't know much about her, only remembered that she had a very close relationship to her father, and that Mr. Duchesne was devastated when Edith passed away, he didn't leave their house for days. The Duchesne's didn't even hold a funeral, just a mass in her honour the following Sunday. Some people in town believed that the grief of Edith passing away is what brought on Mrs. Duchesne's skin cancer. Now it was only Zelda and Vernon who came to mass every week, and despite Zelda's condition and them both being in their advancing seventies, they never missed a service.



The Duchesne's walked up to the pew in front of Rebekah's family very slowly, before either of the two could sit down, Mr. Duchesne got in a terrible coughing fit and began to fumble around his coat pocket looking for a handkerchief. Rebekah couldn't help but notice the fresh red blood in the handkerchief once Mr. Duchesne pulled it away, quick to realize Rebekah's glare, shined her a friendly smile and looked to the rest of her family “Good morning, Neufeld's!”. In almost perfect unison, all eight of the Neufeld's smiled and wished a good morning back to him. Mr. Duchesne simply nodded, then turned to join his wife. Moments later, Father O'Hare walked to the front of the Church and began his long and dry sermon, and Rebekah struggled to keep awake throughout the duration.



Once the sermon was finally over, Rebekah's parents were quick to join the Duchesne's as what happens most every Sunday. Rebekah sat under the willow tree in the Church yard hoping to catch any kind of shade against the blistering heat and also hoping her mother could be quick, so she could fake an illness and lay in her bed all day. This time, oddly enough, Rebekah could see her mother from a distance, waving her on to join the conversation. Rebekah got up, wiped the sweat from her forehead and walked reluctantly over, the last thing she wanted to talk about was her acceptance into Harvard.



“We have been speaking with your mother and father about your acceptance into Harvard University. How absolutely wonderful, you must be very proud of yourself” Mr. Duchesne said while taking Rebekah's hands into his. Her heart sunk, she was indeed very proud of herself and also very ashamed she couldn't go. Mrs. Duchesne touched Rebekah's shoulder. “You know, you are so lucky to live in a society where a woman can be educated. That is why we sent our Edith to medical school and she excelled. It was her dream to help burn victims rebuild themselves after such severe scarring. If you were to walk in our home now, you would still find her library on how to perform skin graphs” Mrs. Duchesne said and let out a small, weak laugh.



Rebekah lifted her head slightly to see that Mr. Duchesne was definitely fighting back tears, he took a breath before saying “That is why Zelda and I have been thinking about providing the same kind of opportunity for brilliant girls to have the same kind of quality education our Edith had.” Mr Duchesne paused to have another coughing fit which resulted in another splat of fresh blood, he shook his head and continued. “Truth is, Rebekah. Zelda and I's health is declining, and well, with Edith as our only heir, we really have no means to our estate, except for the hefty donation to the church of course.” Rebekah's heart began to race, as she knew what was coming up next.



Mrs. Duchesne gave a quick glance to her husband and cleared her throat before taking over. “We know times are hard for you and your family, Rebekah. All this being said, we are ready to cut you a deal I think you will be more than happy with.” Rebekah's eyes widened. She felt her body nearly burst with excitement she could hardly manage to mutter “What deal would that be?”



“Keeping up with our home has become nearly arduous for Vernon and I because of our condition. Rebekah, if you stay in our home for the summer months and help tend our estate, Vernon and I will pay your schooling for the next four years in full.” Rebekah's jaw dropped and she couldn't help but have a few of the most happy tears stream down her face. She quickly turned to look at her parents, who both nodded in approval. Things were finally changing for the better. The request seemed so small, she was used to taking care of others because of all the siblings she had to care for over the years alongside her mother and also, spending a couple months in the Duchesne mansion would feel like paradise compared to the tiny farm house her family lived in.



“I'm so glad you're okay with this, I would give you a hug, but any kind of touch to my skin is terribly painful. The summer months tend to be the most difficult.” Mrs. Duchesne touched Rebekah's shoulder so gently. “You better start packing, my dear. We'll see you tomorrow.” With that, the Duchesne's said their goodbyes to the Neufelds and headed home.



Rebekah turned to her parents and gave them both the most genuine, thankful hug she's ever given. “Thank you so much, Mutti. I know this must be difficult for you.” Rebekah's mother linked arms with her daughter, and they began walking towards their car. “You know, your father and I decided to bring our family here because there was no opportunity for us back where we were from in Germany, not unless you wanted to be a Mennonite. It would be completely against our initial cause to deny you this opportunity. You are truly brilliant, Rebekah. Harvard is very lucky to have you.” she kissed Rebekah's forehead and with that, Rebekah and her family got inside the car and made the trek home.





As Rebekah had expected, life with the Duchesne's was as simple as she'd expected, in fact even easier. Rebekah had prepared herself to need to assist Mr. and Mrs. Duchesne with their medications, or with getting in and out of bed every morning, what was expected of her was quite the contrary. It was the simplest chores such as dishes and laundry that needed to be done. The elderly couple were also really easy to get along with, even though some of Mrs. Duchesne's requests were a little out of the ordinary, Rebekah just assumed it came with the generation they were from. The entire west wing of the house where the bedroom belonging to Mr. and Mrs. Duchesne was strictly prohibited for Rebekah to enter. Even Edith's bedroom and medical room had the same strict enforcement. Still in disbelief that the Duchesne's were doing such a huge favour for her, Rebekah dare not question why.



One morning, while Rebekah was cleaning the kitchen she couldn't help but notice her own breath while grouting the floor tiles. It was one of Mr. Duchesne's bad days, and Rebekah turned her head to see that he was asleep in the next room and that Mrs. Duchesne was nodding on and off in the chair next to him herself. “It's fucking freezing” she thought to herself as she rubbed her arms for warmth. “There is no way that this kind of cold could be good for either of them.” With this as her conclusion, Rebekah tip-toed down to the main hallway, careful not to wake the couple, and turned off the air conditioning.



“Better” Rebekah thought to herself, and very quickly and quietly, returned back to her work in the kitchen. It seemed like only minutes later, the house turned to a more comfortable temperature, which was soon abolished as the rays of the July sun beamed in through the windows and provided warmth throughout the entire mansion. Rebekah was very much used to doing chores in the heat, as her family never had the luxury of an air conditioner. What bothered Rebekah, was the absolutely terrible stench of rotting meat that seemed to consume the air.



Rebekah's stomach churned as she continued to work and breathe in the scent. “Where the hell is this coming from?” she thought to herself as she grabbed a glass of water to try and soothe her stomach. Rebekah looked in the refrigerator for anything that has possibly gone bad, when everything was fine there, she turned her attention to the garbage bin under the kitchen sink, but still could not find anything that would cause the putrid stench. All of a sudden the stench came over Rebekah a hundred times stronger than before, like a tidal wave consuming every inch in it's path. Rebekah was mortified when she turned to see the cause of such a horrid smell: Mrs. Duchesne



“Rebekah! Perhaps one of the most important rules of the house, do not change the temperature unless instructed to do so!” Mrs. Duchesne cried while waving her finger at Rebekah, while trying her hardest to not yell. Rebekah was more than just a little unsure as to why Mrs. Duchesne was so upset, Rebekah herself was struggling not to vomit at the stench that was so pervasive in the room, she took a step back before pleading “I'm really sorry, Mrs. Duchesne. It was freezing, I could see my own breath inside the house! I just didn't want you or Mr. Duchesne to catch a cold-” Rebekah was at a loss for words, she had never seen anything more disturbing in her life.



“What's the matter?” Mrs. Duchesne asked, a little more than impatient as she placed her hands on her hips. To Rebekah's horror, she couldn't help but notice that underneath Mrs. Duchesne's weathered left eye, the skin was beginning to sag down and peel away from her face, what shocked her the most was that there was no blood or bone, just another layer of fresh skin. One could even argue it looked younger. Rebekah couldn't bear the sight any longer and quickly turned her head away as she grasped the kitchen counter behind her. “I'm terribly sorry if this sounds strange, Mrs. Duchesne but, your face is peeling!” Rebekah quickly glanced back and felt terrible after she saw the look of embarrassment on Mrs. Duchesne's face. Mrs. Duchesne quickly covered her eye and frantically cried out “Turn on the air conditioning, never touch it again!” before walking as quickly as her frail body would let her towards the west wing and into their bedroom.



For the rest of the day, Rebekah couldn't help but play the scene in the kitchen with Mrs. Duchesne over and over again in her head. That fresh layer of skin underneath. Not one drop of blood, and how could she not even realize her face was peeling? These questions played over and over in Rebekah's mind, and even though hours had passed and it was now time for dinner, Rebekah still felt unsettled joining them for the meal that she prepared.



Between very small bites, as Rebekah's appetite was non existent, she studied the dining hall, particularly the massive portrait of Edith that was mounted on the wall directly behind Mrs. Duchesne. Out of all the years that Rebekah had gone to the same congregation as the Duchesne family, she never took a moment to really study Edith. She definitely had her mother's eyes and facial structure, but the most plain features she had ever seen. Rebekah's concentration was broken by Mrs. Duchesne, who cleared her throat and placed her napkin on her lap. “Rebekah, I would just like to apologize about this morning. I should have mentioned it to you earlier, I wear special skin graphs on my face as my natural skin was mostly removed because it was cancerous. The graph is very expensive, and temperature is vital. If anything becomes too hot, I start melting like a candle!” Mrs. Duchesne let out a laugh that was also joined in by Mr. Duchesne. He looked over at Rebekah and smiled warmly “We hope Zelda didn't scare you, or make you think she was angry with you.” Rebekah studied the old couple. If there was anything on earth Rebekah could determine, it was a lie. Something was slightly off, all she could think about was that fresh layer. She took a sip out of her glass of water before saying “Oh of course not, I'm sorry I made a scene.” Mrs. Duchesne smiled at Rebekah, and the rest of dinner was quiet.



