But, as I said, it was the first time Blake had seen the cruel, inhumane acts that had been forced upon our friends, and Blake, now standing still in utter shock, was apt to get us killed as a result.
I jumped to my feet and grabbed his arm.
“We’ve gotta move.”
But he was frozen, and I realized that Blake’s attention had gone elsewhere. He was looking behind me, and I turned around to see something hanging from a stalk of corn.
Blake moved past me, heading for the object. He picked it up, and instantly dropped it once he felt its texture.
He turned, and threw up all over the ground next to him.
When I looked down to see what he’d dropped, I turned to my left and vomited as well.
Before me, spread out over the dirt and illuminated by the moon, was Rob’s face. It had been flayed perfectly, the shape around where his eyes and mouth used to be artfully cut out. Rob had a mole just above his left eye, and it had been strategically left in place so that we’d know it was him.
The corn began rustling from the direction we’d come.
I looked over to Blake, and pleaded with him to move.
“We’ve got to go, Blake.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because if we stay here, we will die!” I was desperate for him to snap out of it so that we could push forward.
“Why did they do this?”
I took his hand.
The rustling was closer.
“Baby, now isn’t the time. We’ve got to run.”
Closer.
Louder.
Blake finally looked away from the heads and stared into my eyes.
“I can’t.”
I’d begun to cry.
“You can’t what?” I asked.
“Run. Not anymore.”
Tears raced down my face toward my chest.
Blake took my hand and kissed it gently.
“Go,” he said.
My eyes bloodshot, I shook my head. No words came to me. What was he doing? We had to move right then or we would die.
Then, Blake pushed me away. His face filled with anger.
“Run!”
And he turned away from me just in time to catch the initial blow of the sledgehammer swinging through the dark.
***
I couldn’t even scream, nor make any noise at all. I just looked on in pure awe. Blake lay on the ground before me, convulsing. The outline of his body vibrating on the ground trickled into my vision through the night.
And before me stood a familiar figure.
It was the man in the hood. The man I’d watched silently and methodically help the young blind boy bash in Michael’s skull with a baseball bat after breaking his knees.
The man they’d called the Huntcher.
He was thin, but his definition was apparent. While most of the monsters in the town had either been thin and gangly or disgusting and flabby, the Huntcher appeared to be in top shape. Midnight assisted his hood in keeping his face a mystery, but he looked to be young from what I could tell.
His eyes had left Blake and he was staring at me. The Huntcher stood at least six inches taller than me, so he had to slightly tilt his head toward the ground to look down at me.
Silently, the shadow of the stalker had already begun to move toward me.
With everything I had left in me, I turned, and I ran.
23
While I was hungry and exhausted, with muscles I didn’t know I had shooting pain through the lengths of my legs and through my arms, I ran from the Huntcher’s shadow as fast as I could. With every frantic step of my bare feet against the earth, I fought the urge to turn around and see how far behind me he was. I made it to the other side of the corn field, ending up in another vast flat field.
When I finally turned around, he wasn’t there.
Breathing heavily and inhaling every square inch of air that I could, I looked from side to side, scanning the open field for the Shape. To me, the things you couldn’t see had always been much scarier than the things that hid in the shadows. Even though the past hours or days—however long it had been—had changed me for the rest of my life because of what I’d seen, the thought that he could be anywhere around me, wielding a blood-soaked sledgehammer and ready to strike at any time, struck a deep nerve and haunted me.
Turning back around, I saw the outline of something else in the distance.
It appeared to be a large structure. If I had to guess, I thought it was probably a few hundred yards away from where I’d stopped to scan the field for the Huntcher.
The silence around me was deafening. I knew he was around, and that he could appear at any moment. Keeping my ears tuned to my surroundings, I continued toward the large structure on the horizon.
As I came within a hundred yards or so, the silhouette revealed itself as a large barn. It stood by itself in the middle of the field, ominously surrounded by two or three fading trees. There was no house around it; just the barn itself stood there. It was old and broken down, some of the wooden slats that held it together were broken, and holes were scattered all over the outside.
Sucking in the wet air, I reached the large double doors of the barn.
I worked to catch my breath, checking behind me to see if the Huntcher was anywhere to be seen. Still, he wasn’t, and it shattered my nerves to know he was stalking me.
My hand grasped the large handle of the right barn door, and the creak echoed through the hollow air around me. I’d tried to open it slowly so as not to make any noise, but the door was just too damn old. But I knew that I couldn’t run forever. I had no clue where I was, and had the feeling that my stalker knew exactly where I was.
The door swung all the way open and, once inside, I found myself covered in darkness once more.
***
After I’d moved inside the old barn, I turned around and pulled the old door shut behind me. I didn’t worry as much about the noise this time, pulling it closed a little more quickly.
Thirty feet above my head, there was a hole in the roof that brought in at least some light from the moon.
