Chapter 1: This Bloody Road Remains A Mystery
Chapter Text
Instead of using inserts like (y/n), (e/c), (y/b/d) and (f/j/f), this fic will instead use: [height], [hair_colour], [hair_length], etc. as I thought it would be clearer and more specific instead of using first letter combos. Chapter sizes may also fluctuate heavily.
The tags in this fic may be prone to changes and edits, some chapters may have disclaimers if I believe it is needed but things like murder shouldn't really require it.
Overall Fic disclaimer: Graphic depictions of things like death, gore, violence, etc. Drugs and alcohol will be mentioned. High chances there'll be mentions of abuse (physical, verbal or other). This disclaimer list will be updated as time goes on but these are the definite core ones.
It is a struggle to keep up with the bitch, she practically glides over every branch and root– how ? That’s so unfair.
You try your best to hide yourself but unlike most of your siblings you were never quite the lightest on your feet. So the element of surprise is off the table, if you could even reach her in the first place. A quick glance down at your mini map shows a good area in the rough direction she’s heading to set up a post. You keep repeating the lessons you were taught in your head, you need to get at least one to the table tonight.
You slow down but try to keep a steady pace on her, heaving in and out–attempting to control your breathing. Taking your double barrel shotgun from its holster on your back you prep yourself, making sure nothing has fallen out of your bag and pockets; snacks, more ammo, netting, rope, etc.
You still see her faint figure in the distance–aided by the peeking light of the rising run. You need to be fast, can’t have any possible nearby stray campers stumble upon this, you can only handle so much and it could very much screw you over if someone got away.
At least the gunshots can be played off as deer hunting. Deer aren’t too hard to kill, just have to find them, but a human corpse? Now that’s hard to play off. At least with your shitty deception skills. Maybe your father could have, but certainly not you.
With another shot to her left to guide her in the direction you want you see the gaping maw of the cave and slow to a walk. You can’t really follow her in there, sure you could go there and attempt to kill her but its pitch black in there and seeing your light the piggy would only run deeper inside until not only is she lost but you as well.
As you suspected, she really is a stupid cunt! Without hesitation she runs inside. You don’t even want to think of what creature possibly set up their home there. So, betting on her eventually leaving when she thinks you’re gone, you try to climb up a tilted tree, its top half held down by another that seemingly snapped due to strong winds at some point.
You could try to climb a regular tree, but you’d just embarrass yourself to the local wildlife. You have slowly been getting better but still not that good though. So begins the little stakeout, taking out the little Tetris game your brother got you at a cash register some years ago and a large packet of [favourite_flavour] crisps, you spend a only a mere thirty minutes waiting for the girl to come out before you see the flashlight of her damaged phone.
Lighting her path out the entrance of the cave she cautiously steps out, head snapping side to side looking for any signs for lingering danger, but despite the rising light of dawn, the primarily still dark sky hid you amongst the tall trees.
Quickly setting up your double barrel–a gun you aren't quite sure if is right for this job, but have witnessed your father using it before so now you are too–you aim for her feet.
She exits slowly, tiptoeing so as to not attract any attention, which works wonderfully in your favour having no need to rush in aiming. You carefully line up your shot as you follow her pace, pausing in between each breath, and just as you breathe out;
You take the shot.
A loud bang is followed by screeching as startled birds fly away from the commotion, resulting in a crescendo of chirping and squawking following the blast.
Score !
Dropping down to the mossy forest floor you bolt towards the fallen body as she desperately tries to drag herself away, phone now completely broken and thrown to the side. Her right foot has been blasted into a fleshy porridge. You quickly grab a long cloth gag out your bag and muffle her mouth, tying the ends behind her head securely, near silencing her squealing. Not much else about her seems to be too badly damaged and so you take out the rope and get to binding.
You give yourself a pat on the back. This was a job well done! or at least done better than others in the past.
Reaching again for your shotgun you see her eyes widen before passing out. Before you hit her in the head with the handle, a move more comfortably done with handguns and rifles, but clearly there’s no need for that now.
You scrape the foot mush into a little plastic baggie with a large stick and tie a thick bandage wrap around her newly made stump.
Putting the items away and throwing the girl over your shoulder you finally begin the long trek back home. By the time you reach the nearest edge of your plot the morning sun has fully risen, officially marking a new day.
Walking past the pigs sty’s and ware houses on the land you haul the body into an unlabelled dingy building located furthest away from your house. The building doesn’t get much use anymore and you are incredibly happy when it does. The outside is a moldy blue-grey colour. It looks old and dilapidated, purposefully done so, whilst the inside is sleek and holds all the required modern tools, appliances, etc for your work.
Walking in and passing through a few hallways you eventually reach a room containing the captive prep table. You throw the girl down onto a smooth steel table, untie her and get to preparing by bringing out the needed supplies and putting on the necessary equipment; gloves, apron, shoe covers, the works. You don’t really need a hair net as [you aren’t killing her yet/you have no hair]
As the flickering cold green-tinted lights above beam down on her body you begin by taking off her clothes, stripping her down to her birthday suit, and making sure to remove any piercings and accessories you find into a small plastic basket for later inspection.
Eek!–you feel so at peace when you get to the inside part of this job, this is the part you were made for, so it was the easiest. Pig? Human? Cow? It didn't matter in the end. You can’t wait.
Dragging the girl over to a huge steel wash basin you try to avoid drowning her as you wash off any blood, dirt and makeup caked up on her skin and under her nails–making sure to rinse through her hair as well. She has acrylics which has become more and more of a problem with the females nowadays but you figure you’ll just chop ‘em off when the time comes. There must be someone out there with, you don’t know…a finger collection or something? Can’t throw out something that might still sell. At least certainly not in your situation.
Then after doing a quick towel and blow-dry she is placed back on the table and you begin jotting down features and details on a nearby clip board, using a tape measure here and chart there.
She has a few tattoos, for example a tramp stamp saying ‘Sugar Baby’. The most notable is the tattoo proclaiming her ‘DYLAN’s GIRL’ on the back of her neck in big bold Pacifico font. You pause to take it in.
You’re starting to get more lenient with what you sell but you’re not going to start muddy the value of your family name by selling meat with a tattoo saying ‘Dylan’s Girl’. Maybe as a skin graft, maybe if it was surrounded by a cluster of others, but like this? No, not as meat. Not yet. Certainly not today.
Someone has to uphold some level of standard around here.
After spending half an hour double checking what was written down you pick her back up and bring her to a room further back in the building, the door inside locked by several padlocks; some opened via keys and others by codes. Inside there was a staircase that led down to a second door, also heavily locked. Through that door was a tangle of hallways, some lit whilst others kept pitch black, leading into different sections and subsections, rooms within rooms. A maze only you and a select few alive know how to navigate off by heart. Partially designed to be somewhat disorienting for any escapees or intruders.
Winding through corridor after corridor you eventually reach one of the many rooms packed with cages and ‘sty’s’, kept in miraculous shape and cleanliness by occasional cleaning mostly done by you now. There were cleaners in the past, it’s just that you can’t call them to the property as often now, not as much money to spend on them, but when they do come by they are rather polite about your situation.
Opening up a cage you attempt to softly place your newest money-maker onto the thin bedding in the corner and lock the cage shut behind yourself.
The body itself seems to be fine. You don't care about the face, the face is usually of little interest to you. But before you can even think about fattening her up, because her diet and last meal will depend on how much fat she currently has, you also need to check for any implants or Botox. Please for the love of everything there be no Botox.
Dealing with that stuff absolutely sucks and ruins so much of the product if inside long enough, especially in recent times where not only is it gaining popularity but is also beginning to be used outside of the facial area. Like why the fuck did a woman inject that shit in their ass cheeks? It diffuses, spreads out past the intended area and needs to be redone–bitches should have just gotten implants instead of destroying their fat, meat grade and quality. It’s begun to seriously piss you off.
Now that a body has finally been secured you can finally rest peacefully, take a nap at least, which you earned considering how much trouble the upkeep is and how long it takes to chase the meat products down all on your own.
You triple check every lock on your way out to ensure everything is secure and where it’s meant to be before heading back to the main house, quite pleased with yourself.
Eventually reaching said home and closing the door you stare at the entry hall of the large residence for a good few moments, still the exact same as you’ve left it when you went out. Your stomach clenches at the sight.
Throwing your shoes off you walk up to the main office, located at the top of the large staircase. Through the double doors is a large office, a room used for an occasional meeting some time ago.
Sitting down at the desk you log into the monitor and begin typing, making another shopping list, updating the online store about the upcoming drop and inputting what info you have gotten so far about the new catch in a file. Then you spent the next hour or two switching between the internet and dull chores until you passed out where you sat in the worn chair.
Bonk!
Moooo…
The steer stares at you as you–yet again–have to knock out the captive with the two metal rods hung on your belt. She keeps stirring every few minutes has quickly become annoying, because despite the fact you have reassured her– repeatedly –that this will come to an end for her soon, she keeps crying and whining and surprisingly it's beginning to grate on your nerves. But putting that aside, it’s almost time; your body senses it like a sleeper agent.
It’s as if you’ve been possessed as a burst of energy zaps into you at the idea of the slaughter. This routine has been embedded into the groves of your brain since you were a school age child and you don't think you'll ever forget it.
The body finally reaches its intended resting place; The infamous ‘Table of Dooooooooom’ in the same dingy building you’ve been revisiting the last few days. That’s what your sister called it. Yes, you have to stretch out the ‘o’s and you also have to say it in the Terminator's voice.
Looking a bit too out of it a [skin_colour] hand cradles the back of her now bald head–shaved by yours truly this morning–and another gives her a harsh smack to the face. It takes a second for her to wake up, process her surroundings and scream from behind the cloth gag.
It also takes you a second to think of her death and to take out a captive bolt pistol, ready to put her to her last rest. It's a non-penetrative one; used for many animals. It avoids letting an animal's(cattle for example) brain matter seep into its bloodstream and infecting it with BSE. Also prevents the eater from getting ‘vCJD’. Though obviously you’re not using it on a cow right now.
With a poke to her forehead and a pull of the trigger she is out cold yet again. Not wasting any time you grab a recently sharpened knife and slit her throat. Your hand scurries around on the trolley beside you for the sticking knife and quickly cuts the arteries in the neck.
You wait for the heart to assist pumping out the blood and move her legs to further help the circulation. When officially satisfied that enough of the blood has drained out the body down the drain, you gently pick up the body–so as to avoid bruising–and bring her into the neighbouring room to hang her on a custom gandrel that connects on a sliding line throughout the rooms. You winch her to a suitable height and wait a bit for some blood to run to the head from her legs, before you slide the gandrel all the way to the humungous scalding vat–also custom made–in the room. It was pre-heated hours ago so it was now ready for use.
