Their bodies convulse, in agony, and pain.
I mangle their faces, till no features remain.
A blade for the butchering, I cut them to shreds.
First take out the organs, then cut off the head.
The remains of flesh now sop under my feet.
One more bloody massacre, the murders' complete.
I seek to dismember, a sadist fiend.
And, blood baths are my way of getting clean.
I lurk in the alleys, wait for the kill.
I have no remorse for the blood that I spill
A merciless butcher who lives underground.
I'm out to destroy you and ,I will, cut you down. (Cut you down)
I see you, and, I'm waiting ,for Black Friday.
Killer, intruder, homicidal man.
If you see me coming, run as fast as you can.
A blood thirsty demon who's stalking the street.
I hack up my victims like pieces of meat.
Blood thirsty demon, sinister fiend,
Bludgeonus slaughters, my evil deeds.
-Megadeth, "Good Mourning/Black Friday", from the album Peace Sells…But Who's Buying?
–
Hollisfield High, Gymnasium, 6:00 PM, Halloween Night
"Hey, Jimmy? You good?"
"Yeah. I'll be fine here. Leg isn't bothering me too much tonight. Shame our original plan didn't work out. Reception's fine, though, so I should be able to keep contact with you here."
The two journalists ended up having a slight change of plans, due to a request from the paper. While Paul was originally set to take the haunted forest, and Jimmy the dance, after a few other shifts in terms of jobs thanks to some interns, the paper requested that Jimmy be at the hayride instead; there was going to be a few extra people moving through, and they wanted the more experienced guy out there, and one of the interns was going to be at the dance, instead, which they felt would be a better fit with Paul. It didn't really change anything; Jimmy just had to make sure to steer as clear of Stanley as he could.
"Alright. Call me if anything happens. Let's hope we can just do these jobs and go home."
Hanging up the phone, Paul began to do a round of the dance hall. The students hadn't shown up yet, as they'd all be coming in later on. The dance itself opened around seven, which was the same time the hayride started, but barely anyone would show up there until the bonfire was lit. This would be done by the football team as they came in from the hayride. The teachers and supervisors barely even had time to do practice runs when it came to the football team's presentation and the lighting of the bonfire; they had to put everything together quickly, and Paul could tell there were still feelings of trepidation around the place.
The interns that he was supervising was mostly just taking pictures around the gymnasium and going outside to take pictures of the unlit bonfire; Paul left them to their own devices, as he was mostly there to just give a little advice if needed.
Stepping outside for a moment to get some fresh air, he decided to walk down to the front of the school toward the sidewalk, where he could have a quick smoke. A teacher was already there having one; he nodded to Paul when he walked up. He could tell the teacher looked somewhat concerned about everything.
"Hope it goes smoothly tonight," Paul said, striking up a bit of conversation.
"Gods, I hope so," the teacher replied. "Feels like thirteen years all over again. My brother was at the concert that night."
"Really?" Paul blinked, his interest sparked.
"Yeah. He's two years older than me. I was in my second year of college, going upstate. He called me that night and told me everything that happened after it." He shook his head and chuckled. "He lives in New York these days. Highly specialized woodworker. We didn't expect that from him back then."
"Huh. Didn't think I'd talk to someone close to it. Then again, Hollisfield's a small town. I heard there were about two hundred and fifty people at the gig, and they were all probably tied to people who still live here."
"Yeah. It's that kinda place. Some of the elementary school students probably have parents who were there." He blew some smoke out, stubbing his cig out in the ashtray attached to one of the trash cans across the sidewalk. "Anyway, I'm heading back in. Need to make sure the refreshments are set. Hope the cops really did put that guy away."
"Take care." Paul watched him walk inside, taking another drag of his own cigarette.
I doubt it, but here's hoping anyway.
Jimmy, meanwhile, was standing around, loading his camera and adjusting it to snap some pictures of the first group when it came up and through when he got bumped rather rudely from behind.
"Officer," he said coolly.
"Stay the hell out of my way tonight, you old bastard," he growled. "You've been undermining me and getting me reprimanded at the office."
"I'm trying to cover a case of a mass murderer. Maybe you ought to try it sometime, since you guys are supposed to be the ones solving it."
"Fuck you," he said. "We solved it. Or didn't you see us all on the news?"
"Yeah. I believe it." He said it in a way that he clearly did not, though he doubted Stanley was intelligent enough to catch on. "Now, I'm not in your way. Would you mind letting me work?"
"Just gimme a chance to nail you on trespassing or something the next time I see you poking around the station, bastard."
"There's no law about me coming in during working hours."
"Just shut up if you know what's good for you."