I took a couple of steps into the barn and began to look around. In the center of the floor were a few bails of hay. Beyond that, there were a couple of old barrels. And to my left, a tall wooden ladder led to a second level of the barn. I ran past the hay, looking to see if there was anything on the other side of it that I could use to protect myself with. The barn appeared to have been gutted of anything useful.
Looking up, I decided that my best bet might be to find a place to hide on the second level. At least if the Huntcher, or anyone else in the town, came looking for me, I’d have the higher ground and a few extra moments to figure out what I’d do.
My foot clutched the second rung of the ladder, and I found myself already concerned about the strength left in the old pieces of wood. It felt as if my bare sole had sunken into the small slat of wood, and I worried about putting my other foot on the next rung, which would shift my entire body weight onto the old ladder.
I turned as I thought I heard footsteps outside.
My eyes widened and I turned back to the ladder, and, taking a deep breath, I began to climb up as fast as I could.
***
Relieved, I made it to the top of the ladder and curled up in a corner, away from the moon’s shine. I’d tried to pull the ladder up to the top level of the barn, but it was far too heavy for me to lift on my own, and I was pretty sure that someone was coming. With my arms resting on my knees, I closed my eyes and sat completely still, listening for more audible signs of life outside. So far, there hadn’t been any more sounds, not since the footsteps I’d thought I heard before climbing up here.
I started to wonder if I’d imagined hearing the noise from outside. Squinting, I looked to the other side of the platform I was on and thought that I saw something. Slowly, I rose to my feet and began to move to the object. The old slats howled beneath me, feeling as if they could give way at any
moment. Still, I felt forced to trust the blue-collar American craftsmanship that had presumably built this barn years ago.
As I approached the shadow on the ground, I kneeled over to grab it. And for the first time in days, I felt as if there was hope.
24
My hands felt natural holding the wooden shaft. The steel edges gleamed in the fading light of the moon, and I allowed my right hand to stroke the length of it gently.
Don and his gang of misfits had to know this barn was here, and how they’d slipped up and left a pitchfork sitting on the ground up here was beyond me. But I didn’t care. It was in my hands now, and I finally had a tangible weapon.
As I stood quietly, a noise hit my ear again. I wiped the grin off my face and shuffled back over to the dark corner where I’d sat before. Below, the door creaked open slowly, forcing me to freeze. I covered my mouth, working to even mute the sound of my heavy breathing.
I heard the door swing the rest of the way open, a person’s heavy footsteps, and then I watched the glare of light from outside the door leave as the door squeaked shut once again.
If I’d wanted to, I could have peaked over the edge of the platform and looked down to the first level of the barn, but I was far too scared to try. The dark corner offered as much comfort as I could hope for, given the situation I was in. I was hesitant to risk my position by looking over the edge. So I sat still and waited to see if whoever had entered the barn would speak.
But a voice never came. All I heard were footsteps, which would occasionally cease. I could almost feel my stalker’s head turn when I heard the creeping stop, as if he was trying to sniff me out. My body had begun to wince, and I shuddered with each pacing breath.
He’s going to come up here. He’s going to find me. Then what?
My sweating palms began to moisten the pitchfork, hindering my grip on its wooden shaft.
He’ll kill me.
A crash echoed through the barn, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
Then it happened again.
He’s throwing the barrels, trying to lure me out.
Then I heard the shuffling of the hay as he threw it, as well.
It was only a matter of time before he found me.
The footsteps moved closer to the ladder, and I heard him stop once again.
I put my head back against the wall behind me and I closed my eyes. Tears had begun to well from them, and I couldn’t keep my body from trembling. Though I couldn’t see him, I knew that the Huntcher’s eyes were looking up toward me. I could feel them, and it was different this time. He’d stayed still much longer than he had before.
I couldn’t keep my body still. My arms shook from my shoulders down to my fingertips. My palms had become so drenched in perspiration that the pitchfork had almost slipped out of my hands. He sensed me, and he was going to climb up to the top of this barn and kill me.
Then I heard his first foot land onto the old, splintered ladder.
He took his time. One step followed slowly by another, Hank began his ascent toward me. The only thing that could save me was the pitchfork I held in my hand. If I missed my opportunity, he would either kill me right here, or take me to the town so that I could be put to death in front of everyone. If that happened, I’d then likely be cut up into pieces, cooked, and the meat torn from my bones and spread around the town in a celebratory feast.
And that was the thought that almost gave away my position. I pressed my palm against my mouth as hard as I could to keep from crying out. If I was going to die, I at least wanted my family to have something to bury. The thought of being butchered and eaten nearly sent my nerves over the edge.
Closer to the top now, he stopped. I poked my head around the bail of hay and saw the hood covering the top of his head, basically confirming that it was the Huntcher. As he began to climb again, I hid back behind the hay.
I’d propped the pitchfork in the corner behind me, so it would look like it had been left there. But I kept my hands gripping it, ready to strike if he came toward me. And though I couldn’t see him, I could hear him reach the top step, and I could smell the rotten stench of a man who’d likely not bathed in days, maybe weeks.
