The Uninvited

by mike Evans

  Brandi was frozen in place, Traci said, “You better suck it up because he’s going to fucking kill you if you don’t.”

  Traci said, “Why, don’t you get out of here. We are going to call the cops, my fiancé is going to get here soon and he’s going to whoop your ass.”

  Katy jumped in saying, “Yeah, my husband Jack is going to come for you and then you better hope that they are merciful, you son of a bitch!”

  The stranger pulled Isaac’s hand out from his pocket waving it back and forth saying hello. He tossed it to the feet of Traci, letting her see the class ring that was blood soaked and at the same time undeniable that it was Isaac's. Tears started running and she said, “Oh my god…..I….I think I'm going to be sick. Yeah, I'm going to puke. Did you kill him? Did you?”

  The man held his fingers together an inch apart and she said, “What do you mean a little, you sadistic son of a bitch?”

  The man looked at his index and thumb, and slowly started to separate them apart until he held his hands a foot apart. Traci’s shoulders started to slump and Katy said, “What about the other man? Did you kill him?”

  The man slid a finger across his neck. The opposite effect than he figured would happen. Katy gripped her stick and sprinted towards him. Katy thought that she had it figured out, but the man brought his machete out, bringing the side of the blade to her head, knocking her off her feet and into the wall. Brandi stood there in shock and Traci sprinted for the man holding the stick like a spear. The stranger gripped it, bringing her in towards him. He clutched her shirt, spun her around, and sent her out of the second story window. Traci screamed as she went backwards headfirst and disappeared from view. Traci landed on the awning under the window, leaving a bloody stain. The momentum sent her across the awning where she landed on the ground, breaking open the cuts that had clotted.

  The stranger looked out the window and saw her on the ground still moving. Katy and Brandi ran at him trying to knock him out the window. The man brought back an elbow into Brandi’s abdomen and when she hunched over, grabbing her abs the stranger brought her head up and punched her in the face, sending her into the opposite wall. Katy tried to stab the giant in the chest with her stick, the stranger was to quick and gripped onto her wrist, dead lifting her and carrying her over to the window to throw her out of it. The stranger had made sure that this one had no awning and watched as she plummeted to the ground kicking and screaming. When she hit, it was hard and knocked her out. Her leg bent so far to the side that he was sure that it was broken.

  A whimpering sound came from Christy and Brandi. When he looked at Christy he tilted his head to the side, seeing the piece of yarn on the floor dried and bloody. He shook his head no pointing at it, and Christy tried to speak saying, “It wasn’t my fault, I didn’t ask them to cut it.”

  The man went to sit down on Christy’s lap when Brandi said, “Please, please just leave.”

  The man bent down putting a finger to her mouth to shush her. She looked up shaking her head uncontrollably. When she tried to move his hand from her mouth the man brought the machete down as hard as he could. Her pleading stopped and Christy shrunk in her seat. The only chance she could see to be saved was now gone. The woman before her had the machete buried in her skull and protruding out of the back of her spine. The man looked at Christy looking around the room. He put a hand on the woman’s shoulder, sliding the knife back out. Its crimson red color sparkled in the sunlight fighting to make its way past the curtains. She mumbled the best that she could, “Please, leave me alone. Please.”

  He rubbed her head as he walked past to her bench of crafting and embroidery items. The stranger picked more of the yarn and brought it back over. She was shaking and the tears would not stop falling. He rethreaded the needle, taking it in and out again. She tried to scream but he had such a grip on her chin that it made it almost impossible for her to do anything but push sounds which made no sense out. The stranger chose to make sure that each hole he used to close her mouth again was new. Blood trickled from the new wounds, running over the scabs and down the stranger’s fingertips.

