by Alan Spencer
The mention of Sheckler caused their faces to grimace.
That's when the attackers surrounding them chose to pounce.
Dominic lost his sense of direction.
Were they sprinting towards the mansion or away from it?
Trudy remained right beside him, gasping for breath.
The creep in the lab coat with clipboard in hand jumped out at them from behind a tree. "How about being pulverized by a speeding Mac truck? That's a good messy death. Fast, though, but brutally effective. You guys up for it? I'll sign you up for the Smash Package. How about it?"
Skip Whitley charged the lab coat with tree limb swinging. "Take this, you bastard!"
They scuffled together, falling into the darkness. Before Dominic could help Skip, he dodged the swipe of a scythe. He ducked and fell onto his hands and knees.
He couldn't believe it. Rip-o-Lantern, from the movie Rip-O-Lantern, stood before him ready to cut his head off. Trudy jammed the butterfly knife into the attacker's ribs. The killer gave a sharp female yip of pain and retreated, almost losing her pumpkin head in the process.
"Get up! Come on, Dominic. I have to get a signal. It's the only way."
Trudy handed off the knife to him. She kept trying her cell phone for a signal.
Stan fired three shots in succession. The light from the gun's flash showed him surrounded by a band of zombie figures colored with green stage make-up.
Dominic couldn't bring himself to speak. He was too out of breath. Every bit of energy was used to make sure nobody was coming at them, and that Trudy could keep trying for a signal.
"I'll cut off your dick and balls for God! I can put them in tithing basket for you. It's the fastest way to forgiveness. Repent. Let me cut it off!"
Putrid Peter had come out of his fearful trance and slugged the woman in a dress with two sewing scissors right in the face. Her holier-than-though spiel abruptly stopped so she could spit up blood.
"This way, guys!" Dominic waved them on. Minx and Putrid were about to meet up with them when a man standing on a fast moving riding lawnmower split them up. The killer from Grounds Reaper was laughing hysterically while chasing down the couple in his specially rigged machine. The two fled into the shadows and vanished.
Dominic tried to stay determined. "Follow me. Keep checking for the signal. Watch your ass, Trudy. They're everywhere."
Shrieks of pain sounded out loud. John Gerkins had tripped, and Grounds Reaper ran over him with three giant spinning lawnmower blades. John was turned to pureed pink mess in seconds.
"You're next!" Grounds Reaper shouted at everyone. "I'm going to chop you up. I'm going to cut your ass down. You'll be fertilizer!"
"Not if I get them first!"
An old farmer came forth to the left of Putrid and Minx. He was shoving forward a wheel barrow full of buckets. "My crops don't need water. They need blood. I always reap the best harvest with human blood. The catch, it has to be fresh. Who is going to let me slit their bodies from anus to gullet first? Step right up. I won't miss. That's a promise. Hah-hah-hah-hah!"
Dominic launched a sizeable rock at the farmer. It missed by a half inch. The old farmer gawked in surprise, then he narrowed his eyes and had an ah-hah moment. "You, funny dressed kid. Stick out your throat so I can cut it! I want every precious drop landing in my bucket!"
"You can have him," Jack the Ripper Has Breasts said from another corner of the woods. "I want that bitch's tits. Mine are starting to turn. They sure don't last in this summer heat. Too bad it's not winter. But then they freeze. Nobody wants to cop a feel when they're ice cubes."
Bart Brown tackled Jack the Ripper Has Breasts. "Run! Get help!"
Jack, from the ground, seized hold of Bart's neck and snapped it effortlessly. Bart, now dead weight, was thrown aside. Jack was already upon them, moving so fast. The riding mower revved up. Minx screamed. Putrid swore up a storm. Nurses shot out flames at the trees for the hell of it. The cop from earlier was bent over and poking his night stick at the little girl's brains that Stan shot down earlier. The attacker in the snorkel outfit had made his way out of the water and was aiming a harpoon gun at Dominic. The old farmer had a long knife in one hand and a bucket in the other. From everywhere, death was incoming.
