Night of the Slasher

by Flint Maxwell

  “We gotta get him away from them,” I said.

  “Or, you know…we could just, you know, run,” Zack said.

  Maddie didn’t say anything; I took that as a bad sign. Usually, she was the levelheaded one of our trio. I guess in this instance that would probably mean running for our lives, but we’d been hired to protect Jason, and it was our job to fight monsters. What was Cageface, if not a monster? Just a messed up kid in a grown man’s zombie body? Maybe.

  “You can run,” I said. I cocked the shotgun, accentuating my point.

  Zack shook his head. “I’m not running if you’re not running.”

  Maddie smiled. “Me, either.”

  I nodded at them. “We’re taking this motherfucker down.”

  “Hell yeah!” Zack shouted.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  29

  First Final Showdown

  We heard Jason and Freddy shouting muffled pleas from the back of the cop car.

  Maddie and Zack reached into the sheriff’s ride, and grabbed our bag of weapons. Now they each had a handgun to go along with my shotgun.

  The town was dead silent.

  In my head, I pictured an old western movie. The scene of the final showdown.

  We ventured up the street. I walked along the double yellow line, with Zack on my left, and Maddie on my right.

  The cop saw us over Cageface’s shoulder. The monster was about two feet away from grabbing her bushy, blonde hair, and ripping her scalp off.

  “Hey, ugly!” I shouted.

  For good measure, I pulled the trigger of the shotgun and shot straight up. Let me tell you, handling a shotgun looked a lot easier in the movies. The force of the recoil nearly knocked me on my ass. I stumbled backward a few feet, but Maddie grabbed my arm before I could look like a major idiot.

  But my plan worked. We had gotten Cageface’s attention.

  He spun around slowly, in that notoriously spooky way. My heart gave a little wheeze, telling me it didn’t know how much more of this shit it could put up with. I didn’t blame it. It had been through some stuff, especially in the last fifteen minutes. It was still beating, however, and I was going to make sure it kept beating for a lot longer.

  I cocked the shotgun again. Chuh-chuk. I tried thinking of a kick-ass line to say before I pulled the trigger, like they do in action movies, but nothing came to mind. I figured since this wasn’t an action movie, that was okay.

  I aimed at Cageface and pulled the trigger. This time, I was ready for the recoil. The blast forced me back a little ways, but it was controlled. I thought I must’ve looked like a professional.

  The shot took Cageface in the middle and upper chest. Mostly. Some of the spray hit the front end of the cop car, digging into the middle and rocking it on its shocks. Even over the hanging roar in the air, I heard Freddy squealing.

  Sorry, Freddy.

  Cageface flew backward about five feet, hitting a telephone pole hard enough to make the wood lean. I swear the pained look on his face intensified. There was a hole in his sternum, and I could see the bright red of a fire hydrant through it.

  I turned to the cop. “Go! Get the hell out of here!”

  Her mouth twitched like she was going to protest, like she was going to say something about how it was her duty to protect this town, but her eyes flicked over to the downed and seemingly un-killable serial killer about fifteen feet from her, and she decided talking was overrated.

  She climbed back into her car, and tried starting the engine, but it didn’t catch.

  This probably had something to do with me shooting the hood with the shotgun, but it also probably had to do with the fact that the car was older than dirt.

  “Get Freddy and Jason out of there and get a ride,” I said to Maddie and Zack. “I’ll deal with Cageface.”

  They nodded and rushed over to the car. Zack and the cop had a spat about her handing over the keys to the cuffs.

  I swear I only watched them arguing for thirty seconds, but when I turned to look at the spot where Cageface had lain, he was gone. All that was left were pieces of his Camp Moonfall shirt.

  30

  Ring the Alarm

  As you can imagine, there was unanimous hysteria and confusion when we discovered Cageface had seemingly disappeared into thin air.

  The cop was trying to tell us she was crazy and had imagined it all, that none of us were real, and that she was still dreaming, having the worst nightmare she’d ever had, and she really shouldn’t have watched that scary movie a couple of nights ago with Ted, the dentist over in Lakemore.