You winch the limp swinging body down into the vat and set a timer for around 1 to 2 hours, though the time typically varies from body to body. But this woman has an average height and is still a bit skinny even after munching through the caloric meals you’ve given her the past few days.
Stepping back out into the mocking heat of the sun you busy yourself with feeding the pigs and other animals. When checking the time you find you have about 30 minutes left so you take out a cold can of [favourite_cold_drink] and sit on a lounge chair in the front patio, overlooking most of the farm.
The very few workers left under your employ will be coming back soon. Though these ones help only with the barn animals and body processing if necessary.
Your family was more than fine to fulfil the more underground demands on their own, made things more special and stress free really. It's not like everyone can handle ending another human life; and it wasn’t quite easy to hire someone that’ll willingly keep silent about your family's misdeeds from law enforcement. There were more of them, but they went out like the others. A real shame honestly.
You’ve been thinking a lot about what you got from the authorities.
The photos. The bodies. The skin grafts you bribed someone on the inside for.
You’ll take another look at those later. Maybe something will click after staring at them for the billionth time.
Eventually the alarm on your phone rings and you head back inside.
You pull the cooled and scraped meat from the hook and carry it to a visibly worn wooden table. The fresh meat body is meticulously sectioned via a black marker.
Taking out your butchering knife of choice all it takes is a swing downwards to bring true satisfaction. Hack by hack and slice by slice you eventually chop it up into perfectly cut pieces, ready to be sold on the market.
You give yourself a pat on the back for another successful kill; these will surely sell for a good price, just barely enough all things considered but still!
After taking some promo pictures you jot down info on each individual piece: the weight, the size, the basic stuff you know? The buyers gotta know what they’re buying and it is frankly less hassle to do so online, often quicker too.
While it is an option, you don’t typically get in-person visitors to the farm. A bit risky for individual buyers and your regular products get sent out to proper butchers, butchers both owned by your family brand and otherwise. So there really is no need anymore. Considering this place used to have more manpower and ]averaged more than thirty or more bodies a month? Yeah, there’s been a massive drop in funds for upkeep.
You place the bits in a currently empty walk-in freezer, each separated and dated as always.
As it bleeds into the summer season you remind yourself to aim for a higher body count now that the holiday campers are going to settle in, which brings both fortune and trouble.
More bodies to catch and sell is also more bodies to catch you in the act and to easily get away. To tell the authorities. To shut you down. To steal your land. And so to lessen the risk you chose to wear a mask during the more popular seasons. Making sure to also cover your body more than you already do. Your default is a simple black mask over your sister's old balaclava and it's absolutely dogshit because it's super cheap and so incredibly boring . You know it’s stupid but you have spent some of your free time thinking of mask designs; you originally really wanted a pig head–maybe using the head of one of your larger hogs– but it was too cliché so you ditched that idea…for now.
You’ve gone through many different ideas ranging from small paint changes to large scale mould redesigns. You don’t need to do this, but you can. And embarrassingly because you desperately want to be intimidating. You want to be a real ‘slasher’ type character. Like you’ve seen in the movies! There is a difference; being intimidating when sprinting after someone with a goddamn gun pointed at their ass is not the same as being able to scare people off even in your PJ’s.
Speaking of which, you need to buy new pyjamas, actually you need to buy a whole new wardrobe–its getting increasingly difficult to keep your current ones presentable, blood-free and smelling like whatever detergent you bought in bulk.
You pull the blank mask over what is still visible of your face and pull your hood over your head you are finally done with getting ready and pick up your gear.
Sunlight beams down on you and the surrounding flora with an intense amount of heat. Your gear protects you from the worst of it but you are still nonetheless affected. Sooner or later you’ll come across someone and you will get to go home. Then the process repeats all over again tomorrow.
Following the paper map you try to orbit some camper sites in hopes that maybe a drunk young adult will stumble through or a hiker wanting to explore and watch the scenery.
Either way, a body is a body. The only people safe from you are groups and old people, the meat is way past its prime for consumption unlike most animals. You don’t go for children, meat is not mature enough for most normal cannibals and they never appear in the middle of a forest without a parent nearby anyway. You also just don’t see yourself enjoying it, let alone being ‘okay’ with it, never did really because you know you would feel kind of bad, unlike some others in your family. Not that they ‘enjoyed’ it but it's just that they were more willing to commit the act.
You feel bad when the little piglets die during birth, you wouldn't deal well with a human child.
You hear the snap of a twig to your right. Could just be an animal… or a human, maybe even the wind but you still move to check it out. Though that endeavour proves fruitless as you find no one and nothing in the vicinity of the snap so you return.
You spend about three hours–give or take–walking nonstop, ears perking up at any foreign sound, your feet are beginning to ache, your body still unused to traversing for so long without break.
A faint, distant, screech to your left alerts you as you inch closer to a mark on your map, you to stop moving, the rustling of your boots meeting the ground going silent. You eye the nature to the left of you. That totally isn’t suspicious at all. It could just be a wild animal, a red fox? Though it does sound a bit low… You could ignore it, it wouldn't be the first time the local fauna got in the way and wasted your time, but your sister always warned you that one can never be too paranoid when doing the job that she did.
You look back to the front of you and again to your left. With an exasperated huff you trail off your planned path and towards the sound.
A few minutes in you realise you must have already walked past the area of sound, but another scan of your surrounding zones your wearied mind back in as you smell something coming from further down your path of direction. Beginning to lightly jog forward as the smell strengthens, your eyes dilate as your heartbeat quickens.
You smell blood.
A lot of it.
You hurry until you see the source of the scent, looking from outside to in. First you see a chopped hand. Then an arm. Until you see the source at the very centre. Two corpses form a pile as you analyse their wounds.
Two men. Both have various large gashes located somewhere on their body. They’re deeper than possible with most knives and and are bleeding less as well, with the wounds also being bigger at the top and becoming smaller at the bottom you’re guessing these are axe wounds.
The man with a choker has a blood crusted bullet hole close to the base of his neck, on his collar bone, plugged shoddily by bandage wraps stuffed inside. Shot more than a few hours ago–give or take-and the guy must have miraculously survived. Mind that you're not a professional on autopsying gun wounds.
You check the–you think–axe wounds again and they are far more fresh, having killed the two not too long ago, presumably when you heard the noise. Their flesh is still warm. You realise the positive. You have two –fresh–bodies you can take and use!
As you try to plan how to best bring them home, your mind eventually catches up and you immediately freeze. They were just killed not too long ago, quite recently actually, someone other than you killed them obviously .
And said killer might still be nearby.
Your hands scrabble for the gun on your back, eyes flickering between the trees that surround you and the carcasses.
You whistle a quiet tune, to see if anything happens. Whistling louder. Nothing.
Normal volume. A small bird flies by. Nothing.
Your posture relaxes ever so slightly, but gloved hands are still clamped around the firearm.
“Hello?” A moment of silence before the gun is cautiously put away.
You understand they still might be close, maybe even watching, but you did spend a few minutes walking. They very well could have easily just killed and dipped during those minutes.
If they didn’t? Well, guess you’ll have no choice but to face them, but you won’t pass up a pair of sellable bodies, especially if you got to skip out on most of the actual work.
Grabbing a large net bag you gather all the messy cut off pieces and tie it to your waist before facing the bodies once more. You throw both bodies over you, one on each shoulder. One is built like a tank whilst ‘choker dude’ is leaner but still puts quite some weight on you, carrying them will be a struggle no matter your size, especially if walking for three whole hours, but you will reach home. Eventually.
Taking a moment to give one last glance at the traces of blood on the ground, a shaky exhale escapes you, body turning round to head back the way you came.
It's dark out now, their bigger and beat-up limp bodies taking longer to process. Due to them being already dead you couldn’t go through the process for quality checks or change making, having had to work fast.
Everything had to be done as quickly as possible because by the third hour you could feel that their body heat cooled down by a few degrees, rigor mortis had also set in not too long ago.
Looking over with a watchful eye and taking all the bad bits out of both took another two hours of your time but you finished working on them before the 12 hour mark thankfully.
The entire batch will have to be sold on an unpleasant discount.
You considered lying about quality or poorer meats many times in the past but you have always had too much pride in your work, too much care for your customers to lie to your most dedicated buyers. You just could never bring yourself to do it. And there was a very high chance that they would be able to taste the difference, so… It's a shame but you can’t really complain, getting to sell almost two bodies worth of pieces, for almost zero actual effort–if you exclude the exhausting walk home–is a very rare stroke of luck. Walking with their weight on top took a lot of time and energy and you weren't willing to go back and return a second time. Only bringing home one seemed like a waste of opportunity.
Now finally done you see fellow workers in the far distance, tending to the land and animals. Finally, you head home, glad to at last be able to rest.
The heavy pitter patter of rain against glass doesn’t help, neither does the warmth seeping into the bedroom from the radiators. Falling asleep proves difficult as the longer you think about today's findings the more you become restless.
It was unusual. You don’t like it.
Who killed them? Why were they killed? The idea of there being another murderer on family turf was upsetting.
Killings were done carefully, over a large stretch of land, semi-planned and spaced out, no one wanted authorities getting more involved than they already chose to be. You keep track of kills in order to avoid suspicion and prevent yourself from creating a pattern police could follow. You were what some people may consider a novice killer, not that you don’t have experience in killing, you do! but typically only in a controlled environment where–try as they might! They won’t escape. Outside of that environment? You were like a new born baby. A lucky, new born baby.
But with another psycho on the loose things could get rocky, especially since they don’t seem so inclined to be secretive about it. They didn’t bother to hide the bodies, nor did they take the corpses with them.
Many people have probably been killed by randoms in the forest before; ranging from violent drunkards to sober anger/revenge-driven partners and exes, but at least their victims bodies are typically never found as far as you know.
You think back to your masks. If you do have ‘visitors’ maybe it’s time to wear something new out? You’re still indecisive on the design. Shouldn’t make a debut without being certain.
The issue is this time the crime was loud, messy, obvious , and with your already growing burdens you couldn’t handle anymore problems piling on. Though there is hope that maybe this was a one time thing? Yes, a one time thing…Has to be, there haven’t had problems with other killers so far so why should problems arise now?
And with that weak conclusion your eyelids begin to feel heavy as a dark peacefulness washes over your mind.
There were no dreams that night.
It's a little over a week into the summer season now, the heat beats down on all of those who choose to suffer outside.
Despite the heat, you have no choice but to power through. There are hundreds of masochists that love to be burned alive from the looks of things and turns out those fucks love to be amongst nature whilst it happens. Not the best idea to stay off on these types of days.
