Just Misunderstood
By: TheSilverHyena
Warning:: Contains Mature/Adult Content, Violence and Gore, and Adult Language. If you cannot HANLDE these sorts of things, you might want to go elsewhere. Don't say I didn't warn you.
Chapter 17: A House of Corpses
Luckily for Thomas, it wasn't too much of a drive. Listening to his Uncle drone on about how wonderful it was to "Shove yer rock hard dick down a bitch's throat an' make her suck until she choked" may have been Hoyt's idea of a good time, but not his. Granted, since Thomas had tasted his sweet, little Blake before, he was curious about what it would feel like if she did it to him. She was willing to kiss him. Would Blake be willing to kiss him... down there? Maybe he'd ask when the mood and time was right. It was then did the brute notice that just by thinking about his special girl waiting for him back home, he was starting to chub a little.
The road seemed to stretch on for miles in one direction, until it began to curve, leading into a forested area just along the outskirts of Travis County. Hoyt seemed to use his captive as a compass, studying her behavior through the rear view mirror as an indicator to when they were getting close to the location she described earlier. Finally, they came to a dusty driveway, very much like what the Hewitts themselves had, which led to a nice, secluded, one story ranch style house. Quaint, off the road, the perfect place to commit a murder and there would be no one to hear the screams of their prey or roar of the chainsaw. Upon coming up to the house, the girl that was bound and gagged in the back seat screamed and struggled as much as she could, though it did little to bother Thomas or the fake sheriff.
"Well shit... seems like we had some neighbors left after all. How inhospitable we've been." Hoyt sighed, with a sarcastic tone to his voice.
He put the car in park and grabbed his rifle before taking a look around. Thomas, following suit, got out as well, leaving the poor girl in the rapidly warming up police cruiser without so much as a cracked window. The first thing to hit them was the smell, permeating from the house's open windows. Exactly like flesh left to rot under the harsh, unforgiving Texas sun. Outside but nearby the house were animal pens and simple shelters with water and feed, but no animals. In fact, aside from the occasional gust of wind blowing through the trees and the sounds of their own steps, it was unstintingly quiet out here.
Grunting low in his throat, Thomas motioned with his free hand that he was going to take a look around the perimeter, as he usually did. Armed with not only his chainsaw, but a few meat hooks, butcher knives, and a small sledgehammer, the massive brute shuffled off to see if there was anyone lurking outside. Meanwhile, Hoyt opened the drivers side door, glaring at the terrified, struggling girl trapped in the backseat.
"Now then, you just stay put, lil' darlin' while my nephew and I go get all yer friends."
A devious smile crossed his face when the girl squealed through the tape covering her mouth. She might have been begging not to be locked in the sweltering car, but it was difficult to tell. Without another thought, Hoyt slammed the door and sighed with satisfaction, already planning on having some fun with her once their work here was done. While the phony lawman made his way to the front porch, Thomas came back from his own little expedition, shaking his head before his uncle could even ask. It remained quiet, save for the soft buzzing of flies from the inside of the house. At the front door, the stench was noticeably worse.
"Holy fuckin' shit, how long ago was these assholes murdered?!"
Hoyt grumbled in irritation, he was hoping for an easy meal ticket, but if the bodies that were supposedly inside were already spoiled, then they'd have wasted the day, save for the one meat bag they had handcuffed in the cruiser and potentially looting for extra supplies and valuables. Thomas however... began to get extremely uncomfortable. Blake pleaded, begged with him not to go. Naturally, neither Hoyt nor Mamma would truly understand, but Thomas knew his girl seemed to have a knack for sensing things. Like she knew when something bad was about to happen.
"Snap out of it boy, we got work ta git done!" Hoyt said, in a harsh whisper before knocking on the door, "Open up! This is Sheriff Hoyt, ya'll in there is under arrest. Come on out with yer hands up."
Somehow, the look on his face told Thomas that that was something he'd been dying to do for a long time, ever since Uncle Hoyt began to "play sheriff". The two of them waited a minute, and there was no answer.
"Go on round to the back, Tommy, make sure none of the little fucks is gittin' out that way."
With a low, nervous growl, Thomas trotted off, deceptively fast for a man of his size. Once his nephew had enough time to get into position, Hoyt jiggled the door handle, finding it locked, before simply kicking the sub-par door in. It took a few tries, but eventually it gave.
"What in the fuck these assholes doin' in here?!"