"Forget the signal, Trudy! " Dominic shouted. "LET'S GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE NOW!"
Two axes struck the tree right beside Dominic's head. No time to stop, they kept retreating. Trudy followed him, her head scanning every pocket of darkness and gathering of trees for the next murderer character. The sounds of rage from the riding lawnmower's engine suddenly died down. The woods fell into an odd silence. The sounds of pursuit stopped. Dominic's eyes had adjusted to the night. He couldn't see anybody around them.
"Why did they stop coming after us?" Trudy whispered. "I think they're gone."
"Maybe we're the last ones alive," Dominic said it and immediately regretted it. Trudy went stiff realizing the grim prospect. "Or, or they're regrouping. Who knows? Try your phone again."
Trudy's voice was softer. "I lost it when we were running away."
He hugged her. "You couldn't help it. I'd rather you be alive and in one piece than have that phone. Okay. Forget it. Where do we go from here? They're still out there. They know where we are. They've backed off, for now. Maybe they're...taking a break."
"Do you think those people know who we are? I mean, suppose they're saving us for last. Does anyone have a reason to hurt us more than the rest?"
"I can't say."
"Are you sure?"
"Stan might be one they'd want to hurt more. He killed a handful of them earlier. It's only a guess. For all we know, Stan's dead too."
Trudy was searching for any reasoning. A foothold not to lose her mind. He didn't blame her. With every passing minute, every turn of events grew harder and harder to accept. "Then it's Sheckler," Trudy supposed. "The man vanished before this happened. He's recording this. This party was arranged by him. Maybe these people were hired by Sheckler to kill everybody."
"It can't be. Who can you hire to slaughter people in such a fashion? I could see blowing up the house, or having someone sniper us, or whatever the fuck people do when they hire a hit on people, but not this massacre. Besides, there's no way Sheckler could dodge suspicion. It'd be too obvious. Even Slab and the rest of the limo drivers were murdered. Sheckler doing this makes no sense."
"Then why can't we find him?"
Dominic clutched his knife tighter. "Probably because the poor old man is dead too."
"Who's responsible then?"
"I don't know. I just don't."
They were moving about the woods at a steady pace. Their conversation distracted them from the fact they had returned to the mansion. The pyres of burning limos from earlier were slowly putting themselves out.
"Over here, you two."
That was Putrid.
He was bent over catching his breath. Minx was wrapping a torn cloth around her left calf where she'd been slashed deeply. She was sitting on the front steps trying to collect herself after wrapping the wound. Dominic and Trudy met up with them on what was once the welcoming red carpet. The coffins on the outskirts of the carpet had been knocked over.
The party was over.
"You guys make it okay?" Dominic asked them.
Putrid nodded. "Yeah. We're alive. That's about it. No closer to getting the hell out of here. Madman was chasing me with a goddamn riding lawnmower. We were lucky the psychotic driving it turned it over on himself. Dumb fuck. Who are these people?"
"Morbid fans," Minx guessed. "Think about it. This party was private. Somebody leaked the information online. It'd be too easy. A group of fanatics show up and here we are."
Dominic sighed. "Something's missing."
"Something's missing alright," Trudy said. "Sanity."
Out from the dark, two figures were racing towards the mansion. One was Stan. He struggled to warn them being so out of breath. "They're coming!"
Behind Stan
was Skip Whitley. His parrot covered shirt was scorched black on the left side. He limped slightly on his right leg. He too had been slashed by something.
Skip's normal 24/7 jokey personality had dissolved into panic. "Man, I can't take anymore of this shit. I'm too old, and I've bled too much. Tell me somebody was able to call the police."
Trudy shook her head. "I'm sorry. I couldn't find a signal. And I lost my phone."
"Damn it, why did you do that for?" Minx was near tears. "That was our only lifeline."
"Surely I wasn't the only one who brought a cell phone with me to the party? Yeah, you probably left it in your purse, Minx. It's all my fault these people died because I lost my phone when a hundred maniacs were closing in. I'm so unreasonable."