For the following nights, Rebekah lay in her bed thinking of scenarios that would result in Mrs. Duchesne's 'skin graph' peeling again. Perhaps one night she could tip toe down and toy with the air conditioner again in the middle of the night, and the next morning Mrs. Duchesne's face would be entirely different. Rebekah quickly thought against it, because nothing was worth that smell again. She also imagined if something awful were to happen that set the mansion on fire, would she be able to glimpse at the second layer of Mrs. Duchesne in it's entirety. Rebekah sat up in bed and shook her head, feeling stupid that she was being so paranoid. “That's one hell of a skin graph” she thought to herself as she turned around into the plethora of goose feather pillows. Rebekah all of a sudden remembered an old friend from her early childhood in Germany. Her name was Eva and Rebekah remembered that her house caught on fire, and Eva's family had to get her a skin graph to fix her face, but it still looked horribly burned. Rebekah turned to her other side. The Duchesne's had always been wealthy, it's not completely crazy to think that they could afford to buy Mrs. Duchesne a whole new face, is it? Rebekah's train of thought came to a sudden halt when Mr. Duchesne's voice was heard throughout the mansion.



“Edith!” He cried. Rebekah sat up, confused about how she should react about the entire situation. “Poor guy, must have night terrors” is what she tried to convince herself is what was happening, but somehow she felt in her bones it was a much different situation. “Oh, Edith!” Mr. Duchesne's voice echoed even louder throughout the house only this time it was accompanied with heavy, rapid knocking against the walls and a much younger woman's giggle accompanying it. Rebekah was the eldest of six children, and was pretty certain she'd heard the conception to the youngest few of her siblings. With a large churn in her stomach and a look of absolute disgust on her face mumbled in complete repulsion to herself “He's fucking having sex.” Rebekah threw herself back in bed and buried her head under the pillows. “Something is fucked up, and I'm gonna find out exactly what it is” she thought to herself before dozing off to a night of very light sleep.



Rebekah woke up feeling nauseous. Maybe things would be better off if she just never took the Duchesne's offer, and stayed home in the comfort of her small farm house where the warmth of the bed she'd laid most of her life in was, where the smell of bread baking and the sound of her mother humming songs from the old country all lived. As Rebekah prepared breakfast for the Duchesne's, she thought of her family and felt a pang of home sickness as sharp as a knife. At least back home she could sleep soundly without the knowledge that the town's most respectable man was cheating on his wife for some young woman who was pretending to be his dead daughter. Rebekah tried to shake the thought out of her head. Tonight she would be sure to find out exactly what was going on, and that was a promise.



The day seemed to go on like an eternity, but it was finally around the time the Duchesne's retired for the night. Rebekah watched Mrs. Duchesne struggle a little bit to get up and walk down the hall towards the west wing, and felt terrible for her. That her husband can do something so despicable to her, especially in her condition. Rebekah waited until she could see that all the lights in the west wing were turned off before quickly scampering to the main room of the house and carefully looking out the window for any sign of a woman trying to get in. Rebekah had every intention of catching Mr. Duchesne in the act and relaying it back to his wife. It seemed like hours past and still, Rebekah saw nothing but could feel her eyes getting heavy. The idea of retiring back to her bedroom became more and more convincing until she heard a voice coming from the west wing. A woman, much younger than seventy-six.



Rebekah ever so carefully turned her body and made her way very slowly to the entrance of the west wing. Rebekah quickly froze behind the wall when the voice returned. “Just a minute, and let me go put more of that solution on. Seems I've let it go for too long, doesn't stick to the flesh as well anymore” Rebekah was unsure, it seems that would be Mrs. Duchesne speaking about her skin graph, but the voice was so different. She quickly peered her face over to see exactly what was going on and was surprised to see that it was Mrs. Duchesne exiting the room, only she was walking quite effortlessly with a swing in her hips that everybody who knew Mrs. Duchesne knew that she hadn't been able to walk without a slight limp in decades. Rebekah could not help but be intrigued and slightly afraid of what she could discover, but decided the best course of action would be to get inside the west wing.



Rebekah waited for Mrs. Duchesne to return to bed before attempting to explore this forbidden side of the house. She turned to glance at the room directly to her left, and despite the hallway being completely dark, she managed to read the shiny plaque on the door:



Medical Study of Edith Mary Duchesne, M.D, MBChB, D.O



Rebekah couldn't help but feel that she was fighting with herself to go inside, she knew the answer to everything would be in this room and that is what terrified her. Rebekah turned the knob lightly and pushed the door slowly so that nobody would hear her sneak in. Everything inside was pitch black, Rebekah felt her way for any means of light and was relieved to find a candle and a pack of matches. Once she was able to see, Rebekah was amazed with what she saw. The walls were covered by shelves stacked with hundreds of books on the same aspect of medicine, what Rebekah found most intriguing were the volumes titled “Journal of Dr. Edith M. Duchesne” with the corresponding year beside it. With her finger she traced along down the time line but felt an overwhelming feeling of unease when she saw one dated for “1972”.



Rebekah grabbed the book off the shelf and chose a random entry, in hoped that perhaps maybe it was Mrs. Duchesne who started writing:



March 3rd, 1972



I'm finding that this time of the year is the most ideal and easiest time in preserving the skin. The climate is at a perfect temperature, not too cold (so application and removal is easy) and not too warm (where the flesh begins to decompose). It has been 389 days since I have been wearing the flesh off mother's corpse. This experiment has been a huge success thus far, from the day I began the experiment until now, nobody has ever commented or seemed to notice a change in appearance. Saying this, looking back I am glad I decided to remove all the flesh tissues from mother's body as I believe it is vital in people not noticing the physical difference. That, and that of course the Lord blessed me with the same body type as mother. I thank God everyday that he has allowed me to have the medical knowledge necessary to perform this type of procedure and to continue my relationship with father. We are both endlessly happy.



Rebekah closed the book and quickly tossed it on the desk. Her head was reeling, the room was spinning, she dropped to the floor and began to retch uncontrollably. Edith wasn't dead, Mrs. Duchesne was, Edith was only quite literally wearing her skin. Everything made complete sense now: the cold temperatures, why the west wing was completely forbidden, that awful rotting meat smell. What made Rebekah the most sick was that Mr. Duchesne was in on it completely. Edith did this so she could have an incestuous relationship with her father. Before Rebekah had any more time to even think about it, the door busted open and Rebekah could feel a presence standing over her



“Well, it appears somebody has been looking where they shouldn't be” Edith said, arms crossed standing over Rebekah who was still on the ground. “What the fuck did you do to her?!” Rebekah cried, struggling to stand up. Edith started to take a step backwards. “I don't know what you're talking about.” Rebekah began to laugh as she wiped the vomit away from her mouth.



“Don't give me that shit, Edith. You killed your own mother to be with your father. You wear her skin. Your own mother's dead skin you sick fucking bitch!” Rebekah tried to claw at her, but Edith caught her arm. “So you're not as daft as I thought you were, Rebekah. Don't talk to me like I'm immoral, the Lord says to love thy father, I seem to be the only one who understands that. I didn't want to be condemned from the Church my family built! That's why I'm wearing that wench's skin!” Edith's grip strengthened as she spewed her last words into Rebekah's face. “Yeah, love your father, sure. God never said to fuck him!” with that as a last remark, Rebekah elbowed Edith as hard as she could in the stomach and lunged underneath her and ran out of the office and into the hallway.



Edith fell to the ground but quickly crawled to grab Rebekah's leg, resulting in Rebekah falling face first onto the hardwood floor. She spit the blood out of her mouth and turned to see Edith practically on top of her with a knife in hand. “You should have watched yourself, Rebekah. You won't live to see fucking college!” Rebekah followed her first instinct to use all her strength in kicking Edith away, when Edith lunged backwards, Rebekah ran over to quickly steal the knife away.



“I will not let you turn me into a fucking costume like you did your mother, you crazy bitch! Any closer and you're dead!” Edith crawled backwards, trying to escape death. Rebekah breathed in heavily “I'm leaving, and everybody is going to know about you and how fucking crazy you are. To think anybody ever felt sorry for you!” With those as her final words to the Duchesne's, Rebekah turned to the front door, with tears streaming down her face and a heart full of want to get home to her mother and father, she opened the door to find Mr. Duchesne standing there gun in hand, and with a single shot, Rebekah's eyes widened and she fell to the ground. The pool of deep red getting larger and larger as Rebekah felt her life run farther and farther away....





Three Weeks Later



The knock on the door took the Duchesne's by surprise, as they normally never receive any visitors. Edith had a really good feeling as to whom exactly it was. She looked over at her father who nodded to her. They had rehearsed everything from the moment they dragged Rebekah's lifeless body to Edith's study. They could do this, they've done it before.