  The killer held the blood in his hands looking at it letting it fall down their fingers and twisting them letting it make its way all around his hand until it dripped to the floor. The stranger came back to the living and knowing that had his machete sitting on his lap and she did her absolute best to lean in to try to stab herself with the machete. The stranger gripped her hair by the back of her neck, pulling her backwards and shaking his head no. He pulled her in giving her a hug and rubbing her back. The stranger checked that her hands were still secured to the nails as well as her feet, and took the blood from her lips to draw a smiley face up both cheeks. He walked out slowly, waving goodbye as they walked out closing and locking the door.

  *****

  Traci rolled to the side, doing what she could to not pass out including slapping herself across the cheek hard and fast. She had adrenaline in her body and was confident she wouldn’t live if she didn’t produce some soon into her bloodstream. She heard crying coming close and pushed up, crawling at first until she saw Katy on the ground not moving. She got to her feet and ran to her best friend's side. Shaking her gently, she said, “Katy…...Katy it’s me, are you okay? Do you think you can make it?”

  Katy said, “He’ll just catch up again. Every time he does he causes pain. I’m surprised that we are alive at this point. I think I hurt my leg when I hit the ground. It isn’t moving, I don't know if I can run on it.”

  Traci looked around and said, “There’s a truck over there. We can take the truck, you just need to get over there. You can do it. I can help you. Let’s go.”

  Traci took a grip on Katy's arm, lifting her up to her feet and wrapping an arm around her shoulder to make sure that she wouldn’t fall back down. Katy was right, Traci quickly realized, when she looked down and saw that the amount of weight she was able to put on her leg was a joke. They hurried the best they could to the old Ford pickup truck and Traci practically shoved her in on the bench seat. She yelled, "Katy, you need to start the truck. Let me get the hood down and we are out of here, okay!”

  “That sounds fucking great, Traci, best thing you’ve ever said.”

  Traci disappeared and Katy began turning the truck over. She tried to get it to start but was no good. Traci yelled, “Give it some gas. These are old and they aren’t going to start so easy.”

  She did so and the truck came to life, white smoke erupting out of the engine and from behind. The hood shut and when the smoke cleared the stranger was standing there holding Traci down with one arm, her head on the hood. Katy screamed, unsure what to do. She knew she could leave her friend and save herself, drive until she was somewhere safe. Traci was fighting, trying to push up from the hood and the man lifted her up, bringing her back down hard and slamming her into the hood until the fight had slipped from her.

  Traci looked to her right as she was slipping from consciousness and that was when she thought she saw a ghost running the best that it could across the driveway. Just before she blacked out she saw Isaac running with everything he had left and slamming into the man, knocking him off balance. Isaac collapsed on top of him. The man gripped his hands around Isaac’s throat, standing and reaching for Traci as she pushed up from the ground and ran from view around the barn.

  The stranger stood with Isaac in one hand and opened the hood with his free one. He lifted the hood, reached in, and ripped the spark plug cables free, killing the truck. Katy dropped her head on the wheel, not thinking that she could feel any worse. The man slammed the hood down once, twice, and then a third time. Isaac screamed, unsure what to do after the first, but by the third the sharp metal was cutting into his neck and by the final slam his neck had split open. The stranger opened it one last time, slamming the hood and ripping his hair and ripped it clean from his body, letting it fall to the ground. The man threw his head at the windshield, leaving a splatter.

  Katy pushed the door open
and tried to hobble away. The man threw Isaac’s limp body to the ground and ran after her, catching her as she entered the barn. He lifted her up and slammed her into a load-supporting pole; the bolt punctured her back and came out the other side. She looked down, woozy and tired, ready to die, watching the blood turn her already dirty shirt darker and darker red by the second. , “Would you just kill me? Please, just kill me. You have already taken everyone and thing from me that I care about."

  The man patted her head, shaking his head no. She screamed, “What do you mean no, you fucking idiot? Just do it, just do it!”

  He patted her face, turning around to check that they were still alone, then pulled a small knife. She shook her head from side to side, rethinking telling him that she didn’t care about dying. He gripped firm on her chin, sliding the knife up under her chin, and slid a piece of steel wire through her cheeks, tying it off to keep her mouth shut.