Once his feet hit the platform at the top of the ladder, he stopped. Like when he had been down below, I could almost feel him scanning back and forth. He was thinking about which way he’d go. Would he check to his right first, away from me? Or would he look down, wonder about the bail of hay that I was hiding behind, and throw it aside, revealing me sitting here in the dark corner?
We were both still. I could hear him draw oxygen into his lungs over and over, while I fought to keep my own breathing muted, so as to not tip him off to where I was.
And then I heard his boots press against the old wood slats with a click.
I shivered, keeping one hand over my mouth and the other with a solemn grip on the pitchfork.
The volume of his footsteps decreased.
He’s moving away from me.
The Huntcher’s decision had bought me a little additional time. Now I’d know for sure when he was coming toward me, as I’d hear his boots move across the ground from the other side of the platform.
After a few paces, he again stopped. His breathing intensified.
And I heard the first slam.
I gasped, fighting back a scream; he’d thrown a wooden barrel off the top level of the barn and down onto the ground, fifteen feet below.
The same sound repeated, and I was breathing so heavily now that my stomach rolled, taking in air as fast as it could.
He began to move again.
The footsteps came closer. I gripped the wooden shaft of the pitchfork so hard that I’m surprised I didn’t dig a splinter into my hand.
Closer.
The click of his boots went through my ears like a drill bit was driving into my brain.
Just in front of me, the footsteps stopped.
I looked up and, just over the bail of hay, I could see the top of his head under the hood. The little bit of light that seeped into the barn from the moon was at an angle where I was able to see him, but he couldn’t see me.
I bit my bottom lip, and slowly began to work my other hand over to the pitchfork. His breathing was so intense that I could nearly feel the hot air creep over the bail of hay and into my face.
My heartbeat thudded in my chest like the bass drum on the intro of Iron Man.
Then, I paused as I heard a squeal.
I looked up and saw him looking down to his left. When I followed the path of his eyes, I saw a mouse running across the floor next to me.
Now. Now is my chance.
I gripped the pitchfork with my other hand, and had only then made enough noise to bring his eyes back to me. The bail of hay disappeared with a loud grunt, and right as he looked back down at me, I thrust the pitchfork toward his gut with a howl.
I’d mis-judged the height in the darkness, but still caught him in the top of his right thigh.
The Huntcher let out a scream that echoed through the entire barn. He fell to the ground, clutching his leg around the wound. His hands wrapped around the shaft of the pitchfork, and he began to try and pull it out. But I’d forced it deep into his leg, and he couldn’t get it unwedged.
For a moment, I couldn’t move. My body had frozen, and my mind raced, trying to figure out what I should do. Heaving, I looked over to the ladder. Going to my hands and knees, I started to crawl away from the Huntcher and head for the ladder
When I was almost there, I felt his fingertips brush my ankle and I let out a scream, but I didn’t turn back.
I reached the ladder just as the Huntcher let out another horrible scream. This one had more of a grunt to it, and I heard the slimy sound of tissue and blood as he began to slide the rusted blades of the fork out of his leg.
Swinging my legs over, my feet touched one of the ladder rungs, and I began to step down.
Then, I felt a hand on my wrist and I screamed. When I looked up, he wa
s there. He’d pulled the pitchfork out of his leg and managed to get over to the ladder before I’d even gotten down one rung, knocking the pitchfork down to the ground below in the process. How he had the strength, I have no idea. It was uncanny.
His grip kept me from jumping down, which would have been a risk anyway as high as I was, especially with my feet being bare.
When I looked up, I saw for the first time the features in his face. As I’d guessed, he was young; possibly just under thirty. His face was slightly chiseled under a thin beard, and his cheeks were covered with scars that signaled abuse.
And he was smiling.
“Please,” I said.
The Huntcher cocked his head.
“Please, let me go.”
And with one swift push of the old wooden ladder, that’s exactly what he did.
25
I lay on the ground, squirming in excruciating pain. While I’d been able to somewhat prepare for the fall and brace myself, slowly falling through the air while clutching onto the ladder, I had still hit the ground very hard. My back had made a funny pop as I’d landed and, for a moment, I thought it had broken. But it hadn’t, which I only knew from the fact that I was rolling on the ground, the nerves in my spine still sending signals out to the rest of my body.
The moon shined right down onto me through the hole in the roof, and I saw the Huntcher move to the edge of the above platform and stare down at me from where the top of the ladder had once leaned against the edge of the deck above. I tried scrambling to my feet, but my body wouldn’t let me. I was in far too much pain.
The Huntcher went down to his hands and knees and, holding onto the edge of the wooden platform, swung his legs down to where he hung from the edge, before he let go and landed on the floor mere feet from where I was. He let out a small grunt as his injured leg hit the ground, but somehow he managed to land on his feet.
Sliding backward on the floor, my hands passed over loose straws of hay. He took his time walking over to me. Each time he’d take a step, he’d let his heel hit first and then rock his foot to the front, causing the floor below him to bellow an ominous sound.
The Witness: A Slasher Horror Novel Page 10