  Maddie had to slap her twice. The second one seemed to do the trick.

  The officer blinked stupidly and said, “Oh God, I wish I was dreaming.”

  “Me, too, sister,” Zack said.

  Next to him, Jason looked me over with what I thought might be respect. It made me feel pretty good.

  He said, “Thanks, Abe. Thanks, all of you.”

  I nodded, but I said, “It’s not over yet.”

  “How far is the station?” I asked the cop.

  Her name was Cat, short for Catherine. She was forty-eight and had been divorced for over a decade. No family aside from a mom in a nursing home near Pittsburgh. The job, she’d told me, was everything. I told her she had done great, that she should really be proud of herself, and that sometimes, things are completely out of our control. She seemed grateful for that.

  I thought it must’ve been weird for her, getting complimented by a guy half her age; she didn’t seem to mind, though. She kept talking for a solid two minutes. I was getting impatient, tapping my foot, gripping the shotgun’s stock a little tighter.

  Cageface was out there. We didn’t search for him after he’d disappeared. Didn’t trust the dark. He could’ve been hiding in a million different shadowy places, waiting to pounce as we tiptoed by. Besides, I knew he’d be back tonight. There was still a lot of dark left, and slashers never gave up so easily. Killing was all they knew.

  Cat still seemed to be in shock, so I asked again how far the station was.

  This time, she answered. “About a mile east.”

  “Do you have any more squad cars?”

  She shook her head. “None.”

  I wasn’t surprised. It was a miracle that this place had one, let alone three.

  Well, now they have none.

  Redman’s was currently smashed against a brick wall. The sheriff’s front wheel had buckled inward when Redman sideswiped him, and now looked like it was about four rotations from falling off, and Cat’s car wouldn’t start at all.

  “What about your car?” Zack asked. “You probably have a dope-ass minivan or something, right?”

  Cat looked at the sidewalk, and shook her head. “It was so nice out today, I thought I’d walk,” she said guiltily.

  Maddie put a hand on her shoulder and told her it was okay.

  And it was. Who would’ve been able to predict something like this happening? No one.

  I looked up the road, saw the bright sign of the bar on the outskirts, and the gas station a little ways behind the gravel lot. It was the closest inhabited place.

  But I had a decision to make here: Did I want to go suffer the annoying glances and whispered words from the bar’s patrons, or did I want Cageface to carve us all up?

  Surprisingly, it wasn’t an easy decision, but the image that swayed me was of Tiffany having her arm ripped off. I liked my arms, didn’t really want to lose one. I decided I could stomach the ‘out-of-towner’ looks and whispers.

  “The bar,” I said, pointing ahead. “Someone will have a car.”

  “Nothing easier than carjacking a bunch of drunks,” Zack said. He rubbed his hands together mischievously.

  “We gotta get the town evacuated,” I continued, ignoring Zack. Like Maddie, I was getting pretty good at this. I looked at Cat. “Is there an alarm we can set off? You know, for like tornadoes or something?”

  Cat nodded. “At the fire station.�
��

  “How far?”

  She gulped and shook her head. “About a mile up that road, there.” She pointed to my right, up a stretch of hilly blacktop crowded with buildings.

  It was too far to walk with Cageface out and about. We’d never make it before he attacked again. I knew that.

  Maddie said, “The gunshots were probably enough, Abe. Don’t worry about the other people. They’ll get out.”

  “If not…” Zack said, shrugging.

  “Can we please get the hell out of this war zone?” Freddy screeched.

  He startled me. I’d almost forgotten he was there; this wasn’t the case for Jason. He was big enough that you couldn’t forget about him.

  “To the bar,” Jason said. “That sounds good. You guys go. Freddy and I will head out to the fire station.”

  “No,” I said. “Not safe. Can’t split up.”

  Maddie nodded.

  “I’ll do it,” Cat said. “I know the town better, anyway. Plus, it’s my job.”

