Chapter 6

October 30th, 2008

Pulling my hoodie over my head, I emerge from my truck. Erring on the side of caution, I check over each shoulder making sure the coast is clear before I blend in with the night air and saunter my way across the street to the Van Tassel household.

Aside from the porch light that illuminates the front entry, the house is in complete darkness. So dark in fact that if it weren't for my handy tracker, it would be easy to assume she isn't home. But she's here,in her bedroom towards the back of the house, just a couple feet from where I'm walking, and blissfully unaware of the feast my eyes are about to have on her.

Once I make it past the front of the two-story colonial, I flatten my back against the siding, angling my footsteps so my backside rubs against the exterior as I slink toward the back corner of the house.

Excitement grips at my chest the closer I get to my little minx's bedroom window, so much so that I feel a rush of heat travel to my groin in anticipation. I take in a sharp breath working through the pre-emptive arousal I feel as I near the first of the two windows that belong to her bedroom.

A sliver of light shines past the sheer curtains that are hung on both windows as I settleagainst the siding near her bedroom windows. I crane my neck forward, though with Cam's mask on my face, my periphery is shot to shit. So, I inch forward more, steadying myself between the shrubs and mulch to get a better look.

I notice that the flickering light I just saw is coming from a TV. Though the more I look through the window, I don't see Blair, all that meets my eye is what fills my soul…emptiness.

I'm about to grab my phone to confirm her location when a plume of steam filters through the bottom of the half open bathroom door attached to her bedroom.

My disappointment quickly fades, and, in its absence, I feel the barbells that line my cock begin to strain against my pants. There you are.

It's unreal the effect she has on me. I haven't even seen her yet, but just knowing that, at any moment, she will emerge from the shower, a wet and naked sight to be had, makes my dick so fucking hard, I feel like I'm about to burst.

Forced to wait for her, I try to distract myself by observing the décor spread about her room, which looks like a walking advertisement for Hot Topic. Posters ranging from Frankenstein to Chucky to My Chemical Romance, all of which we have bonded over in our chats, line the walls. Though it's the set of small vintage apothecary jars and vials that rests on her desk that makes my heart begin to thrash because I have a similar set in my room. I've always considered myself a bit of a connoisseur with chemicals–I mean, considering the fact that murder is literally my business, I sort of have to be. Knowing which solvents will clean and which will disintegrate pesky substances like human flesh is crucial in my line of work. If only my little minx knew how to put those empty vials to use like I do, she would really feel like the macabre queen she fancies herself to be.

But I'll teach her my mad ways soon. One small step at a time.

Seconds feel like hours as I stand outside her window, waiting. The fresh October air bites against my clammy palms that are clenched at my side, trying so damn hard not to alleviate the aching need that riddles my cock, consuming me. She's edging me and she doesn't even know it.

I sway my posture heel to toe until, like an answer from the depraved gods, my dark goddess emerges through a cloud of wispy steam.

I crouch, low enough so that she won't see me but high enough so that I still have a view of where she stands in the threshold of the doorway.

Through the small slits of my mask, I watch her supple hips sway as she begins to walk into her room. With every step she takes, her dampened curves echo her movement, making her look absolutely delectable. My tonguedances behind my lips as my hungry stare locks onto the ink that spreads from either side of her hips and down her thighs. A vast array of pumpkin themed tattoos cover her skin. Some are shaded in bold orange while others are more subdued in a simple black and gray shading. Everywhere they are placed compliments her already bewitching body.

Moving my gaze from where the lace of her thong ends and the tanned skin of her narrow torso begins, I notice the reaper's scythe dangling from her belly button piercing. My eyes continue to trail past her navel and to her perky tits that are adorned with a barbell through each nipple, both peeking through the thin fabric of her cropped t-shirt.

Blood continues to rush my length, straining against my pierced cock watching her plump ass shake as she makes her way to her bed, moving out of my direct line of sight.

I love seeing her like this. Looking so effortlessly sexy. So adorably unaware of the way I am practically salivating at the mere sight of her. All of which makes me want to break through the fucking glass, shattering the barrier that separates us and keeps her safe from my touch.

