Their arms were rough with goosebumps at hearing the chainsaw howl below, Meg and Dwight both looking over the balcony's edge to see Jake surfing through the cornfield with the bloodthirsty killer hot on his tail. They were heading off in the direction of the cow tree, which luckily meant the housebound pair could probably finish their generator.
Turning back, Dwight looked as if he wanted to say something, continuously peering over at Meg as he struggled with the wiring. She finally noticed after a few timid glances from him caught her attention.
"What's wrong?" She asked. He remained silent, mulling something over in his constantly nervous mind.
"I…" He began, voice cracking, which prompted him to restart embarrassingly. "I am sorry that I didn't listen to you… earlier."
Thinking about it again, yeah, it kind of pissed Meg off. If he just heeded her warnings and they snuck away, neither one of them would have been hurt- or in the least they could have gotten a head start if the killer did end up finding them. But she wasn't going to indulge in that simmering annoyance deep in her belly because they needed to keep this team close knit and pointing fingers at one another would cause more problems than they desired. If this had been any other situation Meg would have probably, respectfully, went off on him. But there was no room for that here.
So she settled on a firm, "It's okay. Just know that we are in this together."
He seemed happy with that response, nodding as he got back to the wiring. Dwight knew he had made a mistake and understood that it was bound to happen. This was a high stress environment and errors would be plentiful. He just was thankful that everyone was pretty level headed and weren't letting the nightmare dismantle them, despite how much it tried to. For four random people being tossed in an impossible situation with a thousand odds stacked against them, Dwight thought they were doing pretty well. They were a good team.
"Are you going to patch that up?" Dwight asked. Meg looked at him then followed his eyes, seeing that he was warily assessing the state of her thigh.
"I'll save the supplies for the others." She sighed before putting her head down and getting to work. It hurt like hell but she could handle it for the time being. Understanding that their bodily renewal lied at the finish line made dealing with the pain, both mentally and physically, much easier
Soon three pistons turned into four and four pistons turned into the triumphant pop of the powered generator, sending Meg and Dwight off to explore the rest of the house in search of more medical supplies. They desperately needed it against this chainsaw.
Flies bit at their exposed skin as the pair wandered down the staircase together, catching whiff of the blended entrails that were slopped across the floor. Between sweating her ass off, having a chunk of her thigh hanging on by a thread of flesh and being constantly harassed by the overwhelming stench of this place- Meg was over it. It really came to a point where she was wishing to go back into the Trapper's arms, the cool breeze of the warehouse and delicate nighttime being something she now thought fondly of even though she almost died there.
There was something comical in the fact that her lesser evil was someone's worst nightmare. It really was Hell that they were living in.
"What's this?" Meg whispered to herself, grabbing the knobs of a double door situated beneath the staircase and swung them both open. A damp and chilly gust of air greeted her as she eyed a very creepy looking stairwell leading down. It wasn't anything like the basement in the shack, which piqued her curiosity. She turned and looked at Dwight. He seemed apprehensive. "Maybe there is stuff down there. Med-kits, toolboxes?"
He sighed, upset that she was really going to force him to make the most well known horror movie mistake. "If you insist."
The concrete steps were completely butchered, each dip crumbling apart and missing large pieces which made going down them all but impossible in the dark. And some parts were even loose, resulting in Meg losing her footing as a large chunk gave away right underneath her.
She yelped as she went down, almost landing on the tender wound atop her leg when a pair of arms clumsily caught her. Of course it was Dwight saving the day yet again. Meg hissed, the rough motion still shocking the wound and sending tons of pain across her body as she used him to straighten out.
As her palm raked against his knuckles, Meg took a fraction of a second to delight in the contact between them. Something about it was… comforting. But his touch was gone as soon as the feeling surfaced within her, leaving her to savor every last bit of the warmth it had built. There was just something about care and tenderness from another person that struck a chord in her, even amongst the tribulation. Secretly, Meg figured it would be okay to tap into it to get any sort of positive sensations. They deserved it, after all.
"Thanks," She breathed. Finally making it to the bottom, Meg looked left and right, trying to figure out what supplies there were with the soft light dappling in that barely illuminated the dark basement.
There was a whole lot of nothing, so it seemed. The redhead limped through the carnage, peeking around corners and snooping through cubbies, not uncovering a single useful thing amongst the rotting junk. That is until she happened across a makeshift looking room in the very back end of the basement.
It was a mini brick enclosure with a reinforced door serving as the entrance, a bar lock keeping it shut. Meg was officially interested.
She lobbed the wooden plank off to the side, emitting a startlingly loud sound as it smacked the concrete floor. Dwight called and asked if she was okay from the other end of the basement, to which Meg assured him she was still alive. At least for now.