Edith, wearing her disguise of course, opened the door. “Sheriff McDonald. What a pleasant surprise! Come in, come in.” The Sheriff stepped inside and took a look around the grand mansion before walking over and shaking Mr. Duchesne's hand. “I imagine you've heard about the disappearance of the Neufeld girl, yes?” The Sheriff asked taking a seat and pulling out a notepad. Edith shook her head in sorrow. “Yes, she worked with us for about a month. Told us one morning she was leaving to visit her family, and never came back. We've been worried sick. I've been telephoning her mother at least twice a week to see if she's turned up!” Edith reached out to hold Mr. Duchesne's hand. As the Sheriff took notes, Mr. Duchesne shot a quick wink at Edith before turning back to Sheriff McDonald. “Please say there's been some good news, Sheriff. We care so much for her.” The Sheriff gave a grave look. “I hate to break it to you folks, but it's this point in the investigation where we are close to assuming death.” Edith buried her face in her hands. Sheriff McDonald put his hand on Edith's shoulder. “Any detail about what happened that day would help us greatly.” Edith looked up and simply answered. “She made us eggs benedict for breakfast that morning and asked us over breakfast if she could visit her family, we said of course, and well-” Edith broke into tears. “That's the last time we saw her!” Mr. Duchesne put his arm around her. “That's really all we know, Sheriff.” he said sincerely. Sheriff McDonald nodded.



Mrs. Duchesne walked Sheriff McDonald to the front door. “Please do come see us again, Sheriff. We love visitors. And do bring your wife next time.” Sheriff McDonald smiled at her. “I will definitely let her know, she always told me how beautiful your house was decorated when she came on over to collect community donations, now I know what she's talking about.” Edith smiled warmly at the Sheriff. “How kind of you.” Sheriff McDonald scratched his head and laughed. “Now don't laugh too much at me now, but it is my wife's birthday in about a month and I really want to get her something nice for the house. That chair I was sitting in, that was really sharp. Where is it from?” Edith's eyes widened. “Oh that? That is our newest addition, just received it recently. We got it imported from Europe.” Edith turned to see that the Sheriff was taking notes on the chair. “Europe, huh? Well it's really nice and smooth to the touch. I imagine that's real leather right?”



Edith turned to look at the chair sitting in their main room, and laughed. “Of course it is, Sheriff. Straight from Germany”

[Spanky]

“Holy fuck that was intense.” Spanky look around the dark room, just in case.

“Yeah Gee,” replied Simon, “not too shabby. Though if I may say so myself, I've seen scarier stuff on an episode of that Jerry Springer show everyone in the States seems to love so much.”

“You think so Simon?” Gee formed a slight grin on her face and lowered her eyebrows, delivering a menacing look toward Simon. “If that's the case, why don't you look over your right shoulder?”

Simon, perplexed and puzzled as to what Gee was even talking about, slowly turned his head to the right, only to find that Spanky had put his arm around him on the couch during Gee's story.

“Ay, fuck right of with that now, shit's not funny, mate.” Simon slapped Spanky's hand away and stood up off the couch.

“Sorry dude, you were looking kind of scared and in need of a snuggle buddy.” Spanky winked and Gee and himself belted out laughter as Simon tried to stand there angry, but it was of no use. Within seconds Simon smirked.

“Well you reckon we should get a move on, no?” Simon inquired as he walked toward the door. Spanky followed closely behind him, with his arm around Gee smiling.

The trio of friends made there way into the center of the main factory floor. Cobwebs and dust littered the abandoned factory, as it has been desolate for ages now. The main conveyor belt curved back and forth throughout the factory like an industrial serpent, unfinished dolls in many forms occupying the path.

“I figure this ought to lead us to what we're looking for, it looks like as this conveyor belt goes on, the more complete these things were before they shut down the place,” Spanky noted as he pointed down the factory as the belt went through various housings.

“No shit,” Simon shot back sarcastically, “you figure that out all by yourself there buddy?” Simon patted Spanky on the back and the three of them continued on.

“Damn, so close!” Gee exclaimed as she grabbed something off the conveyor belt, a small platform, with a thin pole protruding up, with a unfinished Good Guy doll attached to it. Arms, legs, hair, that's all there was. No overalls, empty, black voids were the eyes were supposed to go. “Fucking bummer.” Gee dropped the platform on the ground and a vibrant crack echoed through the dark factory.

The head of the unfinished Good Guy doll detached and rolled on the floor to the side of Spanky's foot, empty eye sockets peering straight up at him, making him jump a little, before laughing and getting his typical mischievous grin on his face.

“So Simon, how about it?” Spanky asked as he bounced the head between his feet, gently kicking it to Simon.

“How about what?” Simon answered back. He had an idea of what Spanky was getting at.

“You are into all that soccer stuff, aren't ya? Being from the Motherland and whatnot? Think you can score?” Spanky placed himself between the conveyor belt and a work bench about 15 feet apart.

“For fucks sake!” Simon glared at Spanky. “This ain't no bloody fucking World Cup now mate, now is it?”

Gee couldn't help but ride of Spanky's jabs. “More like the Good Guy Cup! C'mon Simon, you're just acting like this because you know you can't do it!”

Simon shot his death stare over at Gee, muttering to himself. “Fine, fine, if it'll shut you too up and get us back on track.” Simon squared up the head, peering down the void factory floor with Spanky standing in the makeshift goal 20 feet away. Even Simon couldn't help but enjoy this just a little bit. As he lined up his shot, a cloud of dust kicked up from the floor. He charged the head of the incomplete doll, a loud smack emitting as it blasted off against the side of his foot. The head sailed through the air toward Spanky, the read hair flowing freely as the head spun end over end. Simon looked on in delight as the head made it's way, closer and closer, then crack! The impromptu ball struck Spanky right in the corner of his forehead, and bounced off to the side, into the darkness, never to be seen again. A small red welt quickly emerged on Spanky's head as he and Simon just stared at each other, Gee looking on, mouth agape as to what just happened.

“Reckon that's a tie?” Spanky busted out laughing hysterically.

“I suppose it is, mate.” Simon joined in on the laughter and it wasn't long before Gee couldn't control herself and she was soon on the ground laughing uncontrollably.

“Alright, alright! I can't take any more of this, I am gonna die if I keep laughing,” Gee belted out as she got up of the dirt and dust covered floor, brushing herself off. “Let's keep going, I think I see the part where they put eyes in these things.”

Simon, Spanky, and Gee continued their trek, following the conveyor belt closing, nearing hugging it, as it would surely lead them to the prize they were searching for. Sure enough, Gee was right, as they approached a mechanical housing where some hydraulic equipment stood. Non-operational, but the purpose was clear. A pair of bright blue eyes still attached to the rods that were meant to plunge into the head of the dolls as they were assembled.

“Ay, right there guys, look!” Simon pointed further down the line, where a rack of the signature blue overalls stood. A broken down mechanical arm reaching toward it to complete clothing the toys as they made their journey through the factory. Right there on the conveyor belt stood another platform, with a more complete Good Guy doll standing. Blue eyes staring forward, mouth in the form of a smile, wearing just the rainbow striped sweater. That's as far as that one made it before the place was shut down for good and never opened again.

The group reached what appeared to be a dead end however, as the conveyor belt continued through a small opening in the wall, leather flaps draped over it.

“I think we don't have any other option.” Simon shrugged his shoulders, staring at the opening.

“Yeah, our pay day has to be on the other side, but should we try to find a way around?” Spanky queried the other two.

“Lets just get this fucking thing and get out of here,” Gee noted. “This is starting to give me the creeps. Lets just crawl through one by one, it'll be quicker.”

“Alright, I'll head in first, then you Gee, and Spanky, you bring up the rear.” Simon proposed.

“Sounds good man, I'd prefer we all just go instead of one of us being alone on either side, that's like some stupid idea people name in horror movies that get them killed.” Spanky added.

One by one, the group hopped on the conveyor belt, which shook and kicked up dust as each of them climbed on. Simon slapped the leather strips out of the way as he crawled into the opening, Gee right behind him. Spanky was a little to far behind, as one of the leather strips fell off of Gee as he passed through and smacked him in the face.

“Damn it, fuck!” Spanky exclaimed in frustration.

“Sorry about that,” Gee apologized, smiling back at Spanky, who couldn't help but shoot a smile back at her.

Ahead of Spanky and Gee, Simon emerged from the other end of the dark, cramped tunnel. “Holy shit.....” as he hopped off the conveyor belt, shoes making a clap as they made abrupt contact with the smooth factory floor. Gee and Spanky quickly emerged to see what had Simon standing in shock and awe.

There stood the three of them, peering out into the other side of the factory, mouths agape. Walls upon walls out bright, yellow boxes stacked, one pallet on top of another, blocking the view of anything else that await them in the abandoned factory. On the front of each box, a window of cellophane separated the innocent looking Good Guy dolls from the outside world. Unfortunately, all the towers and towers of boxes were wrapped so tightly in plastic, that attempting to rip through it to retrieve their prize would prove futile.

“Maybe there's one easier to get a hold of down there,” Spanky suggested as he pointed ad a faded green side with white text reading “Loading dock” and an arrow pointing into an entrance between two towering stacks of boxes.

“Hopefully, or else we'll be here forever trying to cut through this shit to grab one!” Simon lashed out in frustration.

“You think she wanted one in a box?” Gee asked out of curiosity. None of them had any clue if she did. The blonde lady who requested what they were looking for wasn't very clear on her intentions, she said she just wanted one, by any means necessary.

“No idea,” Spanky answered, as he lead the trio into the winding labyrinth of yellow Good Guy boxes. They would only go a few feet, before hitting a corner and turning into another endless hall of boxes. “This might take us a while to get to the dock, it's a fucking maze here.”

“Tell me about it,” Simon said as he kicked a box, barely denting the outer plastic wrapping of the pallet stack.