The phony sheriff was hit with a tidal wave of thick, hot, stagnant air and accompanying reek. While the outside of the house wasn't too bad to look at, inside was another story! There were pieces of various farm animal carcasses on the floor, mostly pigs and goats. Thick, gloppy blood was smeared on the walls like graffiti, in the shape of some sort of writing Hoyt had never seen before. Maybe runes? He remembered seeing something about runes and cult rituals once on TV, but he hadn't paid much attention. There were flies buzzing around every which way and a lot of the carcass pieces already had maggots and other insects crawling around inside of them.
"Damn!" Hoyt growled, venturing further inside with his rifle at the ready.
Further in, it only got worse. Now the broken remains were clearly human, scattered, nailed up, and painted on the walls like some kind of sick, twisted art exhibit. There were remnants of black robes on the floor and some covering up a few of the corpses. Intermixed were all sorts of half-melted black candles, burnt incense, and various illicit drug paraphernalia. Just as he suspected! Drugs were involved.
When he cut through the kitchen to get to the dining room, where he saw the back door, Hoyt stopped for a moment. Splayed out on the dining room table were two partially consumed corpses, now spoiled and rotted beyond safe to consume, festering in filth on the dining room table. Of course, seeing all this gore and blood everywhere just made the phony cop angry.
"What a fuckin' waste of good meat! Let's see how much ya like it once Tommy gits to ya, wasteful shits." he muttered to himself.
Sighing heavily, he passed by the dining room table, taking a closer look at the writing scribbled over the family photo wall in now rust colored blood, "We are all his Children," and "Praised be the Darkness Below. To the Honored Mother, we pledge our Flesh, Bone, and Blood."
Just who in the fuck were these goddamn people?!
Feeling that prickle on the back of his neck and an overwhelming urge to NOT want to be alone, Hoyt opened up the backdoor. Thomas was there, ready with his hand on the cord to his chainsaw. He let out a loud growl, blocking the way out and threatening to rev the deadly machine to life, until...
"Easy there boy, just me!" Hoyt warned, defensively.
The massive brute calmed down, though only a little. So far, he hadn't heard anything, save for the buzz of flies and whatever Hoyt was doing in there. Certainly no one had tried to flee. Yet, neither one of them could shake the feeling that they were the ones being hunted at this very moment.
"Wonder if lil' Missy in the car was tellin' the truth here, boy. Come take a look at this shit."
Reluctantly, Thomas followed Hoyt inside. He wasn't bothered by the reek of dead bodies or the mess. But it was as if... there was an annoying itch he just couldn't scratch. The tiniest of pebbles in his shoe, driving him mad. From the direction of what they guessed was the living room came the slightest shuffling, which instantly caught their attention. Stepping over rotted remains and festering entrails, Thomas and Hoyt made into the living room, where the most grizzly discovery as of yet greeted them.
What was once the living room had been converted into some sort of shrine. Far scarier then the gaudy, floral print couch and matching armchairs were more of those weird symbols, painted with blood and gore on the walls, along with upside down pentagrams and what looked like long claw marks either smeared or scratched into them. Candles, some still lit, along with strong herbal incense cast a smokey haze. It was dark, as this room had all the windows covered up with drapes and plywood. While there weren't as many bloody body parts scattered about this room, save for those spread over the four robed corpses sitting on the couch and armchairs, it was the centerpiece suspended in of the far wall that took the cake.
A skinned body, pinned to the wall by several long knives and even a sword, hung limply in the throws of decay. However, the corpse's head had been severed, which was presumably residing on the table next to a recliner being used as a candle holder. A goat's head was crudely stitched on it's neck in it's place. In the mutilated body's chest, another metallic object was lodged where the heart used to be. The sight was truly horrific, enough that Hoyt had to fight to keep his breakfast down!
"Ulk...this new generation, I'm tellin' ya, Tommy... little fuckers! Wasteful. Just plain damn wasteful." Hoyt groaned, braving stepping further into the room, in order to inspect the goat-headed man closer, "Well now, what have we here...?"
Without hesitation, he pulled the object out of the rotted flesh, doing his best to ignore Thomas' nervous whimpers and moans as he fidgeted. All of this stuff, it brought back memories of what he saw in that bizarre dream he had about Blake a few weeks ago. All he knew was that these people wanted to hurt her, take her away from him! As much as he wanted to just leave right now, Thomas reminded himself that he needed to kill these people, or they'll never leave his precious, pretty Blake alone.
"Tommy, whatja make of this thing here?"