Jimmy shook his head, though still eyed him cautiously. Stanley had been in an incredibly foul mood for the past week. His nephew getting his head smashed to pieces was certainly heavy; nasty delinquent or no, Jimmy still thought it was a waste. But besides that, he had been dropping and flubbing so many things that when the journalists managed to get some actual info to them, the officer was indeed reprimanded for not handling stuff as prudently as he could have in such a delicate case. And when he started hearing rumors around that other things were starting to get investigated, his mood had turned extremely black. His threats seemed to have no effect on Jimmy, and the journalist was actually somewhat worried that the cop would stage an 'accident' or something for him tonight. He doubted he wanted him dead, but certainly injured in some way. Stanley was a bully, tended to be too rough on prisoners, and worst of all he had a lot of pride that happened to be at a low right now, especially since he knew he had to keep up the facade of his arrest.
Before Jimmy had left, he had checked his email; sure enough, his contact had gotten back to him. Of course the blood at the top of the burial chamber matched the blood on the knife. It wasn't even a question. Still over a decade old...and one couldn't tell if it came from the living or the dead. And of course the fingerprints found at the scene were shown to match the original killer thirteen years ago, but the investigating officers tried to put that over on the madman carrying around the corpse.
But saying such things to the officers would probably get him sent away to the asylum, so he stayed quiet and confided in Jimmy, in hopes things could be blown open.
Adjusting his equipment and grabbing his notebook, he checked his watch. It felt like the time was dragging by…just waiting for something to happen.
The rookie-who had pulled the first round in terms of the forest patrol-made his way through the woods on the other side of the path. Looking around with a flashlight, he was mostly there to make sure that kids didn't sneak off to go into the woods to drink, smoke pot, or do whatever else. There were a few officers scattered around doing the same thing. The first batch wasn't due until about seven, so he had a bit of time.
Pulling his jacket around himself, he wasn't sure if the chill was from the air-it was October in New England-or from his general feeling of unease. The fact that there was only a crescent moon in the sky made this more difficult; he only had the beam of his flashlight and his own eyes to guide him.
His nerves made him see things; he could have sworn he saw a figure in the woods, but he thought, perhaps, it was one of the decorations from afar. He was close enough to catch a glimpse of some of the decorations hanging around the path, albeit far enough away to look quite small.
Decorations, however, aren't usually known to move closer after a few moments.
Squinting, the officer waved his flashlight around, only seeing trees. Slowing down and studying a few spots, he could've sworn he saw something blur in between them.
"Who's there?" he asked. He reached down, grabbing for his pepper spray. He did not want to escalate with a firearm yet; there were students around, after all. He probably wouldn't have even needed that, but in case it was an animal, he wanted to have a little something.
No answer. Stepping back, he thought about radioing in for a moment-but realized it would probably be Stanley picking it up, and he didn't feel like hearing whatever he had to say right now.
Turning to look back around to see if he could see if anyone had taken off to go in the other direction-which was just fine with him-he span back around only to see, standing about ten feet from him, a tall, long-haired figure with nearly stark white skin, and one very wicked looking eye peering at him; the other was covered by his long, orange hair. He seemed to be dressed in gothic-style wear, with a longer, black jacket.
His stomach bottomed out, remembering that he looked just like the bartender's description.
They do have the wrong guy. I knew it! was the first thing he thought.
"Freeze," he said, dropping his pepper spray and drawing his gun. He was close…but almost too close for a proper shot. Still, he felt better with his hand. "Don't move."
He took a step forward, the eye still staring at him.
"On the ground!" he tried to yell, but his voice just came out in a horse whisper.
"Heh," the man replied.
He took a sudden leap forward; it was so fast that the rookie could barely get the shot off. Unfortunately, the shot grazed his shoulder, mostly hitting the leather of his coat. It scraped the skin-barely-but by the time he noticed the crazed man had already caused him to fall to the ground in panic. Both his gun and his flashlight was on the ground; but before he could reach for it, the man's heavy boot crashed down on it, smashing it and causing its light to sputter out.
Alone in the dark.
That was the last thing the ill-fated man thought; by the time his eyes adjusted, he saw the killer's snarl and felt his fingers digging into his throat and head as he started to chuckle to himself.
Screaming as Freeman reached his hand into his neck, he shoved it in deeply enough to completely tear out the throat, jugular, and muscle, causing him to gurgle into silence. He practically left him decapitated as he finally stood up over the body.
Looking over, he picked up the body to move just a bit closer…he wondered if there were some more officers who might try to attack him. Surely one of them would be a better shot to make his hunt more exciting.
His hands wet with blood, he walked over toward another end, where his sharp eyes tried to see if he could find someone else around. He was disappointed they were spread so thin; at this rate, he would need several to attempt to maybe bring back some of that rush. The shot barely scratched him in the end.