Minx realized something. "Yeah. My purse. It's inside somewhere. I put it down when Putrid cleaned the blood off of me earlier."
Everybody went silent.
Dominic could see the figures slowly reveal themselves. From all angles, they were coming. Stan wanted to run to the limo and try his chances to get his phone. He had no bullets left in his gun. All of them were too beat up and scared to go for a run. Putrid suggested they lock themselves in a room and wait until daybreak to make a run for it. Suggestions were made and shot down repeatedly. At this point, they were talking just to talk.
"They want us in the mansion," Dominic said. "They led us right back here."
"Like I want to go back into that massacre pad," Stan growled. "Then we'd really be in trouble. We would have nowhere to go."
"This is a game to them," Trudy said. "No, a movie. It's like a movie. They want us to play along. They could've killed us easy, earlier. They didn't. They're building suspense."
"Did you get hit over the head?" Minx challenged the theory. "How do we know what they're thinking?"
"No, she's right," Dominic said. "The way they keep popping out at us. This was staged. Like a movie."
"Sheckler," Minx hissed. "This is him. His characters. His movies. His plan."
Dominic wanted to defend Sheckler. There were so many variables left untested to come to any sound conclusion.
Their time to discuss the ins and outs of this evening's slaughter fest had concluded.
The killer characters were drawing closer and closer.
The group retreated into the mansion and confirmed the fact this evening was one big orchestrated horror show.
The front mansion doors abruptly slammed closed. The sound of hammer and nails quickly followed. The windows were being covered by thick blankets. The light fixtures inside had been smashed throughout the main room and lobby. The mansion grew darker and darker. They soon realized why they were doing this to them.
The darkness made the TV screens that much more imposing. Dominic couldn't draw his eyes away from them even if he tried. He counted ten, twenty, thirty television screens placed about the room. They were hooked up to various DVD and VHS players. TVs were turned up to near blaring levels. They were placed on tables, fixtures, couches, bar tops, stairways, and on the floor in the ballroom and lobby areas. The glow from the screens lit up the hacked up corpses spread throughout the rooms. The smell was starting to get thick. The group stood there taking it all in for several minutes. Dialogue from movies battled to be heard over the other.
"Why does that scarecrow have cleavage?"
"Who ordered a pizza? And who put this gross shit all over it?"
"The good lord couldn't see past his own dick when he created man. That's why he corrected his mistake by creating women too. And sharp, sharp scissors."
"Legend is old man Cutter's farm was in terrible shape. His crops weren't growing anymore. The soil was infertile. Then one year, he discovers he can grow crops by watering his acres with blood. It was the strangest accident how he made this discovery..."
"Annie's on the rag again. Looks like we better order some body bags."
"You're telling me this Frankenstein character not only brutalizes people, he also drinks their blood? This Fracula has to be stopped. He's already killed thirty-nine people, for heaven's sakes."
"She's the juiciest Lucy of them all, pal. You stick her head in her box, you'll lose your head! When you're dead, you'll still be getting off in hell."
"The nurses aren't just your normal garden variety nurses. They're sisters. Sisters whose father was cremated alive by accident. I had a hell of a time explaining my mistake to the girls. Now the sisters want to see the living be cremated alive. That's why your town is full of blow torch victims, Sheriff."
"You ever step on a freshly mopped floor and made it dirty? You cast your nose down at the person weed whacking big lots? You ever thank God you're not the guy toiling in the hot summer heat mowing lawns, cleaning gutters, picking up your trash, and choking on the exhaust fumes of your car as you're speeding by? You ever bust your ass and get paid nothing and have society say it's their own damn fault they can't improve their situation? The underclass hard laborers finally have a hero. They call him the Grounds Reaper. And he's coming for all of you. Look! He's right behind you!"
"So you're telling me our butcher not only eats the meat he prepares...he's also been having sex with it?"
"A lot of people never knew the real Jack the Ripper. New historical documents have been discovered recently. They not only identify the man who was Jack the Ripper. They also prove he had an obsession with wearing women's clothing...and wearing their severed breasts. Yes, Jack the Ripper indeed had breasts."
