I'm glad that everyone liked my little change from the movie; thanks for all the great reviews, keep 'em coming.

Chapter Nine

The Hewitt House

I could still hear the chainsaw ripping behind me and I forced myself to run faster, though I wasn't quite sure that was possible. My legs ached and my breath burned in my throat as I stumbled through the woods, batting aside gnarled branches. My back burned as well, still bleeding from where I nearly been torn up by the chainsaw. I thought of Morgan and tears blurred my eyes; he was dead, he was really dead.

The chainsaw suddenly sputtered and died, the air growing eerily silent; I stopped running abruptly, my breath hitching in my chest. Why had the chainsaw stopped? Did that mean that the psycho -who didn't even look like a man- had finally given up on chasing me? It seemed too good to be true, especially after what he had done to Morgan. Well, I wasn't going to wait around and find out; the sheriff's house was somewhere around here, if I could only find it before the chainsaw found me, then everything would be all right.

I started through the woods again, much slower this time, with my muscles aching and screaming in protest with every step. Everything will be all right, everything will be all right I kept telling myself. But would it really?

The air was silent aside from the leaves that crackled beneath my feet and my ragged breathing; somehow the silence was even worse then the ripping chainsaw. That man could be following me and I wouldn't know it; at least when the chainsaw was going I knew exactly where he was.

The woods tapered off slowly and I found myself in the car graveyard once again. It was even worse at night, with the half moon's light illuminating the shattered headlights of the cars and making them wink like eyes. And now I didn't have Andy around to protect me from whatever might be around.

Andy! I hadn't thought about him since the man with the chainsaw had trapped Morgan and I under the van. Where was he now? Was he all right? Had he found help...or had he found the man with the chainsaw? Thinking about Andy made me realize for the first time how alone I really was, how utterly helpless everything seemed. Tears welled in my eyes but I quickly blinked them away; crying right now wouldn't do any good. I had to find the sheriff, I had to get help and I had to see if Andy and the others were all right.

I averted my eyes from the ghostly cars and headed in the direction that Andy and Erin had taken hours earlier. If only I had known then what was going to happen, I would have gone with them. And I would have been nicer to Morgan.

The long, dried grass was still bent where Andy and Erin had walked earlier and it was easy to follow the path they had taken. My legs and back ached with every step I took but there was no possible way I was stopping; every second I wasted was a second that the madman with the chainsaw could use to get closer to me.

I thought about Andy; was he okay? Where was he and why hadn't he come back to the van yet? He and Erin had been gone an awfully long time, after all. What if they had never made it to the sheriff's house? What if the man with the chainsaw had found them first? I shuddered, I didn't want to think about it; Andy had to be okay, I really liked them. And we were all so young, how could this be happening to us?

I sniffed back more tears and tried to let my eyes better adjust to the darkness. It felt like I had been walking forever and I doubted I had even come very far; what if I was just walking around in circles? What if I was walking closer and closer to that chainsaw? I had never felt so utterly lost in my entire life.

A huge shadow loomed up from the darkness in front of me and I had to squint to see what it was; I stared for quite some time until I realized it was a house. A house! With a phone, where I could get help! Maybe it was even the sheriff's house. I started jogging through the grass but stopped because of the gash across my back; I could still feel blood leaking through the split skin and wondered if I was going to need stitches. I hated needles as much as I hated blood.

I left the tall grass and stepped onto gravel which served as the driveway leading up to the house. Soon I would be safe, soon I would find a phone and then maybe I could even find Andy and the others. A crooked, rusted mailbox hung off its post to my right; in the darkness, I could barely read the name spelt out in letters across the top of the weathered box: Hewitt. Well, I hoped the Hewitts had a phone I could use.

Most of the lights were on in the house, which was a great relief; there was somebody home, somebody that could help me. No cars rested in the gravel driveway but that wasn't a big deal; these backwoods people probably still rode horses everywhere. At least if they ever wanted to build their own car, there were plenty of parts to choose from in the car graveyard practically in their backyard.

