"After this, they were all dropping like flies. They just kept dying and dying, one after another. What I found so weird about this creep is that he didn't do it in any specific order; he just picked the person that was there, right in front of him. He wanted to get them out of the picture before the police came, because if they knew there was a killer on the island, he would be a goner."
Ke$ha sat, explaining the inevitable truth to Mike.
"There's not much time to chat, Ms. Sebert. Continue your story."
"You act like I'm telling you a fucking children's story" she spat.
"Continue, Ms. Sebert" Mike said, pounding his fist on the table.
The group had locked themselves inside. The glass doors had automatic shades covering them, and everyone in the house was armed, with Jane carrying the gun from the helps house. Steven and Michele held automatic handguns that had been kept within the house as a safety precaution, and Claire held a flare-gun. The rest of the group carried a variation of knifes or bats, with Peter carrying a golf club.
"I worked with them for three years" Nicole mumbled, in disbelief of her friends passing. She was curled up on the couch, a hot chocolate nestled between her hands.
Although the deaths of the help were shocking, the group felt relatively apathetical towards them. Most of them were more concerned about Kevin, his body still hanging from the pool. None of them had dared to traipse outside since they realized a murder was on the loose.
Mark sat, twisting the mangled telephone wire. All of the lines in the house had been meticulously cut, one by one. Even the ones locked away in the bedrooms. Vivian cursed and screamed at the fact that cell service did not reach the island, throwing her iPhone across the room in a fit of rage. The group mourned the fact that they had nowhere to go, and nowhere to be safe.
"I can't believe this is going on" Claire said, looking blankly at the television that was playing episodes of Jersey Shore. Miranda attempted to tweet '#guidoswag', but due to the lack of service, was unable to. She threw her phone to the ground, cursing at it.
Mary sat cuddled in Janes arms. They had gone to the wine cabinet and had a little too much of the many bottles of Pinot Grigio stored in the chilled area. Jane was twirling Mary's hair through her fingers, whispering into her ears, trying to cheer her up. Mary sat there with a blank face, unresponsive.
Michelle glared at Jane from across the room.
"Jesus is Lana's bestest friend. I don't think he would appreciate your sinful actions" Michelle quipped, downing another shot of tequila.
Peter and Mark seemed like the only ones really affected by Broo Broo's death. Mark had been crying ever since he'd seen the body – so much to the extent that Claire had called him a pussy. Peter could not contemplate the fact that someone would do this, and wondered if it was one of his very own friends.
Jan sat with Vivian and Alex, trying to convince them that the best thing to do was to try to escape the island and swim to mainland. Alex wasn't having any of it, complaining that he would rather die a slow, painful death than have his hair jeopardized. Vivian told him that they were going to stick it out, and watching your friend's die was a good life experience that will 'roughen your edges' in the long run.
"I think your being pretty stupid about this entire thing," he mumbled as Alex shot him a cold glare.
Christine sat in the kitchen, crying. She had tried to find fryers and grease but was unable to. She had broken down into a fit before throwing uncooked patties from the kitchen at Michelle, yelling, "You don't know what it's like to be a true blue collar employee!"
There was no noise the entire night, until a smash came from outside the house. Claire cupped her mouth, while Jane grabbed Mary.
Peter ran to look out the window.
A giant garden pot came flying at the window. The group screamed as it bounced off of the glass. A figure stood before them, holding Broo Broo's head in his hand. Mary ran to the bathroom, puking. Jane stood up from the floor.
"I'm SO done with this shit" Jane said, unlocking the door and flinging it open.
"NO!" screamed Steven. It was too late.
Jane ran outside, cocking the shotgun at the figure. He lurched into motion, running away from her. She fired three shots. The final shot hit a fireworks storage tin, setting off the crackler's inside.
They darted in every direction, lighting off near every tree and burrow. Colors splashed the foundation, lighting grass and trees on fire. One ricocheted into the house, narrowly missing Steven's head. It exploded, sending sparks in every direction, one nearly lighting the TV on fire. Jane reeled backwards as the figure ran into the distance.
"It's gone," Jane mumbled, slamming the door and locking it. She pulled the screen into place.
"There's no way it can get in," Peter said, smiling, a look of astonishment crossing his face. "The house is literally foolproof."
"When I said my parents built it to be indestructible I meant it" Vivian smiled. She was proud of her family's efforts.
"I can't believe it was holding Broo Broo's head…" Nicole sighed, a shiver passing through her body. The image of her friend's decapitated head would not leave her memory any time soon. She could see the fresh blood spilling from the cut wound, dried blood cloaking his mouth. She couldn't get the sound of the arrow impaling Broo Broo's head out of her head either. The short but dangerous noise wouldn't leave her alone, and she sat and wondered if the same thing would happen to her.
Vivian gathered the group together.
"We have to develop a strategy. This creep is obviously out to get us, and all of us are deer in the headlights. Him or Her obviously knows the layout of the house very well, to the point where it knew how to access the beach and the help house. They know each of us and who we are at this point, but I'm doubtful they really care. They're not out to get us in order, judging by the fact that there hasn't been any pattern. They're here to kill, and if we even make a move to stop it, we're dead meet."
Vivian looked at the group sternly, and everyone nodded their heads.
"Right now there's not much we can do," she continued. "We only have to start worrying once it manages to worm its way into the house, which, hopefully, won't happen."
Christine shuddered.
"We're going to have to defend different parts of the house, however, which means were going to have to split up." Vivian said, a look of worry crossing everyone's faces.
