Satanic Panic- A Homage to 1980's B-Movie Horror

by Daniel P Coughlin

  He could handle these pussies.

  Well, they had weapons.

  Brock rounded the corner, kicked his legs into a sprint and listened intently as the van’s tires crunched over thick snow while turning down the street.

  “Run,” one of them whispered. Steam drifted upward from his mouth.

  Now he was pissed. Nobody told Brock Hills what to do.

  “What did you say?” Brock faced the van.

  The van screeched to a halt. Another of the masked men jumped out. This one was tall and muscular. His black clothing wrapped tightly around him. The axe in his right hand dropped and scraped against the frozen blacktop as he walked. Tilting his head slowly, he raised the axe. Holding the rectangular blade in front of his face, his index finger scraped along the sharp edge of the blade.

  “What the hell do you want, dude?” Brock marched toward the masked man. Fists clenched tight as he walked. His nerves swam like sharks through the acid wash of his stomach.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” the Smiley Devil called out. His voice was scruffy. Maybe he was a smoker? There was something about the tone of his voice and the manner in which his shoulders rolled that caused chills to run along Brock’s spine. He seemed to grow. His posture was formed of confidence that Brock didn’t recognize. The worst kind of confidence, given the context, Brock thought. Dominance.

  Another Smiley Devil filed out of the van, followed by a third. They stood in perfect military-like formation. Two more jumped out. They held butcher knives. The blades were enormous, fourteen inches. The knives reminded Brock of the horror movies with Michael Myer’s in them.

  Halloween.

  “On second thought, why don’t you come here? Come on over and let me show you what I can do.” The Smiley Devil tilted his head, much like Michael Myers.

  “Take your mask off, dickhead.” Brock forced laughter.

  “Not yet.”

  “Not yet, why?”

  “Because it’s not your time yet.”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Brock pried at this statement.

  “It means you’ll see us again,” the overly confident Smiley Devil chuckled.

  “I don’t think so,” Brock called out. He wondered what the possibilities were that this could be Jeff Torrance and his buddies fucking with him.

  No, couldn’t be. The masked asshole in the center was too big to be Jeff. And his voice clearly belonged to someone unfamiliar. There was a lot one could assume and familiarize by the size and proportion of a person. None of these freaks resembled anyone he knew. Sure, this could be a prank. In fact, he hoped it was a prank because—to be truthful—these assholes were starting to freak him out.

  “Run. That’s all you gotta do right now, tough guy. If you run we won’t chase you. If I walk to you right now I promise they’ll pull your body from the river sometime next week.”

  “What?” This statement struck a chord—scared the hell out of him, really. There’d been an abundance of drown victims near campus lately, enough that the rumor-mill was flooded. Foul play was common talk amongst the university student body. But that’s all it was. Rumors. Still, the tone of this confrontation was beginning to feel doom-filled. He’d never admit, but these disturbed pricks were scaring him. And his damn ego wouldn’t let go.

  I’m being an idiot.

  The sexual experience of a lifetime awaited him at the Marriott and he was fucking around with a bunch of assholes playing a Halloween prank near Christmas.

  The tall one in the middle rested his hatchet in the palm of his hand. His right knee rose. He leaned forward and marched toward Brock. “If I get to you, you’re dead. Serious.”

  He slapped the flat edge of the hatchet blade against his gloved palm.

  Brock took a step backward.

  The Smiley Devil stopped.

  “What’s your name?” Brock called out.

  The Smiley Devil was silent, but after a moment answered, “I’m no one. I’m a servant of someone, someone bigger than us all. Call me the Smiley Devil.”

  The Smiley Devil on the right nudged his elbow into the tall one. The one with an average build—in the middle—tugged at the hatchet and said, “Stop.”

  “What?” the tall Devil with the Axe hollered. He didn’t take his eyes off Brock. “Don’t speak to me like that.”

  “I’ll talk to you however I please. Now let go.”