Thinking of the car graveyard made me stop dead in my tracks. How had all those cars ended up there in the first place? What had happened to the people that used to drive them? Surely whoever lived in this house had heard the cars crash, or whatever had happened to them, yet they just let the vehicles rot there, widely untouched. It didn't seem right, there was something wrong about that; who would let cars pile up in their backyard? And what had happened to the people that had once driven them? Surely they wouldn't have left their cars there.

The porch light winked on and I was snapped out of my thoughts; the front door swung open and a plump, old woman with a large gut and a slight humpback peeked out the door. I figured I looked like a complete idiot, standing in their driveway, staring off into space as I thought about car graveyards. I looked over at the woman; she certainly didn't look like a chainsaw wielding maniac. Not that she looked like a friendly grandmother either, but I would take librarian spinster over chainsaw killer any day.

"Who's that out there?" The woman called out and I started in her direction again.

"Ma'am, I really need to use your phone, it's an emergency." I called back, picking up my pace a little despite the pain in my back. "My friend has been killed and my other friends have gone missing and I really need to-"

The old woman stopped me. "Called, ya say?" She repeated. I stepped into the porch light and she squinted her eyes. "Honey, you look like hell run over." She pointed out.

I was sure. "Ma'am, really, this is an emergency. There's some man out there with a chainsaw and he already killed one of my friends and now he's trying to kill me." Thinking about Morgan caused tears to pop into my eyes again and I blinked them away with a sniff. "Please." I wiped a tear off my cheek.

The woman beckoned to me with a friendly smile. "'Course honey, you come right in here." I sniffed, grateful. Everything was going to be all right after all.

The woman led me into the a living room, which stunk of shit and pigs, and I was surprised to see the sheriff sitting on the couch, sipping a beer and glaring at an old man in a wheelchair. I recoiled when I saw that the man had no legs. The woman didn't seem to notice my reaction and pushed me into the living room. "Lookie here," She said and the two men turned in her direction. "Look what I found."

The sheriff leered at me and I could tell that he recognized me. "Well, if it ain't little smart mouth." He sneered, setting his beer aside. "You don't look so hot now." He gave me the once over.

I sniffed. "Please, I really need your help. There's a bad man out there." I stopped before I could say anything else. That was exactly what the hitchhiker had said before she shot herself; a bad man...had that same man killed her family? I burst into tears at the thought of being the only survivor to that horrible chainsaw wielding man; it wasn't possible, Andy couldn't be dead. Not Erin and not Kemper. But Morgan was dead...

The old woman patted my back, on the exact spot where the chainsaw had torn open my skin and I hissed, pulling away from her. "Oh dear, I'm sorry." She said and I turned to look at her. There was something in her face as she said that, a glimmer of sly wickedness that suggested she wasn't sorry at all.

A shiver ran through my body and I took another step away from her. I blinked away my tears. "Can I use your phone?" I asked.

Sheriff Hoyt stood up and came up behind me; I didn't want to turn around, I stared down at the floor. "Who you gonna call?" He questioned and I realized he had a point. He was the sheriff...or he was supposed to be. This whole house was starting to rub me the wrong way, something about it just wasn't right. And it wasn't just the old woman and the sheriff either, it was like the house itself; there was another smell beneath the smell of stale potpourri and pig stench...it was the smell of the slaughterhouse.

I sniffed and finally looked up, turning to face him. Before I could think of an answer, something heavy and solid dropped to the floor from one of the other rooms, echoing throughout the house. I jumped at the noise, whirling in the direction it had come from. "What the hell was that?" I had no idea what could have made a noise like that.

"Don't you worry about that, honey." The old woman assured me and I looked over at her. She had that same strange smile on her face and a look of anticipation flickered in her eyes.

This isn't right. Those words kept repeating in my head; tears filled my eyes again and somehow being in this house with these strange people was worse then being chased by a psycho with a chainsaw. I didn't want to be here anymore. I just wanted to be back in Kemper's van with everyone, with Andy, back before we picked up that girl. This isn't right.