  We all watched her. Beneath the mask of bravery she wore, her features quivered. She was scared. We all were.

  “No, we can’t split—” I began.

  Cat cut me off. “I’m not part of y’all’s group. Don’t worry. I’ll get there. I’ve taken that bastard once, I can take him again.”

  Her eyes burned with an intensity I hadn’t seen since the Monster Games, on the face of the she-wolf who’d saved our lives from the ‘Stein. You expect that kind of thing from werewolves; not so much from humans. But we are a mysterious race, aren’t we? Even in the face of great and deadly danger, we step up.

  My heart broke a little, looking at this middle-aged woman. She was braver than the sheriff and Redman combined.

  I nodded.

  Maddie reached out and put a hand on Cat’s arm. “Thank you,” she said.

  Zack looked close to tears. He leaned forward and hugged the cop.

  They’d hardly known each other—hell, I doubted Zack even remembered her name—but that was just the kind of guy he was.

  Cat awkwardly patted him on the back, and they parted. She turned to the would-be counselors. “I’m sorry I arrested ya. I was just doing my job.”

  Jason and Freddy offered her weak smiles.

  “No problem,” Jason said. “I understand.”

  “Yeah,” Freddy said. “If you hadn’t arrested us, we’d probably be dead. So, uh, any chance I can get my weed back…?”

  Cat smiled at that. Then she looked me dead in the eyes and nodded. Gripping her gun, she took off down the road, and disappeared into the shadows.

  “I wasn’t joking,” Freddy said quietly.

  31

  Karaoke Hypnosis

  Before we’d even reached the gravel parking lot, we could hear the muffled thump of the bass. It reminded me of the college parties the guys in my apartment complex threw, except instead of rap, hip-hop, and electronica, the music blaring out of this little dive bar’s speakers was country.

  There were way too many cars in the parking lot: pickup trucks with rusted bottoms, old Buicks, a row of motorcycles near the entrance, and even a John Deere tractor (which was probably the most expensive vehicle in the lot). I began to wonder if Cat’s trek to the fire department was a fruitless journey. It seemed that the whole town was here, where they wouldn’t hear any alarm over the music.

  I opened the door, and the volume assaulted my ear drums. The lights were dimmed. The stools around the curved, wood bar were full. People in checkered button-ups were standing between some of the sitting patrons. Two bartenders moved busily, filling cups, popping tops. I didn’t recognize either of them, but I recognized a few of the drinkers; they’d been here earlier. I wondered if they’d ever left.

  No one had looked in our direction when we walked in. We were easily the youngest in the crowd, and we were dressed like city folk—around here, that stuck out like a sore thumb. But it was late, and the people were deep in their cups.

  Zack and I glanced at each other. He shrugged.

  As we walked among the crowded tables, the smell of sharp liquor, beer, and cigarette smoke engulfing us, I saw the cause of the bar’s crowdedness. Near the back was a small stage. A man in a baseball cap and leather jacket, with faded black tattoos standing out on his neck, was currently singing into a microphone.

  I knew the song. It was one that could always be heard on karaoke night: “Take Me Home, Country Roads” by John Denver.

  This guy wasn’t much of a singer; in fact, he was pretty bad, but he sang with enough passion and energy for that not to matter, and despite the circumstances of our visit to this bar, I found myself smiling.

  On the wall was a flat TV that I hadn’t noticed on my first visit. It was old, but probably the newest thing in this place. The lyrics danced across the screen in white, then filled up with yellow when it was time to sing them. Most of the drunk crowd sang along. A couple of old guys near the front wore identical leather jackets. They each had a beer in one hand and their lighters in the other, and they were waving the flames in the air, much to the singer’s amusement.

  I looked back over my shoulder, and noticed that the group I came in with had dispersed. Jason was still by my side, slinking down, but Zack and Maddie had grabbed a karaoke song book and were flipping through it, and Freddy was near the bar, pointing to the menu.

  What the hell are they doing? Had they forgotten about the mad killer on the loose?