There were people who were setting things up; these did not interest him…at least, not yet. Unlikely to provide him with any sort of sport whatsoever, he would save them for if the rest of the actual fighting prey couldn't satiate him. He started to get memories of his old street fights-he missed this, and wondered if there could be something he could find again.
Getting an idea, he went over to the officer's radio. He heard it crackle, and a voice came from the other end.
"Hello? Tom? You There? I heard shots, everything alright?"
Freeman decided to pick up the radio. Clicking it, he brought it up to his mouth.
"Where am I?" he asked.
"Who is this?" the voice said, sudden panic above. He heard on the other end a couple of mumblings that two of them should go head over and check Tom's location.
Dropping the radio without speaking, he decided to wait around, seeing if he could hear them running.
Down at the bottom, where Jimmy was waiting for the first arrivals-which should be arriving in the next fifteen or twenty minutes-he heard the gunshot. Perking up, he started looking around for one of the chaperones or something-anyone but Stanley or one of his crony cops. Even one of the rookies would be alright in his book.
Unfortunately, Stanley and his buddies had decided to of course take front and center, no doubt to puff out their chests. Worrying more about the safety of everyone, he waved them down.
"I heard gunshots."
One of the officers looked mildly concerned for a moment and started to say something, but Officer Stanley pushed him back.
"Probably varmints," he said. "Heard no radio. If I hear a call on the radio, I'll go check."
"Still, I-"
"You go take your pictures. There's like fifteen of us out there around the parameters, and us four here. We gave a good presence like they wanted. Settle down. The pats will run into each other out there. Don't worry about it."
Sighing, he went back over, but kept a wary eye on him.
Two officers-flashlights in hand-moved their way through the woods, trying to get in contact with the ill-fated Tom to no avail. One had his gun drawn, while they tried to look around opposite sides.
The one with a free hand picked up the radio.
"I think we have trouble out here. I'll call if we need to gather. Keep an eye out."
"Roger that," another voice said at the other end.
Hearing some leaves rustle, one of the officers jumped.
"You hear that?"
"Yeah." He flashed his light around, seeing if he could pinpoint it. "Who's there?"
"Hey, look. I think it's Tom. He's standing by the tree." Squinting, he seemed to be facing away from them, leaning against it. "Tom! You alright?"
No answer.
"Shit, is he hurt?" They moved forward some more; as they did, his corpse fell from the back of the tree. His head was nearly flayed, and his neck was half torn away.
The two screamed and one started opening up into the dark; probably not the best idea given there were potential innocents around, but his trigger finger was somewhat fast.
Not that it mattered, since Freeman came slinking in-low to the ground, running almost like some sort of alien being with too much flexibility as he popped up in the officer's face, grabbing him by the neck and holding him up. One shot had taken him in the shoulder, and it had done nothing to slow him down.
Flinging him into the tree, the officer shockingly managed to somehow find it in him to try to pistol-whip him; seeing that he had fight in him drove Freeman on. He swiped across his jaw with his large hand, and with a sickening, wet sound tore it half away as he gurgled on his own blood. He was quickly finished with a hand through his chest, tearing it open as he span to meet the other.
"Holy fuck! Guys, the killer's here! Help! Now!" he screamed into his radio as the bloody Freeman turned to face him.
The officer decided to hedge his bets to turn and run; he saw what he could do with his bare hands, and did not particularly want any of it. Managing to keep a hold of his flashlight, he tried to fire a shot behind him, but to no avail; it was too dark, he was moving and in panic. He'd hit a tree at best and a stray worker at worst.
Continuing to run straight ahead the best he could-the forest slowed him down, he heard a fuzzy reply on the radio.
"What? What do you mean? Shit, we're coming out."
Continuing to run, he heard Freeman gaining on him. Turning, he saw the killer dashing, seemingly dodging the trees with no issue; this man-who resembled the description that the bartender had said, that no one believed-was not some sort of shambling zombie; he was an incredibly agile and powerful killer.
Seeing some light below, it told him he was getting somewhat close to where more of them were.
Alas, at this point he felt the man's grip on his shoulder; turning, he was face to face with the manic, almost insane eye with the glint of murder in it. He felt his body raise into the air and be flung several feet through the air, landing hard and getting the wind knocked out of him. He had narrowly avoided his head falling onto a log nearby.
This did not matter; as his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw the tall, menacing killer hovering over him for a moment. As he tried to turn to stand, Freeman swiftly brought his heavy boot down onto the side of his head with a massive crunch; this was followed by the ominous sound of dripping down onto the stones and leaves that surrounded the thing.
"Hello? Where are you?" the radio called. "What part of the woods?!"
Freeman stepped off of the man as he swiped the radio, pressing the button much like he did the last time.
"Can you challenge me?" he hissed.