  The tall Devil seemed to grovel this over. Clearly, he didn’t respond well to orders.

  “See you soon.” the tall one said. “The fire burns for you.” He turned to the van.

  The remainder of the Smiley Devils about-faced and returned to the van.

  Entering the vehicle, the tall Devil raised his hatchet, whacked the smaller one in the face—the one barking orders—with the flat side of the hatchet blade. The smaller one fell to his knees. When he lowered his head, the tall Devil swung his hatchet downward. A chunk of shoulder-meat spun to the street with a wet smack. The overly confident Smiley Devil had sliced off the edge of his buddy’s shoulder. Brock could only imagine what this man would do to him. Brock felt bad for the screaming man that grabbed at his wound. Blood pulsated upward and between his gloved fingers. The axe must have sliced a vein or artery.

  Now Brock ran. He was scared and he ran fast. These guys weren’t fucking around. The tall muscular Smiley Devil stared at Brock. Slowly he raised his hand and waved patiently. The mask no longer looked silly, it was terrifying. And even though the man’s face was covered, Brock could feel his smirk.

  Lungs burning and legs chugging, Brock ran faster than he’d ever ran.

  4

  The Killer observed Brock running scared. For the first time since meeting Brock, he’d witnessed his fear and it was satisfying. The expression of fear on the face of a warrior minded person was something for The Killer to savor. The terror boiled his blood and coursed icily through his veins. The perfect drug.

  “Should we follow him?” the tall Smiley Devil asked The Killer.

  “We’ll be patient.”

  “I really don’t want to be patient. What if he runs to the police?”

  “He won’t.”

  “How do you know?

  “Don’t ask me again.”

  “But... ”

  The Killer raised his hatchet as if to swing at his fellow Smiley Devil.

  “Forgive me.”

  The Killer looked to the wounded Smiley Devil and then another masked Devil and said, “Help your brother. We have much to plan.”

  “Sorry, brother.”

  He helped his brother into the van. Before sliding the door shut the wounded Devil picked up his torn flesh. It was tough to peel from the snow.

  The gang of Devil’s drove quickly into the night. As The Killer rested in the back of the van he thought about how pleasurable it would be to watch Brock’s life drain from his perfect body. His dead face beneath the water was an image that pleased.

  Baptized in death.

  Beneath his rubber mask, The Killer’s face was hot. Sweat ran down his forehead and along the contours of his cheeks. Brock Hills would die well. The Killer respected Brock as he always respected his prey. And The Killer enjoyed a respectful sacrifice. When he was finished, he wouldn’t dump the carcass into the river. He would remove his head and maintain it as a trophy. That was important. To remove the head was a sign of respect for one’s enemy. Without respect for one’s enemy, one is not a warrior. And then one does not support a purpose. The Killer renewed his belief.

  As the van disappeared into the icy night, The Killer brought his index finger upward toward the body cam clipped to his shoulder. The camera resembled an ink pen. He flipped the record button off. The footage of this encounter would add suspense to his video.

  Chapter 12

  The Last Tango

  1

  B rianna arrived first. She’d demanded the boys not show up until the hotel room was prepared. And the room would need work. The online photos allowed her a
glimpse into what she was working with. The current layout presented a commercialized tone. For the evening festivities, the atmosphere needed to be romanticized. Dedication would prevail. The white duvet would be sensational once the rose pedals were scattered across the fluffy appearance. The numerous mirrors on all sides of the room would reflect the warmth of candlelight and fill the room. This understanding was verbally solidified the last time they’d spoken as a group. Entering the lobby, a cold gust of winter wind forced pressure onto the revolving door. Cold melded with the heat, which enveloped her from inside. The warmth allowed for the tightly wrapped nerves swimming in her stomach to loosen. Her lips curled into a smug grin when she thought about the intense heat that was to come.