Desperate for more of her, I crouch down once more, inching my way toward the other window. Rounding the corner, my eyes are quickly reunited with the backside of her hourglass figure as she leans forward, reaching toward the small plasma that rests on a dresser to the side of her bed.

I'm so focused on where she is bent over that I don't notice what she is reaching for. It isn't until she moves to her back that I see she has the TV remote in her hand. I watch with ripe curiosity as she presses a button or two on the remote before tossing it on the floor.

There's a needy look in her eyes. Like she is in desperate need of a release. My suspicions are confirmed as her thighs begin to part and the hand that was just messing with the remote is now slithering its way to her center. Casting the lace of her panties aside at what feels like a painstakingly slow pace to my eager eyes, she spreads her legs wider. With one hand dipping into her entrance, she glides her free hand up her torso until it lands on one of her pierced nipples, which she begins to caress beneath the fabric of her shirt. As she rubs her thumb, beginning to play with the barbell of her erect nipples,her back arches off the bed from the way her other hand is feverishly dipping in and out of her pussy.

I watch with bated breath as she writhes against her touch, her pace continues to intensify as does the strained ache I feel at my now throbbing cock. The more she thrashes and moans from the way she is fucking herself, the more it makes me wish that it were my tongue at the apex of her thighs. Licking and sucking her clit, with my fingers curled in her tight pussy, eating her like the starving man I am.

Moving the fingers that she's been using to thrust inside her wet walls, she glides them up to her clit. Her eyes fall shut as her hand moves in quick circles. The more she rubs her digits around the sensitive bundle of nerves the more her mouth opens wide as pleasure erupts through her body. I can tell from the way her hips are now bucking upward that she is close to orgasm.

This isn't the first time I've seen her touch herself. It's almost a nightly occurrence with my little minx, as it should be. A little self-love until I can make myself known to her so I can worship and punish every sinful part of her is necessary, but I've never seen her this turned on or feral for her own hand.

Needing to know what is making her extra horny tonight I peel my gaze away from where she is beginning to ride the wave of her orgasm, looking at the tv screen. Expecting to see one of her in rotation go to's when she fucks herself, which is usually girl on girl or some variation of a threesome, my eyes are met with a different sight. To my surprise, the screen is frozen on an image of the Headless Horseman sitting atop of his horse, with a sword in hand and fury on his face. I definitely was not expecting that.

Now, for those who aren't from this town, they probably wouldn't grasp the true symbolism of the Headless Horseman outside of what Hollywood adaptations and retellings allude to. But for those who are familiar with the tale and the rich symbolism that it carries, they will understand that death, whether it comes by hand or nature, is an unstoppable force. Death always collects what it is owed, it resurrects what needs to be exposed, and steals what it desires. It's inescapable and the fact that reminder of death not only gets her off but makes her climax harder than I have ever seen, only solidifies that her darkened heart is not only mine to play with but mine to keep.

I thought I would only be her Boogeyman, but I'll be her Horseman. Fuck, I'll be her worst nightmare if she wants me to. I'll be whatever, do whatever, kill whatever I have to so long as I can feel the way the darkness brings her to orgasm at my hands. And it's that declaration, that peak of my obsession, that makes me do what I do next.

As I watch her settle down, riding the aftermath of her release, I reach for my phone. Sliding the screen up, I sign into Instant Messenger. Clicking on her screen name, my thumbs begin to glide against the keyboard. My body buzzes because I'm dying to see how she looks responding to me, with her body still reeling from the way she brought herself to orgasm, while I watch through the glass.

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: I bet you look beautiful when you're scared

A sound pings from the speaker of her computer, and it feels like it"s traveling through the walls that separate us and directly into my soul. Fire begins to fill my veins watching the way her eyes open as she closes her legs. For a fleeting moment, just as she scans her room before making her way to the desk that holds her computer, I could swear she sees me.

She moves from the bed, heading to the computer where my message awaits her. She remains standing, lowering her torso near the keyboard, so her ass pokes out, highlighting the way her waist gets lost by her ample bottom as she types.

FinalGirlsRock_666: What makes you say that, huh?

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: Lucky guess.

FinalGirlsRock_666: You know some people say fear is an underrated aphrodisiac

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: Want to know a secret?

FinalGirlsRock_666: …..