"Who the fuck are you?! Shit, All units to the woods! Now! Tell them to hold the crowd!" the voice yelled.
"Huh? Who's that?" Another random voice from below mentioned.
Freeman just stood there as the figure-presumably someone working at the haunted forest-flashed a small light on.
As the figure got closer, it seemed to be a man in some sort of executioner's garb. "Whoa. Great costume, buddy. Shouldn't you be more down there, though?"
The returned killer simply stared. The man flashed the light between him, and over to the side; when he saw the officer there with the contents of his head dripping down the log, he stepped back, his hand on his mouth.
"Oh what the fuc-"
Jimmy noticed that it had been taking awhile to get this thing started; Stanley's little group had started wandering around, looking at their radios, and looking at the woods. A couple of them looked concerned, but Stanley and his clear yes-men seemed to tease them about it. One of them finally took one of the nervous looking ones, pointed at the woods, and started basically dragging him there.
Wanting to know what was going on, he stepped over there.
"Problems?"
"Possibly. Police business. You just take your pictures."
He eyed him for a moment before grabbing his phone, picking up to dial Paul.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Paul. Seems like there's some issues here." His voice was low.
"What issues?"
"Dunno. Stanley just sent a couple of his crew into the woods. I could've sworn I heard screaming, but this is the hayride. People might be rehearsing." He was pretty sure that both of them knew damn well that it wasn't anyone rehearsing.
"Remember what I told you about being a hero, Jimmy."
"I know. Don't worry. Talk soon." Hanging up, he decided to take a little walk down the path-sticking to the path very specifically, of course-to see if he could notice something going on; there were plenty of workers nearby in the woods that he could ask.
"Why doesn't Stanley come out here?"
"He's got too much of a hard-on for trying to nail some kid for drinking."
"Hey, shut up. He caught that guy," one of his cronies said.
"Then why are people screaming over the radio?"
"Fucking around? I dunno." He was clearly trying to hide his nervousness.
Three men this time-together so they figured that whoever was skulking around out here and scaring people would be enough to haul in whoever was causing trouble-each had up a flashlight, shining it around. They had started in one area, and there were still two officers there, keeping watch over a few of the people who were working at the path. Things were held up temporarily, as the police radioed in that they were doing a courtesy sweep of the perimeter first, but they figured in the next twenty or so minutes, the first group would arrive at the front of the path.
As they walked, one of them suddenly brushed his shoulder, looking up at the sky.
"Huh. Rain?"
"Doesn't look like it. Only a couple of clouds." The other officer squinted at his partner's shoulder, before his eyes grew wide. "Uhh…Marton?"
"Hmm?" He looked over, seeing red there. "Oh shit!"
Jumping back, the three grabbed their weapons as one shined the flashlight above. It seems that there was a man in the tree, his head and upper body seemingly flayed with deep gashes running through them, much like the old crime scene photos that they were shown from years ago.
"Oh what the fuck!" The skittish one grabbed his radio. "Now! We need backup now!"
One of them squinted into the woods, seeing a shadowy blur dashing toward him. Managing to try to line up his weapon, he fired; it seemed like the bullet may have taken the shadowy form in the arm, but it barely slowed him up.
He didn't even have time to aim another shot-it went wild into a tree-as the orange-haired killer was on him.
"Fuck!" o ne yelled, grabbing his radio and dropping his gun, not even thinking. "Now! Get here now! It's him! It's the killer! Holy fuck is he back from the dead?!"
On the radio, various other posted officers-there were perhaps eight others scattered around, including Stanley, heard a scream from the other end, with what turned out to be a gurgle in the background.
Over at the grounds, two workers decided to come up-arming themselves with tree limbs-as they went to go try to investigate the screams; there was now a lot of confusion below. They thought, from where they were, people were practicing or getting started at first, but at this point they grew concerned at what they were hearing.
The two officers could almost do nothing as Freeman-having been shot once and shot at a second time by the one man-dug his hands into the man's spine from behind, twisted and tore the man's head from his body.
The one officer finally dropped his gun and ran in the other direction. No amount of anything was worth this. Freeman did not pursue, as the other officer-one of Stanley's friends-took a fresh grip on his flashlight and gave the killer a heavy thwack in the side of the head. A normal man would have easily been knocked out cold by this, but while the light stayed on, Freeman only shook his head, touching it and seeing blood on his fingers.
The grin that formed on his face was terrifying…but his eyes were almost enraged. The officer had no idea that the rage was from the fact he still could not feel that adrenaline anymore; but either way, the result was the same.
Freeman seemed at least somewhat excited that the man could attempt to fight; swinging his heavy flashlight as a club, he managed to land a hit or two that was blocked, but Freeman's leather jacket prevented any actual cuts or the like. Freeman lashed back out, his long limbs landing easy blows against the officer's body, as he was pushed backward more and more: a sweep to his leg brought him to his knees.