The old man in the wheelchair rolled over to us and peered up at his, his face seeming to be fixed in a permanent scowl. "Why don't you have a seat and Luda May will fix you some tea." He suggested, prodding me with the cane that he carried across his lap and pushing me in the direction of the couch.

I looked at the couch, which was worn and grimy and wrinkled my nose; despite the fact that my feet were still aching and my legs felt like they were made of rubber, I'd rather stand. The legless man, however, didn't agree with my decision to remain standing and pushed me harder with his cane, until I fell onto the ratty cushions of the couch. A flash of pain cut across my eyes and I hissed, squeezing my eyes shut. When was this horrible night going to be over?

"Tea, of course." The woman, Luda May I assumed, nodded and headed in the direction of where I figured the kitchen was. That anticipatory smile never left her face.

More tears leaked past my eyelids and I sniffed, wiping them away and looking at the two men still in the room with me. Sheriff Hoyt was leering at me, making no move to hide the fact that he was staring down my halter top and I shuddered. I just wanted to go home.

I drew my legs up against my chest and rested my chin on my knees, closing my eyes again. How had this happened to me?

Luda May reappeared, her footsteps causing me to open my eyes again, carrying a small china cup filled with what I guessed was tea. "Here you go, darling, hot out of the kettle." She grinned and handed me the cup.

I took the cup but didn't drink from it. "I don't want tea, I want a phone." I snapped, a little harsher then I had intended and Luda May glared at me.

"You young people have no manners." She snarled and Hoyt and the legless man nodded in agreement. "A poor old lady tries to do something nice but I just get spit in the face." I watched her with wide eyes, my hands shaking so much that tea sloshed over the rim of the cup and onto the floor.

Hoyt sneered at me. "I think it's time someone taught her some manners, Momma." His eyes flicked toward Luda May and then back to me another. A little sob escaped my throat at his words and I scooted closer to the end of the couch. With that sneer still on his face, Hoyt started toward me, a malicious light sparkling in his eyes.

Before I could react, he lunged forward and grabbed my thigh, squeezing painfully with his fingers, his nails digging into my skin. I cried out, trying to wrench away from him but twisting only made him hold tighter. He reached forward with his other hand to grab my arm and I threw the rest of the tea in his face. Hoyt recoiled when the still steaming liquid splashed into his face, releasing me and covering his eyes with his hands. Dropping the cup, I rolled off the couch and landed on my hands and knees, my eyes blinded with tears. I had to get out of here.

Hoyt was still howling in pain and Luda May seemed for a moment at a loss of what to do. I used their confusion as my only chance to get away, crawling away from Hoyt and Luda May and toward the door. The old man in wheelchair wheeled in my direction, catching me by surprise and planting his left wheel directly on top of my left hand; I cried out in pain and tried to pull out from under the chair but it was heavier then I had thought and I didn't have the strength left in my body to pull away. With every tug, the heavy, harsh wheels tore skin off my hand until I was bleeding; I started to cry even harder.

Luda May seemed over her confusion. "Thomas Brown Hewitt!" She yelled and I wondered who she was addressing. I was too afraid to know. "You get in here right this second!"

Heavy footsteps sounded on the wooden floor, which creaked beneath the weight of however was coming and I buried my face with the hand that wasn't pinned beneath the wheelchair. This was it, I just knew I was going to die.

The floor squeaked and labored breathing filled my ears, as though whoever had entered the room was trying to breath through a sealed off nose or a mask. I whimpered and tried to curl into a ball on the floor.

"Thomas, this girl needs to be taught some manners." Luda May said to whoever had entered the room. "I think you can handle her." The person she was addressing grunted, sounding more like a pig then a man.

