Page 23 of Last Summer
“Where the fuck are my keys?” Chris seethes between clenched teeth.
He’s dangerous—murderous.
“What are you talking about?” I ask between choked sobs. He has my neck bent at an awkward angle making it exceptionally hard to speak.
“My keys, Danica. Where are they? I’m done playing games.” His grip on my hair tightens, making it feel like my scalp might be ripped from my skull at any moment.
“I don’t have your keys,” I shriek as I reach up and claw at his wrist. My nails sink into his flesh but he doesn’t relent. “Let me go!”
“Not until you give me the car keys.” He leans in even lower, so close that I can see the mania in his irises. “I’m getting the fuck out of here, with or without you.”
Movement in my periphery catches my attention, but I don’t dare look away from Chris. His chest is heaving as he glares down at me. His free hand comes up and closes around my throat, constricting my airway. Immediately, panic grips me. Iclaw and pull at his thick fingers, but it’s no use, he just squeezes tighter.
“I’m not dying here,” he pants as he crushes my throat.
My lungs burn and my eyes water as I desperately fight for my life. But he’s too big, too strong. Black starts to cloud my vision, and I can feel my fight fading.
This is it. This is the end.
I close my eyes and let the darkness pull me under.
“Please,” Chris whimpers as the pressure on my windpipe recedes ever so slightly.
I’m able to suck in a small breath. Not much, but just enough. Slowly, I slide my eyelids back open, and I’m terrified by what I see.
Chris is still holding me in a tight grip, but behind him is a figure in a horrifying clown mask. The white plastic is adorned with a grotesque depiction of a sinister sideshow freak. A wide smile spreads across the lower half of the mask. It sends a shiver down my spine. The eyes are open holes, allowing me to see the true monster beneath. Our gazes lock, and they look so excited—so hungry for our pain. Something about the eyes is so familiar—a monster from my past coming to claim their vengeance. The creepy clown has a large knife in their hand, the tip held tightly against Chris’ throat.
“Chris,” I plead in a scared whisper.
“Danica,” he replies before the blade slices across his throat.
At first, it’s just a thin red line on his neck. His pupils go wide. I open my mouth to scream but no sound comes out. And then the blood comes. A cascading spray of red shoots from the deep gash. Each pump of his dying heart causes a new spray of blood to coat my face and chest. The warm liquid is sticky as it drenches me. Finally, my lungs regain enough strength to let loose the earthshaking shriek that’s been building. I scream andscream as more and more blood covers me. The taste is metallic and thick on my tongue.
His body falls with a soft thud. His heavy presence no longer covering my shaking form. I open my eyes. Staring back at me is the sinister black and white mask—only now it’s splattered in red blood. They cock their head and laugh.
I run.
Pushing off the dirt, I scramble through the slick red oozing from Chris’ dead body and covering the earth below me. It’s so slick that I almost fall, but I regain my balance and manage to stay upright. I run with everything I have in me up the hill and towards the cars. I don’t look back. I just keep pumping my legs, pushing my body to go, go, go. Chris said his car didn’t have keys so I run past his. I throw open my driver's side door and scan the cupholder. Empty. I know I left my keys there. Why aren’t they there? What the fuck?
Swiftly, I spin. Bathed in the light of the moon is a scene straight from a horror film—Chris is still laid out on the ground, his murderer straddling him with their knees on either side of his waist. They rise up, the blade of the large knife glimmering in the moonlight, before falling forward and stabbing Chris in the chest. Blood spurts. They rise up again then fall and stab him again. And again. And again.
I can’t just stay here like a sitting duck. I need to get out of here.
My eyes scan the area for something, anything. Then I see it—Julie’s truck. It’s still stuck in the yurt where it crashed the first night. We never moved it in case the police accused us of tampering with the scene. It might be my only hope.
I sprint down the hill, moving as swiftly as I can. The blood is starting to dry, leaving me a sticky mess. But I don’t let it slow me down. I rush to the truck. Looking over my shoulder,the masked murderer doesn’t even notice. They’re in a frenzy—stabbing Chris’ long dead corpse over and over again. They have so much rage. Who could possibly hate us all so intensely? I didn’t even know any of the others besides Abby before this. They must be some crazed psycho.
Reaching the truck, I throw the door open and hoist myself inside. The keys are in the ignition. Just fucking sitting there. I don’t question it, I just turn the key. The engine rolls over with a loud rumble. I chance a glance up into the rearview mirror. There, in the reflection, I watch as the face of the sinister clown snaps up, their crazed gaze is full of murderous intent. They pause their assault of Chris’ corpse and stand, knife tightly clenched in their hand.
Fuck.
I throw the truck into drive and peel out. The truck stutters slightly, stuck from the collision. I give it more gas, watching in the mirror as the masked maniac steps over Chris and begins a slow approach towards me. I gun it. The tires spin briefly before gripping the ground. The truck jerks forward as I careen back towards the road. Branches snap against the side of the truck but I don’t stop. My eyes flit back to the mirror, watching as the figure in the mask gets smaller and smaller. I don’t dare slow down until I can no longer see the sinister smirk of the mask, the blood, the bodies, the yurts. I drive down the road until all that’s left is trees and darkness behind me.
Only then do I let myself breathe.
Looking around the car, I see Julie’s phone in the cupholder. I’m sure it won’t work, but I have to try. Grabbing the device, I swipe to open it. It turns on immediately. Full service.
What the fuck?