Sweating beneath the heavy gear you re-enter the forest, choosing to directly head to one of the closest campsites, or at least within the vicinity of it with a steady jogging pace. There is no plan to hunt at this moment, just curious to know how many people there are, best possible victims, etc. Hunting typically only happens during darker hours, which seeing as it’s summer, you will now have less of it so it's better to be prepared.
After a little less than an hour later faint desire paths become visible, uneven ground becoming more and more flat the closer you get. Taking out binoculars and holding them up to your eyes gives you the view of tents and camper vans in the far distance, faint movement of early birds can be seen coming in and out of their sleeping areas.
Tucking the binocs away you quietly march forward, seeing as there has been no movement close by so far but still making sure to stay hypervigilant of the surrounding wilderness. Eventually close enough, you chose a somewhat bent tree to climb up. At the top you finally take a moment to properly breathe, pulling off your mask and balaclava with a huff, hood staying on. You are glad the trees here are quite dense because you can’t by any means be seen and frankly? You are sweatier than a hippopotamus, body more used to the deep chill of a freezer or cold store. You wouldn’t want anyone to see you like this even if you didn’t have bad intentions and weren’t dressed like sasquatch.
Taking out the binoculars you focus in on the site yet again. There resides a handful of campervans and RVs of varying colours, a family of five share a huge sectioned tent, four couples sharing medium size tents and a few other basic tents put together in small clusters.
Over the course of an hour nothing of much interest happens.
Two kids get in a fight–you routed for the boy in red–and get their phones taken off of them.
An elderly couple exit a white caravan connected to an ‘Alfa Romeo’ car and go for a walk, passing right under you. Luckily they hadn’t looked up to see you amidst the leaves, though you’re pretty sure even then they wouldn’t be able to see much of anything anyway.
A father grills store-bought meat on a portable propane grill, his wife playing tennis with their daughter and sons further away.
A young couple get ready to go swimming at a small nearby lake, flirting with each other on the way out.
You take another sip out of a little cardboard juice box, blood orange flavour, you [like it/don’t like it but it was the only favour of juice left in the pantry].
Taking a look at the time on your digital pocket watch a sigh of boredom escapes you. Reaching for the Tetris game in the bag on your back you quickly sit up and take it off. It’s not there. Rummaging through its dedicated place, the front pocket, you find that it’s just-gone. Did you leave it at home? Hope you didn’t lose it, that would suck and you don't want to lose another memory. You know you didn’t place it in the main pocket but you decide to check anyway, but a minute of thorough searching proves it’s not there either. Shit . Now you have nothing to keep you busy. Phones aren't an option.
Head falling back against the tree bark you refocus your attention on the camp.
The dirty black RV nearest the edge of the site begins to shuffle slightly as the door opens by a few inches until it fully opens to reveal a woman in her mid twenties. She looks ashen, on the verge of passing out as she steps onto the compacted dirt wearing a detailed maroon hippie-poncho with dark grey-blue shorts and what you can only describe as ‘Jesus sandals’. And damn does it look like she needs a shower, or a sponge bath at least but you know that an RV like hers at least has a shower.
Her bright red fringe splits into greasy partitions that stick against her forehead. Looks like a crackhead when you notice her bloodshot eyes, pupils dilated.
She scurries off to the small bathroom and shower building with a gym bag in hand, very clearly trying to prevent other visitors from laying their eyes on her along the way, even hiding behind a bush at a point.
Shouldn’t she have a bathroom in her RV? Unless something is broken or she doesn’t know how to use those stations for RV’s?
It’s kind of funny to look at her sneaking about. Resembles a slick rat to be honest. A few minutes later she comes out looking fresher with a new change of clothes but with that same wide eyed look on her face. As she sprints back into her RV you gather that you’ve seen all you can for now and wait for the elderly couple to eventually stroll back, packing up your snacks and things as you wait.
This was one of the smaller sites so you weren’t going to miss anything or anyone important coming or going.
As luck would have it didn't take long for them to return and you hop down as gracefully as possible, stumbling a bit because of course you do. You give the site one last scan then turn back the way you came, ready to start preparing for tonight.
Chapter 2: This Sudden Darkness Fills The Air
Summary:
Almost as if overnight people begin to slowly drop like flies which does not bode well for the future of the farm. You wish for answers and you feel like you are finally beginning to get somewhere, even if you aren't really.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
As the switchblade pierces through the back of her neck, bubbles of sickly puss-like muck pops and pours out onto your hand, causing you to still where you stand hunched over the bed.
The knife is ripped back out and wiped ‘clean’ on the pillow beneath the supposed victim. What the fuck? Your eyes flick between your puss-covered hand and her seemingly already dead body before you use her like a tea towel, trying to wipe the icky substance off your glove. Ew. Look, you’ve dealt with some pretty gross shit–sometimes literal shit– whilst working with human bodies but it doesn’t mean you have to enjoy the literal fucking puss, or whatever post-mortem liquid it is, on your hands.
Looking over to the other body in bed, presumably her husband, and turning its head with a gloved hand shows you a pair of lifeless, beady, little eyes staring right through you. Well damn. Someone beat you to it. All adrenaline and momentum is lost with this discovery as speechlessness and offence takes their place. Someone beat you to it? Now this is getting concerning.
You just thought they smelled kind of bad and iron-ish because they were one of those people who believed they didn’t need to shower or something, though your nose is a bit desensitised. Years of dealing with human carcasses seems to have harnessed your ability to smell blood from a mile away but has numbed your nose to the smells of rotten meat, sour milk and faeces.
A wave of laughter echoes from outside. [eye_colour] irises peaking through the grimy horizontal blinds, checking to see if anyone is coming close, choosing to focus their attention on the resident Junkie’s RV for any movement. She is the only one nearest to this camper that hasn’t left their box. She seems like the type to sit and watch from dark corners so it wouldn’t be surprising if she was sitting and watching from the windows of her motorhome. This is the second killing you’ve discovered within the span of a week. The cramped space feels like it is closing in on you as you think about how long these bodies must have been here, just decaying without anyone having the slightest clue. Over twenty four hours, that’s for certain. You yank down the duvet and reveal their half naked bodies. Maybe even seventy two, they are super bloated now that you’ve gotten a look.
You can’t use these. Like, at all. They need to be disposed of, if someone finds them it wouldn’t be classed as a simple case of ‘Whoops! Silly campers got mauled by wildlife!’, this site will be investigated, this place will be closed off for who knows how long. Sure it’s one location of many but what if people begin to pay attention to disappearances, what if other bodies are discovered that even you aren’t yet aware of? That idea sends shivers down your spine. What if the forest starts to get officially patrolled? This could set off so many things if you aren’t lucky and you feel like all your luck has been used up by now. You are only one person.
They need to be disposed of, immediately.
The crusted duvet and a spare from a drawer are placed on the floor, where then the stiff bodies are placed on top separately and rolled into rigid, padded, sausages. Toes peak out at the bottom and manoeuvred back in sloppily.
You yet again stress how much you need to do this fast, if they were fresh then it would be easier; easier to move, easier to hide–no smell and no mess–but currently the people that should have been your victims are putrid, blown up, unmalleable, meat sacks.
Another cheer grows in volume from the outside.
Propping the window you came in from open, you tie the human sausages closed with the rope in your bag and push them outside through the opening. The man slides through fine, thumping down onto the ground below, you pause to listen for any alerted passer-by's…Safe so far.
You turn to the female you stabbed. The smell you have now been made aware of is 10 times more pungent from her corpse in particular, you just hope the liquid isn’t leaking too much. You try to balance her so the pus that isn’t absorbing into the fabric doesn’t pour out onto you. That little surprise earlier was more than enough for today, or the week, or the month, or your entire life to be honest.
Finally with a final bop to her head she falls onto body number one. Good. This should be almost over. The window opens into a pitch black forest barely lit by the large fire at the centre of the campground, unsafe for those who don’t know their way around. Or at the very least don’t know how to defend themselves. The creek of an opening door echoes nearby, causing you to fumble as your upper half hangs out the window sill, head snapping to the noise.
The junkie cautiously steps out her hidey hole, shrunken pupils focused on your caravan and you swear for a moment she sees you, that your eyes meet through the sliver of vision the two of you get of each other. But nothing comes of it, she doesn’t seem to react in any unusual way before scurrying off to, you hope, the bathroom facilities again. Little sidenote; she sheds a lot of hair, you’ve come to notice, ratty clothing constantly covered in red lines of hair lost from either drugs, stress or other health problems. Heart pounding against ribs, a strained push forward gets gravity to pull you out and down onto the morbid pile. You feel so embarrassed, grateful no one is close to notice this scene unfolding.
Hastily nabbing the two you throw them on each shoulder and speed walk into the dark. You try your best to navigate your surroundings without the use of a flashlight until there is no light from the camp guiding your path. Eventually you bring out your own flash light and drop the bodies, making sure there is no one around. Only flinching, barely preventing yourself from screaming, when you spot a lone doe staring at you, skipping away when it's bathed in light.
Shit, nearly made you jump out your skin.
You’re annoyed. No. More like absolutely pissed. A moment to breathe. A moment to sit. A moment to decide you aren’t dragging literal dead weight any further, why would you? Just bury them here. But you don’t have a proper shovel–damn it. Digging with your hands? Not going to happen. Though there is a spade in the bag…
A grave-like hole is dug in the soil, about an impressive 2ft deep into the ground considering it was done in a hurry with a compact spade, before the bodies are thrown in, to be covered by large branches and bushes ripped out the ground. This will have to do until you return. You just hope–you are doing a lot of hoping recently–that no one travels by, and if they do that they are completely blind.
You crack your back. Yeah, no, not going on with this. Flipping the flash light back on you ditch the bodies where they lay, somewhat hidden, marked on the map for the job to be completed later. Maybe you should buy one of those massive beach trolleys to bring with you, the issue is they would be too annoying to drag and a massive hindrance for hunts, it’s already hard enough sometimes. And that’s if they could even handle the terrain in the first place, but they couldn’t, could they? You wave away the thought. Too small anyway.
The next night isn’t any more fun, you find, as you stand over another body. This one has been slashed to oblivion all over, the face in particular nothing but a cavity of blended bone and flesh.
On the way to the spot marked ‘x’ on your map, where the two from last night were located, you came across yet another victim. What are you meant to do? What can you do? Not just about the–you’re already guessing–growing piles of bodies but also about the killer. Fly eggs have already been planted in the face hole by flies.
Gross.
