Chapter 4

October 30th, 2008

I never realized how messy blood can be.

Granted,I've only ever seen this much of it in slashers and crime documentaries, but I always thought it'd be…cleaner…somehow. Though, as I stare at the blood that continues to drain from Ethan's throat and the sizable gash on his abdomen, I realize it's not only messy, but also abundant. I can see how people who fancy themselves killers of the serial variety become pros at minimizing the mess it leaves. This whole concealing and cleaning up the crime ordeal definitely isn't as fun as the actual killing part. Not to mention the way it splattered onto me makes me feel like I'm a real-life embodiment of a Jackson Pollock painting.

I keep waiting for guilt to ruin this feeling that is flowing freely through my veins, but the more time passes as I hold onto the edges of the stiff tarp, the more alive—not to mention aroused—I feel. Which is unexpected, but then again, I spend my nights watching masked killers wreak havoc and murder innocent people for fun, so should I really be all that surprised by the aching pulse between my legs?

Probably not, but I'll have to deal with that later. Right now, I need to focus on getting Ethan's body as deep into the woods behind the abandoned mill as I can. Even though it's been abandoned for years, it's still not that far away from the main road and subdivision of houses that surround it and the last thing I need is any nosy neighbors calling the cops. I've seen the people who live here call for things as menial as someone not cleaning up after their dog, so forget if they witness me dragging a dead body around. I'll be as good as poor Ethan over here.

I continue my backward stride, turning my head every few steps just to gauge where I'm heading since this area is unkempt and most definitely poses a major tripping hazard. Not that tripping should be one of my biggest concerns right now. I can survive a sprained ankle, but jail, with my personality? I'm not too sure.

I'm about to turn my head again when something snags on the tarp. The vinyl crinkles as it escapes my grip. Frustration begins to boil in my veins when I realize Ethan's dangling ankle is responsible for the momentary pause.

Fuck, even in death his reputation for being a pain in the ass holds up.

Lowering to a crouched position, I move to tosshis ankle back onto the tarp when my gaze drifts past his corpse to a dense patch of marshy overgrowth just past where I'm stopped. Relief spreads through my body as I inspect the area the full moon is highlighting.

It's a cliff. A fucking cliff!

I take a few cautious steps forward until my nose is met with the distinct smell of wet earth. A smile bursts onto my face asI inch my torso forward, altering my weight onto my toes just to confirm the sight before me. Not only is it a cliff that is camouflaged by overgrowth, but there's a running stream on the other side.

And they say that full moons are a bad omen. Ha.

I skip eagerly back to where Ethan's corpse waits forme. Tarp in hand, I begin to drag him towards the cliff's edge when I hear something slam in the distance. My eyes dart from side to side, trying to assess my surroundings to determine where the noise came from, but I see nothing. As I wait, I peel one hand from where it's holding the tarp and slip it inside my jacket, reaching for my knife, just in case I need to use it again.

It's in my grasp for barely a second when it slips, bouncing onto the ground.

Shit.

I squint, trying to adjust my eyes to the thicket of unkempt grass that spreads over the ground I'm standing on so I can try to find where the hell my knife went. My search is stalled by another sound off in the distance, only this time, it"s closer. What's worse is that it isn't the same thud of what I now believe to be a car door. It's subtle, like the rustling of leaves crunching beneath feet.

Fuck. I'll have to get back to searching for my knife after I get rid of Ethan's body.

Quickly, I survey the area, trying to find something that stands out. Tall trees line every inch of the abandoned woods, each looking just like the one before it. Frantic, I circle where I'm standing, desperately looking for something that I can use as a landmark when I see a barren tree toweringover the rest. The way its long, straggly branches curve upward and spread into three sections resemble a pitchfork, which will make iteasy for me to hopefully pinpoint when I come back.

Just as I'm about to return to where Ethan lays in literal limbo, a small orb of artificial light peaks through my periphery. I turn my head and my gaze is met with a small stream of light that is now bouncing up and down as it comes closer.

That's definitely a flashlight. Shit.

As quietly and quickly as possible, I begin to push and roll the tarp forward until I'm at the cliff's edge. I want to wait to hear if his body has finally dropped into the stream, but my pulse feels like it's going to explode. My senses are on fire from the very real realization that I may not get away with this like I intended, which is killing the buzz I had before.

I turn around to see that the flashlight of whoever is walking here, probably a guard or something, is moving slowly, but definitely still headed in my direction. With no other choice I move as fast as I can across the overgrown woods, before pushing into an all-out sprint. I run like a bat out of hell as I blend into the night air in my all-black uniform, hoping that my knife will be here when I return, otherwise I'm really screwed considering it has my fucking initials on it.

