CHAPTER 6: MOTIVE
(Narrator’s perspective)
A spotlight shines down from two-feet above the young man's head in a room filled with walls of shade. The light is so close he can feel the warmth from the bulb beaming on his forehead. This young man was amongst the six campers that were ruthlessly attacked earlier in the day. He’s the only survivor left.
He emerges from unconsciousness; completely disoriented. It takes a moment for his mind to update itself. The last thing he remembers is leaving his apartment to go on a two-mile hike with his girlfriend and four other friends from college.
He can’t recall much after that. Before he was rendered unconscious, he faintly remembers falling and landing extremely hard on his head. He looks left and right. Darkness is surrounding him everywhere he looks.
The light above is bright enough to reveal a concrete floor that transcends into obscurity. There’s a subtle noise in the background somewhere. It’s the consistent drip-drop of water.
He quickly realizes that he is unable to move. He glances down at himself and immediately discovers why. He’s standing upright; strapped down on a metal table from his torso to his ankles.
“What the hell?” he blurts out as he looks down at himself.
He tries to free himself again-----using all of his might----but the leather straps are far too durable.
“This is my favorite part, when the victim slowly wakes up and realizes that they’re in a world of trouble,” a voice speaks from the nearby darkness.
“Who said that?” the young man asks nervously.
“I'm over here.”
The young man follows the voice to his left and squint his eyes so he can see clearer. He spots a person, barely noticeable, wearing a long brown cloak, sitting in a wooden chair with his arms resting on the armrests. His nails begin tapping the wood as he waits for the young man to find him.
Most of the man's face is covered in darkness for the exception of his chin. It’s so dark it looks like a chin is literally hovering in midair.
“It’s useless. You’re not going anywhere. I had a two-hundred and fifty pound man in there before. The guy was pretty much a goddamn linebacker. He was unable to break through it. Your narrow ass won't either.”
“I don't know who you are, but people will start looking for me.”
“They already started. That doesn’t change your current circumstance at all. They will never find you. That’s unless I want them too. I might do that. I will throw your body in the Genesee River.”
The hooded man claps his hands and erupts with glee.
“I can’t wait. I’ll even place absurd clues at the scene to throw them off. Lancaster won’t know what to do next,” he says while laughing.
The hooded man pauses laughing about his previous comment. Suddenly, a new bright idea emerges from his subconscious mind.
“Yes, I’ll do that,” he agrees with himself. “Then everyone will fear me. They will see me in all of my glory.”
“I’m warning you if you don't let me go then..,”
BOOM! From the shadows, the hooded man slams a fist on the armrest of the chair out of anger.
“Or what, you're going to stare at me to death? Give me a fucking break,” the hooded man fires back. “You're in no position to make threats around here.”
“Listen, if you want money, I can get it for you. Just let me go…”
“I don’t need your money,” the mysterious man butts in.
“I don’t know what I’ve done, but if I wronged you in any way, I would make it up to you. Just let me go,” the young man pleads.
“I envy you. I know that doesn’t sound like the logical response you wanted to hear, but it’s true. You don’t fear. I’m bothered by that, tremendously. That scares me. Everyone must fear something, everyone, even God. I’m terrified by something that doesn’t fear. It’s against nature.”
“If you going to kill me…just fucking do it already.”
The mysterious hooded figure sucks his teeth and looks away.
“I can’t. You see, I might be a murderous bastard, but I’m far from crazy. Unlike most humans, I'm quite honest with myself. I understand what I am. I’m a serial killer. Therefore, everything I do must be done right and with a purpose. It’s a compulsive function that I can’t dodge. There must be something that triggers my urge to murder. It’s the fear in people’s eyes that excites me. If I can’t bestow fear, then I can’t kill. So, if I can’t kill, then I will never fulfill my purpose.”
The young man hangs his head over, realizing he’s dealing with a total maniac and he has no way of escaping his fate.
“What kind of sick person are you?”
The hooded man sighs and takes a second to gather his thoughts.
“I’m…..complicated. However, if you must know,” he says as he stands and steps out of the shadows and into the light.
His draping brown hoodie is concealing most of his face.
“No more hiding in the shadows. If you want to see who I am, I will show you.”
Using his veiny and wrinkly hands, the mysterious man lift his hood back and completely unveils his head. The young man’s heart stops beating for a moment when he is shown the true identity of the person. The creature's ears are similar to those of a pig, his nose is flat with two slits for nostrils, and his eyes are misaligned. The pupils in his eyes are blood red. The red in his eyes alone gives him a villainous and horrifying presence. His head is completely bald, and his mouth is wet and filled with pointy teeth.
His grotesque appearance makes him look more like a gargoyle than an actual person. The young man has never seen anything so horrendously grotesque in his life, not even in a movie.
“You can call me The Hellhound.”
“Oh my God!” the young man says with a mixture of fright and disgust.
“He can’t save you. I have killed hundreds of people in my life. All of them had the same line; not one time did the prick get off his lazy ass to help. Your God is dead.”
“Someone, help me!” the young boy shouts desperately for help. “Help me please!”
Hellhound closes his eyes and savors this special moment. The terrified pleas of the man are like twisted music to his ears, satisfying his guilty pleasure.
“That's why I love this. There's nothing better than the useless sound of someone crying for help. It’s beautiful. However, I have one better.”
Hellhound walks away from his sight into the shadows. A moment later, he reappears from the shadows, carrying two things; a grimace and a chainsaw.
“There's nothing better than the sound of a chainsaw,” he says to the soon-to-be victim.
He then starts to laugh loudly as he brings the sharp blades to life. The young man begins to yell at the top of his lungs. Hellhound lifts the chainsaw high in the air, grimacing more than ever.
“That's the spirit kid!” Hellhound says while laughing his hardest.
Defensively, the young man continues to scream for help; however, not one soul can hear his dying plea…
Wow that’s terrible