Well, might as well just drag this one along too? Picking up a mangled foot you march forward. It doesn’t take too long for you to finally reach the badly hidden cadavers. Unclipping your shovel from the trusty ol’ hiking bag you poke everything off and pull out the dead, ready to bury these fucks. But first, you have to wait. Having a few hours to think on things and scream gave you the opportunity to better figure out how to deal with all this.
The bodies need to be searched. Properly. Maybe there is a detail that shows something about your new guest. There are also the two bodies that were found at the beginning of this week to think about. There is no way they aren’t also involved with this killer person. Lying the three in a row gives you a better overall look at their wounds, shone on by the torch light from your [favourite_colour] beanie.
Everyone in the family got their own one at Christmas a couple of years back. The entire household went out and earned a treat with the help of our brand new hats.
Sweet times.
Small birds sing above you, ‘Out past curfew’ you’d ‘joke’ when you heard them at night. The mood sours even more as memories try to creep in. You only have time for reminiscing right before bed where you spend a dedicated 10 to 30 minutes bawling your eyes out whilst screaming like an Aztec death whistle. Really tires you out so there’ll be an almost guaranteed full night of sleep, other than the emotional stress it’s legitimately super effective.
The sight of a newly hatched maggot wriggling on the woman from yesterday brings you back to the current situation. You choose to kneel next to her first–before her skin begins to officially slip. The skin slippage stage is when a corpse truly begins to look bad. Then there’s the blood bubbles, sinking nails, and eugh it is not great. Her face is actually rather unharmed now she is under proper lighting but there is very faint bruising around her mouth. Her neck also has a large bruise, the splotches look like someone strangled her. The possible cause of her death?
Or was it the several stab wounds littered all over her torso? It looks like a drunk guy was asked to point out where the heart is in the human body and failed several hundred times. The wounds vary in their depth with no clear specific target so it’s very sloppy work efficiency-wise. Maybe it really was a drunk bastard… Or one of those silly murderers that claim to do it for ‘the love of the game’.
Her husband, or who you guess to be her husband, had received the exact same messy treatment. His death was more immediate though, a harsh stab to the temple and slash to the neck with customary stabs littered over his bare torso. Evidently this person likes to stab a lot, how pleasant.
The newly found corpse is, as stated earlier, more visibly mutilated. Flies are already settling to make home within the face. This corpse has been heavily mutilated, again, exhibit A: the face. But the body has only a few deep gashes, resembling the wounds of the two men from a few days ago. So these also must be axe wounds…you think…you’re pretty sure.
After looking in their hair, ears and mouths you decide to finish up. You don’t believe that there are any hidden secrets to reveal up their asses or anything like that so the wound patterns written down on little sticky notes will be sufficient for now. Have to be. With the shovel it doesn’t take as long as it could have for the original 2ft grave for two to expand into a 4ft grave for three.
Each carcass got a harsh punt into the hole before being sealed up underground for what you pray is eternity.
Axe. Knife. Messy. Deep. Harsh. You don’t know exactly how much this would help but it has to aid you in some way.
You’re done with your time being wasted, time to go home.
“This is a knife–my hunting knife to be specific, you typically stab living things with it and they either die or cry” She sniffs and waves it in the air before tramping forward. “Honestly it depends on where you stab ‘em.”
Leaves are crushed beneath her dirt-caked boots as she marches. “You will learn to use this first. Then if you prove to me that you aren’t a complete chump, you get gun lessons.” She doesn’t wait for your little legs to catch up, forcing you into a jog. “...I'm not a chump...How long will lessons take?” You are already getting bored, you’re missing TV for this!
“I repeat, it depends on how dumb you are” The walk is silent after that. The trees bunch together around the both of you more and more as you venture deeper into the heart of the forest. Everything looks the same, like the corn mazes. That doesn’t make you feel good. How does she ever get home? Seems like an impossible task to you. Your feet would never ever carry so far.
You were told this was something you needed to learn, but what are you ever going to do with the pointy thingies? You don’t see a point in doing this, there are piggies and cows at home. After what felt like hours, but your sister claims to have ‘only’ been 30 minutes, she puts you to a halt in the midst of a clearing.
“Mama didn’t say how I had to teach you, just that I had to,” She shimmies her bag off. “So you are stuck with me until we make progress“ Then she pulls out the large fabric cylinder on her bag and pulls out tent pieces. What.
“Why do you have a tent?” You asked.
She snarls back “I know you’re not that stupid, you know why”
“You can’t keep me outside at night!” Your arms cross as she begins to set up camp. “Yes I can twerp we aren’t leaving until I think you’ve learnt enough, mama gave me permission.” You stomp your feet on the ground “But a fox or a bear or a monster might eat me! You are putting me in danger!” The two metal bars in her hands click together. “There are no monsters here, so shut up” She snaps.
Genuine worry spills over you. “But what about the other stuff?” She almost finishes in record time as you expect a reply. “Well, those will eat you,” You give a little gasp. “if you don’t do as I tell you to” And then an exhale. She’s totally super mean and always gets away with it, super unfair. With the two person tent finally set, you were off into the green depths.
She takes a rag out of her bag and pulls it on her head, it looks silly. “What’s that?” The camo hood of her coat is pulled over her cloth covered scalp. “A balaclava” She takes out an open switchblade and lazily throws it in your direction. It cuts your palm as you try to catch it. “Ow!” A gloved hand clamps on your mouth in the blink of an eye. “Shut it. Anyway, this is just a piece of my oh so efficient ensemble,”
Turning towards you and walking backwards she shows off her outfit. “with full proper gear you can basically become invisible to anyone dumb enough to come out here–used mainly for hunting animals but is just as effective against humans”
She speaks quietly, really quietly. At home she is usually either completely silent or barking out remarks. It’s so weird. A little hand wipes the bloody cut onto your [favourite_colour] jacket, an attempt at tidying yourself. It does the opposite. “So how do we keep clean and wash our hands?” A laugh “We don’t, unless we find a lake or puddle or…something but I don’t think you want to risk an infection now do you? And no I’m not wasting our bottled water” This just keeps getting worse and worse, you will never get used to this.
A rundown of the basics had been given to you, very brutally might you add as the demonstrations included a passing-by deer. At least the thing got a quick death, though its body was massacred to pieces via different ‘techniques’ and what ‘not to do’. Done to ‘teach you’ but you suspect she just wanted to fuck with you.
Hours later the first ‘lesson’ finally begins. The first (second) victim of today? A hiker guy who keeps flexing at some little box in his hand.
“Stay far behind and be quiet, watch and learn” Jecka whispers as she puts distance between you, her and the hiker. Now you hear it–don’t hear it actually. Her movements are dead silent, as if hovering just above the ground. Not a crunch or snap to be heard from her inching closer. As the distance between her and the hiker reduces her standard mannerisms visibly morph into something else. Back hunched, movements fluid, knife drawn and mind fully set upon its target.
Looks cool! Though you don’t think you could ever be that sneaky.
Minutes later, she pounces onto the man. He turns just before she reaches him and quickly opens his mouth to scream, but your sister is quicker. She is always quicker. Only gurgling and muffled shouts come from him as his body is pierced by a knife much larger than the switch blade she threw at you. He writhes as she calls out your name and you hurry forward.
Standing by his head you see the fountain of blood at the centre of his chest, shakily heaving up and down as his life bleeds out of him, eventually the light leaves his eyes. The last thing he’d ever seen was the little kid above him, curious wide eyes meeting his before it all faded to black.
You play with the switchblade in your hand as you prowl through the forest around the camp. Leaves somewhat shading you from the evening light around the campsite. The same campsite where that paranoid junkie lived, the same campsite where you found a couple dead in their bed. Some of the people from three days ago left, and were replaced by newcomers. Another family of five and some lone campers.
Crackhead is still there though, freaked out as ever. Dirty RV still in its designated spot. During your stakeout she poked her head out a few times, looking out into the forest–trying to find something out there amidst the trees.
There is something faint within that wishes that ‘thing’ was you. It would be so cool in theory, to be known, to be spoken of on those myths and true crime documentaries, podcasts, essays, etc. But like with most things; it’s better this way. The endless stream of bodies would almost cease to exist if you–or the idea of you–was in the minds of would-be visitors. You consider yourself lucky that everyone assumes the missing people were mauled by animals, or merely got lost.
‘Junkie’ as you have so politely named her scurries yet again out of her hidey hole and you continue on your little patrol. Checking so see if you can find any nearby stragglers leaving for a walk. The smell of snacks being roasted on top of a campfire floats past your nose. One of these days you’ll just disguise yourself as a camper, maybe get yourself some food from a kind hearted individual… Oh my heavens. The idea hits you like a trainwreck.
But would it work? Some people are more observant than one might think. You could say you just stay out within the forest, but would that be suspicious? You keep the thought at the back of your mind. As you nearly round up your trail an iron smell punches you in the face. No. Not again. You follow the odour a bit further away and clutch your head in your hands as a familiar scene blesses your eyes. You want to cry out but instead stay silent.
Hands akimbo, you stand over another dead body, not yours but recently killed. Really recently killed, like, killed today. This is it. You’ll have to ask some of the others to work overtime and hold fort, there’s no choice but to patrol the area more consistently and thoroughly. Your guard is up and you have to sadly throw out another corpse. You wouldn’t process the body in time before the 12 hour mark. The fact none of the others had found this corpse astounds you. The thought of someone having found the corpse and just deciding to stay silent is possible but highly unlikely.
Whatever, either is a net positive for you. Taking another little sticky note out of the bag you study the crime scene with haste.
Woman. Blonde. Short. Face has been clawed out. By a person, not an animal; the target is too clear and deliberate for a ‘random’ attack. Not sure what animal could have been willingly hanging around the camp that can also tear off one's face so cleanly. Slivers of red capture your attention. Hair. Bright red hair. There is a sudden urge to run into the campground and cause a scene.
Theories run through your mind. Was there anyone else with her exact hair colour? None that you’ve seen at least. A soft gasp escapes. Is she the killer? If so, she's very sloppy. You think back to her overall character. She is weirdly paranoid and super sketchy, but if it was her wouldn't she have at least tried to hide the body? She seemed like someone who would wish to hide this type of thing, maybe she is one of those two faced people? There are probably layers to this but right now you have a possible lead and one rather cagey suspect.
Minutes later you find an empty fox hole and dig it deeper with the trusty spade. It will be tight but she will fit, just a bit of squishing and folding needed to be done is all. Dirt covers the hole and you set off to a different camp, the red head still in your mind.
Over the course of a few weeks–bleeding closer and closer to mid-summer–a new routine was established: You go out, search, maybe stalk Junkie’s camp if you’re passing by, find a corpse somewhere out in the forestland, and clean it up if needed. And usually, it’s needed. You have been demoted to an off brand crime scene cleaner. Half the time you can’t even use them. You’re trying to stop a snowball from being made in the first place at the cost of funds.