As the two men with branches managed to run over the hill-one with a flashlight in his own hand-they got there just in time to see Freeman snap his leg out in a straight, powerful front kick, putting enough strength behind it to send his heavy boot through his face, caving it in with a horrid, wet sound and completely and sticking his head onto his boot, the man's body twitching in death as it held there.
The men stopped dead in their tracks as he looked over, grinning and pulling said boot out of the man's head with a splat; it took him a moment due to how far in it was. The man-thankfully, as one might say-at least fell down face forward. He noticed the weapons in their hands and took his fighting pose…which had him simply standing there, his arms at his side, staring straight ahead.
Having turned completely white, one turned and disappeared, following the other officer who was now well out of woods, while another threw up on the spot. Looking back up, he saw the other man had taken off, and he heard more people running in the woods. Not knowing what to do, he wound up and, seeing Freeman actually having a few marks on him, tried to swing the branch at him clumsily.
Slicing through it with a big, tearing swipe, the man actually tried to charge him and skewer him with the sharp end; he managed to poke it somewhat into his upper chest…but not far enough to do anything, if anything would've happened anyway.
The eye peering out of the orange hair glinted as he reached a hand out, his arms moving almost inhumanly in their flexibility-and grabbed the man's leg, yanking and pulling him up, before grabbing his other leg and swinging him violently against a tree, folding the man against it with a massive crack. He dropped the man, practically folded in half, blood spewing from his nose, mouth, and the ribs that had managed to crack through his chest.
Looking around and listening intently, Freeman could sort of feel the wounds on his body, but they didn't give him the rush that they used to. He supposed he would have to push harder.
Shuffling around one of the other bodies for another radio, he pressed the button.
"I'm looking for you," he hissed into the radio.
"What? Who?"
"Come find me…" he said, chuckling afterward. He then dropped it on the ground and began to move closer to the path.
Jimmy, his leg bothering him something fierce now, was somewhere on the path in the middle of a lot of confused people. Some were still at their stations, while a couple others-some of the seniors who were more or less there to have a bit of fun-were sneaking alcohol in some of the chaos. His camera in hand, he was mostly, at this point, going to give a head's up to everyone that something was not right, and that they should all(including himself, as he told Paul, he was not trying to play a hero here) head to the trailer at the end and get a ride back early.
"What's going on?" someone asked, looking around.
"I don't know. I'm trying to find out too. Our finest over there aren't telling us much."
"We thought the thing started already, what with the screams, but a couple guys we saw never came back. I don't like this. I kinda want to get the hell out."
"I think everyone here should get the hell out."
"Who said you could do our jobs, you old bastard?" He heard Stanley's snide voice behind him.
"Maybe if you guys would, an old journalist wouldn't have to."
"My guys are taking care of it right now."
"Uhh, sir?" one of the rookies said. "No answer on the radio."
"They're probably chasing the guy."
"Your men are probably getting killed right now, Stanley. And if you give a shit, at all, you'd be getting them the hell out of there. You know you didn't catch the right guy. You did all of this for some accolades and to let this thing go on for some reason."
"Shut up!" he snarled, shoving the old man. Jimmy stumbled backward, falling back into one of the backdrops, his leg hitting the ground in a way that told him something was definitely wrong with it. He gritted his teeth, hissing in pain.
He knew he had hit a sore spot with Stanley; the man was clearly on the take, and he was digging way too deep. While he had nothing to do with the killer, he was getting money from someone, somewhere, to keep this night rolling for whatever reason.
"Hey! What the hell?" the junior who Jimmy didn't even know said. "What's wrong with him?!"
"He won't believe anyone when we tell him that the killer is not human. At least, not fully. Not anymore."
"Whaa?" the junior asked, nonplussed.
"Ahh, shut the fuck up with your conspiracy bullshit!" Stanley hissed. The rookie with him was stepping back, and even his one crony looked a little bit disturbed. "Eric, go up there and get the guys. Tell them to come back and let him know that everything's alright." He decided to glare at the junior for good measure. "And you, stay the hell out of this."
The crony, apparently named Eric, looked up at the hill for a moment. He delayed for a split second, but when Officer Stanley glared at him, he went.
"On my way," he said into his radio.
No answer. He kept walking, though, just assuming that he'd find the guys spread out.
"Help me up," he asked the junior.
He did, although Stanley still glared at him.
"Don't think this is over, old man. I'll get you on something."
"You got nothing on me." Jimmy stayed calm, but was firm. If Stanley wanted to shoot him, he could damn well do it and then have to explain it in front of witnesses.