  She’d stuffed her suitcase with candles, soaps, lotions, oils, rose pedals, lubrications, champagne, strawberries, whip cream, and a set of handcuffs she’d purchased. This night would be amazing. It would be right. It would be perfect. She would climax like she’d never imagined. And she’d reach these heightened pleasures with the men she loved. A rosy smile etched across her face. She was barely aware that the handsome Hotel check-in employee had been attempting to charm her.

  “Can I help you to your room?” he asked.

  “Sure.” She invited the boy to charm her with seduction. Flirting with this boy enticed her excitement. She felt sexy and wanted. She wouldn’t do anything with this boy, of course, but she appreciated his interest. She welcomed it. Being wanted was invigorating.

  “Great.” The boy turned to his fellow employee, a heavier woman that displayed her cynicism by shaking her head and rolling her eyes. She and Brianna locked into a stare. Brianna smiled, sharing the connection that all women share regarding sophomoric antics from immature men.

  “You staying for the weekend?” the boy asked. His cheeks flushed red. Nervous now.

  “I am.” Brianna washed the boy’s posture with squinted eyes. She could almost feel herself telepathically causing his erection.

  They entered the elevator.

  Brianna’s cheeks tightened when a comedic thought struck. She would play a dirty trick on this boy. Make him feel special.

  The elevator doors closed.

  Brianna turned to the lobby boy. “You ever just get a hotel room with two of your best friends... and just stay in bed and fuck each other until your heads are filled with all kinds of crazy?” She grabbed the hotel boy by the back of his hair and pulled him close. She grabbed the hard bulge in his pants and had to fight laughter when he squealed. His face reddened. “Because that’s what I’m doing here this weekend.”

  The elevator halted.

  Brianna slid to the center of the claustrophobic car, away from the boy. He staggered and nearly fell to the carpeted floor.

  “Can I walk you to your room?” he begged.

  She leaned down, smiled, and told him, “You’ll have your time, handsome boy, but not today.” She leaned in close and planted her lips on his. If Brock or Lance could see her right now they would laugh until their stomachs split. The confidence erupting within her—for having tortured this poor boy—was enthralling. A euphoric sensation brewed within her sizzling insides. For a moment, she thought she might climax. She grabbed the hotel cart with her belongings and left the boy, shaky and hot, trying his best to hide the bulge in his pants.

  Strutting down the carpeted hallway, she couldn’t help but to laugh loud and hearty.

  She found her room, placed the magnetic key to the pad and opened the door.

  The room was fantastic.

  The large window with polarized glass overlooked the river, which ran between two crests of eroding white snow. The town was so small from here. The people were scurrying ants.

  Hell, wasn’t that it? Weren’t people just ants in a big ant farm? No way.

  She couldn’t believe that. There was more to life than mere feelings and sensations. She felt things for different people, spiritual things. She felt unique things for the two beautiful boys that were on their way here to love her for many hours. The thought of these boys removing her clothes and kissing her naked flesh lifted feelings and emotions that illuminated her soul. She had a soul, she knew that and she believed in a higher power. She had to believe in more than life.

  What would God think about what was about to happened here tonight?

  She didn’t want to think about that brand of spirituality. Not right now, but then she thought: maybe we should think and talk about that. Maybe after they’d concluded their initial romp? Maybe then she could get the boys to talk about the topic of soul and God and what was right and what was wrong? It made sense. One of the points to this relationship was that they could be one hundred percent honest with each other about everything and anything.

  A smile found her beautiful, make-up free face.

  Next, she prepared the room. She set candles in the bathroom and lit them, making sure that there was enough light to see, but that the atmosphere was darkly erotic. She set candles on the countertop—vanilla scented—and then she placed them on the ledge of the marble tiled walkway that led into the shower. She was impressed with this shower. There wasn’t a door. The space was open and vulnerable, big. She, Lance and Brock would be able to make love under the spray of warm soft water. The room was perfect although she didn’t know if she was into the fireplace video that lapsed on the sixty-inch flat screen. What the hell? She’d let it play.

