Slaughter Series

by A. I. Nasser

  His heart pounded like a jackhammer. Alan could feel it trying to break free of his chest, as if to run on its own and leave him behind. His breaths came in gasps, the cold air entering his lungs stinging, rancid and poisonous, forcing him to cough uncontrollably. He fell to his knees, clawing at the earth as the stones cut through the skin on his hands, and he quickly jumped back up.

  Up ahead, the cabin only seemed to get further away.

  Alan ran, but it was useless.

  His feet seemed to be running in the same place, unable to comprehend that with every step he took, they should have been propelling him forward, away from what was behind him, away from the horrors around him. His brain worked, yet his muscles failed to respond.

  He could smell Copper right behind him. He could feel the monster’s breath on the back of his neck like a hot burst of air. His nose clogged up with the scent, and his heart stopped at the cruel sound of Copper’s frustrated snarls. He felt the monster latch onto him, bury its claws into him, and he pulled away again, warm blood racing down his arm.

  “You will not get away,” Copper hissed, the sound of him so close that it almost brought Alan to a frozen, fearful stop. “We will play here forever!”

  It began with a Carter, and it must end with a Carter.

  I think you know what you have to do.

  Daniel Cole’s words echoed in his mind, resonating loudly, and Alan latched onto them with every inch of his being. He accepted his fate, then and there, only inches from Copper’s grasp.

  It would end with him.

  Suddenly, Alan found himself slamming against the cabin door and falling into the room beyond. The door slammed shut behind him, locking out his pursuer, and Alan felt the sudden relief of escape wash over him. He lay on the warm wooden floor, his dimly lit surroundings a warm contrast to the previous setting.

  “Carter.”

  Alan rolled onto his knees, looking about the large empty space, searching for the owner of the voice. A fire burned in a large hearth to one side, the flames licking at the logs within, filling the room with warmth and light. In front of it, sat a man, legs crossed beneath him, his back to Alan as he stared into the flames.

  “It began with a Carter,” the man said, his voice hoarse from disuse.

  Alan licked his lips. “And it must end with a Carter.”

  The man’s shoulders bobbed as he chuckled, a familiar gesture that had sounded more frightening just moments before. The figure shifted, finding a more comfortable sitting position, and only then, did Alan see the rope tied around his neck.

  “Your family did me wrong,” the man said. “Melington did me wrong. I swore vengeance.”

  Alan could feel the man’s pain as if it were his own, a soft heat at first, quickly intensifying to a raging burn. Alan fought through the pain, not giving in, adamant to stay strong. To one side, he noticed a second rope attached to a wall, a noose wrapped tightly around the neck of a skeleton, red rags attached to the bones.

  “The children of Melington will never be safe.”

  Copper Tibet turned around, and Alan stared into the sunken eyes of a man, long dead. The scars on his face told stories of times less peaceful, of pain endured until the fires licked at his feet and burned him alive.

  “I will keep coming for them,” Copper said with a smile, pushing himself to his feet and turning to face Alan.

  Alan walked to the skeleton on the floor, loosening the noose from around its neck and slipping it around his own. He tightened it, feeling the rough texture against his skin, and looked at Copper.

  “And I’ll be here to stop you,” Alan said. “I will be here, forever.”

  Copper gazed at Alan, his smile widening. He nodded slowly, then turned and sat back down, staring into the fire. “This will be fun, Carter,” he whispered. “This will be so much fun.”

  ***

  Sally Brians opened her eyes with a start, gasping as she sat up and raised her gun to shoot.

  She was alone. The field around her was empty, the soft breeze against her skin, light and scented, the stars shining down in all their glory. She could hear the sounds of the woods around her, quiet yet alive, brief flickers of life resounding through the night.

  Sally pushed herself to her feet, her gun aimed to the ground as her eyes took in her surroundings in search for Alan Carter. The field was empty, though, and there were no signs that anyone had ever been here besides her. Sally’s eyes fell on the maple a few yards away, bent out of shape as if smiling at her, hiding a secret it would not share.

  Sally felt a slight panic rise in her chest, and as she fell back to her knees, dropping the gun in her hands, she let her emotions loose and cried freely into the night sky.

  ***

  Alan Carter stood firmly in front of the large door at the end of the corridor.

  It had returned to its former shape, its cracks healed and its bolts strong, a firm barrier against the horrors within. Alan stared at it, feeling the part of him inside that would always remain tied to the monster imprisoned within.

  “Red suits you.”

  Alan smiled as Daniel Cole walked up behind him.

  “Although I must be honest, the woman was a lot easier on the eye.”

  Alan turned to face the old man and placed a tired hand on his shoulder. “The doors are open,” he said, his voice still hoarse, the pain in his shoulder pulsating.

  Daniel nodded. “And now?”

  “Now, they go home.”

  Alan Carter smiled at the old man and moved past him, his feet barely touching the floor as he glided down the corridor.

  Epilogue

  Kathrine Carter slept alone.

  For the past two weeks, she had shared the same bed as Deborah. The mere presence of the woman by her side was enough for her to sleep peacefully without worry of the nightmares. Deborah had been patient, allowing her the time she needed to heal and never pushing, always there when Kathrine needed her.