The door creaked and groaned as she entered into a cramped and dark room. There was a television set in the corner and a pile of straw in the adjacent one, a scrappy plaid blanket lying on top of it. Scattered around were some drawings made on torn pieces of cardboard. As if happening upon trope after trope, Meg realized that the red illustrations weren't made by an innocent little crayon. It was dried smears of blood. If you looked close enough, you could see dark red clots and pieces of flesh carried through each stroke.
Meg knelt down and grabbed one of the cardboard pieces, squinting at the image. It was a sloppy drawing of a boy with his parents (At least she could only assume, based on how kids normally drew such things), smiles on their faces with a great big house in the background. The house they were in. The windows all matched up, the front porch curved around the side and all roof corners were aligned perfectly with what actually existed above. Whoever drew it had spent plenty of time there.
She grabbed another one.
A son with a frown as the parents held a bucket or a pot, crude squiggles of steam coming from its brim. The parents had smiles but the downturned eyebrows made their faces sinister looking as Meg realized an arrow pointed from the pot to the boy.
As she was about to drop that piece, Meg looked up and saw a pair of shackles on the wall.
It wasn't nausea, it wasn't shock or despair… but something hit Meg hard in the gut as she followed the rusting chain down to the actual wrist cuffs, which were bloody and chipped like someone had really struggled to get them off. The thing that bothered her the most was that they were child sized.
Hey eyes roamed further. Old, dried out blood covered the walls. It was smudged across the television screen in circles, like someone had wiped it away with their sleeve. Someone was tortured here. And she had a suspicious feeling that whoever owned this home were cruel, sinister parents. She didn't know why she understood that, but her intuition said 'bingo' in her head.
"Dwight!" Meg called with a wavering voice. She didn't like this. This was more than just killers trying to sacrifice them- there was some sort of abuse, something twisted and demented was going on.
He came right over to her, hurriedly looking around until his eyes landed on the shackles and the blood splattered all over the place.
"What is this?" He asked her. Meg stood, turning back to peer up at him. She shook her head.
"I don't know. But this isn't good." Then she handed him the final cardboard piece. It showed the boy standing above the two parents which were drawn horizontally, a ton of blood dripped over top of their bodies so that it gave the clear depiction of them being dead.
He looked long and hard at it, then back up to the cell before his wide, brown eyes made it back to hers.
The only question they now had was… what happened to the child?
Jake could hardly see a thing through the corn, so he made it a desperate goal to make it out and into a clearing as fast as possible. He needed a pallet, a window or some walls- just something because the thing's chainsaw was really making him panic. It kept revving it up and charging forward, barely missing Jake by a centimeter with the rotating blades as they danced around the field together in a frantic chase.
His lungs begged for a break but that seemed nowhere in sight. However what he could see was the tops of some wooden walls ahead, which quickly grew near as he sprinted amongst the whipping husks.
He slammed into the wall before bounding forward again, looking like a pinball as he zigzagged through the maze. As Jake rounded a corner, he caught sight of a window up ahead. It was an opportunity to lose the killer for a short while, perhaps allowing him to slip quietly into the corn.
The revving chainsaw hot on his tail left Jake panting in fear. The way it created such a terrorizing sound was somewhat mentally incapacitating on its own. There didn't even need to be a dreadful monster wielding it for there to be so much horror generated in those serrated chains, spinning a fresh nightmare right into Jake's reality.
As he spared a look back to gauge whether or not he could make the window, Jake was able to get a good look at their new monster now that the cornfield was no longer hiding the haunting image.
The thing's face was warped, some long pieces of rough flesh stretching over its beady eyes. Its nose was nothing more than a shallow bump beneath the brittle skin, and the mouth below it hung slack and seemed to be caked in red within the panting chamber. Depending on the angle, it was hard to see where the head ended and the shoulders began, those long lines of yellowing flesh seamlessly weaving down the contours of its hunched body. The thing was tall, much taller than Jake. It made him feel like a child. No, it made him feel like a field mouse under the sharp claws of a starving feline. That captured his minimized feeling better.
Predator and prey. Cattle sentenced to death. This was the slaughterhouse.
Jake spared yet another look at the thing. It held the chainsaw high in the air, signaling another charge forward, hoping to slash him right apart.
Meg was wondering what kind of hillbilly shit they'd been thrown into earlier. Well, this was their Hillbilly.
The two glistening staples above its right brow had the same reflection of light as its beady eyes did, two minuscule circles of ravenous white that seemed as empty as a shark's black gaze. There was no emotion, only an animalistic drive.
A guttural roar erupted from deep within its chest, spewing out from its mouth as it gave a final rev to the chainsaw. It burst into a ferocious charge, heading right for Jake who clamored through the window.