The man in the wheelchair suddenly rolled off my hand and I felt the blood begin rushing back to my fingers. Before I could open my eyes to see what was about to happen to me next, two fat, grimy hands, slick with sweat, grabbed me around my shoulders and hoisted me to my feet without much effort at all. I opened my eyes quickly to see what sort of man could do such a thing and found myself looking straight into the distorted face of the man with the chainsaw, the man that had killed Morgan; this close I could see that it wasn't his face at all. It was like a mask, sewn together from human stick. It wasn't his face! I screamed.

The man (though he didn't really look like a man at all) started squealing as well and Luda May and Sheriff Hoyt started to laugh. I tried to wiggle out of his grip but he tossed me over his shoulder as though I was nothing more then a tiny baby; I continued to scream, trashing against his arms, beating on his shoulders with whatever strength I had left in my body. He paid no attention and carried me out of the living room and down a poorly lit hallway; I started sobbing, my hair hanging over my face, staring down at the floor.

"Please." I cried. "Please let me go." I hadn't expected the man to respond and I wasn't disappointed.

The man turned and I found myself staring at a heavy metal door covered with what looked like scratch marks and a single glass peephole. "No." I whispered, knowing that something even worse was behind that door. The man balanced me easily on his shoulder as he wrapped his fat, thick hands around the edge of the door and threw it back; the door squealed against its track and slammed into the wall.

The stench of death, like the slaughterhouse only much worse, slammed into my face as soon as he opened the door and I felt my stomach roll. Unable to stop myself, I threw up over the man's shoulder, crying even harder. The man squealed, as though in disgust, and lifted me off his shoulder, throwing me down a flight of wooden stairs.

I knocked into a stone wall as I fell, hard enough to see spots and tried to stop myself from falling further. There was no way to stop myself and continued to fall, bouncing head over heels down the wooden steps until I at least came to the bottom, landing in water at least two feet deep. My face went under and I inhaled some of the muddy water before I managed to lift my head, coughing and sputtering, trying to spit out the water I hadn't swallowed. An irony tang remained in my mouth and I retched again when I realized it was blood.

I started crying again, shivering in the water, aching all over. I was going to die down here, in this horrible basement. I was going to die.

Something moved in the water behind me and I screamed, squeezing my eyes shut tightly; whatever was behind me, I didn't want to see it. There was very little sanity left in my mind and I ended to hold onto what was left until I died. Whatever was behind me grew closer, I could hear it sloshing through the water and I started shaking, tears running down my cheeks.

"Pepper?" I lifted my head. I knew that voice...but it couldn't be... I slowly opened my eyes and turned around. I almost didn't believe what I was seeing: Andy was on his hands and knees behind me, soaking wet with a mixture of the basement water and sweat, bleeding from various cuts on his shoulders but seeming to be otherwise okay. My tears starting falling even harder now as I threw my arms around his shoulders and pressed my face against his chest. It was really Andy; he was all right, he wasn't dead.

Andy wrapped his arms around me as well, holding me tightly against him, as though he couldn't believe that I was real either. I couldn't seem to stop crying. "I thought you were dead." I sobbed, still shaking, my body aching from head to toe. But somehow, I didn't feel as scared; Andy wasn't dead, there was hope.

"I thought I was too." Andy muttered, so low that I could barely hear him. I pulled away from him to study his face.

I sniffed. "Where's Erin?" I questioned, wiping my hands across my face to get rid of the sweat and tears. I could tell by the look on Andy's face that I didn't really want to know.

"That son of a bitch with the chainsaw got her." Andy answered. My eyes went wide with sorrow; not Erin, not poor Erin who just wanted to get married and be happy for the rest of her life. I started to cry again and Andy pulled me against his chest again, stroking my hair, in a comforting gesture that did little to comfort me. Erin was dead, Morgan was dead and I was sure that Kemper was dead too. How were Andy and I ever going to escape these murderous psychos? They wanted us dead too.

"Morgan's dead too." I whispered, shivering. "We're going to die, Andy, we're going to die." I cried ever harder at the thought.

Andy shook his head. "No, we're not going to die." He told me and I wondered if he even believed what he was saying. "There's got to be a way out of this basement."

I lifted my head again. I hoped he was right, because I didn't want to die.