  Kathrine loved her for it.

  Still, she worried about Deborah. Ever since Alan had left them, she had been quiet and distant. Not towards Kathrine, but everyone else. They had arrived at the house as planned, and despite being in a new town that offered much room for exploration, Deborah had chosen to lock herself in. Kathrine guessed she was waiting for Alan to return, but neither of them knew when or if that would happen.

  Sometimes, Kathrine would catch her crying alone in her bedroom, always quick with a smile when she would catch her. Other times, she would hear Deborah throwing up in the bathroom, mostly in the morning. It was worrying.

  So Kathrine had decided to give Deborah her space. Besides, it had been two weeks, and it was a long time before she finally faced her fears and slept alone. Tonight, would be the night she embraced the darkness and everything within. If not for her, then for Alan.

  A soft scraping against the hardwood floor woke her up instantly, and for a few seconds, she felt her entire body go numb. She waited for the stench of rot, the raspy chuckle, the skinless hand that would smother her and take her away. But none of that happened, and slowly, she began to relax.

  When the scraping sound came again, Kathrine did not open her eyes.

  “Good night, Alan,” she whispered.

  A short silence followed. “Good night, sweetie,” came the reply from the darkness.

  Kathrine smiled and fell asleep.

  * * *

  Bonus Scene Chapter 1: Stella

  “And how are your dreams now?”

  Doctor Stella Vayne crossed her legs and cocked her head as she looked at her client. The man was sitting solemnly on the couch in front of her, hair disheveled, cheap suit wrinkled. He was wearing a strange brand of cologne today, something that was supposed to smell flowery, but gave off a bitter smell of alcohol instead. Her nostrils flailed with the strong smell.

  “No dreams,” the man said, his voice hoarse.

  Stella counted the number of stubs in the small ashtray by her client’s side. He’d been
in her office for less than half an hour, and already he had chain-smoked ten Lucky’s. She watched him as he lit another and took a deep drag.

  “They’ve stopped?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow and giving him a half-smile of approval, a motivation that they were finally seeing some progress.

  The man shook his head, his eyes darting back and forth across the room. “I stopped sleeping,” he said, cigarette hanging limply from his lips as he rubbed his arms to warm himself.

  Stella had turned off the air conditioner at his request, willing to cope with the unbearable heat, yet unsure how he could still feel cold. Then again, she couldn’t remember when she had stopped counting the number of things that alarmed her about the man.

  He had come to her almost four months ago, paying for his sessions in advance, complaining of recurring nightmares and lack of sleep. She had willingly taken him on, despite her full schedule, especially since the man was a celebrity, even if only a minor one.

  Stella looked down and gazed at her notepad. There were scribbles all over, arrows linking one haphazard thought to another as she pieced together the man’s troubled mind. He talked which she was thankful for, but most of what he said made little sense and was often incredibly random. He would start at one point, then immediately shift to another, only to circle back to what he was saying in the beginning. It was marginally gibberish.

  “I don’t think that’s a very good idea, David,” Stella said, keeping her voice level. She had learned that sudden changes in tone sent him into a shaking frenzy. “We’re here to face your demons, not let them take over your life.”

  The man shook his head, his cigarette, now, between two fingers as his body faintly rocked from side to side. It was as if he were in a trance, barely listening to her, his eyes focused on anything other than Stella. He looked like he was looking for something.

  “Why is it always so dark in here?” David Whelm asked.

  Stella sighed. “David, have you tried the meditation I recommended?”

  David chuckled. “Are you suggesting that I close my eyes when I don’t have to?” he said. “I can barely cope with the dark when I have to sleep. Meditate? Are you kidding?”

  Stella laid her pad and pen down on her lap and folded her hands over them. She knew she shouldn’t, but she was slowly getting tired of the lack of progress they were making. David Whelm had come to her looking for a quick fix, and despite her consistent assurance that she would not just write out a prescription for him to drug himself to sleep, he never failed to ask. She waited now, knowing what was coming.

  “Doc, just give me the pills, and we can call it a day.”

  Like clockwork, she thought.

  Stella knew the man’s history well. She had seen him on multiple talk shows back when he was ranting on and on about a conspiracy in some little town, out in Connecticut. He had been quite a different man then, zealous, aggressive, giving off the vibe that he would beat you to death if you didn’t see things his way.

  She remembered a lunch with one of her colleagues who had told her all about the story behind David Whelm’s rise to fame. It was quite the Cinderella story, the unknown reporter who had just happened to be in the right place at the right time. It was obvious that rumors would follow, how he had started the whole riot which was his ticket to the top, how he had orchestrated one of the worst tragedies to hit the small New England town that no one had heard of before.

  Rumors. That’s all they were, but they had created the enigma behind the man. David Whelm might not have wanted it, but there was a certain mystery to him that many found appealing. He had always denied his involvement, but there was always a twitch in his eyes; a twinkle that suggested there was more to the story than he let on.

  Stella had realized early on it was the mystery itself that had drawn her to him in the first place.