  Traci was hiding beneath a tractor that didn’t work but made a great hiding place. She was frozen in thought with the perfect view of Isaac and his dead eyes staring back at her. She looked at the ring on her hand, shaking her head and hitting her fists in the dirt. She knew that if they all died that this son of a bitch would get away with this. She tried to think of a reason to go on and to fight, the only thing left she could think of was hate and her parents. The long running idea in her head that a parent should never have to bury their children ran through her head.

  She looked around one last time before scooting out from under the heavy tractor. Traci got herself free of it and shot off to run away, but could hear the screaming taking place in the barn. She wasn’t stupid, Traci knew that it was Katy, unless…..and this second thought was a horrifying one. The question was, is this where he kept the rest of his victims that he wanted to play with and torture over time. She slowed to a walk, looking around, knowing the son of a bitch just seemed to materialize out of nowhere, and saw no one. She stuck her eye to a hollowed out knot in the wood barn, and saw her friend dangling a foot off the ground with a steady stream of blood running down her front and dripping off the back of her leg as well. Katy, even in her final moments, was clawing at the stranger with no power left in her weakened arms. The stranger did not seem to notice her at all as he worked methodically. She could see that he was shutting her mouth with wire.

  Traci took a step back, trying to tell herself that she did not have a chance to survive even if she could think of something. She knew that each plan they had used had gone to shit almost instantly. She looked at the front entrance, seeing a ladder that went into the rafters. Traci thought if she could hide there until he left to look for her that maybe by some slim chance she could sneak down and get Katy off of the beam.

  Traci climbed up slowly, her injuries from the day had left her a bloody wreck. She tried to climb without feeling the pain and had to stop twice on the ladder to make sure that the spins didn’t send her off of the side of the ladder. She did not want to make her final effort of trying to save her best friend useless by breaking her neck, falling off of the side of the ladder. When she had made it finally to the top, she rested for a moment before starting across the floor.

  When the killer had finished, he stood back to look at his handiwork. He tilted his head to the left and then to the right, nodding to himself in approval. He brushed Katy's cheek and pushed the hair away from her face. She shuddered as he did it, on the brink of passing out. He looked at what was once a white tank top now a ruined bright red painted with pain and memories that would never go away. He saw a black drum of old oil and dipped two fingers and painted a smiley face onto her shirt. She couldn’t help but be repulsed and shake when his fingers touched her skin. He stared at her intently, not breaking eye contact with her, holding her chin still so she was forced to stare at him. She tried to close her eyes, but he opened them himself. Their moment was ruined as dust began to fall from overhead, making her sneeze. The stranger looked above, watching as a new small bit of dust fell. He climbed onto one of the vehicles, which seemed to have been parked and forgotten long ago. He waited beneath the dust. Traci moved, then stopped, then moved again. When she thought that she was far enough in the barn a hand punched through the rotted wood gripping her. She clawed at it wildly, screaming, thinking that yes, these were the final minutes of her life.

  She tried to push away but the hand lifted her up and down, slamming her into the floor. He used his free hand to punch away at the rotted wood floor until he had a hole large enough to slide her through. Traci, just barely conscious, thought that the dark hole she was being pulled through would be her entrance into a hell that would never end. She screamed as she went through and the killer let her fall freely onto the rusty truck hood. He knelt down next to her, hushing her as she lay there crying. When she started to kick and punch wildly, he treated her like a whining baby, pulling her onto his lap and rocking her back and forth. Traci spit in his face and he shook his head. That was most definitely a no, no. He gripped her hair and slammed her head into the windshield, cracking it and splitting her forehead across her hairline, not stopping until she lay limp and bleeding on the hood.

  Chapter 24

  Hardin hit his throat radio whispering for no reason, “Hey, Chief, I want everyone here, and I want them here now! He’s going into the house. He is armed and dangerous. He looks like he has a machete, but from the size of the son of a bitch he looks like he has a damn butter knife in his hand. Tell you what, I'm heading in. You guys just head straight towards the noise of the gunfire and that’ll be me taking this waste of existence out!”

