Wed, October 24th

Besides the antics of the resident assholes against the four, the rest of the weekend and the beginning of the week had passed otherwise without incident. The four had some mild hangovers that Saturday morning, but managed to hide them well enough from their parents, enabling them to get away with their little impromptu party.

Besides Aaron, no one had really said anything at school; he had let the coach know what went on that weekend. The coach, not particularly being a big fan of Will Kelsey but unable to kick him off the team for various reasons, decided to at least give him a bit of a punishment for that little act. Aaron wasn't sure if they'd come after him for it, but he wasn't particularly worried. He knew, at the end of the day, the group were cowards and would only strike out if they knew they could have the upper hand.

The four had briefly met at the convenience store that was near the school for some after-school snacks and for any smokers to pick up cigarettes; everyone had set up rides to get around. Jeremy had dropped his car off at the shop on Monday evening to get the dings banged out of it, and he'd be picking it up tonight in good enough time to go out. It was a typical routine-Wednesday and Fridays they'd usually hit up the convenience store for chili cheese hot dogs, coffee or soda, and whatever other junk food they could get a hold of. Thanks to the time of year, they were starting to sell a few pumpkin-flavored things, particularly the frosted pumpkin pies, which were quite delightful sugar bombs.

Splitting off and heading home, they all went about their business while Kat got ready for her own little trip. Her parents weren't home, so it was the perfect time to do it; it wasn't that they were overly strict, but the less people asking questions, the better. The four had planned to meet at the mall that night, as there was an event going on they were interested in; some sort of pre-Halloween stuff. They'd at least see if it was any fun, and if not, go hit up the hobby store and get snacks afterward.

Kat was quite fine with this…she sort of wanted to take this particular trip alone, especially with what she was planning. She had originally asked if they wanted to come along, but in hindsight, was glad they didn't. She didn't think they'd be up for the mausoleum trip, anyway.

The young woman took the books that she had borrowed, dropped them in her pack, and headed towards the Morning Star Cemetery.

A wicked name, to be sure. Had implications. But she just wanted to see the gravesite. For research.

The cemetery was a little further away than the town's other one, the more serenely-named Greenville, apparently named after someone who had donated a lot of money toward it in the 50s or some such thing. The Morning Star Cemetery was a short bus ride(or drive, if one had a car), and a bit of a walk. Near some woodsier areas, it was somewhat creepier than most. One could walk there, but it took a little more time.

It wasn't too late at the moment-it was getting dark, but she had a flashlight with her. The cemetery was open until about eight PM, though, so she wouldn't even be breaking any laws being here.

The mausoleum was usually off-limits, but she could fudge her way around that.

Her friends thought she was in a little too deep when it came to this whole thing, but she couldn't help it. She was always well into these stories and histories and such her whole life; now that she actually had time and the ability to search around all of the resources of the city, she'd be able to see something like this up close. She always liked haunted places and their tales, and now all the talk had burned its way into her brain. She was "lucky" enough to live in a town with an old manor tied to all sorts of creepy and horrid things in the past, which culminated in a story that was so wild that not even the reporters at the time could believe it.

The group had checked out the band the night they were drinking-it was called Phobia. They were actually really fucking good. They had broken up after the incident, as one might've guessed. Their drummer getting killed that night, along with everything else, led them to simply not want to go on. While the guys had been into plenty of horror movies and gore at the time themselves, things ended up a little too on the nose after that night. She hadn't really heard much about the other two members since then; one she discovered did go on to produce heavy metal music, and the other apparently went back to school and got a technician job or something. Both were probably somewhere in their mid to late thirties by now, given the guys were in their early or mid twenties at the time. But the album they had recorded with him had been excellent. Even the folks who weren't as into that type of really heavy death metal said it was damned good. Jeremy liked the heaviest stuff of the group, with Kat close by. Susan was more into prog-rock, and Aaron mostly listened to more radio-friendly rock, but they all agreed the band were talented and probably could have become one of the more influential bands of the genre.