Your patience is being tested. Every find brings you closer and closer to just destroying something. This is a very unpleasant feeling, being on edge constantly. Patrols took hours, entire days, so you do them only two or three times a week. It’s wearing you down quickly. Thankfully the workers on your land were already understanding, but the slight raise in pay definitely helped. They keep their eyes out whilst you are away. Before it was your parents who dealt with intruders and trespassers, then it was your brother, now it’s supposed to be you but your new busy schedule leaves that job to the employees.
They better not slack off.
Reaching home you let Fergus–the guy who now stands by the front–go home. It feels strange to have them be here during these hours but it’s best, for security's sake…you think.
You need to get your mind off things, you need to distract yourself with a different problem.
You enter the basement via a door on the outside of the house. There is a way in from the inside but this path is a more direct entrance. The stairs lead down into a large corridor with several doors on each wall. The door at the end leads to a room that has a way upstairs into the house, behind locks, trap doors, etc. Real scooby doo type of stuff.
Instead you head into the third door to your left, the room where some of the more organic things are kept. Like the skin grafts.
Flipping the light switch a sickly pale teal colour floods your sight to reveal rows of shelves and racks. All filled with organ jars, taxidermy, leather clothing and junk. Your hands grab four selected jars and place them on a metal ‘sterile’ table. The skin is kept in a solution you have forgotten the name of, it keeps the skin ‘fresher’ for longer; halts the rotting process for a period of time.
Each slice of epidermis is laid flat on the cold table. These are the strangest pieces of each family member. The rest of their skins are kept in tubs and jars further back in storage, only taken out for your most recent mask design. An emotional piece that really pulls on your heart string, because, you know, you’re using the skin of your loved ones. Which wouldn’t have been possible if they were alive.
You already feel water lining the bottom of your eyes as you take a seat. You would go to a therapist, the land and resources are the issue not your lifestyle, but it would all be a bit pointless if you couldn’t really explain what happened to them other than pass away. Everything is too intertwined for you to risk accidentally blabbering a secret or clue to someone who would absolutely rat you out.
Refocusing your sight you inspect the carvings. It wasn’t just an accident like police claimed to the reporters, but a targeted murder. The skin on all four members was carved with a symbol. A circle crossed out with an ‘X’.
A lot of money was spent on bribing people to hide evidence of what was in the trucks and to shut up the witnesses that were privy to the whole mess. Sadly, you both didn’t have, and couldn’t throw in time, enough money at the situation so it was still broadcasted on several news stations. It had some online coverage too but overall no one knew of the merchandise being transported. Burnt meat was found inside the trucks, charred by the fire and explosions. So no one could tell that hoards of dead and alive people were being transported. None of them wore clothes which helped, and the lab that tested the meat was also paid and/or blackmailed into silence by family friends.
You were lucky that you were aided by them before most of them fled to other countries for the time being because a lot of cash was lost over the course of those few days, but to get some of your family back? Completely worth the trouble. But that is pretty much it, so frankly you are at a loss where to go from here and you haven't found much online.
One symbol carved on their skin, jagged and clearly done in a rush by someone with zero respect. Dickheads. Disrespectful fucks. Goodfornothingcroutonbrainedhoebagsluts–.
Recently having gotten tired of walking in silence you gave up your auditory self-awareness for some tunes. Since you still follow the ‘No Phones’ rule you took your brother's ancient Walkman from his increasingly dusty room. He had a whole 80’s craze and loved to collect shit from the decade so your parents simply gave him all the still kept relics from their teen years. Maybe you should order some cassettes for your own music, as you have only been left with his music taste [which was actually quite similar to yours/but you don’t really mind/which is not at all your taste frankly]. ‘Crimson and Clover’ plays in your ears as you patrol closer to the centre of the forest.
You think over today's happenings as you mumble along the lyrics, mid-day sun shining down through the branches above ‘...Ah, when she comes walking over…’ You went without your mask, you weren’t planning to capture anyone or anything right now. Just a simple patrol. So far you haven’t even stumbled upon any corpses, you even caught a bitch earlier today close to home! There is very little that can ruin your day! Except obviously finding another unusable body or something like that… but you’re holding on by a few thin threads and so you are trying your best to stay optimistic!
You match your steps to the beat of the song as tension begins to escape your muscles. ‘…My, my, such a sweet thing–ba-da, da-da, da-da…’
You zoned out for the first time in ages, nearly completely unaware of your surroundings. Only checking your map when your muscle memory struggles to navigate the body. In your defence, this would have happened at some point anyway and it’s becoming rarer and rarer that you have a good day where you don’t want to jump into a grinder out of frustration.
A snap. You look down and see a branch beneath your feet. Whatever.
Minutes later? Another sound, this time a thud. You accidentally kicked a rock.
Another snap. Pausing you see nothing around you. Now you walk with only one headphone in. Your breathing slows down, taking pauses where you take time to listen to your surroundings. Nothing.
‘…Crimson and clover, over and over.’
The song comes to an end as you take the remaining headphone out your ear. A cracking sound from above causes your head to automatically snap upwards. There is something in the trees, probably an owl… Skipping past that you look back down.
Then you do a double take back to the thing up above you and look closer through the greenery.
There’s a fucker up in the trees.
Your hands tense, ready to grapple for your shotgun if required. “HEY!” you call out but no voice answers, does the person think you can’t see them? “WHAT UHM- WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP THERE?” You ask but you think you can take a pretty good guess. Through the branches you faintly see them gripping something large in their hands, apparently planning to drop it down on you.
And so with that display of aggression you whip out your gun and aim in their general direction. “GET THE DOWN” Instead they began pouncing from tree to tree like goddamn Tarzan the large stone, now left behind, crashes down onto the forest floor and your heart stops for a second. They were following you, must have, there is no other reason for them to be in the trees with a big ass rock.
There is no way in hell you’re going to just let them get away. “C’MON I JUST WANT TO TALK!” And of course, they weren't going to just come down. Their hiding place above muddies your vision of their figure, only seeing a general blob, making it harder to both chase and aim.
BANG
A critical miss. They begin to slowly get further and further away, panic sets in as you aim again.
BANG
Closer, but still a miss. After reloading the gun you aim yet again and shoot. You think this time you might have got her!
Your focus on the creeper made you completely blind to the gigantic tree root in front of you. Your feet twist sharply on the jagged root which causes you to fall flat on your face, guns flying out your grip and into somewhere amongst the wilderness. As you lay there you hear the sound of rustling fading away into silence, auditory confirmation the bastard got away.
You just–lay there. Bewildered. A minute later you peel your face off the ground, mug covered in dirt and leaves. Your nose stings like a motherfucker. Sitting up, your mind reels, still trying to catch up on that utter failure of a chase. You can’t find it in yourself to care right now about how you may come across to anyone. A screech bursts out of you, fists pounding the ground beneath.
A tree root. A tree root. Nearby birds and critters scurry away from your atomic level tantrum. This would have never happened to anyone in your family. Someone who very well may probably be the killer just got away because of your shitty shooting skills and a goddamn tree root.
With blood crusting and bruises flowering around your knuckles you sound a sigh of defeat. You’re screwed. Absolutely screwed. The delicately cracked mirror in front of you reflects a displeased expression. A pack of bandages is taken out of the cupboard under the sink. It was strange. Never in your life have you been so angry, well, there were probably times you have been angrier but still. Sure you have gotten somewhat violent in the past, but never something too self harming. In the past some bodily harm has been done to yourself but only on pure accident. This was emotion driven. You need to make sure this isn’t going to be a repeating occurrence, aches and pains are a massive hindrance obviously.
You just wash your nose and put a tiny plaster on it. Good enough. Your face has no bearing on your job efficiency. Rinsing and bandaging gives time to reflect. Maybe think of a plan. Sidenote to yourself; never wear headphones out again. That is a ‘rule’ you were aware of, still decided to go through with and now you face the consequences. You really are a chump.
Notes:
Trust, trust, we will be meeting residents eventually :3 I am trying to be less harsh on myself when it comes to what I write and it's a struggle lol. Hope you enjoyed reading!
You can also find me on Tumblr under the same username :D
(07/09/25): edited to put in italics that I didn't realise hadn't transferred over. Sorry!
Chapter 3: That Scream I Hear
Summary:
What's wrong with you? Like, physically?
Notes:
The reason this took so long to get out is because I was really unhappy with it but because it's been months and it's nearly 2026, I wanted to get this out. Even though I am still iffy with it :[ sorry for the wait! <:O
Will probably go back to edit all chapters one day :P
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Crickets chirp outside. The now finished mask grasped between your hands, the warm lamp above the only source of light.
Is this it? Well, you think so. But are you ready? Because you don’t feel like you are. It feels wrong. But as time goes on it feels like it either is now or never. A thumb shakily brushes over a piece of your father. This is a mask that almost makes your role official in your head. A mask that cements your current circumstance. This is it.
Your hand tremors out of your control.
It feels stuffy. Unlike the balaclava and cheap mask this one wasn’t as breathable, but was certainly tolerable. The fuzzy blanket of emotional peace it brings heavily outweighs the slight discomfort. Nothing one can’t get used to.
Breathing aside, this mask is awesome, and should hopefully make you appear more like a threat than usual, though really anyone would be disturbed by a masked woman prowling at night. Your sister's old balaclava was removed as well, but kept within a trouser pocket as a backup, and to a lesser extent, as a comfort. This one covers the entirety of your face and cranium, stretching over your head [smoothly/and hair/with hair poking out the bottom]. To be able to do things like eat and speak clearly without having to lift the mask; a zip was added by the mouth. It was only by that point did you realise that it looked rather similar to a gory gimp mask…
It is a gory gimp mask– but it doesn’t look bad! You like it.
A different site has been marked on the map. A lesser known area installed with picnic benches from decades long gone. Despite its more obscure status it still brings in a small handful of people that surely won’t be missed by the general public. Especially with no large community or employees to keep an eye out. Which helps make it a hotspot for druggies and freaks.
Frankly you prefer the perverts over the drug users, you don’t know what in the porky pig they are putting in their systems and you have no desire to start knowingly poisoning your customers. Yes, just because someone isn’t doing drugs at camp it doesn’t mean they aren't contaminated, but if they aren’t taking the chance to abuse substances in a secluded area where they can practically do as they please with no one to stop them, then it’s less likely they do such things.
With a gloved hand rubbing over the mask's zip, ensuring its closure, you jog in a steady pace towards your destination.