Spanky grabbed Gee's hand, and put his other around Simon as they made there was deeper into the endless, disorganized array of packaged products. “Well I figure now is as good of a time as any, seeing it looks like we got some walking to do through this shit. Might as pass the time, and guys, do I have a story for you.....”

[Spanky]

Neighborly Sins

A crisp, cool autumn wind slapped the lanky tree branch against the window in Clark's room as he peered out into the neighborhood from the comfort of his own, safe room. A dull, gray, overcast covered the sky as the wind kicked up the freshly fallen, seasonally colored leaves in miniature cyclones spurts at a time at the end of his driveway. The leaves from yesterday and beyond laid stuck to the soft ground, still soaked from the heavy rainfall the night before. He could hear the plastic skeleton blow away from his front door and fly back with a loud “smack” the wind made it dance outside. The air howled and whistled as periodic gusts made it's way down the street. His father was out raking leaves in the front lawn, as Clark could hear the “swoosh” as the rake combed over the wet grass with every scoop of leaves.

Clark never cared so much for ghost, ghouls, goblins, and the like, but he did enjoy the candy, the pumpkins, and less scary decor that riddled his neighborhood during this time of year. He shifted his view from his driveway over to the towering, balding tree in his front yard, draped in toilet paper from the latest prank his fellow 9th grade students in his block decided to play on him, a prank Clark was undoubtedly going to have to clean up. Clark didn't really have many friends, just acquaintances, similarly aged company at the most, but he certainly wouldn't classify Brandt, Tom, Jimmy, and Stephen as his friends, they were closer to bullies. They never took it to the extreme with Clark, but most days he was the constant subject of the other boys' harsh pranks that they always considered as “just joking around”. Being slammed against lockers, school books thrown about, and always being scared by them were just a few examples of the “fun” that Clark always had the pleasure of experiencing with his fellow kids in the neighborhood.

He never thought much about it though, however. In fact, nobody really did, Clark might as well been non-existence in the eyes of anyone that could have ever done anything about it. He got the usual “toughen up” and “stand up for yourself” spiels from his parents, and Clark carried no favor in school, as he was not the most popular boy in his grade. Teachers often turned a blind eye are gave him the “oh come on, Clark, it's just for fun” treatment. Clark never once thought about getting even or retaliating by any means though, as he was a gentle young man. Easily scared, just wanting peace, and to be left alone, Clark just wanted to move on with life and get through it. Clark couldn't even turn a blind corner in the halls at school without getting jolted by the monstrous decorations that awaited him on the other side. Scary movies gave him nightmares, and he had a love/hate relationship with trick-or-treating, his only motivation is to score big on candy and enjoy the more tranquil costumes and decorations put on display in his neighborhood.

Ms. Kassidy, often referred to as “Old Lady Kassidy” by the neighborhood boys, was one of the houses on the street he always admired, as every year she had multiple giant pumpkins on display in her front porch, sporting gentle and friendly faces that were far from the typical scary jack-o-lanterns that accompany Halloween. Ms. Kassidy was a widow for as long as Clark could remember since he moved into the neighborhood about eight years ago, but she was not a bitter, cold woman. She was very friendly to anyone willing to stop by. She was the typical old lady on the street, baking cookies and is always a shoe-in for buying something when the usual fundraisers came around for whatever cause. Clark could see her home from his window, across the street and three houses to the left, as she prepared to light her carved pumpkins for the night. To the right of Ms. Kassidy's home was where Stephen lived, with the next house being Brandt. Next to Brandt lived the Calloway's who never seemed to celebrate Halloween, as their yard was usually void and empty this time of year and they rarely handed out candy. Across the street from Clark lived Jimmy and Tom, twin brothers from his class, who ushered out more than double the torment on the daily life of Clark.

“Clark! Dinner time!” emitted from down the stairs as his mother called for him. Clark could smell what was for supper, an overly seasoned pot roast with mashed potatoes and gravy, fresh crescent rolls just being removed from the oven.

Clark reluctantly stood up from his chair at his computer desk, and made his way downstairs to the dining room. He didn't mind the meal that awaited him, he actually enjoyed it, he just wasn't looking forward to the dinner conversation that night. It would most definitely consist of his parents informing him of the costume party they were having for their work friends, meaning no kids allowed, which in turn meant Clark would be forced from the house for the night, something Clark was not looking forward to, not at all...

… for Clark was the most scared person anyone knew, and tonight was the scariest night of the year.



The sun was nearly set as Clark stepped out onto his front porch, the door delivering a jolting “thud” as his father slammed it behind him. His parents had to get the house ready for their annual costume party, so Clark was forced to emerge himself in the holiday ritual of wearing a costume of his own and testing the hostile waters of his neighborhood.

The sky stretched a vibrant spectrum of purple to yellow, as the wind died down to a calm, timely breeze. Clark grasped his pillow case, hoping he could go through the night with minimal trouble from Brandt and the other boys, and fill his cotton receptacle with sugary delights in various forms of candy. Step by step, dressed head to toe as his favorite “X-Men” character, Wolverine, complete with makeshift foam claws spray painted gray, Clark made his way to the end of his driveway and took a sharp left to begin his trek, hoping to avoid Brandt, Stephen, Tom, and Jimmy by any means necessary.

“Trick or treat!” Clark shouted with false enthusiasm, house after house, as he held out his pillow case for them to deposit what treats each resident had furnished for the night. Kit Kat bars, Butterfingers, Snickers, Baby Ruths, Crunch bars, bags of Skittles and M&M's, Clark was surely hitting the jackpot for his sweet tooth that night. One good thing about the neighborhood he lived in, as well as the surrounding area, is that everyone splurged more or less during Halloween. Most everybody handed out full size versions of the various assortments of candy, none of that fun-sized teaser candy. About a dozen or so houses in, and Clark's run of safety quickly ran out.

Crack! The shell quickly shattered as the yellow ooze of yolk ran down the side of his face. Clark quickly turned around, only to notice the incoming barrage of eggs heading his way, one after another. He quickly became doused in the clear liquid, with patches of yellow staining his body like bullet wounds.

“Don't you like eggs, Clark?” Tom taunted as Jimmy held out a carton of eggs for his twin brother to reload and continue fire over and over.

“Yeah, you fucking wuss, they are good for you!” Brandt exclaimed as he hurled a handful at him, landing square in the middle of Clark's chest. Stephen stood by with an open backpack full of egg cartons, toilet paper, and what looked like brown bags of dog excrement, most likely to end up aflame on various front porches later, including Clark's.

“Stop guys, please! Just leave me alone, I am not bothering you,” Clark pleaded as he attempted to wipe away the aftermath of the attack from his face and body. “Please, you had your fun, now just let me be.” The four boys quickly circled Clark, preventing any escape.

“You wish, pussy,” Stephen retorted as he made a gesture like he was going to plant his fist on the side of Clark's lower jaw, causing him to flinch.

“Two for flinching, asshole!” Jimmy belted out as he and the other three boys proceeded to punch Clark twice in his arms and back.

“Stop guys, please!” Clark begged as tears started to roll down his cheeks. “Just leave me alone.”

“Are you seriously fucking crying, Clark?” Brandt said as he and the other boys took turns pushing Clark to the ground, only to pick him back up and do it over again, sometimes mixing it up with a punch to his midsection.

A secondary assault of eggs had begun on Clark as Stephen grabbed three rolls of toilet paper out from his backpack. The boys picked up Clark once again, this time to commence in wrapping him in the toilet paper, as he stood there helpless.

“Please guys, please,” Clark tried to mutter out, but it was of no use. In a matter of seconds the boys had completely draped him in a white robe of soft, cotton bathroom tissue.

“Look at this bitch, so pathetic, you make it so easy for us Clark,” Tom laughed as he continued to punch and push along with the other boys. Clark could feel the bruises forming on his arms and legs, shoulders and back. This was his fate, to be tormented by these guys everyday for the rest of his life, with no way out. They surrounded him and were blocking any possible run for escape. It was then Clark decided to try something desperate, something bold, something that would likely end with him even worse off.

Clark closed his eyes and blindly swung his right fist across his body with everything he had, nailing Jimmy right in the nose, knocking him to the ground. Realizing he made contact with one of them, Clark quickly turned to hit right and swiftly kicked his left foot upwards, jolting up between the legs of Brandt, who let out a loud gasp for air before collapsing to the ground. Stephen and Tom looked on in shock and awe as their two friends laid on the ground, just for a split second though, as Stephen reached out to grab Clark for the impending beating that Clark knew would follow this course of action. Luckily for Clark however, that split seconds was all he needs, as he dashed over Brandt, who was writhing on the ground in pain, and made a run for it, leaving Stephen's hand empty as he grabbed for the collar of Clark's shirt.

“Get back here you piece of shit! You're fucking dead!” Jimmy bellowed out as Tom and Stephen helped him and Brandt back to their feet, giving way to a chase that would only be the beginning of Clark's quest for survival.

The outstretched, scratchy, dry fingers of the low hanging branch scratched Clark on the side of his neck as he brushed by it turning the corner in a yard in the neighborhood as he evaded his pursuers. A few feet later he had to climb and flip over the neighboring fence as Brandt and the boys quickly gained ground on him.