"That's a stupid idea, Viv" Jan said, reprimanding her suggestion. "Don't you know that when you split up you have a two hundred million percent chance of dying a gruesome death?"
"I didn't mean alone, dumbass" Vivian shot. "I meant in groups of two."
She put the group to action.
"Steven and Jan, you're holding up the porch doors. Lauri and Mark, you're manning the basement door. Jane, you and me will take the front door since you have the rifle. Claire, you're with Michelle. Only use the flare gun when necessary. Alex and Christine, you two guard the second floor landing. Peter and Miranda, you two guard the back doors. Nicole and Mary, you two take the third floor landing" Vivian shouted, directing everyone to their respected areas.
"Get ready to fight for your life"
Mark stood, trembling with Lauri. His skinny knees buckled and shook like willow trees in a harsh breeze. Lauri stood stoic, her brown hair dangling near her collarbones. While she could be considered one of the physically weaker ones in the group, due to her skinny build, she was more or less the strongest emotionally. Most of the deaths had left her un-phased, and even Kevin's didn't strike a chord within her being.
"Lauri, how are you so relaxed right now" Mark chattered, running his hands through his dirty blonde hair. His blue eyes glimmered in the moonlight, gesturing Lauri for a response.
"I've seen people die before" she replied coolly. "I watched one of my best friends get shot in a gang fight one time. Someone was killed in a club when I was DJ'ing right before my eyes. You just have to realize death is real and accept it, and accept the fact that you may die one day, whether it is deserved or intentional. Once you can do that, you're not scared of it anymore."
Mark gulped, shrinking to the ground. The mere possibility of being killed was not acceptable. What would his parents think? The mere thought of a child dying sickened him to the point of nausea.
Claire and Michelle stood in the kitchen, looking out of the bay windows for any sign of life, and keeping a steady eye on the backyard door. Claire twirled the flare gun in her fingers; it's blue body swinging in and out of her hand.
"Do you ever think of death?" she asked Michelle.
"Every body is Born To Die. It's just there" Michelle replied, wondering if Claire would take her Lana reference as a childish joke.
"I know that, Michy, but why are we? What if we die right now?"
"I think God and Jesus plan out our deaths. Marilyn Monroe, bless her, was meant to die. Her suicide was no coincidence; the angels up in heaven had planned it. Lana wants to die like that too, like, be taken away by the angels. So do I."
Miranda stood by the large French doors leading outside, singing Robin Thicke off-key. Peter leaned against the wall, drinking a bottle of fresh maple syrup, practicing his moose calls.
"I though you was Asian?" Miranda questioned.
"I am. I just wasn't born in china" Peter rebutted.
"All Asian people are born in china. It's a fact," Miranda said, rolling her eyes.
Jan and Steven were busy bickering about what stems they had.
"I have the solo vocals from Supernatural and the acapella hasn't even been released yet!" Jan yelled, staring him down.
"Oh yeah?" Steven retorted. "I have Woo x Hoo (Steal Your Baby Sister)… in HD."
Jan gasped, reeling backwards. "You do NOT!" he shouted. Steven nodded his head.
"Well you must think your hot shit!" Jan screeched. "I have the unreleased vocoded farts from Blah Blah Blah… in lossless."
Steven fainted.
Christine was consumed by guilt.
"What will my manager think?" she gulped to Alex. The guilt of dying with an active duty at McDonalds was too much to bear
"Christine, that man ABUSES you. He shoves you into pans and beats you with frozen patties. He's no good."
"What if I told you I liked it…?" Christine stammered.
The killer had successfully managed to break one of the ceiling windows on the third floor. While this was beneficial for him, it was problematic as well, due to the fact that they were too small for a human to possibly fit through. He would have to make use of his surroundings. He lowered a thin black rope into the hallway, waiting with baited breath.
Mary and Nicole were walking through the long, empty space, their steps echoing off of the walls. They carried their weapons in their hands; Nicole, a bat, and Mary, a large Machete-like cutting knife. Both knew the emergency signal if anything happened – bang on the walls as loudly as you can.
"I wonder who he'll off next," Mary said, looking at Nicole.
"He won't kill any of us. He can't" Nicole said, smiling at Mary with a look of empathy.
A tug pulled at Nicole's foot.
"What the hell is that?" she said. She tried walking forwards again, only to be restrained again.
"Something's got me! Something's got me!" she screamed, panic etching her voice.
"Just grab my hand!" Mary shouted.
Before either of them could think, Nicole was yanked backwards. Her body fell flat onto the floor, and began to move backwards. A thin black rope was attached to her ankle. Mary chased after her, screaming her lungs out.
"Help me!" Nicole screamed, her mouth agape as she flew towards the banister over the stairwell. She was clawing at the wooden floors, blood forming around her fingernails.
Mary was finally able to grab Nicole's hand.
"Don't let go! Don't fucking let go!" she screamed, tears pouring out of her eyes.
The rope gave one final tug, and Nicole went flying backwards, off of the banister. Her body plummeted down three stories before landing in the middle of the living room with a definitive 'crack.' Blood pooled around her body, her neck twisted in an unnerving direction. Her eyes were distant, staring at something that wasn't there, as if still beckoning for help.
Mary broke down into tears, screaming, as a black rope descending from the ceiling.
The killer stood on the roof, looking though its tiny porthole. It saw the friend scream, cry, and hugs each other, circling around the body. The death had brought so much commotion that they did not realize one very, very important detail.
One of them was missing from the group, staring down at them through the opening.
The figure let out a giggle and maneuvered down to the ground, preparing its next kill.