"I can't sell death fast enough. You got your highway street pizza piles. Nail gun to the brain accidents. Airplane crashes. Cannonball mishaps. Wood chipper trip and fall oopsies. Mr. Young, if you want an easy death, someone else will have to pay the price with a mega demise. It's common sense. So who do you elect to get super killed?"
"Mike Kidd liked to snorkel in Higgin's Lake a little too much. When he died in the water, Mike might've perished, but that day, The Snorkler was born. You've got a serial killer on your hands, and he's of the supernatural variety. I'm getting out of dodge. Good luck stopping him, Sheriff. I'm retired as of now. Try talking to Preacher Callahan down the block. He might have a few ideas about how you can fight this aquatic ghost maniac."
"I can't take it anymore!" Minx screamed. "Damn these movies. Why did they turn them up the televisions so loud?"
Everybody tried to calm her down.
She couldn't be consoled.
Minutes and minutes ticked by, and they couldn't do anything to change the situation. Putrid was about to pick up one of the television and throw it down when all of the televisions turned off by themselves.
The mansion was cast in pure darkness.
Words over a loudspeaker startled them all.
"Help me. Please. I'm down in the basement. They'll kill me if you don't come."
"That's Sheckler!" Skip said. "They got him."
"No way I'm going into that basement," Minx said. "Forget it. That's the worst place you could go."
"If it was you down there," Putrid argued, "I would be down there in a heartbeat."
A single light bulb came on beside the door that led into the basement. Everybody was quiet for a moment. Then Putrid and Stan were arguing about the next move. Skip was already walking to the door. Dominic hurried after him, and Trudy was quick to follow.
Skip stopped at the closed door. "Sheckler's in trouble. I'm saving him. Besides, he said he was going to pay me fifty grand. It's what he owed me, plus a generous heap of interest."
Dominic snarled. "How can you care about that right now?"
Skip turned the doorknob. "I'm going. With or without you assholes."
Dominic thought he was crazy until he noticed Skip had a small knife. He guessed it was something he swiped from the bar top used to cut limes.
"Hold on a second. Whatever we do, it has to be together. We split up, it'll be easier for them to get to us. Think about it."
"This is just like a horror movie," Trudy said. "Clichés and everything. Next we'll be
making bad decisions. One of us will go off and have sex. Another will dart off by themselves no matter what their friends tell them."
"Oh shut up," Minx said. "This isn't a horror movie."
"It sure as fuck feels like one," Putrid agreed with Trudy.
Stan was searching the room for weapons. "Hey, I found a baseball bat behind that bar counter. There's got to be more weapons. Maybe in the kitchen."
"It's a massacre in there," Minx warned. "I'm not touching anything covered in blood. I was already covered in someone else's blood. It made me sick."
"Just find things to fight with." Dominic wanted more than the butterfly knife. Something he could fend someone off at longer range. "I think we're onto something here. There are people dressing up like the actors from the film. This really is them playing out their own horror movie."
"My God, though, they've killed so many people," Skip added. "They couldn't have thrown this together overnight."
"Sheckler made it easy, decking out his mansion the way he did," Dominic said. "The setting is perfect. Figuring who and why is the harder part."
"Knowing their motivations won't get us out of this mansion alive," Stan said. "It's clear they die or we die."
"We make it through the night. Once it's daylight, we can sneak out somehow and run." Putrid commented, coming back from the kitchen with a handful of implements. A meat tenderizer he handed off to Minx. A bread roller to Trudy. Putrid kept the ice pick. "All the steak knives were gone. The drawers looked to have been emptied. I say we hole up, watch each other's back, and wait. Someone might've already called the police with all the noise we made."
Skip had already gone downstairs.
Dominic rounded everybody up. "We have to go after him. That crazy son of a bitch."
He was surprised when nobody argued with him.
The group descended the stairs to check the basement for Sheckler.
The door was thrown shut behind them and locked from the other side.