They had no music videos, but she had managed to see a video of an old live performance; it was one of their last together, somewhere in Pennsylvania, she believed, before they made their way up further northeast for that fateful night. All of them had similar looks-long hair, leather, and the like, but Freeman was even stranger. The tallest of them, he was ghostly pale, long-limbed, and able to bend in ways that were almost inhuman. He was also notably muscular, unlike the others who were built like everyday people who sat around and drank beer. She remembered how he had apparently been a street fighter before joining the band and thought it was probably true. Around his neck was a necklace of a drill bit, an odd piece of jewellry for sure. You rarely saw his eyes-even less so than the other band members, but when you did, they were unsettling. He would occasionally shriek into the microphone, some sort of unholy background wail, but rarely spoke more than one or two words in the interviews she managed to dig up. Mostly looming toward the back of the group in any photos, as well, there was definitely something… off about the guy that she couldn't place. There were times where he didn't seem fully human. It was an inexplicable vibe, but it was there.

Continuing on, she inhaled the fall air, enjoying the walk. She did pull her jacket around herself, as the wind was pretty chilly already. She had mostly dressed warmly enough in her black jeans, sneakers, a long-sleeved shirt, and her black jacket; she had forgotten gloves, but didn't think she'd need them.

The cemetery itself was very old-probably about as old as the manor, if not somewhat older. No doubt home to several unmarked graves of apparent heathens, along with the marked graves of the 'upstanding, God-fearing citizens.' While there were plenty of contemporary headstones-indeed, a good two-thirds were from the past half-century-the last third started dating back to the 18s, 17s, and even 1600s, though the latter were few. She had no idea where the unmarked graves were, but they could be anywhere.

The gnarled trees and old iron-wrought fences gave the place an ominous look, even at around six PM, given the sun was setting. But it was just a cemetery; she even saw a couple of people at a distance wandering around, possibly to drop some flowers here or there.

She continued through the paths until she saw the relatively large stone building down a hill; thankfully, no one was around. She knew the lock on the chain was big, old, and easy to pick; kids would do it from time to time to sneak in to drink or smoke out of the way. They didn't do it often, as it was hard to hide and usually someone would notice, but it was almost like a rite of passage. Usually it was kept locked due to the fact the burial chambers would be somewhat easy to open, for those nefarious minded enough and who came packing a hammer or pick. If those even existed anymore.

She supposed the lock itself was enough of a deterrent for some who came by. Not to mention body snatchers were a thing of the past. Mostly, it was due to potential grave defacers or other such things.

Walking up, she sat on the stairs to overlook the cemetery for a little bit, watching people come and go. Taking out the history book, she started to comb through it some, looking at a few of the areas through the years and how far some of them dated back. Once she figured the coast was clear, she'd go and unlock the big padlock. She supposed it'd have been much easier to wait for a day where it was open, but she had no idea when the next time would be.

Twenty minutes later, the young woman decided that the coast was clear enough. Looking up at the overcast sky, the breeze in the tops of the trees almost told her that this was as good a time as any, and she even appreciated the weather itself, which almost gave her an appropriate backdrop.

Grabbing her length of wire and a thin metal poker, she went over to the chain, looked around, and fumbled it open. As she suspected, it opened easily; archaic and large, she was able to feel the switches inside with no issue. Gently removing it and putting it into her bag, she slid the chain back on so it looked normal enough from afar and moved inside.

Getting her bearings, she took out her small penlite, clicking it on. The mausoleum had windows, but they were up high, and they were sparse enough that she needed a little extra light. Shining it on the first burial chamber, the name was worn off, but the date seemed to read from the early 1800s. She moved through, seeing more named chambers; some of them dating back fairly far. Several were from the 18s and 1700s. Most of them here, in fact, seemed on the older side. She was surprised this building was in such good shape that it was.

As she closed in on the end, at about at her height, she spotted a burial chamber. While the name was mostly long scrubbed off-was the name Gideon? She wasn't sure-she could barely make out one of the dates.

Apparently it was this Gideon's death date.

Blinking, she was actually happy to find out the mausoleum was as old as they said…though that death date may have told enough about who might have been there. She filed the name away-at least what she thought was the name-to perhaps look around for later in the old registries they had in the library. Especially from around the time of the trials(which, of course, had incidents that weren't as well recorded as the famous ones from Salem.)

