Page 34 of My Wife

Don’t puke, Cyn. Puking will just slow you down. Get away, I tell myself. He knows Madison is here. Heputher here. He found you by Summer’s body?—

Because he wanted me to see his handiwork? Because he wanted me to know what I should expect to happen to me next?

I don’t know. I don’tknow. But he was there when I stopped to gape in horror at Summer, and while this is even worse, I have to go.

I can’t stay?—

He steps out from the shadows. His knife is high, and I strangle my scream.

“Don’t run from me?—”

Too late, psycho. I’m already gone.

Summer’s dead.Madison’s dead.

And if I can’t escape the masked slasher chasing me, I have no doubt in my mind that I’m next.

I run. With every step, with every turn, I sense him at my back. Because of his dark clothes, because of his black mask, I can’t see him until he’s too close. He seems to be everywhere, or maybe I’m running in circles. I’m careful to avoid the spots where I found Summer and Madison’s bodies, but what if I stumble on Chase next?

What about Tommy?

I can’t go back to the cabins. I have to outrun the killer, but when my adrenaline isn’t enough to support my flagging legs, I know that that’s unlikely.

I was never an athlete like Clay and Tommy. I haven’t willingly gone for a run since high school ended, and that was more than ten years ago. It’s a miracle I made it this far, but despite my best intentions of being like Sydney Prescott, I really am Casey Becker instead.

And just as I have that thought, he appears. Like Ghostface, but not, he gets me from behind so I don’t even see him coming before I’m snared.

He grabs my arms, lifting me off the ground. I found a renewed burst of adrenaline, but it’s worthless. His grip—and it has to be a man from the voice I heard before—is so strong, I wouldn’t be surprised if I have bruises in the morning… and then I realize: I’ve been caught by a masked killer. There won’t be a tomorrow morning for me.

At least I died around the same time as Clay, I think; depending on the time, it might even be the same day. October 28th.

Of course it’s October 28th.

I’m resigned to death. There’s no use in trying to fight. He’s holding onto me like he’s afraid I’ll start running again. I would. Of course I would. But his hold is like a vice, even as he manhandles me, maneuvering me around so that I’m forced to look up at that terrifyingly blank mask.

I would’ve preferred a hockey mask. A painted version of William Shatner’s head, like Mike Myers had inHalloween. A skeleton mask. ThePurge. Any of those would be better because then I could pretend that I’m in a horror movie, and that there might still be someone coming to save me.

But I’ve never seen such a featureless mask before. It hides everything, giving nothing away, and the flat, matte color of the black mask makes me feel like I’m looking at death.

This isn’t a movie. This is real life. I’m going to die on Halo Island, and as I close my eyes, waiting for the knife to plunge into my chest, I can’t help but admit that that’s kind of fitting.

The killer shakes. It takes a second for me to realize that he’s… he’slaughing.

I open my eyes a crack and see that the mask?

It’s gone.

And that’s not all.

I know that face.

I know that fucking face.

He grins at me.

I know that grin, too.

“Silly Cyn. You should’ve known better than to run from your husband.”

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