  However, looking at him now, shivering on her couch and reeking of the God awful cologne, she was slowly losing the infatuation. He was a broken man, and it was no surprise that he was keeping clear of the limelight.

  So much for the fifteen minutes of fame, Stella thought. Whatever had made David Whelm a national sensation, a hero of the masses against corrupt government, it was all gone.

  “Let’s retrace a bit,” Stella offered. “What happened after the shooting in Darville?”

  David Whelm looked up at Stella, his eyes finally resting on hers. “The woman in red,” he said.

  Bonus Scene Chapter 2: Four Months Ago

  David raced through the dense foliage, the sound of gunfire echoing in the darkness behind him. He did not stop, forced himself not to look back, and gasped cold breaths of air as he stumbled along. He had to get away, as far as possible from the shooting, maybe find a road on the other side of the woods and hitch-hike a ride back to New York.

  His legs cried out in agony, pain shooting through them, unaccustomed to the stress he was putting on his body. Still, the adrenaline kept him going, and he pushed forward, pleading with his muscles not to give out, to keep going just a little bit more.

  Only, he knew he was going in the wrong direction, a small voice in the back of his head laughing at how his mental compass was off, and instead of running into town, he was running out. He ignored the voice, his pace slowing as his heart pounded in his chest. He didn’t care which way he was headed. All that mattered was getting away.

  The darkness was heavy around him, and as David slowed to a complete stop, it felt like he was being enveloped completely by it, the night wrapping itself around him and hiding him from the outside world. He buckled over, one hand resting on a tree to his left as he desperately tried to catch his breath. The pain in his muscles finally overcame the adrenaline, and he felt shots of electricity burst through his legs and up his spine, forcing him to his knees.

  David adjusted his seating position, his back against a tree, his eyes closed as cold air rushed through his open mouth and burned his lungs. His mind began to clear, no longer clouded by the urgency to flee, his survival instinct slowly dissipating and making way for logical thinking.

  He would have to go back.

  The thought troubled him, and he gritted his teeth against the notion of returning to flying bullets and an insane sheriff trying to get him killed. He contemplated how long he could wait until the proper authorities would be at the scene, men in uniform who weren’t trigger happy and would help get him home.

  Maybe a little longer, he thought. He would give himself a bit more time and wait it out. He was in no hurry, and he knew he was not too far away to warrant a hasty return. It felt like he had been running forever, yet he was probably closer to the shooting than he thought he was.

  Something ruffled in the darkness, and David quickly opened his eyes, head snapping to where the sound had come from. The moon barely shone through the canopy above, and shadows lay long between the massive trunks around him. He squinted his eyes, desperately looking for the source of the sound, yet saw nothing.

  The ruffling came again, and David quickly pushed himself to his feet, his heartbeat suddenly quickening as his legs screamed go. He turned to run, his eyes scanning the foliage around him, and came face to face with the woman.

  She was beautiful, striking even, but because of the darkness and the shadows, her form seemed to tower over him. David let out a scream, jumping away and tripping over his own feet, falling hard onto the ground. He gazed at the stranger, and felt a chill race down his spine when she smiled at him.

  “I’m so sorry,” the woman cooed, her voice fluttering towards him and drawing him in. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  David quickly began to calm down, his body relaxing as his eyes locked onto hers. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt drawn to her, as if she were pulling him in by some invisible rope. He couldn’t deny her, and he slowly stood up, motioning to her without a sound that everything was okay and she needn’t worry about him.

  The woman giggled and stepped into the light, her dress looked crimson in the h
alf shadows that fell over her. Her hair flowed in raven strands over her shoulders, and the leaves crunched loudly under her bare feet. Her smile was captivating, and despite the strange situation they were in, David felt himself smile back. He suddenly forgot everything that had happened until this moment. The world only revolved around the woman in red.

  “Were you running from the gunfire, too?” she asked, moving in closer, her breath soft against his face as she stood only inches away. “I was so scared, I ran out of my own shoes.”

  The woman giggled, and all David wanted to do was fall to his knees before her and give her the world.

  “We could run together,” she whispered, her mouth closer, her hand on his cheek as her eyes bore into his. “Would you like that?”

  David nodded, dumbfounded by how incredibly lucky he was.

  Suddenly, the world darkened even more, and a foul stench rose that filled his nostrils and threatened to suffocate him. It was as if someone had suddenly thrown him into a pile of dead corpses, the decay strong and rancid. He could feel the stench on his skin, like acid, burning and peeling away at him.

  The woman smiled again, and suddenly her entire face began to shift and break, the beauty that had been so captivating just seconds ago, replaced by molding flesh and rotten skin. Her mouth opened, and the mesmerizing smile that was once there turned into a wicked snarl, the stench escaping between cracked lips and blinding him.

  David screamed and staggered back, but the woman’s hand only clenched tighter against his neck, her nails burying deep into his flesh. She gripped tighter, prevented him from pulling away, and with a quick gesture, brought his head closer to hers and kissed him.

  David felt the world around him explode into a fury of pain and suffering. All of a sudden, his mind was racing with thoughts of death and destruction, of torture and pain, of children screaming and realities shattering.