What interested her now, however, was that next to that one was a newer looking chamber. Running her hand over the slightly rough granite, her eyes traced the name-or lack thereof-and the date…

Unknown

?-Oct. 30th, 1986

Interesting, she thought to herself as she continued to trace her hand over it. As the story went, no one in the band had ever known Freeman's true name. He had simply never told them. Through the year he played with the band, he kept it a very tight secret. Apparently, no ID was found on him, and they never even found his whereabouts in South Town. They found no family here, nor overseas in London, where they attempted to do a bit of poking around, but overseas investigations could be difficult enough even with information. They gave up after a time, simply wanting to wash their hands of it. Despite his rampage, they did at least give him a burial; an old town like this probably wanted to at least follow typical protocol.

Maybe there was some superstition involved. She wasn't sure.

Taking her hand away, she noticed a little bit of a smear on the stone. Checking her hand, she saw that one of the cuts had opened; it wasn't bad, but she grimaced. She had no idea how clean this place was. She figured caretakers would come in and clean it, but she made mental plans to scrub her hand up well when she got out, just in case.

"Who were you, really, Freeman?" she whispered, careful to stay quiet as she glanced toward the door of the place. She reached her sleeve up to try to wipe away the blood; most of it got off, but a little bit remained in the crevices of the granite. There were enough windows here at the top of the thing that it was moderately lit up; her flashlight still came in handy. Rubbing her arm for a moment, she thought back to the assholes again running them off the road the other day. With one having the uncle that was part of the police force-no doubt someone on the take-they knew nothing would happen. "Would be I could let you at those fuckers. Not like anyone else is doing shit. Would scare the crap out of their useless asses. Maybe even chase 'em out of town."

Looking around, she decided to start to go soon, but ended up turning back to the burial chamber, looking again at the date.

"It will have been thirteen years in almost a week," she whispered, to no one in particular. Turning, she left to walk out, peeking out of the door at first to make sure that she was in the clear.

No cars, people, or anything were around. It was getting dark quickly at this point. She planned to go home, eat, and then perhaps head to the mall, given it was a Friday. She didn't feel like letting those assholes get the last laugh in. Everyone was a little banged up, but they all seemed to be on the same page today during classes, at least.

Sliding out of the mausoleum quietly and quickly re-attaching the chain and lock, she brushed herself off, checking her hand again to make sure it was okay. It seemed to be just fine.

Kat was left feeling…strange, though. She couldn't explain the feeling, but she felt like she had been sort of digging, perhaps, too close to the proverbial pipeline, so to speak. She had always been interested in all of this stuff, from the creepy to the macabre, to lots of true crime and over to the supernatural-but somehow she felt like she had just meddled with something that she couldn't explain.

She supposed it might have just been some eerie feeling of being in a cemetery this late, or just the inherent creepiness of the whole story she had been keeping up with.

Shaking it off, she made her way out, the evening turning to dusk as the clock pushed toward seven o' clock.

Hollisfield Mall, nine PM

"Okay, spill it. We've been here for an hour now." Aaron looked at Kat with a bit of a smirk on his face. The four sat around the table at their favorite pizza joint in the place.

"I…went to the graveyard, like I said."

"And? Learn anything?"

"A couple of things," she said, sipping on her iced tea. "For one, they planted the killer in the mausoleum. Just like I thought."

"I think I heard something about that?"

"Yeah. All the way in the back. I think they didn't want curious onlookers to go poke around his tomb."

Jeremy looked at her, an amused glint in his one visible eye. He pushed some of his black hair back so both could be seen.

"Let me guess. You picked the lock."

Susan quickly swallowed her piece of pizza. "Oh, no."

Kat chuckled, slightly guilty, though she knew no one was upset or mad; more just amused. "Yeah, I may have. I…just had to see it for myself, I guess. If I'm gonna write about this shit, I gotta learn, don't I?"

"Okay, Ms. Graverobber, what did you learn?"

"Well, his burial chamber wasn't even named," she said. "Had his death date, and 'Unknown.' They didn't even put his stage name."

"Probably didn't wanna curse the place anymore than they think it is," Jeremy snorted.

Aaron thought for a moment. "Don't people say it's worse to not give people a proper rest?"

"Yeah," she said. "Though I have to admit, the town's been pretty boring ever since they closed the hotel."