It takes over an hour for the ground to appear in the distance. The purple-orange colours merging over the horizon sets a mood. You are going to get there. You are going to capture at least one person. And you are going to go home with a job well done! No fuck ups, you won’t let anything get to you. You are an adult and you will deal with it. If there is an issue, you try your best to fix it. Though having to give yourself a pep talk one may give to a fresh-out-of-school employee puts a slight damper on your confidence.
The faint blob of yellows and oranges becomes the roar of a large campfire. Depending on how well you perform, it’s your lucky day. A rare amount for the area; about 3-4 people, you’ll have to stake out. If it were just two then you might have been able to just charge in but tough luck you guess. There is a girl with ridiculously long pink nails, another ‘nonchalant’ girl sitting on the ground with a drawing pad, and there is movement from probably about 1 other person within a tent, and with the amount of gear there is, there's a chance that a pal or two are gone for the moment. It’s fine. You can wait.
The pencil scratches against the creased paper; a line here and a stroke there finishes the sketch. The result was satisfactory; it is of the local scenery, including the birds and other small animals I caught glimpses of, the animals were unusually tolerant to our small party. The walk here was a pain but Emma said that Matt told her this was the 'best spot ever' for a camping trip. "Lara!" Speak of the devil. I turn my head. "You done? Get up, I need help with opening stuff!" Her long nails clack together as she does an opening and closing motion with both hands. "Why'd you get them done before going out into the wilderness you dumbass?" But I listen, shutting the pad and heading over. "Does it matter? Matt asked me to help with opening the supplies and I need to look capable for my bae...just need to look fab whilst doing it." Another crab motion courtesy of Emma.
I get to work as she at least attempts to help. "Is anyone going to turn on any lamps soon?" Bags are ripped at the seal. "Why? We have fire?" A jar lid pops open. "Yeah but if we have to go piss or something in the middle of the night I am not letting anyone—including myself—do that in the middle of where we sleep, also, the fire isn't staying lit all night" Clips snap open. "Oh... yeah I guess that's reasonable" A nod. "Mhm, also don't want to attract any predators or freaks while we sleep, Jason Vorhees might be around—you don't know!" With a comical stabbing motion from me she giggles and waves a hand. "Oh please, Preds? Sure. Thieves? Eh, maybe? But I don't think we'll encounter any 'killers' around. " Giving up, she sits down with crossed legs."What's so hard to believe about that?" "Because I said so," She snorts. "Don't worry, I already told you! Matt assured me this place gets almost ZERO traffic, even in the summer" She stays strong on her side and I drop the subject, no point in going on about it. If anything goes wrong I can at least pin the blame on Matt.
Noisy footsteps announce a presence. June and Matt enter camp out through the trees. They hold a boat-load of sticks. I knew we weren't going to fall asleep at a reasonable time but it appeared they planned to stay up all night. Emma runs to her baby and they get handsy. I wave to June, she drops her sticks in a large pile and comes over.
About an hour or two later the sun has almost fully set. The fire at the center of camp is our only light for the night as we sit around it on logs and rocks.
"So what should we do now?"
Avery speaks, having only just left their tent half an hour ago. Matt speaks up. "Well, we could start with the usual camp activities and tell spooky stories?" The camp stares at him, waiting for him to move on. "Or we can do drugs-" "Or, now hear me out, we can just do both..." I interrupt and the camp collectively agrees. Marshmallows and sausages are pierced on sticks hand held over the fire. June stands to get the weed in her tent. For a moment I swear I saw movement from behind the trees. I stare, eyes squinted but the conversations surrounding me tears my attention back to my friends.
Near midnight everyone begins to feel spent.
Or if you are Emma: frisky, stumbling whilst dragging Matt somewhere to the edge of camp, at least making sure to tell us good night as they depart. The night air was soothing and the moon was bright in the inky sky. This was nice. Better than I expected when I was invited at least. With a pat to my knees I announce my departure. "I think I am gonna go snooze, night guys"
June leaves to do the same.
Avery chooses to stay behind, to watch over the fire and put it out when they're done, though they aren’t exactly known for remembering the important things
They seem on edge. "You okay?" Their eyes snap to me. "Huh?" "I said, everything okay? Need any water?" They shake their heads. "No, no I'm fine...I think—I just think I fucked up the brownies somehow, feeling off" I nod hesitantly. "I'll vomit behind a bush If I have to, just- just have a good night." "Alright man...you too"
I slip into my cozy sleeping bag and begin to doze off, faintly hearing Avery hum to themselves and Matt giving what I assume is fumbled dirty talk to Emma in the far distance. Over what was either a couple minutes or an hour I faded in and out of consciousness until something awoke me. No noise or anything, but simply a feeling. I grab my little lantern and step out my tent. Where a fire was once roaring a small but bright flame remains. Avery forgot to put it off, leaving it to die off on its own. I guessed this would happen. The fire was small enough for me to simply pour a bottle of water over.
Then I remember about the others, have Emma and Matt gone to sleep yet? A quick check shows their tent is empty.
The only things sleeping in their bags were beauty supplies, clothes and condoms, which they had definitely forgotten to take with them. I don't hear them though... Strange. Holding the lamp in front of me I try to remember what direction the two went. East...I think? No east is north, or was it south...? Whatever.
The closer I get to their approximate destination the more uneasy I feel. It's quiet. Like, really quiet. My heart beat begins to speed up as I begin to worry, this is further out than I thought they would be. Oh my god—where the hell are they? My steps slow down as I get further from our tents until I stop. I clear my throat.
"GUYS?" A rustling to the left of my front startles me, causing me to give a short scream. Matt's head slowly rises from amidst some bushes, bridging over Emma on the ground under him. Both very much naked from the waist down. "What the—I thought you were missing—or worse, DEAD— what the hell are you doing just lying there?" He rubs his eyes clumsily. "Please shut up, we, like, just fell asleep..." "In some bushes in the middle of the night? No, c'mon, you're coming with me." I pull the both of them up, make them find the rest of their clothing and drag them back to camp with the handle of my lamp clamped between my teeth.
They get to their tent just fine, small light emanating from it.
As I was about to turn to mine I saw a figure and swung my light in front of me. "Avery?" They looked worse. Far worse. "Wait you weren't in y-" "Did you see anything?" What? "Avery, where were-" "Did you see anything?" Their voice is taut. "Uhm, no? I don't think so? Also Matt and Emma fell asleep out there. Can you believe that? They are just begging to be killed, so I dragged them back into their tents immediately as a good friend would."
Breathing dims to something less erratic yet still heavy. "Want to sit down? Need some water? Was it really that bad a batch?" They don't reply, just shake their head and turn to their tent at the base of a thick tree. But before they could climb in, a loud snapping sound from above captured both our attention.
Before I could even register what was above, something large fell down onto Avery and a piercing screech blasted from where they were forced to lay on the ground.
A person wearing a dark red tattered hoodie claws at him, quickly rendering his cries into gargles before I could process everything and began to scream myself. Emma and Matt poke their heads out of their tent. Avery's mutilated face drops from the stranger's clawed hands and seeing the psychopath on top they too begin to rightfully freak out.
June.
We need June.
"JUNE!" A groan comes from her tent but otherwise no movement. The stranger's head turns to face me, white mask on their face contrasting the pitch black of the eye holes, the mouth and both eyes misshapen by scratch marks. I take hurried steps back and tripping lightly whilst doing so. "DEAR GOD JUNE" I begin to back up and run away just as the killer's focus now fully locks onto my person. "JUNE!!" The others ditch their tents. Finally picking up on my desperate tone and the cries of Emma and Matt, it only takes a moment more before she tears through the fabric ‘door’ of her tent like a bull that’s been irked by the movement of a cape.
Without a second to waste and as if on instinct, she charges at the danger right as they pounce at me. June is built like a brick shithouse and is about a head and a half taller than them, broader as well, so it isn’t a difficult task for her to slam them down, but the attacker is stronger than both June–and I– expected them to be and the both of them roll around in the dirt as the two land brutal hit after hit on each other.
Matt tries to wave me over.
"MARLIENE" I chase after them but as Matt reaches the edge of camp, Emma right behind him, a gun shot rings out and Matt stumbles and freezes. June and the attacker come to a halt as well. A whiny gurgle comes from him. He folds in on himself and where his forehead once was sat a massive fleshy crater showing brain chunks and pieces from his shattered skull. Dead. Oh fuck he's dead. And Avery. It becomes a struggle to breathe as things really hit me. A rabid groan sounds throughout camp as another unknown figure runs into camp. My voice turns hoarse.
Shitshitshitshitshit—
Leaving the bulky bag behind you hurriedly try to reload your gun as your eyes stay glued on the dimly illuminated figure fighting back—and slowly overpowering—the larger woman. It's the same bitch from before. No doubt about it. But now you can finally, sort of, see them clearer.
By now you at least assume it's a female bodied person. Check one. They seem to be a similar height to the Junkie but that's still too vague to concretely pin her down. Whatever hair flows out from the dark hood is long, similar length to the Junkies. Check two. If you could maybe get a source of light closer to them, the hair colour could almost confirm it! But they are too far away.
Non-dominant hand grabs the girl closest to you, the one with the outrageously long nails, causing a thin, shrill scream to tear from her throat. She desperately tries to fight back but with a tight grip on her stretched out hand and a harsh push-and-pull manoeuvre, her hands are pushed back into her face, her nails piercing through her eyes, eyesockets and into her head. You didn’t think that would actually work. Just what hell were they made out of? Tungsten?
With another one dead I hear the 'June' woman wail as she crumbles flat on the suspect. "Oh—cough—h sh—shit..." Spikes push in and then out of her stomach through past her spine repeatedly as she gives out a few last whines and coughs before becoming limp. The —you're now pretty sure— woman beneath kicks off the dead body and hops swiftly onto her feet.
You both look at the last camper.
Not wasting a second longer she sprints for the woods, tripping on every rock and twig on the way. You aren't letting this bitch take the last kill. The stranger runs for her but you aim and shoot the runaway just in time. Your competitor flinches. The final girl falls.
Now it's a stand off. Two killers now stare at each other as a thick tension fills the air. The delicate moonlight now shines through the tree leaves. Maybe you could get her to talk? Didn't really work the first time but you try to quell your anger as you unzip the mouth and speak up.
"Hey...Crazy seein’ you agaiiiiihhnnn.."
Your speech slurs and panic creeps in. No, no not now please. It becomes a struggle to maintain focus. You try to speak again but your mouth struggles to formulate any coherent words or sounds, face heating up beneath the leather of the mask.
She doesn't reply, just tilts her head without a peep. Your cut hand twitches as you feel tremors come on. She steps closer, quietly. Almost out of your control, your hands loosen around the shotgun until it eventually drops out your hands.