"I can get you for trespassing. Poking around confidential files. Just watch."
Jimmy stood his ground; he knew when bullies could smell fear, they tended to push harder. Even with his leg in agony-he might have actually hurt it worse than he thought-he swallowed the pain and simply stood by. He looked over at the young man who helped him and nodded.
"What's your name, son?"
"Jason."
"Thanks, Jason."
"No problem."
"I'll call my friend," he said quietly. "Let him get in touch with the organizers. They'll have us out." Picking up his phone, he dialed in.
"Paul?"
"Yeah?"
"Let the organizers know that we need to get out of here. Have the drivers come down the path and get people out. Tell them to not go into the woods. Will explain later."
"Gotcha." The voice on the other end asked no questions. He could sort of read the proverbial room even over the phone.
As he hung up, Officer Stanley picked up his radio as the rookie looked nervous.
"Hey, Eric. C'mon. Hurry up."
A few more of the haunted workers walked down the path. They noticed some people gathering at the execution scene.
"Hey, we've been hearing some screams out there."
"Officers are taking care of it," Stanley grumbled, annoyed.
"We just watched two more run in and they hadn't come out yet."
"Still looking. Just go back to your spots."
Jimmy looked over at them, bracing himself. "I'd head to the trailer if I were you."
The workers looked at each other, before looking at the other two. Pushing by the officers, they listened to Jimmy. They were clearly pale.
"You trying to go over my head right fucking in front of me, old man?" Stanley snarled.
"I don't believe you organize this thing any more than I do. It was just friendly advice."
"I swear to god-" he started, before a blood-curdling scream echoed over his radio.
"Look, officer. Get your men out of there."
"Eric?" he said quickly. "Eric?" He looked up. "The fuck is going on?" He grabbed his gun-a larger one that was generally typically issued. "You. Come with me."
The rookie looked up, looking back down, and looked down the path to the exit. Shaking his head, he grabbed his gun and a flashlight and decided to follow.
Jimmy looked over at the other fellow. "I'd get out of here if I were you."
"What about that asshole?"
"Don't worry about him." He grabbed his camera. "I might have lied a bit about not trying to play a hero…but I need to see something."
Two of the other officers who happened to remain-two more decided to take the incentive and actually do their real jobs instead of the stuff Officer Stanley was demanding that they do-started to make their way over to where they heard the unfortunate Eric screaming.
By the time they got there, his mutilated corpse was being held up by a blood-drenched Freeman. A thin trickle of blood ran down his head, showing that the fellow may have gotten a lick in with his baton, but it was of no matter. Eric was now unrecognizable, his head looking like it was attacked with a garden rake.
Flinging him to the side, the man motioned the others forward. He might not have been getting the rush of standing on the edge of life and death like he used to, but he was certainly getting his sadistic side fed tonight.
"What the fuck are you?!" one of the cops yelled.
"What's going on over there?!" Officer Stanley bellowed. He was a ways away still, but he could hear them yelling.
"Eric's dead!" one of them yelled shakily. "Holy fuck!"
Freeman looked around, suddenly putting his finger to his mouth, almost in a shushing motion. He then disappeared into the shadows, deciding to have a little fun with this last bunch. They fell apart too easily toe to toe; he could, at least, scare the crap out of them. Perhaps causing them to want to fight for their lives would goad them to fight harder.
All of that said, he could tell that a couple of these guys were rather insufferable, anyway. He might have been a wicked, sadistic killer, but he didn't abuse his authority to push around everyday people. He didn't even give a shit about people who didn't try to give him any masochistic release.
"Where did he go?"
"I dunno. Show yourself, coward!"
Stanley cocked his gun, firing off a shot into the darkness. One of his men-a yes-man, even-looked at him, a somewhat startled look on his face.
"That thing's way more of a gun than ours. Careful with that thing."
"Who asked?" he snarled.
"Jesus," the other guy muttered under his breath.
"Split up," Stanley demanded, clearly no longer thinking straight. The men there all thought that he was in a lot of trouble with something; there was no other reason why he should've been acting so erratically.
"Sir. He's stalking us. Look at Eric!" He pointed toward the mutilated corpse.
Stanley licked his lips. "The fuck is going on here, anyway? Why haven't you guys gotten him yet?! He's one goddamn man!"
"I don't think that's a man anymore," one said quietly.
"Oh shut up! Not you too with the bullshit!"
The rookie, who had been standing off to the side, finally stood up. "Sir. You were the one who insisted that this go on. You were the one who insisted we tell the mayor what to do. You didn't listen to the warnings that they were trying to give us. You said that you found someone that looked like they could've done it when you knew damn well he wasn't the one. You just wanted to look good for the mayor for reasons that I'm starting to think involve him being onto you about something. You consider yourself a leader? You go after him!"
