Page 3 of His to Slash

The key turned smoothly in the lock, and the lid of the chest creaked open. Inside, I found a stack of old newspaper clippings, their pages yellowed and brittle with age. The headlines spoke of gruesome murders, of a killer who struck without warning, and of a town gripped by fear.

As I read through the articles, a pattern began to emerge. The killings always occurred in the weeks leading up to the anniversary of Red Hallow's founding. They were brutal, calculated, and each victim seemed to be connected to the Vesper family in some way.

My hands trembled as I realized the implications. My family was tied to this madness, and I had walked straight into the heart of it. The slasher wasn't just some urban legend—he was real, and he was part of my history.

I spent the rest of the night poring over the clippings, trying to piece together the puzzle of the Red Hallow Slasher. But the more I learned, the more lost I felt. Who was this killer, and why was he fixated on my family? What did he want, and was I next on his list?

The clock ticked on, the sound echoing through the silent house. I knew I shouldn't be alone here, not with the slasher lurking in the shadows. But I couldn't bring myself to leave, not when the answers I sought were locked within these walls.

As dawn broke, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, I made a decision. I would confront the past, no matter how terrifying it might be. I would uncover the truth about the Red Hallow Slasher and my family's connection to him. And I would do it alone, because that's how I'd always faced my fears—head-on, with no one to rely on but myself.

With newfound determination, I gathered the newspaper clippings and the demonic statue I'd found earlier. They were pieces of a puzzle that I was only just beginning to understand. And as I sat there, surrounded by the remnants of my family's dark history, I knew that my life in Red Hallow was only just getting started.

The slasher might come for me, but I wouldn't go down without a fight. I had survived worse than this. Whatever secrets Red Hallow held, I would unearth them, no matter the cost.

three

The night air was sharp,a chill that seemed to slice through my leather jacket as I hurried down the deserted street. Red Hallow was never a bustling metropolis, but at this late hour, the town felt alive in a different, sinister way. The kind of silence that pressed against your eardrums made every heartbeat seem amplified, as if urging me to listen closer.

I was on my way back from the only convenience store open past midnight, cursing my luck for forgetting batteries for my flashlight. The power outages at the old Vesper place had been relentless, casting my inherited home into eerie darkness that left me feeling vulnerable and trapped. I quickened my pace, wishing I could simply shake off the feeling that the shadows were watching me, eager to swallow me whole.

That’s when I heard it—a low, guttural moan that seemed to rise from the bowels of the earth itself. It was primal, haunting, and it sent a ripple of dread darting up my spine. I forced myself to dismiss it as some poor animal in distress or the wind playing tricks on my mind, but the creeping unease wormed its way into my thoughts, cementing my skin with goosebumps.

With each step, the darkness seemed to thicken, coiling around me like a serpent. I turned the corner and suddenly my world tilted dangerously on its axis. There, bathed in the flickering glow of a dying streetlamp, was a scene pulled straight from my worst nightmares. A figure loomed over a body, the ground around them slick with dark, wet shadows that glistened creepily under the scant light. My heart pounded erratically as I took in the grotesque sight: the victim’s limbs contorted at impossible angles, their face a mask twisted in eternal fear, as if frozen in a silent scream of agony.

The killer—for that’s what he had to be—was shrouded in darkness, their back turned to me. Yet, there was something about the way he moved that struck a chord deep within me, a chilling familiarity that sent icy fingers dancing up my spine. As he continued his work, methodical and unhurried, I felt an overwhelming urge to flee, battling against a morbid fascination that anchored me to the spot.

I should have run. Realistically, I should have turned around and sprinted back to the store, screaming for help until my voice was hoarse. Yet, in that moment, time seemed to stretch into an unbearable eternity as I watched, frozen, gripped by an eerie mix of terror and intrigue.

And then he turned, and I caught my first glimpse of the face of evil. His mask was a grotesque visage of malice, the features twisted and exaggerated into something unrecognizable. We locked eyes, and I felt an icy jolt of panic; in that instant, I understood—truly understood—that I was next.

The realization snapped me from my trance. I broke free from the spell that held me and ran. I laughed, but it was a sound laced with hysteria. “So much for fighting,” I muttered under my breath, the words barely escaping as I gasped for breath. The hunt was now on, and I was the prey.

The streets of Red Hallow blurred around me, the once quaint buildings turning into sinister silhouettes. Each step echoed in the stillness, a relentless drumbeat that urged me to go faster. I could hear him behind me, his footsteps an ominous soundtrack playing to the chaos in my mind—he was toying with me, letting the fear mount as he closed in, herding me like a rabbit to the inevitable slaughter.

I skidded around a corner, boots slipping on the slick pavement, my pulse racing with every reckless step. I could see the Vesper house in the distance, its silhouette offering a false beacon of safety, hope flickering like the failing light from the lamp behind me. If I could just make it inside, lock the doors tight, perhaps I’d stand a chance.

But fate, it seemed, had a wicked sense of humor, refusing to heed my desperate pleas. I felt a sharp pain in my ankle, twisting painfully beneath me, sending me crashing to the hard ground. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs, and for a terrifying second, the world blurred into a haze of rage and fear.

He was on me in an instant, a dark shape erupting from the shadows, his gloved hand clamping down on my shoulder with an unyielding vice. Panic surged through my veins like poison. I thrashed against him, clawing at the unforgiving ground, fingers scraping against the cold, hard concrete, desperate to fight back. But he held me down with an unnatural strength, the heat of his breath wafting over me.

This was it. This was how my story ended—not with a bang but with a whimper, ascream muffled beneath layers of darkness and despair. I closed my eyes, surrendering to whatever fate awaited me, resigned to the knowledge that I might not see another dawn.

But then, the unimaginable happened.

No blow fell. The silence enveloped us, thick and suffocating. I waited, my heart pounding in rhythm with the mounting uncertainty. There was a shift in the air, an almost tangible crackle of energy as if the world was holding its breath, too. I cracked one eye open, peering through the veil of darkness, confusion mingling with fear.

His breath came in ragged gasps, and I felt the tension stretch between us—a moment where predator and prey froze in time. I dared to speak, the words barely forming on my lips, “What do you want from me?”

four

The cold pressof steel against my throat was a stark reminder of my fragile mortality. I froze, the blade in his hand catching the faint moonlight, slicing through the darkness. The breath hitched in my chest, a whimper slipping past my lips as I braced for what felt like the inevitable end.

But then, everything shifted.

The air between us crackled with a sudden, dark energy. His body tensed, a low, guttural growl rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest—a primal sound that seemed to vibrate through me, setting every nerve ablaze. I felt it: the hard, unyielding length of him pressing against my core, monstrous and threatening. The paradox of fear and arousal warred within me, a heady mix that left me trembling and confused beneath his looming shadow.

What the hell was wrong with me? How could I be wet, slick with desire, when death was just a breath away? When the blade could so easily slice into my flesh and spill my life across this desolate clearing? The mask he wore—a grotesque, emotionless thing, hiding whatever humanity he might have left—should have terrified me, but instead, it stoked something dark and primal inside me. There was a savage beauty in his presence, a twisted allure that called to the shadowed parts of my soul I’d tried so hard to keep buried.

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