She doesn’t bother hurrying up, seeing as you are now clearly in a state of vulnerability. By now you've folded onto the ground as your legs struggle to gather the basic strength needed to hold yourself up, trying to grasp at your throat, weakly massaging it to hopefully stop the speech from slurring. It barely ever works but you do so anyway. She stands before you and roughly kicks the gun to the side. Just, staring at you.
The first question you have is why didn't she just use it? Your question is answered as her shoulders shake ever so subtly, a faint giggle unidentifiable in pitch slipping through her mask.
She's laughing at you... A weak swipe at her is dodged by a simple step back. She muffles herself but visibly shakes more. Tears line your eyes. She crouches, tips of the claw on her pointer, middle and ring finger glide over both sides of your zipper. Blurry eyes catch the sight of the bandana around her neck and your heart stops, blood turns cold. It's not the colour that captures your attention—too dark anyway—, nor the cut of the fabric, but the design drawn on the front in ink. A big bold circle in the center crossed out by a large jagged 'X'.
The numbness in your legs starts to subside. Your hands too; fingers flexing subtly against soil. It was short this time. Thankfully. Connecting 'who' this was is even more important now. This must be a batshit insane coincidence. Your parents...dead. And this is their killer? That doesn’t seem right. This is at least… one of them, you don't believe someone like this could have done all that…could she? You’ve learnt so Did she come here just to fuck with you? Just as her hand aims to enter your mouth and pierce the inside of your head, grabbing the switchblade in your pocket you flex your hands around it, just a bit more and you can gut her. Her hand draws back and surges forward just as you whip it out and stab it right through the semi-curled palm. She finally makes noise, shrieking whilst pulling back—falling onto her ass. Blood gushes as it’s ripped out her hand with as much strength as your still somewhat-weak body can muster.
You wobble as you scramble to your knees. Letting yourself fall again but now on top of her instead, knife aimed for her general body. "Yo—oouuughhhhh" You rasp, becoming slack-jawed. You still can't talk.
Caging her down, your blade pierces her in the upper stomach, pushing down to get as deep as possible. Another mask-muffled shriek escapes her, small drops of blood fly out her mouth. Her leg springs up and kicks your jaw, knife slicing down inside her causing another howl. Adrennaline keeps your mind clear, well somewhat clear, and quickly you go back to strike but she hurries away on all fours, quickly pulling herself together then standing up. What? How is she not dead? You jump up and target her calf for another cut, but her leg swings round and punts you in the head.
Your mind goes blank but you think you hear the sound of footsteps against packed soil.
You black out.
Blurry eyes open to an ink black sky. You sit up with a gasp, lips trembling. Patting yourself down. Alive. You're alive. Questions. Oh you have so many questions. She got away. Just as frustration rises you tell yourself there is no use for it right now. You need to get home first. Then you can go buckwild. Getting a sense of your surroundings is difficult but with your eyes spot the faint light of the now flickering lamp with a corpse sprawled nearby. The corpses! Finding your balance you head for and grab the lamp before spending just about half an hour debating whether or not you are able to bring them home, and if you even can. By the warmth of the bodies with freshness of the blood and wounds, you can probably make it just in time.
Getting your backpack from your little post in the trees, you get to work. Making sure to keep your mind busy in order to not be set off. Hands quiver uncontrollably during the entire process, eyes brim with water but never quite spill.
The leather of the couch sticks against your skin. The low table in front of you is littered in notes, pictures, and salty droplets of water. A circle crossed out with an X. You didn’t bother getting your relatives' flesh from the basement. You've looked over their skin probably more times than you can count already. You know what has been carved, and you know what that skank had marked on her bandana. Her collar. Goddamn dog. A literal bitch.
You’ve been going over what you have so far: The killer—or at least one of them as up until recently you didn’t think of the possibility that there may have been more than one—may or may not be connected to your family's downfall, Junkie is quite possibly the culprit—maybe the screams will be good enough to compare voices? And the killer is most likely aware of your existence. Your head falls into your hands, elbows digging into thighs. Maybe you could lure the Junkie outside of camp? But it’s unlikely to happen, no matter who she is, she is extremely cagey when on campgrounds so that will prove difficult. Still. You need to think of something.
Glancing at the clock, it shows that it is currently in the mid-day hours. You spent the night working with wearied limbs, chopping at the bodies and chucking them in the freezer as fast as one was able after such an encounter. Carrying two bodies and dragging three across the forest floor by a rope took more of a toll on your arms than usual, an utter nuisance.
Moments later a knock comes from the door and Darlene enters the room.
She chuckles, it's an empty sound. "Cold in here huh?" Your body has adapted to it, you can't relate. You gesture to what remains free of the couch, and sits as ordered. The surface dips as she takes a glimpse at the table before speaking. “A pig escaped." "Hm?" She pops her bubblegum "Yeah a piglet, actually" You simply nod and she stays quiet. Why did she feel the need to see you in person?
"Anything else you wanna say?"
She shakily exhales. "So– For the last few weeks, Daniel I know we are supposed to report anything we see or find to you immediately...but apparently Daniel forgot to do so." She straightens up and so do you. "While we were looking over things he mentioned that yesterday he saw someone far out at the edge of the land." Hands grip the leather backing of the couch. The hell?
The air noticeably shifts, along with your demeanor. Even a dead man would feel uncomfortable. "He claims the person wasn't doing anything. Just standing there, but they stood there for a while. Now, why didn't he report to you? I don't know, someone will beat some sense into the dumbass soon, but just know that everyone is now keeping an even sharper eye out." Twiddling her thumbs like a child she turns away from you, finding that looking into the pair of stern [eye_colour] eyes next to her was too uncomfortable.
Why didn't he say anything? "Daniel is fucked, and I am going to question," A pause to consider your choices. "but—don't tell him anything yet, though," A simple nod. "And try to make sure everyone is at least carrying a taser or a gun or something. I have a feeling that some aren't bothering to do so, the weapon racks are worryingly full" Another nod. She stands up and exits the room as your attention falls back on to the papers again.
The meat is warm and tender in your hands.
After the encounter with the bandana savage, there had been a slow decrease in the number of victims throughout the forest. Or at least in victims that weren't yours. It's a good thing. You want to believe you scared her off but inside you know that can't be the case. Lucky. You got lucky. And while it feels shameful that's the only reason you 'won', it was still a win at the end of the day. You’ve been trying to do this thing called looking at the bright side, lest your sanity begin to crumble even more.
A victim hangs by a hook in the freezer. Missing an arm. Shaky fingers grip the cooked slab and bring it closer to your open maw. Drooling as you take the first bite, your eyes nearly roll back. You have to stop yourself from inhaling the whole thing down at once. It needs to be savoured. It's not often that you let yourself indulge in this, especially now of all times with money depleting, but now that you are alone it is not like they’re there to stop you anymore. Not like they did in the past anyway, back then you could afford to do so.
It’s not hard to guess that this business came with the fact everyone in the family would partake in cannibalism.
Mother had been fed the stuff by her parents, and her parents were fed by their parents and repeat, repeat, repeat. Father got kuru after getting curious, being an idiot teen he ate someone's brain raw. At least you were a literal child.
Mother was fortunate, father was not. Like you— it didn't affect him 24/7; only in random spasms or shocks all throughout his life, but all things considered the symptoms he got were at least on the minimal side. The two of them made sure to keep all of you away from brains until everyone was old enough to actually be taught of its effects.
Fuck the way it melts in your mouth. And the wait in between makes it all that much better.
First time buyers would ask 'What does it taste like?' 'Is there something familiar in the flavour or is it a whole new world?' and honestly the answer isn't really exciting and is really simple: Pork, human meat tastes like pork, the defining difference is that the flavour is ten times stronger.
Not a 100% accurate description but the closest you can get to explaining it.
Reason for this special little occasion? There has been a lessening.
A lessening in the deaths caused by the new guest. Out of almost knowwhere—or at least unexpected in your head—the number had plummeted after your earlier encounter.
You want to say that you and your awesome, totally badass, new mask scared the culprit off. But what has probably happened is that they either got bored—the unlikely option only because of their probable ties to your families passing—or they're planning something, biding their time—which is the likely option because life always likes to grab you by the balls and rip 'em off. Still, you've been in a bad mood lately and need a pick-me-up to sweeten your sour.
Another bite. Just like mama made it.
It's just...so
...so
Good!
Your mother was busy recording in the kitchen as you ate another spoonful of icecream, making an updated 'basic recipe' video for newbies and first time cannibals to post on the website. The paper before you crinkles as fruit scented pencils scratch on its surface. A pretty piggy. With a heavy groan from where she stands your name is called out.
"Get me a brain from the freezers! An old one!” She yells before mumbling to herself about something.
She thanks you as she sighs and leans on the counter, bloody hands carelessly imprinting on the surface. You jog all the way to the building in your little and head down to the freezers.
You have already memorized all the important passwords so now when home gets too boring, you just walk around in the underground. Playing music whilst running through the tangle of mostly sterile hallways always kept you busy. Reaching the designated freezer, a thick icy fog flows out as the double doors open to reveal dozens of people hanging, in containers and in pieces on shelves reaching the ceiling.
It takes you a minute or two to find the oldest brain near the entrance. You wrap the squishy thing messily in cling film and skip back home.
Three crows caw in the sky, gliding in circles above the house.
The brain interests you, neither of your parents ever made dishes for your household using it, but never truly bothering to specify why. So, obviously, being a kid, you want to eat it. When visitors or certain families come over, you and your siblings—but especially you—are kept away from the brain platters.
The kitchen smells amazing as you enter and mother gracefully takes it out of your hands, ready to continue recording. "Thank you sweetling, you can go now," She unwraps it. "Mama needs nothin' else…"
"So that's about it, remember, human meat is somethin’ that most people don't get their hands on until adulthood so don't feel bad or surprised if your first few times end up with mush, it’s really not that hard but people often overthink things."
Her voice finally goes quiet as the movie on screen does too. It's been about a couple hours full of her recording and prepping everything, but now only snapping and clinking of containers and cookware placed in cabinets is heard. Mother reminds you of your bedtime before heading off upstairs but a flicker of cool light still escapes the kitchen.
The open fridge door slowly creaks wider and gives view of the freshly baked brain, its smell wafting around you like a beckoning hand.
How bad would it really be to try it? Just a little nibble…
The last of the sun's ombre light slowly fades away as you drive to a nearby town, giving time before requiring the use of headlights. The chosen radio station plays generic [prefered_music_genre] songs, you tap the steering wheel to the beat. Just thirty minutes more and you'll arrive. First you will head over to the clothing shops, then the grocery store, anywhere else will be an impulse visit.