“Get back here Clark!” Brandt shouted as he quickly started closing the gap. All the other boys were easily more athletic than Clark was, being members of the football team, which made their pursuit of him not the most difficult of tasks. Clark had to try and outsmart the boys by making quick turns and altering his escape path, often getting lost in the surrounding neighborhoods around him. Panting heavily, and hearing the taunting and aggression nearing him from behind, Clark was sensing his impending doom as he ventured deeper into the labyrinth of houses and streets. Just as soon as he could feel the warmth from Tom or Jimmy's hands near the back of his neck, Clark would sharply change direction, allowing him to gain a few extra feet. Even if it was just for a few seconds, it was longer than he was anticipating when he made the decision to fight back. Battered and bloody, Clark just wanted to get back to the safety of his home, clearly his parents would understand if they saw him in this condition, this scared, this threatened.

Clark was starting to fatigue, quickly. He was running out of gas, gasping for air every time he was able to gain distance from the boys with his strategical change in course. He swerved his head left and right, looking for any sign of were he might be. It was so dark out and nobody seemed to still be out trick-or-treating, Clark was on his own. The thought of hiding quickly popped into his mind, but it would only be temporary before one of his four predators found him and then he would be back to square one. As he sprinted past a street lamp, Clark quickly read the nearby street sign.

“Dickerson Street, shit...” Clark huffed and puffed as he realized he was five streets away from his neighborhood. He managed to stretch his lead to about 100 feet from Brandt, Jimmy, and Tom, and Stephen being nowhere in sight. “He must have fallen behind,” Clark thought to himself, remembering Stephen was the biggest of the boys and easily the slowest. There was no way Clark could keep this up for long, he just wasn't fast or conditioned enough.

“Damn, what do I do?” Clark asked himself out loud as he kept running down the street perpendicular to the streets he meandered through on the way to his current position. He quickly approached the T-junction of Burch Street and the road he was currently on, meaning he was only three streets away from his own, Greenway Lane. Clark quickly debated in his head between meandering back or making a dead sprint for his street, deciding on the latter of two, due to the fact he couldn't keep this up much longer and needed to get home.

Clark commenced in a dead out sprint as he started to give it everything he had, the scrapes on his neck and legs burning in pain, and his bruises swollen. He quickly approached Jasper Street, only two more left. He looked back to see Brandt, Jimmy, and Tom only 50 feet behind him, looking more angry with each stride as they shouted insults and threats at him from afar.

“We're gonna kick the shit out of you!” Jimmy screamed, increasing his speed.

The burning sensation in his lungs peaking, Clark kept pushing as hard as he could, and Meadow Lane approached.

“Thank God, one more to go,” Clark thought to himself, too scared to even look behind him as the boys were only 25 feet behind him at this point. Pushing harder and harder, muscles aching and the feeling of impending cramps building, Clark gave it everything he had, slanting into the grass of the neighboring houses to make his escape route shorter. He quickly reached Greenway Lane and took as sharp of a right turn as he could, nearly clipping the house on the corner in the process. All he had to do was make it to his house and he would be safe.

The boys kept gaining ground as Clark cut through the front lawns of all the houses, nearing that of his own. He was in the home stretch, just a few houses down and across the street and he was home. Jumping on the porch, running across it, and leaping back onto the grass, Clark continued pushing, the boys maintaining their distance as they were beginning to tire as well. Entering the front lawn of Ms Kassidy's residence, Clark could see his front door, as he was running right up next to her porch. Then out of nowhere he was hit by a train of force and anger as Stephen blindsided him and tackled him onto Ms Kassidy's porch, smashing him into one of her prized giant carved pumpkins.

Clark quickly felt himself covered in the warmth of the pumpkin's innards. The gooey, slimey liquid covered his shirt, and felt extremely weird and foreign. Brandt and the boys stood around him, catching their breath to precede in beating Clark within an inch of his life. Clark knowing he gave it his all, had no choice but to face it, as he lifted himself up off the smashed remains of the pumpkin, nearly slipping on the porch, gagging at a foul odor that suddenly filled the immediate vicinity around him.

“What the hell is that?” Clark though to himself, holding himself from vomiting due to the rancid stench. “This can't just be from the pumpkin. Why does this stuff feel so odd? These chunks don't feel like pumpkin seeds.” Clark stood up and turned toward Brandt, Stephen, Jimmy, and Tom, who stood there, mouths drooped wide open, standing in complete shock looking at Clark. Speechless, motionless, Clark had no idea what was going on. It was only until he stood forward into the porch light in front of Ms. Kassidy's home that he saw what they did.

Steam climbed up into the crisp, autumn air from the shattered remains of the pumpkin, rivers of maroon stemming from the center, oozing down toward the base of Clark's sneakers. Thick pink and red chunks sprinkled over the various pumpkin pieces as the intestines of some poor soul lay bundled in the core of the heaping mess of massacre and disembowelment. The stench was unbearable, as Tom heaved up various bits of candy and treats all over Ms. Kassidy's lawn in utter disgust. Buried into the chunks of innards concealed by the once-whole pumpkin, fingers and toes of the victim peeked out.

“What the-” Clark muttered out, quickly interrupted by the creaking squeal of Ms. Kassidy's front door slowly swinging opening, revealing nothing but a black abyss beyond the door frame. All of the boys, Clark included, turned around without hesitation to begin yet another sprint, rejuvenated by the terror they just saw. Only three strides into their escape, Tom slipped on the crimson pool of blood, now reaching the sidewalk, as he slammed onto the paved walkway leading up to Ms. Kassidy's home. A loud “crack” echoed through the air as a constant whizzing sound cut through the air. Having no idea what it was, Clark dove forward, feeling the top wisps of his hair quickly clipped off, as he grabbed onto the shirt collars of Brandt and Jimmy to pull them down in attempt to dodge whatever it was behind them.

Hitting the ground with a loud “thud” mixed in with a splash from the slimy blood reservoir on the ground, the whizzing sound stopped and another loud “crack” emitted from across the yard. Clark got up, helping Brandt and Jimmy rollover to regain their footing, as Tom was splayed on ground, staring up at Stephen, who remained standing through this whole ordeal, motionless, speechless.

A thin red wire of blood quickly emerged around Stephen's neck as it quickly expanded into a a waterfall dripping down the front of his body. Stephen's eyes looked over at Clark, as he dropped to his knees and his head slowly slipped forward inch by inch, until it rolled off of his neck and into an unsuspecting patch of still-green grass on the lawn. As his body fall forward and slammed onto the pavement of Ms. Kassidy's walkway, a fountain of syrupy blood jetted from the open wound, spraying onto Clark and Brandt as they screamed in terror. Stephen's headless, lifeless body, just lay there, continuously oozing out blood until he was drained of the liquid life-force.

Clark quickly turned his head around to figure out what just happened. Looking all over the yard, he saw nothing. Droplets of blood landed on his face, lightly splashing his cheeks, forcing him to peer up to see a loose strip razor-wire draped over the center of the yard, hung between trees on opposite sides of the yard. Clark looked all the way up the balcony on the second floor of Ms. Kassidy's home to discover the old widow standing there with a devilish grin on her face, hand on a lever releasing the razor-wire, watching on in amusement of her work with a lit cigarette hanging from her lower lip.

Tom, nearly ten feet away from the other survivors, stood up and shifted his sight over to Old Lady Kassidy. “You crazy fucking bitch! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Ms. Kassidy, took a drag from her cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke before tilting her head back, cackling and emitting a most devastating a morbid laugh. She lowered her head back down, staring down Tom. “Young man, you shouldn't use such foul language...” she scolded as she reached over and pulled on a thin rope to her right.

Clark, tracing the rope from Ms. Kassidy's hand all the way into the tree branch above Tom, attempted to warn him, but it was too late.

“Tom, look out-” The rope snapped as a sloshing sound of liquid emerged from the tree and covered Tom entirely. Ms. Kassidy almost immediately flicked her half-smoked cigarette in Tom's direction, landing at base of the clear puddle of liquid that surrounded and encompassed him.

Jimmy looked on in horror as a quick “woosh” sounded before the flames birthed at his brother's feet, almost instantly crawling up his entire body and engulfing him in a blazing inferno of hell. Out of the flames, a bloodcurdling scream emerged as Tom ran around the yard, flailing as he roast alive to the pleasure of Ms. Kassidy, screeching out cackling laughter from a distance as a small pool of blaze remaining where Tom initially encountered this fate.

“Come on guys, help me!” Clark screamed at Brandt and Jimmy, who were immobilized in fear to the display before their eyes. Clark ran up to Stephen's body, ripping his sweatshirt off, soaked in blood, and began a dash toward the searing wad of flesh screaming in the middle of the lawn. He quickly jumped on top of Tom, smothering him with the sweatshirt before removing his own to cover Tom as much as possible. Attempting to pant the flames out, Clark rushed as Tom continued to cry out in pain, his charred skin beginning to peel off of his bones. Clouds of black smoke puffed up in Clark's face as Brandt and Jimmy promptly joined in attempting to put Tom out of his tortuous entrapment. By the time the flames were extinct, Tom laid motionless on the burnt grass, they were too late.

“Fuck! What the fuck! Why?!” Jimmy cried out, tears rolling down his face as he knelt by the corpse of his beloved twin brother. Turning quickly toward the balcony, Jimmy began to scream in agony.

“You crazy bit-”, Brandt began to yell, stopping as he discovered the balcony was vacant, empty, Ms. Kassidy nowhere in sight.

Brandt and Clark attempted to calm a distraught Jimmy, still kneeling over the body of Tom, refusing to leave. “Come on Jimmy, we need to get out of here, the bitch is fucking psycho!” Brandt urged as he shook him by the shoulders. A loud “thump” sounded from behind Brandt, as he turned to see Clark laying motionless on the grass, unconscious, as a wooden baseball bat fell to the side of his head. As soon as Brandt saw the gray hair draped over Old Lady Kassidy's wrinkled, withered face, a soaked cloth was forced over his mouth and nose. Brandt struggled to fight away her hands pressing the rag on his face, but the chemical aroma and taste soon became too strong as he grew weaker and weaker, blacking out next to Clark in the lawn.