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: I'm some people

FinalGirlsRock_666: Is that right? So, are you trying to scare me tonight…Boogeyman?

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: Maybe…among other things ;-D

FinalGirlsRock_666: The only thing that will truly scare me is if you don't show up tonight

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: Trust me, there is nowhere I'd rather be. Where you are, I am. Don't forget that.

FinalGirlsRock_666: Good, because I need you.

Boogeyman_Of_Haddonfield_31: I need you too.

More than you know.

* * *

Leaves crunch and twigs snap beneath the sole of my boots as I walk deeper into the abandoned woods. I've waited so long for this moment, to be able to touch her, to have her look into my eyes–even though they are concealed beneath my mask–that I didn't prepare myself for how nervous I would feel. It's not every day that you find a soul as equally fucked up as your own. It's why I want our "first" meeting to go perfectly, because seeing my way out of her life isn't a fucking option.

I continue walking through the thicket of unkempt land, using the minimal illumination that my phone's flashlight gives off to guide the way. Anxiety begins to trickle along my spine, spreading to my chest, which feels like it will crush beneath the pressure of nerves with the realization that my little minx should be here any minute.

Now nearing the pitchfork tree, I begin to pace back and forth, trying to think of what I will say to her first. I'm about to stop my anxious pacing when my boot steps on something hard. My brow furrows because, even though there are rocks and debris all over the ground, this feels different.

Moving the flashlight of my phone down to the ground, I scan the grass, looking for what my foot hit when my phone suddenly begins vibrating in my hands with Cam's name on the display. Quickly, I open the message.

Cam Moeder: I received an interesting phone call…

Me: Ok??

Cam Moeder: Next time you use one of those fancy apps to redirect calls, make sure it goes to your phone and not mine.

What the fuck is Cam talking about?

Before I'm able to respond, I hear sirens wailing in the distance. My phone buzzes again, though this time as I go to look down at the message, my gaze travels past the phone in my hand and to the ground. A sliver of moonlight catches the distinct gleam of a crimson coated knife. Judging from the way the blood appears to be shiny, I'd say it's fresh. I don't know why but before I read the two new messages from Cam, I bend down reaching for the handle. With the knife now in my grasp the distinct etching on the handle makes my blood begin to boil. I internalize a growl, clenching the knife in my fist, feeling my pulse pound against the handle.

Cam Moeder: I had to improvise a bit, but I think we have another problem on our hands.

Cam Moeder: Be careful. Cops are on their way, I'll explain in a few.

Me: No, you are going to tell me now what the fuck is happening.

Cam Moeder: Ask that girl, Blair, is it? Sounds like she might have done you a favor.

Me: ????

Cam Moeder: Either she killed or knows who killed Ethan Campbell.

With the lingering presence of the law approaching where I now stand, my heart begins to pound, not from nerves, but from anger. I thought I programmed Blair's phone to call my number when she calls the police, but somehow the lines must have gotten crossed, and her call went to Cam instead.

I can't believe it, she was trying to set me up.

The initials on the knife, "B.V.T.". Blair Van Tassel.

Anger consumes the more I process her betrayal. I should've known.

She didn't want to meet me.

She wanted to use me by stringing me along, using my eagerness to meet her to her advantage so she could get away with murder.

But in all her scheming she never considered who she was truly talking to all this time. She probably assumed I am some loser that's so smitten with her that I would do anything she says. Which is true, except the thing with obsession that she must not realize is that it's rooted in heightened irrationality. If she truly wants to know what it's like to submit to darkness, I'll do her one better. I'll show her what it feels like to be trapped in my madness with no escape and no way to even breathe without my permission.

A woman scorned doesn't hold a candle to a stalker betrayed because the Boogeyman of Haddonfield, the Horseman–fuck, the devil himself– are no fucking match for the hell that will be unleashed on her.

She betrayed me, betrayed us and all that we could've been.

Blair isn't a minx; she is a devious, lying, hellcat.

Once I find my way out of this mess that she put me in, I'm going to fucking ruin her.

She better get ready, because all those countless chats she spent going on about wishing she could meet her devilish match, are about to become the rude awakening she needs. Blair Van Tassel's life is now mine to toy with just like she will be mine,dead or alive.

Final girl my fucking ass.