As a song gets to a climax, you push harder on the pedal and your attention on the very empty road wavers, that's when life decides to fuck with you. Something hops onto the road. "SHIT."
While tense legs try to slam the brakes in time; a deer sprints across the road, gets shot in the torso by an unseen someone, and proceeds to get launched in the air by the front bumper of your truck.
You step out the truck and slam the door shut, stomping over to the freshly dead carcass and crouching down.
Deer don’t usually reside in the area, preferring to frolic and graze a great many miles away.There was a moment of questioning on wether or not you’d take it back home, but with it’s head fucked and thighs–as well as entire left side– scrapped along the concrete there is no point. Although the horns have miraculously stayed intact, rather prettily formed as well. Looking into its freshly empty eye it stares back at you, in question on why it’s life was cut so abruptly, so unfairly. Crunching of gravel alerts you to the culprit behind you and your head twists around.
A lanky man casually strolls closer behind your crouched body. Both bandaged hands holding onto a worn shotgun that's clearly been through some things in its lifetime. A patch covers his right (his left?) cheek.
"It's mine."
You stand up and pat your legs to rid of dirt or debris, "Yeah don't worry I don’t want the poor things mangled body anyway," and point at its twisted body, limbs bent at unnatural angles. "I'm just wondering what it's doing all the way out here" walking round he picks up its bleeding body, examining it.
"It ran off when I was hunting, what e-else?" You cross your arms, his aim isn’t ‘horrible’ but it definitely not great, "Not very well if it ran as far as I presume it did," he squints at you, "What, y-you can do b-b-better?" Now you raise a brow, the audacity of this guy. "Yes, I can—how often does this happen? Or are you just a newbie?" Dropping the deer he closes in on you and his quietness in a way confirms both your questions.
"No, I know how to shoot an animal, no–no sweat," "Really?" "Yeah but it's j-just a bit harder when they’re no-" he pauses for a moment, “When they’re not what?” he goes on, “t-t-they’re not standing still” you nod along. "Don’t have any friends to teach you?" He shrugs "I have friends but th-they can’t or don–don’t” he relaxes, “they're too busy right now, or too lazy, I'm also a full grown man." he flexes an arm. Whether or not he has muscle is covered by the striped sleeves of his baggy hoodie "I can teach my-myself." You chuckle "Not really." "Yes really." "You don’t even have the basics down." A sigh "Well—why don’t you teach me then if you’re so amazing?"
You pause.
You look up at the sky. It's not too dark, and there's a shitty 24/7 convenience store in town; you aren't in a hurry—clothing aside. The urge to prove yourself to a stranger is strong. You just can’t resist. "Sure" His head tilts to the side. "Really?" "Mhm, why not, I don't have a schedule" Walking over to the driver seat side you look at him pointedly and get in.
He hops into the passenger seat, slamming the door and fondling random bits and bobs in the car as you make an illegal U-turn and speed down the road. "S-so, you seasoned or s-something?" his tone is much more friendly now "I guess...maybe not seasoned but I was taught quite young so..." he hums "Well d-despite what you may think I am actually also quite ex-exp-expirienced—just, never really had to care about where I hit them." "So you just hunted for trophies?" Shaking his head he elaborates, "No not trophies, my f-f-friends might have taken an antler or a head once in a while but I do it for practice." He plays with your brother's frankenstein-ed bobble head on the dashboard. As the road continues with little to no turns, you relax.
"Do you have any other music?" You pull a folder from the glove compartment and pass him a CD wallet, deciding to also turn up the heat under his seat and pass him your [fitted/oversized] coat when the road is straight and you have time to let go of the wheel. [It covers him nicely/His top half is completely covered by the fabric, only the full lengths of his legs visible].
He blinks but takes it anyway. "What's this for?" "You're clearly cold, don't know how you even can be in this weather but everybody's built differently I guess." you say with furrowed brows. He stutters "I—what?" There is a beat of silence before he begins to giggle.
"What? What did I say? I am aiding you in the preservation of body heat, dipshit" The giggling turns to laughter. Sarcastic wording aside, what did you say? A bandaged hand gives your shoulder a couple of tough smacks. He calms down "N-no I'm not cold," breathing evens out "but thanks bud." Flipping through the wallet he picks out a CD and slips it in, huddling under the jacket and proceeding to ask about every little thing he lays his eyes on in the truck's interior.
Now curious, you ask "So what is up with you?" he fiddles with the AC "Nothin' much.” He sounded final, he knew what you meant and wasn't willing to answer, but he was in your truck. Your truck, your rules and you don’t want to be harbouring a possible crackhead in your vehicle. “I’m just a little curious and since you’re clearly one to ask questions it’s a little unfair I can’t. You know what I was talking about.” He rolls his eyes like an edgy teen. "Tourette's; can't control it, so don't ask me to” He spoke like someone who’s had to explain this many times before so you don’t push further "Don’t have an issue with it."
Eventually we reached the intended destination and parked behind some bushes. Grabbing a small kit as well as a rifle from under the tarp in the back of the truck—kept there in case of emergency, for instance; an escapee—you nudge for him to follow after you. The man does so without question. Light dims as the sun sinks further down. Taking out a cheap compass you choose to head north-west.
You aren't as knowledgeable of these specific forest grounds, so you aren't sure how soon you'll come by a good enough game animal.
"I'm Toby" you don't look back nor do you stop walking, "Hm?" he rubs his hands together as he catches up to walk side by side with you "Well, I mean w–we've known each other f-for almost about an hour, going to h-hang around each other f-for much longer too, so might as well know what to call e-e-eachother, no?" Oh. You share your name and in return receive a small, toothy, smile from Toby, his arm wrapping around your shoulders.
"H-hope you're as good as you say y-y-you are." you don't bother moving to push him off "Why?" "Because I hopped into a stranger's truck, and got driven off into a secluded forest, in an area I do not know well at all," Now that you look at it, you do seem like a bit of a creep. "if I don't come out w-w-with something by the end of this then I just made myself a c-clown and my pals will make fun of me for eternity if I die h-he-here." You miss the warmth as soon as the hand lets go, but the thought is immediately pushed back into the recesses of your mind.
As the air grows colder about a half an hour of walking later, lady fortune answers with a doe.
Your hand signals for Toby to pause. Taking out his gun, both your eyes glued to the animal, you tiptoe behind him to whisper "Make sure the thing isn't running away in the first place, and if it is, you usually shouldn't even bother." With a wave for him to continue, he aims and you look him up and down. Nothing wrong so far, posture is good; but not for killing animals though, too 'statue'-like, it's the posture that you make when trying to shoot someone, not something… Weird.
The doe freezes, ears perked, sensing a disturbance. Your hand wraps around to his chest and presses down "Remember to breathe, though I'll say you'd be a mighty fine statue street performer if you aren't already" his chest expands, your hand falls. The doe relaxes again and munches on the foliage…So far you don’t see anything that wrong? Seems like he does know what he’s doing.
He aims, he shoots, and he scores! Hands twitched a bit so the bullet landed in a weaker area but he actually did really well! The doe drops and you reach a hand for his shoulders but he rushes over to the damn thing before you can.
It’s recommended that a person waits a while before reaching for a hit animal as depending on what it is and where it was hit that it may just play dead and as soon as one reaches for it, it may run off unexpectedly and leave the hunter behind in dust; unprepared to shoot again.
If you follow up right away, you might frighten your already injured deer into disappearing for good unless you are able to catch up, which most humans can not.
The doe wasn’t dead. Nor was it incapacitated. It hopped up and sprinted off into the trees, fated to eventually die a slow death with its wound.
Toby was ready to chase but this time you got a good grip on him, hands gripping the back of his neck like an owner would a mutt. He’s surprisingly sturdy and is barely yanked back by your pull. But no matter how sturdy he may be, you’re stronger.
You go over the importance of not being too hasty, of waiting after a shot; depending on the shot's quality, bloodtrails, etcetera, etcetera. He nods, his eyes rolling. “I have time to look around for another game, don’t think we’ll get again but we can still do so, maybe we’ll find your escapee.” His eyes struggle to tear themselves away from something behind you, but with a glance back there’s seemingly no one there, and certainly no one you can smell. “Tha-ats fine.”
A few more hours pass by and the two of you(mostly you) gun down some critters, birds and rabbits and whatnot. You think he may have improved at least a teeny, tiny bit. For a few hours worth of progress you’re satisfied and he seems to be so too. The moon light–along with a flashlight– helps you guide yourself and Toby back to your truck. The light chill in the air dancing against whatever patches of skin you both leave exposed. He asked many questions, quite a few you didn’t answer to be extra sure.
You had forgotten you had an entire shopping trip planned, but you’re spent now, you can go some other time. It takes a moment for you to feel the cool breeze of the air flowing in through the open window. It’s embarrassing to admit, but you haven’t truly spoken to anyone outside the farm in so long.
The spontaneous hang out and lesson brings you a giddy warmth you haven’t felt in a while, making you shuffle beneath your covers with a small smile blooming on your face.
‘Toby’ never gave you your jacket back.
Her eye looks odd; something under the discoloured eyelid makes it… lumpy? But by now you can’t bring yourself to care that much. This woman is a trophy now, an agitating, heavy, muscular, trophy. You’re going to hang her head on a wall for pissing you off.
She caught you off guard. But you got a hit on her before you could actually take a good look at her. Face is scarred, clearly on purpose to give her a sewn up smile either done by another or by her own hand. Another freak. Another intruder on your turf. Knots form in your muscles. You can pick this up tomorrow. A hook pierces the tough muscle and bone of her naked shoulder then the freezer door is locked. The tub holding her clothing is left abandoned, you being too tired to even deal with that. Everything can be done tomorrow.
The intended victim was a guy, a college jock who’s head was still stuck in his Highschool years. The memory of what happened after is still a blur but you (or probably moreso your target)were ambushed, this time your stalker was a chatty fuck. Not the woman(?) from before. Blabbering endlessly about something.
You thank whatever is above for your reflexes were triggered by her jumpscare and your knife ended up lodged deep in her skull. Honestly you do not remember more than that and that’s the honest truth. You went on autopilot, unwilling to deal with much more.
The farm is stretching you thin, making your string more tense get fragile by the day. Darlene and others have become noticeably more careful around you, they would ask questions if they didn’t already know your situation.
There is an ant hill not too far from the slaughter house, the ants finding good grub from sloppy workers, pushing themselves forward. It filled you with a little hope, a little determination. If ants can push through hard times, so can you. Can’t you?
Notes:
If there's any typo's or anything like that I've missed, please tell me! And if anything just, feels out of place or weird(or too cringe), also tell me, and I'll look over it :P