In his desperation he tumbled forward in order to get the wall between himself and the Hillbilly, face going right into the dirt as he tightened his core, urging the lower half of his body to follow. His left foot was last in line. It was frantically banging against the bottom ledge of the window when the Hillbilly's chainsaw came right onto it, just as Jake finally pulled his foot though the opening.
The short section of torn skin it left behind wasn't too bad on its own. What made it a condemning injury was the fact that it had completely ruptured his Achilles Tendon. He could feel the tendon snap, no longer connecting in the places it used to. The man had watched enough survival shows to understand what had just happened to him: Any function in his left foot was now all but nonexistent. As soon as Jake stood up and felt the searing pain shred through the nerves there, he immediately knew getting away would be nearly impossible.
His teeth grit together so tightly that his gums ached. The pain of trying to put pressure on that injured foot was insurmountable. So he hobbled forward, not wasting any time in getting away. His speed was chopped down to barely anything, leaving him to stumble around with only his left-side toes scraping against the ground while his right leg did all the work. He tried using the corn stalks as support but they kept snapping and crumbling apart under his rough grip.
The domineering thought that he would probably end up on a hook was relentlessly taunting him in sharp images that flashed through his head. At least now they'd reached a state of acceptance, somewhat. It helped to calm him, to let Jake know that if he was caught that it didn't spell permanent demise. He had two hooks based on what they'd experienced in the last trial. A third didn't seem promising given the emergence of the Entity's claws at being hooked a second time. But there was this blanket of safety that eased him the slightest amount. At least dangling on a hook would offer some peace and quiet, as compared to the thundering chainsaw that was tormenting him in that moment.
Blood trickled in the dried soil beneath him. It left a trail all through the corn, aiding the Hillbilly in effortlessly locating Jake. He could hear the husks rustle as the lumbering monster tracked him like a hellhound.
Calling after him were the clinks emanating from the chainsaw, each metallic note drawing closer and closer. Jake could hear the Hillbilly lessening the distance between them, the humid heat of the day being replaced with the monster's panting. Each breath caressed the back of Jake's neck in a ghostly way, sending chills over his body. The anticipation was terrible.
His senses were so keen that Jake knew the strike was incoming just by the noise behind him. The Hillbilly clearly faltered in his footing in order to bring that heavy hammer up in the air, something that the survivalist picked up on. He had only a second before the steel head would be introducing him to an even greater pain. Just one second.
What could he do in that minuscule amount of time?
The mind is a powerful thing. The signals and messages blaze through each cell, rippling and branching out at incredible speeds. One second was enough for him to recall a disdainful memory.
The night was winding down. His brother, James, had a good turnout for his graduation party, although Jake decided to observe it from afar. It was a suit and tie type of event, which left him feeling a strange sort of emptiness. Everything he saw was just so… artificial.
Everything from handshakes, laughs and even fake smiles were beginning to twist his stomach. He just hated it, he hated this life that his family was living. Jake didn't want to be a part of it because it always left him feeling unfulfilled. Getting a master's degree at Yale wasn't something he was interested in yet his father believed it was the only path to happiness. Thus why he was sitting in the back of their garden on a party-rental chair, sipping on champagne with a sour expression. His brother was the one to get through the Ivy League education and live up to the expectations, so he was gifted with a luxurious event with a slew of prestigious guests who only saw him as a business opportunity.
He and James connected on a lot of things, saw eye to eye most of the time but there were some clear differences between them. One being that Jake wasn't afraid to be a disappointment. Or maybe he'd just gotten so used to the feeling that he decided to embrace it.
The champagne buzz had him tossing the thought out the window. Who fucking cared anyway. All he wanted was to stay far away from his brother's spotlight that night and breeze by without strangers asking what Jake Park's big plans for the future was gonna be. Because he honestly didn't know and didn't want to think about it.
He downed the rest of the champagne and stood, feeling a little wobbly as he began walking on the outskirts of their garden fence, hoping to evade the crowd as he beelined for the poolside bar. Another drink would do him good, then he'd sneak off to bed.
"What can I getcha?" Their hired bartender asked as Jake neared. He leaned onto the counter, rolling up his dress shirt's sleeves with a sigh, spying the little cocktail menu beside him. Even the drinks sounded pretentious. Who the hell was drinking an Old Fashion at a graduation party?
"Can I get a Corona, please?" He asked politely, lazily putting his head in his hands as the bartender went to fetch the beer.
In the midst of him waiting on the drink, Jake felt someone move in beside him and sit on the stool to his right. Great, human interaction.
Jake peered over, not expecting to see his father's disapproving glare to be inches away. The son didn't offer his dad so much as a hello before putting his head back into his hands, shielding himself from the man.
"Stop hiding from everyone," He said to Jake. It made him chuckle.
"Yeah no, I'm going to bed."