  After the room was set, she stripped off her clothing, opened her suitcase and removed her lotions, oils, and scrubs. She showered, and—as she’d suspected—the water was soft. Not that hard-water that dried out one’s skin. Soft water felt amazing as it coursed along the contours of her naked body. Perfect water-pressure. After showering, she towel-dried her hair, applied lotion and inspected every square inch and crevice of her body until she was certain that she was exceptional, sexy, and gorgeous. Then she pulled out her lingerie. A black strappy thong with a transparent bra and matching black high heels would do. She’d spent a fortune, but her appearance reflected the goddess Helena. Once she was dressed—well, scantily-clad—she posed. Leaning across the bed, she grabbed her phone and texted her suitors.

  Lying on the soft comforter of the California King sized bed she sprawled out and waited for her boys.

  2

  Lance drove into the parking structure and then pulled into a spot near a thick cement pillar, inconspicuous. He hoped. Sure, he was being paranoid, but it didn’t hurt to be safe. Also, Brianna still had a boyfriend. That was another negative to this arrangement. He liked Grady and thought of him as a friend. Here he was making love to his friend’s girlfriend. He wished that this type of behavior were outside the realm of his character. Given his present lifestyle, it wasn’t. There was cuckolding and then there was this—having a threesome behind a nice guy’s back. He and Brock were doing unspeakable things to Brianna and in the process they were committing unforgivable acts toward Grady.

  Best not to think about it.

  Opening the car door, he pulled his iPhone from his pocket and texted Brianna that he’d arrived. He was greeted with a Smiley Devil emoji. Lance smirked before fully exiting the car. The screeching of tires on smooth cement startled him. Averting his gaze up from the faceplate of his phone he found himself face to face with the grill of a black van. He looked at the driver who wore some sort of a rubber mask. Holding his hands up and outward, Lance shouted, “I’m alright. Sorry, I wasn’t watching.”

  The mechanical whiz of the van’s driver side window lowering faintly drew his attention. A raspy voice called out, “But I’ve been watching you.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, but let me repeat myself: I’ve been watching you.”

  What the hell was this guy talking about? This was creeping him out.

  Lance marched toward the driver’s side, but the van backed up.

  “I don’t want any trouble.” Lance pleaded. True, he didn’t want any trouble. Brock was the martial arts-brutal-primitive type, n
ot he. He was the gentle lover that could work things out with simple conversation. Hell, we weren’t primates anymore, he thought.

  “We know that. We don’t want trouble either, but we wish to do some very awful things to you.”

  “What is this about?”

  “Nothing, which is the greatest part. There is no reason, you were just randomly picked.”

  This made no god damned sense. Why and who and where did these assholes come from? Were they just a bunch of testosterone freaks looking to fight? He definitely didn’t want to fight right now. He had much better things to do, like Brianna.

  Lance’s peripheral vision found the exit door to the left of the parking ramp. He would simply march to the door and sneak off into the hotel. These guys were probably stupid, but not stupid enough to want trouble from the police. There had to be video footage in this parking structure. These assholes in the van were probably aware.

  Maybe that’s why they’re wearing masks?

  He went ahead with his plan. Stepping off—left foot first—he crossed the lot. Fear soon became a reality. The van sped forward and blocked his escape. Now he was becoming upset.

  “Get out of my way, please.” Lance gritted his teeth.

  “Sure, right away,” the driver stated.

  It was difficult to hear him clearly through that stupid looking mask.

  The van had stopped beneath a hissing fluorescent light. Lance saw that the mask was some sort of Smiley Devil.

  Weird, Brianna had just sent a Devil-emoji icon to let him know that she was here. He pulled out his phone again and looked at the emoji. Then he looked to the driver of the van.

  Could this be Grady? Had Grady discovered them?

  No way.

  Well, maybe.