Rocking back and forth on the ground, still mourning over what was left of Tom, Ms. Kassidy calmly laid her left hand on his the back of his neck, cold to the touch, wrapping her remaining hand around his face with the cloth until he entered the same state as Clark and Brandt. Not much of a fight, but another body for Ms. Kassidy's night nevertheless.

Standing over the motionless, powerless bodies of the three boys, Ms. Kassidy looked to her left and right, as to seek out any witnesses to the events that just occurred in her front lawn. “Doesn't matter anyway,” she mumbled to herself, “I took care of the neighbors last week,” as she commenced to drag each boy one by one into her house, quietly closing the creaking door behind her.

A swollen, throbbing welt on the back of Clark's head roared in pain, awaking him. Vision clearing up from an obscure blur, he could feel the rope circled around his torso over and over, round after round. He could feel the warmth from another person's back pressed against his own, tied to him, as they sit on the cold, hard floor of Ms. Kassidy's basement. Clark shook the proverbial cobwebs from his head and turned as far as he could to the left to see Brandt slowly coming to, awaking from his chemically induced slumber. The room was dark, nearly impossible to see anything. Clark looked around for any clue as to what was going on, any clue on how to escape, as he began a constant wriggle of his arms and hands in attempt to slide through the various layers of the rope.

“Brandt,” Clark whispered lightly, as he did not know if anyone was around to hear him. “Brandt, wake up, we gotta get out of here man.”

“Where are we?” Brandt was still groggy from Ms. Kassidy putting him out.

“I don't know, man, but we got to get out of here, otherwise we are next.”

“Where the fuck his Jimmy?” Brandt inquired as he too began to shift and maneuver in attempt to free himself from the ropes.

“No idea,” Clark replied, slowly freeing his right hand from the rope as he painfully slid it through the various loops, burning in sensation as it dragged tightly against his skin. “But we gotta get loose first.” Clark reached over in attempt to free his other hand as a “whoosh” sound suddenly filled the damp, chilly basement air, as a sheet was pulled down ten feet from Brandt and Clark, light emerging as it quickly illuminated the basement. Clark quickly put his hand back to where it was, hoping it would go unnoticed by Ms. Kassidy, as he looked on in disbelief to what was just uncovered in the room.

A steel table, shining in the fluorescent light emitting from the bulb above it, stood covered in blood and body parts, the dismantled bits of the bodies of Stephen and Tom. Various knives and handsaws, dripping with blood and chunks of hair and skin, rested on the far side of the table. In front of the table rest a duo of giant carved pumpkins, peaceful friendly faced etched on them staring at the boys, with the tops removed. Ms. Kassidy stood behind the table, glaring at Brandt and Clark as she shoveled the massacred body part of their two peers into the pumpkins, sloshing and splashing as the bits and pieces of Tom and Stephen smacked the bottom of their receptacle, their morbid urn. Brandt furiously stared at Old Lady Kassidy as he flailed his body in attempt to free himself for an escape, slowly loosening the ropes on the side blind to the psychotic old lady hiding the remains of his friends.

“You'll never get away with this you evil bitch!” Brandt, as Clark reached back with his hand unseen by Ms. Kassidy, attempting frantically to free one of Brandt's own.

“We will see about that, young man, we will see...” Ms. Kassidy retorted, snickering out an evil laughter as she walked over to another sheet of cloth five feet to her left, grasping the corner of it tightly and ripping it off with force, leaving Brandt and Clark in shock and awe as she revealed her next intention during this night or terror and evil.

Emotionally broken, sniveling, sobbing, without any will left to live, Jimmy hung suspended in the air before the boys, his shirt removed and wearing only his boxer shorts. Each of his hands tied individually, arms outstretched up to each side, his legs secured in a similar fashion, contorting his body in an “X” shape. Directly beneath Jimmy stood another one of Old Lady Kassidy's giant pumpkins, top removed, empty, awaiting to be filled with another pile of human remains.

“Jimmy! Let him go! Let Jimmy go!” Clark belted out, continuing to loosen the ropes as covertly as possible.

Ms. Kassidy slowly walked toward Jimmy, her heels clacking on the dense floor, gently rubbing his face, blood smearing onto it from her cold, long fingers, staring at him playfully. She then shifted her look to Brandt and Clark as she made here way toward a handle attached to a wheel on the left side of the contraption of death holding Jimmy hostage. Behind the wheel the boys could see an intricate system of gears and pulleys in which the ropes berthed and slithered their way to each of Jimmy's limbs with minimal slack.

“Please, Ms. Kassidy, please!” Clark continued to plead and demand Jimmy's release. “Please let him go!”

Ms. Kassidy reached into the front pocket of her blood-stained apron, retrieving a pack of cigarettes. Removing one and placing it between her curled lips, she struck a match and lit it, drawing a long, slow drag, before blowing the smoke toward the boys. “Let him go? Maybe you boys can have him when I am done, no?” She slowly reached for the handle, beginning the turn it as the ticking of the gear teeth sounded with every bit of rotation.

The ropes extending from Jimmy's arms and legs slowly tightened with each turn, stretching him limb to limb. Ms. Kassidy continued to stare at the boys as she brought the handle attached to the gears end over end, repeatedly. The stress on Jimmy's arms and legs caused him to snap out of his broken silence, screaming in agonizing pain, fountains of tears flowing down his face, as he was slowly stretched further and further.

The teeth of the gears continued to sing in ticks as Ms. Kassidy continued to turn the handle. Clark and Brandt furiously shaking and tossing in attempt to free themselves from their confinement. With each turn, Jimmy screamed louder and louder, the pain exponentially increasing with each revolution that Ms. Kassidy dealt out in devilish delight. A shattering “pop” emitted from the shoulders of Jimmy as he scream in agony, his shoulders shifting in shape as his arms were slowly tugged from the sockets of his own shoulders. A collection of following “pops” and “cracks” followed from his joints, each beginning to resembled loose tubes of flesh as the integrity of his hips, knees, ankles, elbows, and wrists were all slowly compromised as Old Lady Kassidy continued turning the handle, laughing manically as Clark and Brandt sat in terror, constantly trying to free themselves from the ropes restraining them.

The screams from Jimmy turned into ear-piercing cries of misery and torment, disaster and torture. Louder and louder he shrieked, rupturing his throat from the screaming, blood being coughed up with every breath. Clark looked on in horror as the skin bridging Jimmy's torso to his arms began to stretch, getting thinner as the distance between his arms and shoulders increased, distorting Jimmy's body slowly with each turn of the handle. Clark shifted his eyes to see the same occurring at Jimmy's knees, as his screams rattled through the chilly air in the basement.

Small, crimson patches began to bubble from the outstretched sleeves of flesh, as Jimmy's skin slowly began to rip. Loud “snaps” sounding from the tendons in his body sprinkled into the orchestra of Jimmy's cries and screams, causing Brandt to erupt in a flow of vomit from the display of torture occurring before his very eyes, dripping down his chin onto his torso. The bloody patches soon became dripping holes in the flesh of Jimmy's body, spaced between the bands of skin keeping his limbs attached to the rest of his tormented body. Blood slowly began to trickle down his body, down his legs, quickly oozing down into the pumpkin beneath him, a light “splash” sounding with each drop. The already thin strips of skin began to stretch out even further, decreasing in width as Ms. Kassidy continued to turn the handle, blowing smoke from her cigarette into the air, a cloud of death encompassing the room, laughing uncontrollably at her own doings.

Blood began to pour from the exposed innards of Jimmy's shoulders and knees, pink stained bones and cartilage peering out through the gaping holes in Jimmy's thinning skin, slowly growing larger with each revolution, each tick of the gear operated death machine he was trapped in, destined to die in. Convulsing in pain, blood continuing to drip from his mouth, Jimmy relentlessly did the only thing he could – keep screaming as he was continued to be ripped limb from limb alive, slowly, without mercy.

Clark and Brandt did not let up in their struggle to escape, the ropes continuing to loosen on the side unseen by Ms. Kassidy, freeing an arm for each of them. They were both on the same page about continuing to conceal this from her, as if she discovered the rope slowing unbinding, they might not get any sort of chance to escape. They were almost to a point where they could slide the layers of rope up and over their heads, which would allow them to make a break for it.