Staring at the rookie, nonplussed, his face contorted with rage as he backhanded him down, before aiming his pistol at him.
"You're dead, you little shit."
"Boss-" one of his usual right hands said, holding out a hand to stop him.
At that, a shadowy flash slid up behind Stanley, grabbing his arm and twisting it, snapping the forearm like it was a wet, bloody twig. The gun landed on the ground, thankfully not discharging.
Officer Stanley screamed. Freeman spun him around, lifting a bloodied hand and holding it under his chin…but not before stomping out his kneecap in a gout of blood as he bent his leg backward.
The man fell to the ground, and Freeman lay into him, tearing with both hands, pulling loose another limb, and the shattered foreleg. Still somehow alive, he shrieked as the killer's hand grabbed his head and slammed it against the tree. Picking him up, he did it again, and again, before raking it down the rough bark and tossing him aside.
Somehow, the man was still alive, though he was unable to really move. The other officers were in too much shock at the moment; the rookie, however, took off running toward where he thought the exit was.
Freeman ran over, and with a single kick finally detached Stanley's head from his body after caving in his temple. The head then thwacked against the nearest tree, leaving behind a massive spatter of blood. The man would've died for sure anyway as it was, but he wasn't about to lose his chance to get one more hit in.
Turning, he glared at Stanley's last crony; the other man had decided to follow the rookie, thinking that no job was worth this. Pausing to take one shot, he sealed his fate as it skimmed Freeman's shoulder; had he taken off immediately, Freeman may not have bothered pursuing and perhaps tried to sniff out someone else who would want to stand up to him. Dashing ahead with a frightening speed, he tore at the man's back with an enormous swipe of his hand; shredding clothing and flesh, he span the man around, picking him up by his face and holding him there for a few moments before he got started.
At the bottom of the hill, Jimmy snapped two photos; the flash was on, and while the first photo caught Freeman staring at the man he held, the second caught the killer staring into the camera with the same, haunted look that had apparently been seen on his face years ago.
Screams started one last time, followed swiftly by sounds that no one particularly ever needed to hear in their life.
Jimmy decided he had gotten everything he needed from this to prove everything he had to, and began to, with the help of his cane, get himself out of the woods. The man who had started to leave saw him, and ran back to help him out.
"You're insane," he said.
"No," Jimmy replied with a sigh, "Just a completionist."
At the front, people had continued taking off to head back the way they came, once more news got out. After seeing the bodies of a couple of the people, a couple of folks who had decided to go poke around the woods ran back to warn everyone; they, in turn, decided to take no chances and just disappear. Others took off, as well; running in different directions, some more chaotic than others. A couple seemed to not understand the gravity of the situation and whipped out cameras; no doubt they had started sneaking alcohol early that night.
Aaron, Jeremy, Kat, and Susan, however, were running away as quickly as they could. Most of the rest of Aaron's team were likewise running back, seemingly taking the hint, though a couple of them seemed to hang back for whatever reason.
Aaron looked back, seeing Kat running somewhat slow.
"Kat!"
"Gah, sorry, damnit! Dressed for Halloween!"
Jeremy crouched for a moment so Kat-wearing her more gothic style boots-wouldn't be too slow over the ground; Docs were far better for running in it. Susan and Aaron, wearing sneakers, were thankfully covering the ground just fine.
"Just make sure your adrenaline holds another five minutes, Jer!" she yelled.
Aaron looked over, nodding.
"You ought to try out for the team if we live," he said, attempting to bring as much levity to the moment as he could.
"Fuck that. And have to deal with the rest of the jocks?" He managed a smirk.
Hearing another scream in the background, the four pressed even harder; if they made it to the car and out of there, they promised themselves they were going to drink Susan's parents' entire cabinet dry before this night was up.
The remaining officers-of which there were a handful-managed to band together and start to work as a fair unit. Even one of Stanley's remaining cronies-white as a sheet-managed to swallow his pride, finally, and get working. Most of them had not been particularly happy with what went on with the false arrest; while the man had been trespassing, Stanley had of course bullied them into thinking he was the killer due to the bloodied money. Evidence for sure, but that was all it was based on.
Right now, they were trying to get everyone out. Luckily, no one had started to go through yet, everyone had been back at the beginning.
Jimmy came limping up, the other fellow from the haunted hayride helping him along. He was likely going to need medical attention.
"Officer!" the worker yelled. "Should we call for an ambulance?"
The rookie, having seen the shape that the men were in earlier, shook his head. "If anyone ran into him," he started, "They're long dead."
Jimmy nodded. "Just get me a ride to the hospital and get me and everyone else the hell out of these woods. No one is safe here." He looked at the others. "I hope you believe me now," he said. "That killer out there is well beyond anything you can all handle. Get your people the hell out as soon as everyone is accounted for. Gunshots don't care if the person has no heartbeat to begin with, anyway. What you're dealing with is cursed."