Hoyt held aloft a grimy work glove, fitted with steel plating on the hand and fingers ending in six inch razors, like claws. A low growl emitted from Thomas' throat in response. That was the weapon! The one he saw that white-haired woman use in his terrifyingly vivid dream. She was about to kill Blake with it! Of course, the brute didn't have an effective way of relaying this information to his uncle, so he intend settled to show a general distaste for it instead.
"Come now, boy. I'd have thought you'da liked somethin' like this," Hoyt sighed, with a roll of his eyes, "Well, none of this here meat is any good. Let's check the rest of this shit hole fer anything we can use, then we torch it."
Finally, a plan of Hoyt's Thomas could fully agree with. However as the two of them turned to leave the living room, the squeaking of the front door swinging open quickly caught their attention. Hoyt dropped the knife glove and readied his rifle in a position to fire. More scuffling about, and the false sheriff nearly prematurely fired off a round. Thomas looked around suspiciously, noticing that in the nearby hall, there was one less "body" on the floor. Consequently, several soft, hissing whispers started up, speaking in a language neither one of them had ever heard before. But it sounded like chanting of some sort.
Just when Hoyt decided to skip the searching stage and jump straight to burning the house down, a familiar face greeted the two of them, standing in the spacious living room entry.
"What the fuck? How in the hell did YOU git out of the car?!" Hoyt snarled, staring down the girl he and Thomas previously captured.
Somehow, she had escaped! Or was let out by someone else while he and Thomas were nosing about. The girl looked different, no longer like a frightened deer. More like a sadistic serpent with a wide grin and soulless eyes. One cuff of the handcuffs was still locked around her wrist while the other just hung loose, like it was a piece of jewelry. In the girl's hand was a thin, curved dagger, dripping with thick, rust colored blood, indicating that she just pulled it out of one of the bodies when she came inside.
"You were right, sheriff... teheheheheeee! I did do it!"
With an ear-splitting screech, he lunged, holding up her knife. But before she could reach Hoyt, he fired his rifle at close range, effectivly removing the top half of her head and splattering bits of brain and scalp everywhere. Her body fell to the filthy ground with a 'clump'.
"Quite the performance from that cunt, but-"
Before Hoyt could finish his witty quip, two more armed, robed and hooded figures took the dead girl's place, seemingly swooping in out of nowhere! While Hoyt cycled another round into the chamber, Thomas yanked on the cord to his chainsaw, bringing the furious machine roaring to life.
"That's right boy, go an' git 'em! Fresh meat!" Hoyt shouted, firing off another shot.
This time, the bullet hit it's mark in one of the two cultist's chest, but the robed figure only stumbled backwards into the wall. Grunting in pain, but still alive. Thomas meanwhile, stomped forward, and in two strides was already upon the second attacker. He swung his chainsaw, growing angrier at the cultist as he smoothly leaned out of the way, leaving the furious blade to strike drywall and wood instead. In an equally quick motion, the heathen revealed the rusty sickle he had concealed in his robes, dragging the jagged edge along Thomas' forearm, then ducked low to strike his leg.
Thomas howled in pain as the new wounds began to bleed, but when he turned around to body slam the upstart, his eyes widened when the four bodies previously lying haphazardly on the furniture were up and moving around, two rounding on Hoyt from behind, one approaching Thomas, and another ripping the katana blade out of the corpse pinned up to the wall! The blood, flayed flesh, and entrails was all a rouse! They were never already dead! With a strangled snarl, Thomas lashed out at the cultist dangerously close to his large, booted feet, kicking him aside as he cried out in warning to Hoyt.
"What's wrong with ya, boy?!" Hoyt called, preparing his third shot for his previous target.
He let out a long string of curses when a large meat hook, very much like what Thomas carried with him, stabbed into his arm from behind, wresting the rifle out of his hands and sending it sliding across the blood-covered floor. Hoyt turned around, gritting his teeth furiously, only to take a brass knuckled punch to the head, sending him wavering backwards unsteadily. Now he noticed.
"Ah... shit!"
Without enough time to reach for his dropped rifle, Hoyt yanked the police issue nightstick off his belt instead. The anguished cries of the sickle-wielding cultist could be heard behind him, singing in unison with Thomas' chainsaw as it disemboweled him. For some reason the brute couldn't fathom, there was some resistance to the blade, but that only made the process more painful and last longer for the devil worshiping cretin. Thomas stomped on the bloody body afterward, just to make sure it was dead, before grabbing the other robed figure Hoyt shot earlier in a one-handed grapple, Chainsaw still whirring angrily in his other hand. He was stabbed a few times, but in his fury didn't seem to notice as he tossed the man like a rag doll across the room, knocking him and the katana wielding cultist down to the floor.