Susan pondered her slice of double pepperoni for a moment. "Maybe the place was cursed." She picked it up and took a bite.

Jeremy grabbed a seasoned curly fry and dunked it in the melted, yellow cheese. "Guess we'll never really know." He swallowed the delectable fry. "Right now, I just need to get to know these cheese fries."

Aaron rolled his eyes, grabbing one for himself. "I was at least happy to stick it in Kelsey's craw this week."

"Heh. Serves him right." Susan dumped some oregano on her pizza.

"Yeah, at least for now. But what I wouldn't give for those bastards to really get it."

Morning Star Cemetery, about eleven PM

A broken chain rattled on the open mausoleum door, the fall wind blowing the heavy, somewhat green tinted copper door around ominously.

No one heard the door being kicked open, nor the loud, echoing thunk of the granite that preceded it.

Somewhere, leaves crunched as someone walked through them.

The night watchman at the cemetery waved his flashlight over toward a noise. He rarely liked to hear noises that weren't supposed to be there; it could sometimes mean trouble, though it often wasn't too dangerous.

He was not armed with any more than some pepper spray, as he rarely even had to use that; mostly he was capable of radioing for help if needed, but at worst, he normally had to just chase off a few underage drinkers or pot smokers. Sometimes a stray animal got into the cemetery that needed chasing off, or at least be dissuaded from peeing on a headstone or something.

"Who's there?" he asked.

Nothing. The wind rustled through the orange and red trees-now looking much darker against the night sky-but that was it.

Following where the noise had originally come from, he made his way over to the mausoleum. The strange, thunking sounds seemed to come from around that area. He knew once in a blue moon someone would try to pick the lock on the chain to get in, but that hadn't happened in months, at least to his knowledge.

Rounding the hill, he waved the large flashlight over everything, seeing if something was amiss. Between the moonlight peeking through the clouds and the light, he was able to see at least somewhat well there. He grew a little bit nervous, though he was picked for the night shift since he was generally unflappable.

When he waved the light over to the mausoleum doors, however, his heart did a somersault in his chest.

The door was open, and the chain which held them overnight was on the ground.

Shaking his head and thinking some kids unlocked the damned thing again. He thought to himself that he didn't know why they wouldn't upgrade it to a more modern lock, especially given how old the place was; it seemed to be asking for trouble to leave it the way it was. Sighing and thinking how to approach one of the city planners about this, he wandered over…

…and saw that the chain hadn't been picked. It hadn't even been cut.

It was broken.

Gulping and looking inside, he saw a dent in the door, possibly caused by a blow from a heavy mallet; he shook his head on why the dent would be on the inside for a moment, and tried to focus. Poking the light inside, there didn't seem to be anything wrong…until it flashed over some rubble on the floor near the end.

There were no voices. No signs of a party. Just the rubble.

Putting his hand on his radio, he put it up to his mouth.

"Possible trouble in the cemetery. Investigating now." Placing it back on his hip, he grabbed the pepper spray and made his way in. He heard a fuzzy reply, though his ears seemed to block it out as he paid attention to what was going on inside.

Keeping his eye on the back of the place where all the rubble was, he made his way back before checking what had happened.

His heart, once again, did a turnover; at this point, the pounding in his ears grew incredibly loud.

One of the burial chambers was evacuated. The granite cover and pieces of wood lay broken on the ground, and the chamber inside was empty. Grabbing the radio again with clammy hands, the caretaker gulped and pressed the button.

"We got graverobbers," he said. "Requesting help. Don't know if they're still here."

"Roger," a crackly voice said. "Sending a car."

Shaking his head, he noticed the grave was that of the killer from the 1980s-the crazed musician who went on a short murder spree before taking his own life. He had just started working at the cemetery then, in his late twenties; now in his early forties, he remembered the crazy news reports about the whole thing, and then the crew coming in to inter the body. There were a few funerals that week, as well.

Admittedly, he was surprised that people hadn't tried to take it over the past decade, given some of the lore surrounding it. It seemed like something some death-obsessed kids might try to get a hold of for a twisted dare. He knew these older burial chambers weren't big, heavy-duty sealing vaults; granite was tough, but if someone wanted to get into one, they could.