Another officer nodded. They decided to trust the journalist who had at least worked with the man who covered the incident thirteen years ago, as outlandish as this all was.
"Jimmy!" a voice called, as someone ran up, seemingly having gotten a lift from someone.
"Paul? What the hell are you doing here?"
"Coming to get your ass," he said. "I don't think my old man would forgive me if he knew I let you die out here."
"Relax, Paul. I'm alright. My leg might be busted, but I'm alright."
"The killer?!"
"No, the asshole officer that's been up my ass," he said. "Pushed me over. He ran out to the woods. I heard a lot of yelling, I'll say that much."
"Jesus christ," Paul replied, looking around at everyone. "How many?"
"We might not know until tomorrow." Jimmy shivered. "We might not know for a long time, if the pictures I got were any indication."
"You got pictures of him?!"
"I had to. Let's say I owed it to your old man too, to get people to believe this shit," he replied. "Glad you didn't have to see it. I don't think he'd want you having those nightmares."
Paul chuckled once, shaking his head. "I thought I told you not to be a hero."
"Well, I might have lied." The older man sighed, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket, cringing at his leg. It was not broken clean or anything of that nature, but he suspected a fracture.
"Goddamnit." Paul looked out at the people starting to run up, jumping on the hay-filled trailers to be pulled back as a couple more State Trooper cars pulled up. "Any workers?"
"I think a few ran out there to try to fight him," he said, shaking his head. "He's still out there. We really ought to be going."
"Hell yeah we need to be going. You need a hospital."
Another shriek echoed from the woods, with two state troopers pulling guns and following the sound.
"No!" Paul yelled. "Don't!"
They didn't listen.
It didn't take all that long for more gurgling screams to join the rest.
Eventually, the night was over. No more people came after him. The woods were quickly abandoned, with officers deciding to not send anyone else out there until the morning. They did not make the decision lightly, but after the rookie had explained that he only seemed to go after people pursuing him, they decided to listen for once.
Freeman, out of prey, walked through the woods, drenched in blood. Caught somewhere between the living and the dead-probably closer to dead than alive-the young man walked, following the path out and toward one of the few places he was familiar with in this town, as he pulled a couple of bullets from his body, the pain barely registering.
He supposed this was his new 'life' now. He did not ask to be brought back, and never did figure out how it happened, but given he was back…he supposed there were some aspects of his old life he could go back to.
Though it might take some time.
A/N: Lots of lyrics at the start here, heh. Given this is Freeman's favorite album(at least according to some things), I decided to pick the song that was written from the POV of a serial killer…though in Freeman's case he doesn't use any hammers or anything. He doesn't need hammers. :3
Well, this has been a fun slaughterfest then, hasn't it? The ol' kill count just got a whole lot more heads on it. I think this was all inevitable, of course…the minute the town wanted to push it. I guess before Southtown PD, Freeman got his start with the Hollisfield PD in this story, lol. It makes sense; given he wants people who can push some pain on him(at least, try to), victims like bikers, hoodlums, and the PD make the most sense in a small town like this that probably lacks like, the amount of street fighters that a place like South Town might have.
"Man, but a lot of mains didn't die!"
This AU is a fun tribute to horror, not an angst fest! I have plenty of angst in some of my other stories. I wanted to bridge the gap of 'giant bodycount' while being 'fun to read' and 'watching Freeman perform a gorefest.' I'll save the angst for more serious stuff. 80s horror did kill a lot of main characters-but let's face it, most of the time you either didn't care about them or in some cases, actively hoped that the killer would waste them.
Plus I decided, since far too many of the adults in the vicinity had drunk the Horror Movie Kool-Aid that causes you to lose common sense, I thought it would be somewhat of an amusing twist for the teens to be the ones to have common sense instead. At least some of them. Someone should've given the authorities more common sense-at least maybe send them to go get more heavy ordinance. Or just like, run.
I did try to use some of Freeman's moves here! His usual big, ripping slashes, the front kick that caved the one guy's face in is just one of his normal moves, albeit done with Movie Monster Strength(which, I mean, I have no idea if Freeman has that or not in-game, the guy did survive a sniper's bullet and kills Southtown PD bare handed apparently on the regular.) Other moves were just fun, gory kills. (I had him punt Stanley's head as almost tribute to how he nailed his nephew at the beginning.)
Well, this story ain't over yet! We still have the conclusion to this bloodfest…followed of course by a healthy amount of author's notes discussing many shout-outs, and maybe even a bonus kill count chapter!
Thanks for sticking around so far, and hope you enjoy the conclusion!