'They'll hurt my pretty Blake if they find her... NEVER! Won't let it happen. No one will take her away if all the bad people that scare pretty Blake DIE!' Thomas furiously snarled to himself.
"Wait! Wait!" shouted the heathen armed with the meat hook, as he lowered his hood, revealing the face of a frighteningly ordinary middle-aged man with sandy brown hair, "You are not like the other mortals. I give you this offer to join us. Both of you would both make fine acolytes, obviously stronger than him." he added, gesturing to the cultist Thomas already slaughtered, "Why waste your life when it can be everlasting?"
Hoyt just narrowing his eyes in disbelief, momentarily holding the deep cut on his arm. Was this lunatic for real?! He glared from him to the other one that punched him in the head with the brass knuckles, then to the other ones dragging themselves back up off the floor. Dazed, but still alive.
"Don't be fools. Give yourselves to the Darkness Below. To the Honored Mother whom we Pledge our Flesh, Bone, and Blood... All we ask is that you surrender to us her Ladyship's Flesh and Blood."
"Ya sick fucks picked the wrong family to sell yer blasphemous shit too! We ain't got no flesh and blood of yer honored bitch! So fuck you!" was Hoyt's answer, before striking the cultist in the head with the night stick when he wasn't prepared.
While Hoyt proceed to cave in the cultist's skull until blood and brain matter poured out, the other one tackled the fake sheriff to the ground, punching him over and over again.
"How DARE you speak of the Honored Mother in that way, you shall be-!" the robed madman quit his ranting mid-sentence.
Thomas roared with outrage, driving his chainsaw through the cultist's neck and shoulder, spattering blood and gore all over the room, on himself, and his Uncle. Staring at the beast of a man with uncertainty at first, the three remaining, one of whom was already wounded, rushed Thomas at the same time. Hoyt shoved the now broken and dismembered body off of him, groaning from the pain he was in, even spitting out a bloody tooth from his mouth, and watched Thomas tear into those three robed fiends with a furious vengeance.
"Damn boy... you git 'em!" he snickered, with sick glee.
They circled the brute, the one with the sword up front blocking the chainsaw, creating a painful screech when the steel chain scraped against the blade, while the other two, using much smaller knives, went for the flanks. Thomas may have been cut and stabbed a few more times, even forced to drop his chainsaw, which still revved dangerously unattended on the floor, but he simply resorted to sheer, overpowering strength and size to take them on. First, the one with the katana!
That cultist made the mistake of getting too close to Thomas. When the blade caught in the tangle of meat hooks and thick leather, Thomas grabbed him and slammed the foolish swordsman up against the wall with such a force that it broke, then tossed him to the floor. Ripping the stuck blade from his own body, weapons, and apron with disturbing ease, Thomas impaled the man on the ground, driving the sword through the floorboards and essentially leaving him alive to squirm for a few more minutes while whimpering in agony.
For the second, the angry brute whipped around with a snarl, grabbing his attacker's neck. After yanking his own meat hook off his apron, Thomas jabbed it into the robed man's face, reveling in his pained screams until he had a firm hold. He proceeded to lead and 'swing' the ensnared man, using the sack of skin, meat, and bones like a crude weapon against the third, until the meat hook pretty much tore half of the screaming man's face off. Thomas' heart pounded in his chest and his breath was heavy, staring down the last one with absolute fury.
Without a word, the robed man turned to flee, knowing there was no way he'd be able to take on that thing by himself. Thomas may have been wearing down, the pain from the multitude of wounds throbbing throughout his body, but the wasn't down yet. With a slight limp to his gait, the brute gave pursuit, crashing against the walls in his unsteadiness and plowing through the corpses in his way.
Meanwhile, Hoyt pushed himself up with a pained wince, managing to stagger to where the chainsaw still whirred and growled. He turned it off before examining the body of the man with his face partially torn off, the one Hoyt shot in the chest earlier.
"You... fuckers just prepared fer everything, ain't cha? Everything but me an' my nephew, there?" he muttered to himself, in amusement whilst plucking his own bullet from the padded vest that the deranged cultist wore beneath his robes.
It must have been painfully hot wearing all that in the Texas heat with no air condition. Perhaps they were all suffering some heat stroke related delirium. Not that it mattered anymore. All Hoyt was concerned with was tending to his injuries and making sure that the fresh meat got home safely before it went sour. Well, and maybe that his nephew caught the last of those robed miscreants.
