October 21st – 1:15 PM
Doug stared at Kevin from across the table in the food court at the mall. He swallowed the rest of his pizza, and then broke his friend the news.
“I’m not writing the sequel anymore.”
Kevin looked at Doug, glad, but curious. “Why?”
“Well, I’m starting to think it’ll be inappropriate like you said. People we know are being killed. The cops seem to think it has something to do with my play since there are similarities. How’s it going to look if they ever found out I was trying to write another one?”
“Good. I’m glad you’re stopping it. It was starting to creep me out.” Kevin said, gulping his Pepsi.
“I’m sorry I was being such an idiot about it. You know I’ve always liked Charlotte.” Doug said, watching Kevin’s expression change. He hid behind a bite of his pizza. “When she read the play and liked it, I was blown away. I got a high off of it. I might have gone a little too far.”
Kevin chewed his pizza, and nodded. “It’s cool man. It’s over. How are you going to tell Mr. Murdock? He seems to be pretty obsessed too.”
Doug shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Dougie!” A voiced shouted from behind Kevin. They both looked and saw Levi walking past them, with Charlotte by his side.
“Oh God.” Doug said, tensing up. Levi grabbed Charlotte’s hand and walked over to them.
“What’s going on guys? Has everyone bailed on your play yet, or are you still holding out desperate hope?” Levi sarcastically joked.
“It’s over, Levi. I want nothing to do with it.” Doug said.
“Well, I think you were forced to have nothing to do with it. Man, you really know how to scare people away.” Levi laughed.Charlotte smiled uncomfortably at Levi’s rudeness.
Doug nodded at her. “Hey.”
“Hey, Doug,” Charlotte said, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back the other day.”
“It’s fine.”
Silence fell between the four, and Levi smiled at the discomfort.
“We should talk soon.” Charlotte said to Doug. He smiled and nodded.
“That’s if she’s not with me, right?” Levi joked.
She didn’t answer.
“See you guys at school – whenever the hell that might be. Thanks for the days off, Doug!” Levi yelled, patting Kevin on the back as he grabbed Charlotte’s hand and they walked away.
Doug watched them leave the food court. His eyes had been focused on Levi the whole way out. “I hate him.”
“Yeah.” Kevin said. “He’s a tool, but what are you going to do. The jocks and the pretty girls are always going to end up with each other. That’s the way it works.”
“Well, it shouldn’t be.”
October 24th
The rest of the week went by fast and uneventful. When Saturday morning came, Sheriff Carter sat at his desk, going through piles of evidence. A single knock at his door caught his attention.
Agent Spencer Holland stood in the doorway, holding a book.
“Can I help you, Agent?” Carter tried to ask politely.
“I know you don’t want my help, Ben, and I appreciate your can-do attitude – that’s how I ended up in my position. But when Hopkins invited me to town to help, that’s what I intended to do. Whether it was to help his career, or just simply bring another serial killer to justice.”
Carter sat the papers down in front of him and smiled. “You’re help would be greatly welcomed now.”
Holland pulled up a chair and faced the Sheriff. “Halloween is only a week away. If it’s anything like last year, in a week, the killer will make his final move, and exit the month with a bang.”
Holland slapped the book down on the desk. It was a copy of ‘Bloody October’.
“Where’d you get that?” Carter asked, stunned at the piece of fouled literature sitting in front of him.
“I had it shipped overnight to me yesterday. I wanted to read it, because being a fan of fiction in general; you can pick up on subtle nuances and character traits that reflect the author. I thought it might tell us a little bit about ‘Braxton Summers’.”
“And?”
“It did. Kelly Rodgers is the main focus in the story – the writer even kept the same name, but changed the victims’ names. You’re actually Detective Ronald Blair.”
Carter nodded, listening. Holland continued:
“The writer broadcasts Kelly in a very authoritative manner – a woman of power. That means the writer could either be a female, trying to make a point, or someone who admires a female greatly. Either way, ‘Braxton Summers’, wanted to tell the story of Kelly Rodgers. However, a lot of the details about the actually murders are off. They’re graphic, of course, but fictional. The writer didn’t have any inside facts or details. So, it has to be someone who doesn’t have access to that kind of information.”
“So, possibly a student at the school?” Carter asked.