Then there was a hand on his shoulder, forcing Jake to turn so that he was facing his father.
"You're embarrassing me, Jake." Man, this guy was a piece of fucking work sometimes.
The clink of Jake's Corona hitting the counter made them both look over to the bartender. Jake put his finger up.
"Make that two," He mumbled before turning back to his father.
"I don't need one," His dad contested, holding up his half empty wine glass in confusion.
"It's not for you," Jake muttered. As soon as the second bottle of Corona hit the counter, Jake snatched both beers up and began to walk away. He could hear the barstool shift behind him, then the clicking of his father's shoes hot on his heels.
Anger was evident in his voice as he commanded Jake. "Don't turn your back on me. I'm trying to speak to you."
"I'm trying not to embarrass you." He continued to walk away until he was roughly yanked back, a hand swiftly grabbing a bundle of his shirt and forcefully spinning him around. Beer spilt all over Jake and his father as they came face to face, the man's expression being a stern one.
"You will not ruin your brother's night nor mine. I want you to walk around and converse with the guests because we have an image to uphold. This is more than just a graduation party, there are some big people here and that means big opportunities. It's something you desperately need, son."
Every word added fuel to the fire that had been simmering in Jake the entire course of the night. It was already a shitty day but now he finally met the cherry that was topping his fucked up cake. Already having had ongoing issues with his father mixed with the liquid courage made Jake ready to give Sam Park a piece of his mind.
"Get your fucking hands off of me."
His dad waited a few seconds before deciding to let go, giving a cautious look around to make sure no one had seen the momentary bout of physical contact. Always conscious about his image, so it seemed. Pathetic.
"No one's night is ruined. James is fine. You're fine. I don't understand how my mere existence is somehow a problem. I stay out of everyone's way. I don't do anything aside from what I want yet I am a disgrace to the family. I could be doing drugs or be in and out of jail or whatever the fuck- but if I did all that while being at the head of some multi-million dollar company, you'd be fine with it. Do you realize how fucking backwards your perception of reality is?"
Jake kept his tone low but vicious, analyzing his father's face as he fumed through his monologue. The man didn't even twitch. He just let every word rebound off of him before offering Jake more empty advice.
"You can't just do nothing with your life. You have no ambition, not even hobbies. If you let me help you, I can lead you to success just like I did with your brother. I love you Jake. I want to help you but you won't let me," He pleaded.
"I have plenty of hobbies and ambitions but you don't give a shit because it isn't going to get me the job you want. So don't tell me you love me because clearly you don't even know who I am. All you can imagine when you look at me is the son that you want and you just ignore the son that you actually have."
Jake wasn't expecting it, but he felt a ball form in his throat near the end, suddenly getting emotional at realizing that he was dumping all of this internalized anger onto his father. Jake hadn't faced his own feelings quite like this before, so it was a shock to himself.
He could see the way his father's face didn't even budge and as his mouth opened to spew out more useless bullshit, Jake cut him off.
"No, I'm done. I'm so fucking done. I can't do this anymore."
He dropped the beers to the ground and let them shatter over the stone pathway, peering over to see that a nearby crowd of people all had their heads now turned toward the pair. His gaze went back to his father, seeing the man had now shrunken into himself a little.
"This'll be the last time I embarrass you. Don't try to call me, don't try to find me. Since it's better for me to be erased from this family than to do nothing, I'll take my leave. Tell mom I love her but I cannot fucking handle this anymore."
And that was it. No one tried to stop him. Jake walked away and it was the last time he was around his family in person.
Wham!
He could feel the bones in his shoulder nearly turn to dust. The cattle hammer bludgeoned every bit of flesh it came into contact with, sending Jake to the ground.
The fight was over. He did what he could to buy the team some time, now having to face the inevitable hooking. Jake felt the Hillbilly pick him up and toss his nearly limp body over its calloused shoulder, doing his best to find a moment of peace within the imminent danger.
Why did he think of that night of all the other memories he could've conjured? Why such a… bittersweet one? It was the moment that Jake had claimed his sense of freedom, yet the moment that he lost his family bond. Honestly if he could, he would go back to handle it differently. Living off the grid taught him a lot, even if he was still a hot head from time to time, he certainly would've done differently when it came to his anguished farewell to his family. Maybe he had the right to react the way he did- but that didn't mean that he couldn't have found a way to make things work.
He knew that after living in this hell, he would give anything to be a disappointment that everyone's judgemental eyes passed over with little regard if it meant escaping the torture.
It didn't take long for them to reach the nearest hook. The familiar sensation of metal tearing through his chest had Jake gritting his teeth, stifling his cries as he hung there helplessly.
As much as it surprised him, Jake missed his father a lot. His mom too and even James. Their faces weaved through his pained head, behind his exhausted and teary eyes…