The fellow wasn't an investigator. Looking around, he could only surmise that it was bashed open…though more than a cursory glance told him that it looked more like it was opened from the inside …the same as the door.

He figured it was just his nerves making him think of such nonsense. The mind had a weird way of playing tricks on you during times of duress.

Deciding to check out the inside of the burial chamber, he flashed the light around in there. At first, he saw nothing inside…until the light flashed on what seemed to be a bit of metal mixed in with everything else in there. He noticed that the casket they had given the man had been one of the basic, small and light ones, rather than one of the big jobs; he supposed it wasn't surprising given he was an unknown. They just wanted him buried and out of the way.

Reaching in, he caught it on the flashlight and pulled it out.

It was a leather necklace of sorts, untied, and on it was a decent sized drill bit. He supposed it belonged to the deceased, and whoever stole the body decided to leave it there. The leather strap looked a little older; cracked, but not completely falling apart.

Pocketing it for evidence, he flashed the light around inside one more time. It caught something else on the top of the chamber, right above where the body's torso would've been.

Something that caused his heart to jump in his chest so hard he thought it would stop right then and there.

Stumbling back, he shook his head. Surely he was seeing things…but another glance told me he was not.

Gouges in the stone.

Bloody gouges.

As if someone had smashed through the top of the casket and started to dig.

Turning-after recovering from a dizziness that he was afraid would make him pass out-he moved quickly out of the place. He wanted nothing more than to get out of here, and preferably out of the cemetery as quickly as possible. Something was going on tonight way beyond anything he might have guessed. He would run as far away from this cemetery as humanly possible, get into his car, and start driving. Whoever got here could deal with everything…whatever it even was.

He slid outside of the door, not bothering to try to shut it. Moving down the stairs quickly, he reached the trees on the path right near the mausoleum…

…and was grabbed suddenly by his neck.

Gasping and peering straight ahead, he was face to face with a young man, a shock of long, reddish-orange air hanging in his face, with one malevolent, pale orange-tinted eye staring into his own. He wore a shredded black shirt-hardly held on, and his torso and neck had strange, jagged scars on it. His trousers seemed to be white-and-black jeans, and on his feet were heavy boots with thick, heavy heels that added over two inches of height to the already tall man.

He looked terrifying, somewhat insane…and judging by his free hand, seemed to have clawed at the roof of a certain burial chamber before kicking his way out.

The man's lips curled into an evil smile.

"You have something of mine," he whispered. His voice was rough, like a whisper.

"I…" the caretaker coughed. "Wha…?!" He had no idea what was happening, but he found himself being lifted off of the ground. Kicking his legs feebly, the man's iron grip tightened.

"Give it to me," he hissed.

"What is-" his sentence cut off into a shriek as he felt the man's other hand start to dig into his throat.

Roadside Hangout, almost one AM

Having decided to park around the recreation area for the night-about a twenty-minute walk from the cemetery-Will Kelsey, Doug Harley, and Harold Stanley-the collective bane of Hollisfield High and others in general-were lounging around their SUVs. Harold's was at home-his father had needed it for the night-but the other two owned theirs, and they were, of course, sneaking a few drinks around it.

"Did you hear anything?" Will said. "Sirens again, I think?"

"Shit, hope they don't find us here."

"Nah. Seemed to be coming from around the other way. The others were long gone."

"Yeah. Wanna at least try to keep shit straight til the dance. Dumbass Coach had some shit to say to me the other day."

"Did that bastard Chester rat us out? Pussy," he laughed. "Just played a prank on the babies."

"Probably. Asshole doesn't have any sense of humor." He spat on the ground. "Can't take a joke. Ain't our fault Eastof couldn't stay on the damn road. Wasn't like they died. Wouldn't have been our fault if they flipped. We just slowed down." He had a particular chip on his shoulder with both Aaron and Jeremy, the former due to having to play football with him, and the latter due to the incident in their sophomore year. Will had his name tarnished a bit when the 'emo kid kicked his ass', and his pride never did quite recover from that, not to mention his slightly bumpy nose had left him with a permanent reminder, or at least until he could get it fixed. Aaron also had a habit of outplaying him on the field, so the stuck-up young man's pride ended up taking two hits. He had little to no sympathy for any of them. Kat was a weirdo who was obsessed with equally weird shit, so he supposed he wasn't surprised she hung out with the other two losers. He thought Susan could almost be kind of okay-she was hot at least-but didn't understand why someone into trendier stuff would bother with the other dumbasses.