"Somehow... somehow these motherfuckers knew we'd show up... they was... they was just waitin'..."
That thought brought a dampener on his previous amusement. Did someone out there know what he was doing? What his family did? None of these troubles started... until the day they brought Blake into their home. A weak, strained voice claimed the false sheriff's attention. The cultist impaled on his own sword! Somehow he was still clinging to his life, smearing his fingers in a pool of his own blood in front of him as he wheezed terribly.
"What's that now?" Hoyt questioned, slowly circling around the dying man.
"Y-yes... you... do..."
That was all the cultist spat out before the demons he praised claimed his soul for Hell. But Hoyt took a closer look at what the man wrote in the blood and gore on the floor. "Blake" was all he had written. Hoyt's eyes widened, slowly putting the pieces together, muttering to himself. He snapped out of it though, once he heard Thomas' distinctive stomping up the stairs and scuff of a body dragging behind him. Quickly, Hoyt ran his boot over the bloody writing, smearing it to ineligibility, just in case his nephew could read. (Honestly, he couldn't remember.)
"Tommy! Let's just git this shit in the car and git the fuck outta here, boy!" Hoyt grumbled.
TCM~ TCM~ TCM~ TCM~ TCM~ TCM~
After the slaughter, Thomas and Hoyt patched themselves up with the first aid kit kept in the police cruiser, however they'd have to wait until they got home before getting proper treatment. It was all disturbingly quiet once again. No one else was left, no more mysterious corpses getting up or shrieking banshees leaping out of closets. But it was when they got to what appeared to be a child's bedroom did they find something almost as gruesome as the goat-headed skinned man.
This room was filled with excess bodies, like some sort of macabre storage unit, in different stages of decomposition. Most of them were in tact, and fully clothed, unlike the rest of the house, as though the cultists weren't worried about spreading their body parts all over for their perverted rituals. But what really unnerved Hoyt to no end were the boxes of empty rat poison nearby, as though these mother fuckers were taunting him from beyond they grave. They put poison all over the bodies, as though they knew someone else with their same cannibalistic tastes was going to visit sooner or later. Thomas whimpered with discomfort, not only from the sight that greeted him, but the steadily growing pain from his injuries.
"Some fuckin' people..." Hoyt spat, disdainfully.
Once the bodies of the freshly slain heathens were shoved into the trunk, at least the ones that would fit, they took what there was of value, mostly weapons and their occult jewelry, before setting the little house ablaze. While Hoyt admired his handiwork with arson, reveling in the sight of roaring red and orange flames engulfing the cultist's lair, Thomas just stared at the bladed glove he held in his hands, thinking about that white-haired woman he saw in that dream. She had one of these. And Thomas heard those men talking about an "Honored Mother" before he slaughtered them. Could they be connected in some way? He would need to ask Blake. Only she could let him know for certain. Mamma and Uncle Hoyt... they wouldn't understand.
*The Farmhouse/Blake*
As per the girl's earlier predictions, that afternoon was hell. No, not just because of the heat. More like Luda Mae's lady friends itching for a feel of Blake's pregnant belly and offering congratulations. (Though to be fair, the iced sweet tea was actually quite delightful.)
Mostly, Blake remained quiet, mild mannered. Luda Mae took the liberty of reminding her friends about just how shy the girl was, though that only seemed to make them want to fawn over her more. The four of them resided in the kitchen at the square, white table, their usual meeting place.
"Here now, drink up. It's important to stay hydrated." said the large, obese woman as she handed Blake a large glass filled with the sweet tea.
"You'll need your energy, now that you're a mamma." Henrietta chimed in, "Such a beautiful thing."
"That's what I told her..." Luda Mae added, proudly.
But Blake could only partially hear their words. Something else felt like it was trying to take over her body and it took all her energy not to tremble and give away what was happening to her at that very moment. Luckily, the other three were far too busy gabbing to notice Blake grasping at the seat of her chair, for something to hold onto. She blinked blearily, trying to clear the fogginess from her eyes when... she saw it.
For a few seconds, Blake was not in the old farmhouse's kitchen. She was somewhere else entirely. A small, quaint place that would have been a fine little home, had it not been for the copious amount of corpses, body parts, and bloody innards spread all over the floor and walls. Blake felt... unusually tall, like she was seeing the world from the eyes of another... tall like... Thomas. She could see Hoyt, even hear him,
"What's wrong with ya, boy?!"