Blood poured into the open top of the large pumpkin, rivers of it slowly running down the sides, pooling on the concrete floor, staining it. The bands of flesh still connecting Jimmy's arms and legs continued to stretch and thin, until one finally sent a gut-wrenching “snap” rattling through the room, flicking blood outward onto Clark's face, breaking the fleshy divide of the two adjacent bloody gaps in the skin. Muscle torn, jagged at the ends, and bones exposed to the air, the blood continued to drain out of Jimmy's nearly lifeless body, who grew weaker and weaker as he continued to scream with everything left in his body. Another “snap” cracked through the air as another bridging string of flesh on Jimmy's shoulder ripped apart, flinging more blood outward. Chunks of muscle and tendons swung freely as they detached from the bones of Jimmy's body. One after another, the strips of skin began to slowly rip apart, revealing the throbbing sleeve of red clinging to bone, pulsating frantically with each scream from Jimmy. Four consecutive “snaps” belted out from Jimmy's left knee, as Old Lady Kassidy marveled in the slow and painful dismemberment of the boy, with a loud, final crack emitting from his knee before the lower half of his leg was ripped away, slapping the floor as it landed, leaking whatever blood it had left onto the floor. The boys could only look on in horror, helpless as they continued to loosen the ropes binding them in entrapment, unbeknownst to the old maniac admiring her destruction of another living soul. A synchronized trio of “snaps” followed on Jimmy's right shoulder, the rope cracking back as his arm broke free from the rest, splattering the wall with a mosaic of blood and tissue, leaving a heap of dangling muscle and shoulder bone exposed to the already existing aroma of death filling the basement of doom and dismemberment. His body twisted between the diagonal taut of the ropes pulling on his remaining limps, rocking back and forth as they were continued to be pulled further apart. The remaining bands of blood-soaked skin began to slowly rip, one by one, as Jimmy was all but dead at this point, just hanging there, inches from is impending death. The blood continued to spill over the pumpkin, almost completely coating it in the maroon slime as it spewed from Jimmy's open rips and gashes from Old Lady Kassidy's torturing device. A countless string of “snaps” commenced, one after another, as the remainder of the tying flesh disconnected in succession, flinging Jimmy's other arm freely, spurting blood, until it fell to a dangle from the rope tied to it, fingers twitching slightly before ceasing all movement. Jimmy's remaining leg broke free from his body, swinging through the are as a a blood-spraying pendulum, delivering a fresh coat of blood to the terrified witnesses still trying to free themselves. With nothing holding him up anymore, Jimmy's torso dropped into a free-fall, landing awkwardly on the pumpkin, making a loud “thud” before rolling down the front of it, blood oozing from his openings, Jimmy's skull cracking against the pavement as it landed looking directly at Brandt and Clark, twitching, blinking his eyes, before finally halting any signs of remaining life, delivering a cold, deathly stare at the boys.

Shocked and dismayed as the brutal, viscous, disgusting act of dismemberment that took place in front of their own eyes, Clark and Brandt quickly felt their hopes of escaping alive that night diminish, vanish into thin air. Brandt, staring into the lifeless eyes of the remaining torso of his friend Jimmy, was overcome with emotion and despair, and broke down in a flood of tears and remorse, as Ms. Kassidy proceeded to gather the remains of their massacred friend and continue dismembering him into smaller, more manageable pieces.

“Clark, I am sorry man, I never meant to hurt you, I never meant to lead us all into this,” Brandt muttered in-between his sobs and whimpering. “I never meant to be such an asshole to you, look where it's gotten me, look where it's gotten Stephen, Tom, and Jimmy. Look where it's gotten you.”

“It's okay Brandt, none of us had a clue, I should have let you guys just kick my ass instead of fighting back,” Clark replied, holding back his tears as the sounds of Ms. Kassidy sawing through Jimmy's bones echoed through the basement in conjunction with her humming playfully during her work.

“No, it's not okay, we should have just left you alone, we wouldn't be here if we just let you be.”

Clark couldn't really argue with that, but he could never see this as a justifiable result for the torment the boys have put him through. Sure, they deserved to receive some sort of punishment, some sort of karma, but this was too much, nobody deserved this, nobody. Continuing to struggle with the ropes, slightly loosening with each wriggle and shift, Clark turned to the side blind to Ms. Kassidy, who was completely occupied with her current task of fitting the rest of Jimmy into giant pumpkin that stood beneath him at the beginning of this whole ordeal.

“Brandt,” Clark whispered into his ear as quietly as possible as to avoid any detection from the sinister old lady. “I think we are almost there man, I think we can slip out. Can you feel how much space is between our backs?”

Brandt slowly leaned forward, further loosening the ropes, exposing enough slack for one of them to slip through cleanly. Clark quickly grabbed the loose rope on his side and pulled it taut, as to maintain the appearance that he and Brandt were still immobilized, causing the boys' backs to come back into contact. An idea suddenly popped into Clark's head as he surveyed the room.

“Yeah man, what do we do?” Brandt replied as he started shimmying the ropes up to his neck, one bit at a time, allowing him the ability to bring his free hand up to the bundle of ropes binding them.

“Okay man, on the count of three, I want you to slip out from the ropes and make a run for it.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Brandt whispered back. “What are you going to do?”

“Once you are free, she's gonna chase you right?” Brandt nodded his head in agreement. “Well when she does, I'll be able to slip out as well, and we will both be free to make a break for it. Once she sees both of us on the run off, we might be able to make her hesitate long enough for us to find our way to the stairs and get the hell out of here and get help.”

“Are you sure man? I don't want to leave you alone with her.” Brandt questioned.

“Hey man, what do you think will happen if we just sit here? She's not just going to let us go. Are you ready?” Clark slowly reached his hand behind his back, untying the last bit of rope binding Brandt's remaining hand, freeing him for the dash.

“Yeah, I think I can outrun the old bitch,” Brandt confirmed, slowly prepping his hands to slide out from under the ropes as quickly as possible.

“Okay man,” Clark gently whispered back, trembling in fear, but coming to terms this was their only option, their only chance. “One.......” Clark took a deep breath. “Two.........” Clark slowly shifted forward pulling the ropes tightly against his own chest as to give Brandt as much space to free himself. “Three!”

Almost instantly Brandt bent both his arms at the elbows, grasping the ropes around his chest. “Got it!” Ms. Kassidy jumped to attention as Clark shifted back toward Brandt, moving the slack to Brandt's front, allowing him to flip the ropes over his head.

“Where do you think you're going?” Old Lady Kassidy shrieked as Brandt jumped up and bolted toward the the crazed lunatic, reaching out for one of the bloody knives on the table while attempting to stop and turn the opposite direction to run at the same time. His hand fell just a couple inches short of fully grasping the handle of the knife as he began to dart in the opposite direction, causing it to slip out of his hand and fall to the floor, clanging as it bounced and tumbled to a rest underneath the table.

“Shit!” Brandt gasped as he took off into the dark basement. Ms. Kassidy, as suspected, ran off in pursuit of the escaped victim, but not before grabbing a freshly sharpened meat clever off of the table, quickly disappearing into the darkness as well.

Clark began to frantically flip the ropes off of him as quickly as possible, using his free hand to untie the other. He picked himself up off of the cold, blood-stained floor and ran to the table and reached under it, grasping the handle of the knife Brandt unsuccessfully attempted to acquire before running off. Clark could hear the sound of banging on wooden stairs as someone made their way up them, not knowing whether it was Brandt or Ms. Kassidy. Suddenly a yell echoed off the walls to Clark.

“Fuck it's locked Clark!” Brandt shouted as Clark could hear him sprint back down the stairs in a panicked reaction.

Clark began to run around the basement, running into shelves of various assorted junk, sending it rattling onto the ground, clanging and banging against the floor. He swiveled his head left and right, looking for a ground level window that might allow him to escape. It was too dark to see much, as the further he got away from the remains of Jimmy, Tom, and Stephen, the darker it got. He could hear sounds of the other two sets of feet running through the basement, unable to tell who was where due to the misleading echoes from the sounds bouncing off the walls and various tools, trinkets, and boxes Ms. Kassidy kept stored in her basement. Numerous sheets were hung from the ceiling throughout the basement, creating a labyrinth of darkness and unknown.

Clark quickly turned a corner, tightly grasping the knife in his hand to defend himself, maybe even attack Ms. Kassidy if he came up behind her at some point, if it came down to that. Clark could feel sheets brushing him as he ran by, some even ripping down, exposing more of the basement, still unable to see Brandt or Ms. Kassidy, just barely able to hear them continue to run around in the dark.

It was then Clark turned another corner in the maze of sheets in which he saw a sliver of light peek through a gap between the cloaking cloth and the ceiling. “How long have we been down here? It must be morning,” Clark thought to himself as he began to sprint toward the only hope he had of escaping, quickly approaching the sheet and grabbing it, furiously ripping it away from the ceiling, releasing a cone of light emitting from the sunrise through the window, illuminating the area around him.

“Shit!” Clark exhaled, panting, out of breath yet again as he noticed a padlock securing a metal bar over the window, preventing anyone from passing through. Suddenly Clark heard the sounds of the footsteps end, both of them. With no idea what to do now, fearing the worst, fearing Brandt was caught, Clark quickly turned and prepared to begin running again, only to see Ms. Kassidy swinging her meat cleaver in the direction of him, the blade swiftly cutting through his shirt, grazing his skin and gently ripping it open into a shallow gash across his chest.

Clark collapsed onto his back on the ground in pain, dropping the knife as it bounced backwards behind him into darkness. Blood slowly trickling from his chest, Clark pressed his arms against his chest as to put as much pressure as he could on the wound. He furiously scooted in reverse as quickly as possible, as far away as possible from the old maniac, laughing in delight as she admired her wounded prey.

Ms. Kassidy slowly shifted one foot in front of the other, taking step after step closer to the crawling Clark. “You boys thought you could just run away, did you? Thought you could just escape and tell everybody?” Ms. Kassidy continued stepping toward Clark, inching closer and closer, raising the meat cleaver high in the air, bringing it down toward Clark, cutting through just air as he scooted back further just in time. Ms. Kassidy quickly raised her hand again, taking another swipe at Clark as he continued to retreat, evading her attempt on his life yet again. Clark suddenly heard a set of feet running around the basement pick up again scurrying around in the darkness.

“Brandt's alive!” Clark thought to himself, wincing in pain as his chest throbbed and burned. “Maybe he can escape...” Clark continued scooting himself backward as Ms. Kassidy repeated swiped, growing angry with each miss, getting sloppy and less precise with her swings. A faint “thud” sounded as Clark backed into a wall, as he looked left and right repeated, scared, out of options.