The background noise that was there went quiet for a while. The trio bullshit a little bit and started to consider what their plans were that night, when Doug's head suddenly raised, his ears perking.

"Hey. I hear someone," he said.

The three looked around the dark street that they were on. They were pretty far away from anyone, but this place was sort of known for people who wanted to come make out.

"Probably a couple people lookin' to make out," Harold said. "They always do that shit here." Of the three, Harold was the oldest, the biggest, and the most crude; he was easy to goad into a fight, though. Doug's uncle had to get him out of a few bar tussles before.

"Nah. It only sounds like one."

"So?" Doug shrugged, downing more of his beer.

Will squinted, deciding to throw the lights of his SUV on, though kept them dim as to not bring too much attention to them.

"Huh. Yeah. Check this guy out."

Walking along the side of the road seemed to be a strange, tall man; his clothing looked a little out of place for the suburb, and his shirt was almost shredded off of his body. He walked strangely, almost lumbering toward them. His limbs were long, and his shaggy, long hair fell into his face. He almost looked like a derelict who had ended up wandering on the side of the road after being dropped off by a hitchhiker or some such thing.

"The fuck is this guy doing here?" Doug and Harold now stood, watching him walk toward the SUV, slowly and deliberately. He did not seem to wave, speed up, or anything. Eventually reaching the area, he stayed silent, his head turning from side to side as if he were taking in the surroundings.

"Who are you?" Doug asked, his voice rather demanding.

The tall man looked at the three of them. Bringing his large hand up and brushing some hair out of his face a moment, they could see somewhat of a twisted grin on his face; the light from the car showed some sort of dark stain up his arm. Will hit the lights off of the SUV, leaving the inside lights of the two cars there to illuminate things. Around his neck was a strange drill bit necklace, tied with what seemed to be some cord that he had pulled off of something.

"Uhh, hello? Freak? I asked who the fuck are you?"

The man nicknamed Freeman once again continued walking toward them. He had wandered out of the cemetery, and took what looked like an empty path back to the town-at least to see if there were any slums that he was familiar with, as he didn't quite remember the place after thirteen years. He had some memories of things before his death, but they were in bits and pieces, jumbled with other strange, nightmarish scenes.

Stopping when he got closer, he looked at the trio. One looked like he was relatively well-built, perhaps into some sort of sport.

"Your shirt's ripped," one said. Up close, they could sort of see the scars from his death standing out, but they had no idea of who he was or what was going on with him. The way he stood seemed off-he seemed like he was holding in some barely-reigned, unhinged fury or something along those lines. The dim skulls of the trio didn't quite think that hard, but if someone more perceptive had been eyeing the scene, that's what they would've noticed.

"Where am I?" he hissed, his voice low and menacing.

Will shook his head, starting to walk up to him. Harold grabbed his arm, shaking his head.

"I got this. You guys just go get me another beer from the cooler." He walked up to Freeman, managing to stand somewhat eye to eye with him. Will shrugged, going back to the SUV, grabbing a couple of beers. Doug followed.

Freeman stared him in the eyes, hair falling over his face. He said nothing this time.

"Look, freak. I dunno where you're from, but you brought an attitude here. Just…get the hell out. Before I get mad." He reached up and pushed some of the man's hair out of his face…

…and snatched his hand back when he saw his terrifying gaze nearly boring a hole through him.

"J…Jesus," he whispered. "What the fuck is wrong with you."

Freeman's eye grew wide as he snapped his hands out, grabbing Harold's head. The man screamed for a second as one of his fingers-covered in dried blood, he now saw-slid into an eye socket as he felt him wrench his head back and forth.

He only felt things-namely, excruciating pain-for another split second as his head was ripped from his body.

The other two, not looking at what was going on and almost couldn't look up fast enough when their crony screamed, suddenly stood…as Will ended up with Harold's head being thrown at him.

Staring down into his face-his eye gouged out and blood dripping from both the head and spewing from the corpse that had now fallen, he shrieked.