“Possibly. Or, it is someone who has access to said information, but plays it off like they don’t, eliminating them from a possible list of suspects.”
Holland was starting to think outside the box, and Carter liked it.
“So what do we know for sure?” Carter asked.
“Not much still, but enough to start narrowing down the suspects. He or she is a writer using a variation of Riley Little’s maiden name – possibly an old acquaintance. They are using an urban legend created by the high school students, as a jumping off point for the murders – muddy shoe prints at each crime – and even going to the extreme of stealing Kelly Rodgers’ corpse.”
“It’s obvious the killer wants us to believe that Kelly Rodger’s came back from the dead to kill people, but why?”
“Because when ‘Braxton Summers’ writes his or her next book, the factual aspect of it will be a key selling point. The reason that ‘Bloody October’ actually sold so well is because it actually happened.” Holland explained.
The two sat there for a moment in silence, both thinking.
“So, who’s on the list?” Carter asked.
“Any of the students or school staff involved in ‘October’s Shattered Graves’, maybe someone who has access to police files, and finally, Riley Little.”
“You think?”
“She seems to play a very intricate role here. Either she knows something, or someone she grew up with does – someone who knew her when she was Summer Braxton.”
“I’ll put a call into Riley, and see when she can get back here. Some more questions couldn’t hurt. In the meantime, we can start with students and staff.”
“Good call.” Holland concluded.
The night became darker than usual. It sheltered an imminent danger.
He sat outside the farmhouse of Theresa and Jack McDowell. I feel just like that psycho last year that hid in the shadows of the farm down the street, only to slay that poor girl in her parent’s home.
But this was different – it was a request from the old woman. She’d been dead for days now, but he wouldn’t dare tell a soul about it. It was forbidden.
The inside of the pumpkin he had taken the other night felt cool against his face. It smelled sweet, but was sticky on his skin. It fit perfectly though. He felt silly wearing it, but the old woman said it had to seem like it was the season that sends the warnings – not a man.
He would make sure that happened.
Jack McDowell had been sitting on his porch for nearly twenty minutes, drinking hot apple cider, and completely oblivious to the man hiding on his land.
He set the steaming cup of cider down on the table next to him, where an issue of the Hollow Gazette sat. The headlines were becoming annoyingly repetitive. ‘Corpse Missing – Bodies Popping Up All Over Town’, ‘No Witnesses in Corpse Disappearance’, ‘Body Count Rises – Is Stewart Hollow Cursed?’
Jack laughed at it all, even though he knew it wasn’t funny. It was the times they were living in. All of the violence and disturbing content on television – it influences people, whether they admit it or not. Greed played a big part – especially in Stewart Hollow’s case. A newspaper reporter last year was looking to cash in on a ‘legend’, and with the recent reveal by the police that a killer this year was profiting from writing about the towns misfortunes, it was pretty clear that people are always out for themselves.
A creek in the wooden porch beside Jack jerked him out of his thoughts. He turned and saw a tall man standing next to him, wearing the crudely carved pumpkin over his head, and dressed in a long black coat, which drug on the ground collecting dirt and dried leaves.
“Who the hell are you?” Jack said in a voice not as strong as it used to be. He struggled to stand, reaching for his cane, as the menacing presence whispered to him:
“Where is Theresa?”
Jack finally stood up, depending upon his cane for balance. “What do you want with her? Get out of here before I call the police.”
“I can’t let you do that.” The man whispered. “Is your wife home?”
Jack looked his trespasser in the face, trying to identify the man through the eyes and mouth of the pumpkin. “Who are ya?”
“Is your wife home?” The man asked once more, becoming impatient.
Jack refused to answer, protecting his wife of 61 years.
“Jack?” an old woman called out from inside. “Who are you talking to?”
The mysterious man looked in through the screen door, seeing an old woman slowly walking towards them.
“Theresa, call the police!” Jack raised his voice in a very demanding, yet nervous manner.
Theresa saw the tall, shrouded man and let out a blood- curdling scream. The man turned to Jack, reached into his coat and pulled out a large, custom-made knife, with a distinct design on the blade.
Jack gripped his cane with both hands, ready to defend himself, his wife, and his home – but he was no match. The man held the knife in one hand and dashed towards Jack, forcing him against the house. He jabbed the knife into Jack’s stomach and tore it right back out, spilling blood onto the porch. He raised the knife high and slammed it down it Jack’s chest, where it was stopped by bone. The man forced the knife in, and the breaking of the rib cage was heard inside the house, where Theresa continued to scream. She shuffled back to the living room.