  Freddy seemed to be having an animated conversation with one of the bartenders, a woman in thick glasses and a tight, low-cut shirt. I thought he might be telling her about what happened. That was good.

  Then the bartender popped the top off a Bud Light and handed it to him. He smiled and nodded, took a crumpled five dollar bill out of his pocket, and waved at her to keep it.

  He came back, and immediately gulped down half the beer. “Ah, I really needed a drink.”

  Zack held up the karaoke book toward me. “Dude! They have ‘Barbie Girl’! Be my Ken, Abe! Be my Ken!”

  Maddie was snickering.

  Some old guy grabbed her hand and spoke drunk sweet nothings to her through his missing teeth. Zack noticed, and dropped the song book real quick. He slipped between the old man and Maddie, and said something along the lines of “Back off, old man,” though I wasn’t sure about the exact verbiage because it was so damn loud in here.

  The guy on the stage was just finishing up, the music playing the outro.

  I didn’t know what was happening; the bar seemed to be hypnotizing my friends. I’d known many people in the past who had been lured in by the siren songs of cheap beer and country music, but I wasn’t going to let it happen to my friends. Not to the Fright Squad.

  Zack’s attention was back in the karaoke book. “They have ‘Mr. Crowley,’ too!” He laughed. “Get it? Because you’re Abe Crowley.”

  I nodded and gave him a polite smile, knowing I had to put a stop to this—especially before he put our names in the karaoke pool. Once that happened, I wasn’t sure I’d be strong enough to resist.

  So what did I do? I stormed up onto the stage and bumped the biker guy off with a subtle push.

  He shouted, “Hey, asshole!” and his friends sitting at the front row of tables booed me.

  Probably wasn’t a good idea to make enemies out of bikers, but it was better than getting killed by Cageface.

  With the mic in my hand and no music playing over the speakers for the moment, I cleared my throat. Of course, that just made a terrible sound of feedback whine through the bar.

  Everyone turned in their chairs, stopped their conversations, frozen hands holding drinks perched on their lips.

  “Well, now that I’ve got your attention…” I said.

  “Get off the stage!” someone shouted.

  “Wait your turn, City Boy!”

  I smiled my best smile, but this just seemed to piss them off even more, so I stopped smiling. “Everyone needs to get out of town, okay?”

 
A smattering of boos washed over my ears, and someone threw an empty beer glass at me. I dodged it at the last possible second and it shattered against the wall.

  “Okay, that wasn’t cool. But listen to me! There’s a crazy killer on the loose. He’s already killed the sheriff and officer Redman—Cat got away, and she’s going to sound the tornado siren. But you’ve gotta get the hell outta here. Now!”

  “It’s karaoke night!” a drunk old man yelled. “Leave us be.”

  “Yeah, City Boy!”

  Not long after this, a couple of big guys dragged me off the stage. This was enough to snap Zack and Maddie out of whatever hypnosis they’d fallen under. Zack dropped the karaoke book on the floor, ready to rush to my defense. One of the big guys kicked it as he dragged me toward the heavy, wooden door.

  “Sorry about that, folks!” the deejay said, and then he kicked the music back on, louder than before—probably to try and get the people to forget about the momentary outburst from an out-of-towner.

  I was sure they’d forget about it as soon as I was thrown into the gravel. Alcohol was good like that.

  “Hey, let him go!” Jason said as I went past him and Freddy.

  “Abe!” Maddie yelled.

  One of the happier drunks held the door open for my escorts with a big, stupid grin on his face. With the door open, the night air rang with the tornado siren, but you could hardly hear it over the music. Plus, one of the bikers was sitting on his Harley with the engine running, and that sounded about as loud as a damn jet.

  Out the door we went. Just as the big guys were rocking me back to throw me forward, the guy on the Harley, who was watching us with entertained curiosity, died.

  I remembered Maddie screaming, which was odd because she hardly ever screamed. Then I turned around, and saw it was one of the big guys. Not Maddie.

  He dropped me and ran for it.

  The other one said, “What the hell?”