"What the fuck man? The fuck?"

Doug shook his head and threw his half-empty can of beer at the man who now walked toward them, his long-limbed arms now with blood up to the elbows. They could now see that the man was rather shredded with sinewy muscle, though that alone could not even begin to explain how he tore a man's head off.

The killer swatted the beer can aside as he walked up to Will, his hand suddenly swiping his stomach, through his open coat. A spray of blood splashed onto the white SUV, and Will wasn't exactly even sure what happened…until his stomach started to burn.

Dropping Harold's head, he looked down to see his insides falling out from the slashed hole in his guts. Stumbling over and desperately trying to pick them up as blood dripped from his body, he leaned up against the SUV yelling. Looking at Doug, he tried to get out the words he could:

"Get the fuck away! Go get your uncle! Or his guns! Now! Fuuucck…" He was torn clearly enough that he absurdly thought he might be able to temporarily scoop his insides back into himself.

Doug, never having been one to stand down, lifted his hands up, somehow not getting through his thick skull that this person-if he was even completely human-just tore someone's head off and disembowelled another.

"You freak!" he yelled, running forward and throwing his hand down onto his head.

Freeman caught his hand in his sticky, bloody one, squeezing it for a moment as Doug felt the bones snap in his hand; screaming, he fell backward as he was pushed onto the street.

Walking to stand over him, he grinned as Will watched him slam his heavy, thick, nearly three-inch tall boot heel down into Doug's face-once was enough to smash it in with a wet crunch, while the second time he plowed right through his skull, the sickening sound even louder now and cutting his scream off abruptly as he twitched in death. The third was enough to completely open his head down to the street; pulling his boot up, Will could see some bits and remains sticking to it.

"Oh my fucking god," he muttered as he wiped the remains of Doug that had splattered on him off of himself as he tried to keep his intestines in with his other hand. Blood poured from his mouth as he tried to figure out an avenue of escape, which he knew, at this point, was futile.

Indeed; it mattered not; Freeman walked over to him, shoving him against the SUV; he looked him straight in the eye for a moment.

"I only asked where I was," he hissed, his lips curled into a sadistic grin.

And then, he started raking his deadly hands down his head and upper body again and again, his snarl turning into a freakish laugh as he did so. Blood flew further and further, spattering everywhere.

The unfortunate bully's pitched screams eventually cut off long before the psychotic killer was finished.

A/N: He's baaack! And did not hesitate to start the bloodshed again. He's probably grumpy after his 13 year nap or whatever happened to him. It's a 'horror movie.'

Freeman is described as about six-one and close to 180 in his canon weight. While he's very long-limbed and able to stretch his body out in weird ways, you can see the guy is ripped(his sprite has some very visible abs and muscle, and especially in the Hiroaki art!) Also, I always wondered what exactly was up with Freeman in the game itself-he lived through a sniper's bullet and has a 'not clear' blood type(which I could read, at least for an AU, as being something fucked up like in Pet Sematary 2 or something.) His drill necklace, in his lore, is also something he is "very fond of." I could see him being quite demanding he get it back.

His 'standing pose', if you've seen it in Garou, is very much along the lines of how I wrote it. I've seen it described as 'on the edge of control', and that hits home so well; just one moment away from going berserk as you see him do in his super and such.

And oh boy am I pulling from a bunch of old horror movies on this one. Trick or Treat(an '86 movie that involved a dead rock singer, also featuring Ozzy Osborne as a televangelist), Halloween, you name it. And there will be MORE shameless pulling, don't you worry!

"Phobia" is the name of one of Freeman's moves, and in real life, is the name of a pretty classic Kreator song(with very fitting lyrics.) I thought naming the band that in the story could be cool.

And yeah, I am aware the assholes sorta sealed their own deaths in the most stereotypical way possible. Like I said, shameless!

As another aside; The pumpkin-flavored things that they sold at the place, if you notice, weren't ubiquitous yet. In '99, Pumpkin Spice Mayhem had yet to REALLY take over the world. It existed, but at least in my experience, it was not nearly as saturated as it was nowadays.

Anyway, see ya next chapter for more inevitable bloodshed! The horror flick begins in earnest...