The man sliced down Jack’s sternum with power, spilling his innards and blood all over the old porch. Jack dropped to the ground, where he bled out.
The cloaked man then kicked in the screen door and charged Theresa, who was cowering in the dark corner of the room where she continued to yell. The man towered over her, dominant in every way, and raised his knife.
“Why?” Theresa cried out, perplexed as to why she and her husband were targeted.
“You were on the list. It’ll all be clear a year from now.” The man spoke softly and slowly.
Theresa’s mind raced, trying to imagine what he could have been talking about; she had nothing.
The man then slammed the knife down into Theresa’s chest, shattering her rib cage with the initial strength. He tore the knife back out, spraying blood on the walls. He then plunged the knife back into her three more times, harder with each stab, until she laid in a mess of her own insides.
The first warning had been sent.
On the other side of town, Harper Cole walked into her home – her parent’s home. She dropped her purse on the coffee table and went straight for the kitchen, calling for her parents.
“Mom? Dad?” There was no answer.
She pulled the refrigerator open and grabbed the gallon of whole milk. Next to the fridge was a cabinet where she grabbed a box of cereal with a dumb cartoon frog on the front.
“Hey!” A purposely-loud voice shouted from behind her.
“God!” Harper screamed, startled by the sudden company. She swung around, dropping the box of cereal. Levi sat at the kitchen table with his laptop in front of him.
“What the hell are you doing home? I thought you’d be out with your girlfriend, or whoever, tonight.” Harper said, trying to catch her breath.
“Na, I’m taking the night off. I’m a guy, Harper. I need some ‘me time’.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Levi. You’re barely a guy. You can’t even grow a mustache.”
“Yeah, well, when it comes,” Levi said, stroking his upper lip, “It’ll be legendary.”
“Whatever. Where’re mom and dad?”
“Date night. Dinner and a movie.”
Harper poured her cereal and joined her brother at the kitchen table. He looked up from his laptop:
“Are you guys any closer to finding the killer?”
“I don’t know. They don’t tell me much.” Harper said, crunching the granola and dried fruit mixture. She finished chewing, and then looked at Levi. She could tell there was a sense of worry hiding behind his arrogant front. “Did you know the kids that were killed very well?”
Levi shrugged. “Not really. But I mean, if the killer is really targeting the people involved in the play, do you think I should be worried?”
“If the killer doesn’t get you, I will.” Harper said, trying to ease the tension. Levi smiled, and then closed his laptop.
“I’m hitting the sack. I think the coach is holding a practice tomorrow morning, even though schools still delayed.”
“Good night, bro.”
“You too.” Levi said, retreating to his room.
He walked down the dark upstairs hallway, to a room where a poster of an almost naked girl was taped to the door. He opened it and walked into his bedroom, closing the door and flipping the light switch.
The mud was the first thing he noticed – then the open window. Mud dripped from the windowsill, and stained his white curtains. He followed it with his eyes, as it formed shoeprints across his floor, and went straight for the closet.
“Harper!” Levi called out, scared stiff. He slowly backed up to his door, keeping his eye on the closet door. It was opened a crack. Levi pulled his bedroom door open and backed into the hallway, shutting the door in front of him.
“Harper!” He called out again.
“What?” She called from downstairs.
“Someone was in my room! There’s mud every –“ Levi was grabbed form behind, completely off guard. A sudden and sharp pain from the thrust of a butcher’s knife into his back brought him to his knees. The knife was removed and then forced into the back of his neck, severing his nerves, and plummeting him, face first, to the floor.
“Levi!” Harper shouted as she ran up the stairs, hearing the commotion. She stopped at the top of the stairs, looking down a dark – and now quiet – hallway. “Levi?” She called out into the darkness.
There was no answer. She couldn’t see anything. She fumbled her fingers on the wall next to her, feeling for the light switch. She finally found and it and flipped on the lights. Before her vision could focus, a bloody knife was driven right between her eyes. The blood poured out of her face, and the attacker quickly retracted the blade. Harper’s lifeless body wobbled upright for a moment, before going limp and tumbling back down the stairs.