  Lambert started running with everything he could. He could remember seeing the slightest of smoke coming up in the distance and yelled, “Everyone, you follow me. You see some big son of a bitch and you fire damn it, there are no questions. We are three men down and have already found two victims. This guy has obviously lost his shit. I’m not taking any other chances. All of you men are going to see your wives tonight!”

  The men said nothing, they just followed Lambert as he led the way through the woods. He yelled, trying to keep control of his breath while not slowing down. “Hardin….Hardin damn it, you wait. You hear a door open or shut in the back and you let me know. You wait outside of that house. That place probably has a million places to hide. Give us five minutes and we can be there. Just wait Hardin, I don’t need to tell anyone else’s wife that they aren’t coming back home.”

  Hardin didn’t answer. He was quiet for five minutes, which seemed to be the longest five minutes of Lambert’s life. He kept trying to run through the decisions he’d made that day and asking himself what he could have done better to have not had any losses. Much like when he’d enlisted for Vietnam with Chuck, neither of them wanted to die, and both knew that there was a percentage that was far greater than they liked saying that they wouldn’t come back from war, but it didn’t make it any easier when they did lose someone.

  When Lambert had convinced himself that the reason he wasn’t reaching Hardin was because he’d been killed in the line of duty, he was already thinking of having to tell his young wife what had happened. Hardin crackled over the radio. He sounded like he was out of breath. “Chief, Chief, how close are you? He just took out a victim. This blood is still fresh I don’t know where the fuck he-”

  “Hardin, Hardin, what, what is it, do you have a visual on him?”

  “Affirmative. He’s downstairs. He just went out the back and he has a girl in tow with him. He’s going into the woods with her.”

  “You hold steady, son. We’ll be there any minute. We can get him and her together.”

  “Shit sir, he just started a dirt bike. Fuck me, he just rode off with the girl riding over the seat in front of him. She looked pretty fucking banged up. Goddamn it, this sick son of a bitch is always a step ahead of us. I don’t know what to do.”

  “You wait, and you don’t move, that is an official order and there are twenty men to say they heard me tell you. Don’t go anywhere, I me
an anywhere at all. You aren’t going to catch up to a damn motorcycle anyways. If this is his stomping ground he must have some sort of knowledge of the place. I can only imagine the booby traps that shit could have set up. I can see the house now, come on down if you are sure the victim is gone and we will finish this correctly.”

  “Sounds good, Chief. I’m sorry that this happened today, it wasn’t my intentions when I called for backup.”

  “Well, if you wouldn’t have called for help there is a good chance that you already would have been done. You stay put, I can see the house now.”

  Hardin met them at the front door. “They went out the back of the house. They are on some old dirt bike. I don’t know if this is his house, or the woman who was upstairs. It’s a pretty sick scene up there, sir. I think this might be his final breaking point. He’s never taken this many so quickly before. If we lose him today he might go full auto and not stop until he is caught and that could be a fucking blood bath. I can’t see him being worse, but I don’t want to present the opportunity for him to be able to.”

  Hardin opened the door to the house, slowly holstering his pistol and walking out with both hands first yelling, “Don’t shoot, don't shoot. It is Detective Matt Hardin. I repeat, do not shoot.”

  Lambert looked around, seeing rookies still with their pistols risen, and said, “If you don’t fucking drop that gun and let that man out I swear to god you’ll regret ever becoming a police officer.”

  “Sir, I'm sorry, I just…..”

  “You just what? You just don’t know how to follow orders. Are you a fucking moron, son?”

  “No sir, I--”

  “You can’t take orders or talk, good god we are fucked. You stay in front.”

  “Sir?”

  “If you are in front you can’t shoot anyone but the perp, damn it.”

  The rest of the men started to laugh at his comments. He snapped around. “I’m sorry gentlemen, what part of us wasting time or you guys hiring an absolute moron is remotely funny? Come to think of it, I'm starting to wonder about all of you men.”