Then... the robed figures attacking from behind, the macabre décor... they had stumbled upon a meeting den that The Soldiers of Eternal Damnation made for themselves! A loud, gravely grunt of warning came from Thomas' throat, the snarl of his chainsaw... the hunters were now the hunted. Just when Blake felt herself charging in to attack, she let out a sharp yelp, knocking her chair over as she quickly stood up, nearly tripping over her chains. Naturally, the sudden, sharp noise quieted the conversation.
"Blake, sweetie!" Luda Mae cried out, in worry of the girl's odd behavior, "Oh good heavens, child! What's wrong?"
Panic in her mismatched eyes, Blake gazed at her surroundings. Back... she was back in the kitchen. Not that it was a welcome relief by any stretch, but at least she was no longer surrounded by that... that house of corpses. But Thomas was! All eyes were on the startled girl as Henrietta got up, picked up Blake's chair, and gently led the young psychic to sit back down.
"Shhhhh, it'll be okay. Nervous, I know..." she said, in her soft voice.
That girl didn't know the half of it! Gulping loudly and taking in several deep, heavy breaths, she struggled with what to say. What do you tell them? That you saw the world through Thomas' eyes? You witnessed him and Hoyt being attacked by robed occultists in a house so full of dismembered bodies it made the Hewitt's basement look neat and orderly?!
"I... i-i-it's just... I-I'm scared..." Blake answered.
A good, safe, generic answer they couldn't argue with. Of course, after a few gentle shoulder rubs and nudging, it was back to tea time and chatting. But... there was no way Blake could shake off what she'd seen. This was a first, she SAW through Thomas' eyes! She hadn't even been able to do that with her dogs before! It was similar, though not the same as when she controlled him during that stormy night she tried to escape with Kaylie. Obviously, whatever bond they had with each other was getting stronger...
"Perfectly natural ta be afraid. This'll be yer first. But I know Luda Mae will help ya out, she raised her sweet Tommy right," The Tea Lady cooed, gently, "Why, ya got such a glow 'boutcha already."
"Must just be her condition, makin' her jump at things that ain't there and git all spaced out." Luda Mae reasoned, "Poor, sweet thing."
Blake didn't think she'd be grateful for the topic turning back to her unborn child, but maybe now it was a good thing. Nothing more happened after that one incident. Yet Blake was so afraid of another vision popping up when she was unprepared she even tried ignoring listening in on the thoughts of those around her. She resisted the urge to stare towards the direction of the highway, no matter how tightly the need pulled at her, instead focusing on her steadily draining glass sweet tea. That was until the hours ticked by and the familiar sound of the police cruiser rolling up the dirt driveway grabbed her attention. Feeling the panic rising in her chest, causing it to tighten, Blake's fists clenched once again and her breaths came out in short pants.
"Thomas... he's been hurt..." she whispered, under her breath.
::To be Continued::
Author's Notes: Onto 17, and shit is getting serious! Picking up where chapter 16 let off, we find ourselves back at the rural house the Soldiers of Eternal Damnation took over before they moved the bulk of their forces to the old slaughterhouse. (But, it's still in use!)
Mostly, I was exploring the "what if" situation. Hoyt is pretty hardcore, revels in his cruelty, and gets off on torturing people. I wanted to make a situation that might disturb someone like him! Something that would unnerve Thomas. The Soldiers of Eternal Damnation are fucking scary in their own right and see the Hewitts as competition.
Granted, I still snuck in some humor, especially with Hoyt (being the old fart that he is) complaining about how "wasteful" this younger generation is, more angry about wasted meat that'd probably keep his family fed for a year. This was a LOT of fun, written from a perspective that I haven't really seen on TCM fics, (Normally it focuses on the Hewitt house and what goes on in there from the victim's POV, I wanted to do a POV of the two hunters, with the twist of being hunted themselves!) And... now they know where all of their potential victims have been going... Spooky...
Also, Blake's discovered something new... seeing through Thomas' eyes. Granted, it happened at about the worst time imaginable. Not sure how many of her odd, unpredictable psychic episodes can be smudged off as "Pregnancy hormones!"
Overall, I had so much fun working on this chapter! Yes, there's people out there more depraved and twisted then the Hewitts! I love reviews and PMs, my day always lights up when I get one... or five!
Hope you enjoyed. (Shhhh... but next chapter will have some shmexiness... shhhhhhh...)
Disclaimer:: I do not claim to own The Texas Chainsaw Massacre/Nightmare on Elm Street or any of it's characters. The references to Jason Voorhees and Lisa Voorhees are from Lady_Vorrhees' story, The Strange Good Girl.