* * *

I press my back against my bedroom door as my hand quickly flips the lock. Taking in a deep breath, I'm aware of how Ethan's blood has now seeped past the fabric of my clothes. The splattered crimson smells of iron and rust anditches against the parts of my skin it has made its way onto.

I need a shower. No, scratch that, I need more than a shower. I need a fat blunt and a major brainstorming session to follow because the trouble I was hoping for at the start of this evening versus the actual trouble I've found myself in, has turned into an absolute shit show.

All I wanted was to be fucked by trouble, not have trouble literally fuck with me.

I'm about to slip out of my clothes and head to the bathroom when a ping vibrates against the speakers of my computer.

Moving my gaze toward the desk my candy-colored iMac rests on, the alert sounds again. It takes me a second to realize that the noise is the notification chime from my Instant Messenger. I totally forgot that I was signed on which means my away message is on since I left it idle.

Another notification scratches against the speakers as I head toward my desk. Dropping myself into my computer chair I move my hand toward the mouse, gliding it over the mouse pad, illuminating the screen.

My eyes arefirst met with the wallpaper collage of Michael Meyers before zoning in on the yellow running man symbol at the bottom of the screen. Navigating towards the AIM icon, I double click it. My buddy list begins to load as a gray conversation box with three new messages from a screen name that makes my heart flutter every time it appears on the screen.

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31.

It's much longer than the average screen name but fuck it's perfect.

I've spent the last few months talking to Boogeyman on Instant Messenger almost daily. We "met" in one of the horror chat rooms I frequent– "Horror Whores", the same one that Ethan was poking fun at me for before I killed him. Ha, jokes on him.

Since me and Boogeyman were the only ones who actually knew our ass from our elbow when it comes to all things macabre and gore, we decided to exchange screen names and take our chat outside of the forum.

Conversation now loaded; I scroll back through my missed messages.

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: Hello my favorite final girl

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: What are you doing?

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: Oh come on my fellow phobophile…you aren't ignoring me, are you?

My tongue swipes over my lips before I trap my bottom lip beneath my teeth as I think of what to type back.

FinalGirlsRock_666: Hey my favorite boogeyman =)

FinalGirlsRock_666: Miss me?

As soon as my message is sent, the small text bubble in the bottom corner of our conversation box appears saying Boogeyman is typing.

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: You know it ;-D

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: What are you doing?

Oh, you know, just trying to figure out how to literally get away with murder, nothing too crazy.

I'm about to respond when something dawns on me. Boogeyman and I have discussed meeting up a few times before but, for some reason or another, we haven't. I bet if I play my cards right, it would be easy to get him to want tomeet up tonight…at the woods by the old mill.

It shouldn't be difficult; he loves abandoned places like I do. Given the way our conversations usually morph from horror focused to flirty, he'll assume I'm asking him there to fuck, since it's become a random hot spot for people to go and fool around. It'll be perfect. I'll tell him to meet me by that pitchfork tree and while he's waiting for me, I'll have already called the cops telling them he stole my knife and I'm afraid of what he might do next. They will find him with Ethan's blood on the knife and if I'm lucky, he would've already found it so his fingerprints will be on it. Then I will be free from this nightmare.

FinalGirlRocks_666: About to take a shower ;-D

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: Ooooh, mind if I join?

FinalGirlRocks_666: I wish you would ;)

FinalGirlRocks_666: I have a better idea…

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: Better than seeing you naked????

FinalGirlRocks_666: MUCH BETTER

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: I'm waiting, final girl…

Damn, this may be easier than I anticipated.

FinalGirlRocks_666: How about we finally meet up tonight?

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: Um does Ghostface like asking what's your favorite scary movie???

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: Does Michael Myers ever change out of his jumpsuit?

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: Fuck yea! Where do you want to meet?

FinalGirlsRock_666: You know the woods by the old mill?

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: The abandoned one near the cemetery?

FinalGirlsRock_666: That's the one…meet me there at midnight.

FinalGirlsRock_666: What better way to ring in Samhain than with you at the abandoned mill.

Where I will not be.

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: I'm so down

FinalGirlRock_666: I hoped you would be. Meet me by the tall pitchfork looking tree, you can't miss it. There's something I want you to have…

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: Umm ok?

FinalGirlsRock_666: What? are you afraid?

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: Of you? Ha, never.

Fuck, I almost feel bad. In an ideal scenario, Boogeyman, whoever he actually is, would be my fuck buddy. Seriously, from some of our conversations I have a feeling he'd fuck like a sadistic god, rough and kinky. But sadly, all the common groundand flirty tension that lives between us needs to be used to my advantage.

FinalGirlsRock_666: Don't be late. I need you there.

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: Mmmm, can't wait. I'll be there at midnight…sharp.

FinalGirlsRock_666: I'm counting on it :-P