Alright, so this story is a of some under-appreciated 80's slashers. The main ones are The Prowler and The Burning, but if you read carefully and know your slashers, you should be able to find some more in here. This story is mostly dedicated to hardrocker21, who I had asked if I could do the story, as well as Joe Spinell, the late actor who had starred in The Godfather, The Godfather II, Taxi Driver, and the slasher Maniac.
The Burning Of The Prowler
Chapter 1
Never again would they hold the Graduation Dances. They had done it once again and defied him, and this was the result. Sheriff Fraser had been killed, and many others who had lived in the town oh so dearly. Yes, he had made them pay for holding the dances again, and now he was ready to come out of retirement. The original Prowler, the one who had killed the two lovers before, was ready for one final job.
Clothed in WWII army fatigues and having a cloth tightly pulled over his face with a helmet on top, he held the pitchfork and was ready to kill the survivors, so as to make sure the Graduation Dances would never ever be held again. The young ones had a knack to forget the past, and now, they had been doomed to repeat it. Best if there was no one to repeat it, he thought.
Silently, in the dead of midnight, he crept out of the house and walked down the sidewalk, his bayonet carefully closing down and slitting the power lines in half. No one would get out alive, whatsoever...
-POV change-
Cropsy stumbled down the barren road, moving as if though he was drunk, which he had been when at the camp. The axe wound was still deep in he head, his bust skull throbbing with pain of the worst type, and his coat was burnt and his glasses and hat gone, leaving his face visible to the world, and he imagined the world was laughing.
Suddenly, he lifted his head and saw several lights and what appeared to be houses, and he knew he was coming to a neighborhood.
He sped up, his legs coming back to life, real life, as he crept onto a sidewalk, and he shivered as the wind stung his bare shoulders and sleeveless arms, the burns worsening as the cold scorched him.
The pain in his head got to him, and he couldn't take it anymore. He knelt over and vomited onto the lawn, his throat clenching as he spewed forth the bile.
He wiped his mouth with his bare arm, and looked upon a mailbox. He picked up a wrinkled newspaper, and read a headline of an escaped mental patient named Marty Rantzen. Apparently, he had half his face burnt off by an acidic school prank years ago, and the boy had killed a nurse and a doctor before breaking out. He had also apparently, although still it was unconfirmed, that Rantzen had killed a costume shop owner and taken a mask of an old man's face and jester hat.
Stupid boy, Cropsy thought. The Rantzen kid was acting like a whiny teen high on hormones, wanting revenge on bullies, and trying to be his own Superman.
Cropsy, on the other hand, needed revenge. It was like cocaine to him:he knew it was bad, but he didn't give a damn, as long as it made him feel good. What the kids had done to him was uncalled for. And whoever tried to stop his addiction would only end up apart of it.
He walked further down the sidewalk, the trimmers kept tucked into his belt, just in case. He had no idea where he was going, and didn't even know he was out of New York and in New Jersey. All he knew now was that he needed to find the survivors and give them a good reckoning for what they did.
Then, he stopped upon a strange sight:a man was bending over and cutting power lines, and the lights in the houses were going out. He was also carrying a huge pitchfork, but the man's appearance was extremely difficult to make out in the vastly growing darkness.
Cropsy couldn't talk to the man and ask him what he was doing, as the burn and the failed transplants on his face left him unable to do so. The man's head, however, was turned, and so he couldn't see Cropsy. It was the best time to act.
The burnt man walked forward, very silently, and grabbed the man by his neck and wrapped his fingers around the man's throat. The man suddenly stood up straight, and his broad shoulders stretched out, showing his full body and dwarfing Cropsy in size. The man turned around and swiftly grabbed Cropsy by his arm and threw him off, and the burnt man was sent flying off and into a mailbox, which broke under his weight.
The Prowler knew the little bastard wasn't dead yet, though, so he decided to walk straight over and stamp his foot on his throat, as he was wearing military boots, no less.
As soon as The prowler came over, though, the burnt man took out a blade and jammed it into the prowler's side. Then, his pain increased, as The Prowler felt his wound expanding, and he just somehow knew it was a pair of hedge trimmers. The prowler, then swiftly kicked the man away, and he was sent a bit into the air before landing on a fire hydrant.
Ripping the trimmers out, The Prowler threw them at the man. However, it merely made a dull metallic crash, and not the blood splattering squelch The Prowler wanted to hear.
Then, he felt a new pain in his back, and he fell forward. The burnt man then stamped his foot not once, not twice, but three times into the man torso. The Prowler grabbed his stomach as he tried to gain back air, but he then felt the man grab his legs. He dragged him on the cracked pavement for a little while before The Prowler felt himself go up.
The burnt man had thrown The Prowler, and he felt himself spin a bit before he got stuck on several branches.
His hood had fallen, showing The Prowler's face, and his helmet was left behind when the burnt man had started dragging him. He then heard a crack as he felt the branches break and he dropped onto the lawn.
The burnt man walked over, but before he could get close, The Prowler had already put his hood back on.
He then showed no mercy as he picked up one of the branches and smacked the burnt man on the head with it.
The Prowler whipped the man's face with the branch, before he clubbed his back with it.
Suddenly, the man lashed out with his trimmers and sliced the blunt part of the branch off, and it was rendered useless.
He kicked The Prowler in the shin, and The Prowler fell as he grabbed at it. The burnt man had him at his very mercy.
So, there it is. Mind you, this will be a story of mine that will lead to a much larger sequel story that I will not announce yet. And sorry this was in development hell for so long. I had a few other stories to do, and this one just now crossed my mind again. R&R.