“Looks like you have nowhere else to run, young man!” Ms. Kassidy let out a shrill laugh as she raised the cleaver one last time. Clark frantically looked around the room, hopeless, before noticing the knife he dropped three feet to his left inches away from the same wall he backed himself up against. Clark reached for the knife with all his might, chest aching and throbbing in pain, as Ms. Kassidy began to lower her arm, the blade of the meat cleaver moving at a fast pace through the air as Clark heard the footsteps grow louder and louder coming toward him.

A loud grunt of exertion emitted as Brandt leaped from the darkness toward the two, soaring through the air, coming between Clark and Ms. Kassidy, shielding Clark from the attack. The blade sunk into the flesh of Brandt beginning as his ear, ripping it open as blood began to pour, lodging itself into bone as it struck his neck, Ms. Kassidy letting go under the weight of Brandt's body in momentum pulled the blade away from her as he fell onto the floor, coughing, choking, gasping for air. A river of blood swam from the gash on his neck, as Brandt slowly began to shake violently, unable to breath, as the blood continued to pour from his throat, meandering around the blade, flowing to the outstretched arm of Clark, who managed to grasp the handle of the knife he so desperately jutted his arm out for just a second before..

Ms. Kassidy skipped her usual cackle of devilish ecstasy as she sprang toward the knife as well. In an act of instinct, Clark closed his eyes as he swung his arm up into the air, before falling to the ground again under the weight of Ms. Kassidy's frail, old body. Clark opened his eyes as he could feel a fresh flow of blood ooze down the blaze, onto the handle, forming a slimey glove of crimson around his fist, still tightly grasping the knife. He looked over to see the demonic old lady slowly shifting on top of his arm, the very tip of the blade peeking out through her back. Clark could feel her heart pulsate as blood began to drip out with every beat and breath she took.

Clark, chest still throbbing, beginning to finally clot, let go of the handle and gave Ms. Kassidy's body a gentle shove, rolling her over onto her back, exposing her gasping for air as the knife rest deeply impaled in her chest, piercing her cold, black heart. Clark pulled the knife out, causing a thick stream of blood to emerge from her chest, pooling around Ms. Kassidy's neck, staining her wispy white and gray hair, as she laid on the floor in her basement, barely able to move.

“P-p-p-p-please Clark,” the old lady pleaded. Clark looked into her eyes, her evil, sinister, soulless eyes, as he clenched the handle of the knife firmly.

“Fuck you, bitch!” Clark exalted in anger as he brought the knife down between Old Lady Kassidy's eyes, throwing her head back against the concrete floor, delivering a loud “crack” as her skull smashed against the ground.

Clark looked over to Brandt, who was no longer breathing, no longer gargling on his own blood, finally as rest, laying dead from his feat of bravery sparing Clark, the boy he tormented on a daily basis. Clark stood up, looking down at Brandt, reflecting in his heroic act, his selfless act, his gesture of redemption, before kneeling down next to Ms. Kassidy's lifeless body. Clark felt around her blood-soaked apron, reaching into the pocket, feeling a set of keys and removing them from the pouch.

Clark hobbled toward the stairs, slowly making his way up, chest throbbing with each step. He tried each key until one finally clicked, unlocking the door. Before stepping through, Clark turned around, peering down at the basement, down at the sight of destruction that just consumed his four fellow classmates. He slowly stepped his way out through the front door, onto the porch, looking out into the neighborhood as the sky was lit a vibrant spectrum of pink spanning to orange, the sun slowly climbing over the horizon.

Clark continued down the paved walkway, looking at the scorched grass under the tree, the smashed pumpkin, with the basin of blood surrounding it, dried, chunks of flesh and guts resting on top. The scene resembled an intricate, over-the-top, detailed Halloween display, sure to wow and amaze those unknowing to the truth, those hidden from the truth. Clark turned his head toward his home, noticing a pair of police cruisers parked in his driveway, as hugged his arm against his pain swollen chest.

Clark slowly made his way down the street, hobbling as to not stress his injury any further. He thought he had it rough before tonight. He thought he knew what scared him before tonight. Only after he left Ms. Kassidy's property, full of damnation, death, and mutilation, did he finally know the true meaning of fear.

[smngry]

“Fuck!” Simon exhaled as his eyes widened.

“Yeah, Jesus Spanky.” Gee laughed as the three friends emerged from the never ending corridor of yellow boxes. “That was fucking intense!”

“What can I say?” Spanky shrugged with a wry smile. “I owned the two of you with that. I thought Simon was gonna piss his pants back there!”

Simon spun and clapped his hands together, laughter bellowing across the factory.

“It was good mate.” He smiled. “But no chance.”

As they stood, the loading bay before them, the trio had a quick glance around, the dolls still seemingly packaged up and almost impenetrable behind the polythene wrapping and metal ties. The floor in this area was cleaner than the other parts they had encountered as they combed every inch of the factory. Not clean exactly, the majority of equipment and conveyor belts still hidden well beneath a substantial layer of dust, and was that blood in the centre of the vast loading bay? As Simon and Spanky looked up and down, examining the mountains of smiling plastic faces staring down on them, Gee suddenly became excited, jumping up and down on the spot before moving forward, her slow jog turning into a full on sprint as she tore across the loading bay, her two friends immediately picking up the pace and galloping on behind her as they followed, confusion reigning as they looked at each other in a puzzled manner. No sooner had they caught up with Gee, who had stopped as she reached the workbench at the far end of the huge space, than they noticed what all the fuss was about. There, sat right before them, leaning against an open box was a Good Guy doll itself, the cheerful smile splashed across its little rubber face, the piercing blue eyes staring into their very souls as Spanky reached forward and picked it up, turning it over in his hands, holding it in triumph, the treasured play thing seemingly more valuable than the Vince Lombardi Trophy. It was just then, as the three friends stood in awe and fascination that they heard something behind them, quite audible as they turned in surprise unable to take in what they saw.

“You?!?” Simon gasped as he stared.

The amazing figure, wrapped in the slinkiest, tightest, shortest dress, the tattoo above her right breast, flicking her shoulder length blonde hair away from her face and taking a final drag from the cigarette seductively clamped between her lips, the woman stood from the conveyor belt she had been perched on and took a stride forward with her gorgeous long legs, the cigarette, smoked to the filter now thrown to the ground as the sole of her stiletto stubbed it out. She looked at the three friends and gave a tiny laugh, almost sexual, as though she had taken great pleasure from watching the trio discover the doll at long last.

“What are you doing here?” Simon asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Oh...” She began as she playfully swung her arms by her sides, taking a couple of steps towards them, her high pitched voice filling the night air. “I come here quite often to be honest. I find it... Very relaxing.”

“Is that the smoking hot chick?” Spanky leaned to Simon as his friend nodded. “See what you mean man. But the voice... Seriously?”

“But if you come here so often...” Simon spoke again, ignoring Spanky. “... Then why did you need us to find this? Why offer us all that money to do this? Is this some kind of joke? You wasting our time?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” The woman replied with an infectious giggle, bringing her hands to her mouth. “It’s not been a complete waste of time. Not at all.”

“Well it fucking feels like it!” Gee interjected, spitting venom at the mysterious woman standing in front of them. “I mean what the fuck? You’ve had us coming all the way down here, and for what?”

The woman’s face slowly turned to stone, her sense of humour suddenly disappearing under an avalanche of hatred as she scowled at the three strangers before her. Without warning she spoke, addressing all three, her face portraying no emotion whatsoever.

“Think of this as a game sweetface.” She smiled slightly. “A sport even!”

“What the fuck’s she on about?” Spanky turned his head left to right, from Simon to Gee, looking for some clue as to what the woman was talking about as he held the doll out in front of him, both hands gripped around it’s waist.

As the final word left Spanky’s mouth, the woman turned on the spot, the heels of her stilettos scraping as she did so, slowly approaching the conveyor she had not long since risen from, grabbing her leather jacket and swinging it over her shoulder as she walked away from the group and towards the factory exit, her words clearly audible as she walked.

“Darling...” She hissed. “It’s ‘Play Time’!”

Suddenly, and without warning, the doll held in Spanky’s arms started to move, the face twisting from a playful smile and into a malevolent, evil and psychotic grin as the doll pulled a hand from its denim overalls, the knife hidden within reflecting the moonlight that cascaded through the broken glass high above in the factory roof. The three friends immediately started screaming as the doll let out a manic cackle of laughter before lunging, the knife raised as the fire burned deep within its eyes.

Game Over

[Metal Matt]

Was able to read the intro. Pretty good. I'll read the rest ASAP. But good job so far.

[Metal Matt]

Just finished it...


And It.


Was.



AWESOME.


Seriously, this was really good. I am extremely proud of all three of you, Spanky, Gee, and smngry. I never doubted any of you for a second. I knew you three would create something special, and you didn't disappoint. Seriously, you three should be proud of yourselves right now.

I loved all three stories. I also loved all the little wraparound segments, those were pretty good and entertaining.

Again, great job you three. Honestly, reading something as good as this, makes ME want to write again, which I'll be doing tonight. It motivates me to do the best I can with my own writing. Seriously, I can't say this enough, I really liked Trilogy Of Terror and am proud of all three of you.

It was good.

It was really good.

[Spanky]

Thanks dude! Glad you liked it. We aim to please.

[Gee]

Well I'm really happy you liked it, we put a lot of work into it. Thanks for the great comments