limitlessxxpotential:
He stopped to help the guy, and for a moment she held her breath. This was insane; her imagination was taking the intoxication and running wild with it. He wasn’t being creepy, he was being helpful! What a silly thing to think. This wasn’t a Jason movie, this was real life.
But then he offers to help him into the field, and that made her stop. At the party the whole time alone, but his friends were staying in the field. That just didn’t track, but he said it with such confidence that she had trouble reconciling it. Hell, maybe he was just wanting a change of pace? Maybe he was friends with the home owner’s brother, and that’s why she’d never seen him before?
Unable to assure herself that she could go back to the party, she stayed low to the ground, creepy into the field a few feet behind and to the right. She couldn’t really defend herself as being anything other than nosey if she followed right behind them. At least this way she could blame it on losing her friends in here.
She stayed behind the stalks, squinting in the dark at the clearing ahead. No camper; not even tents. Something wasn’t right here, and like lightning, the stranger struck, metal gleaming in the soft moonlight. Oh god, he was going to kill him and if she ran he would hear. She was trapped. Covering her mouth, she crouched close to the ground, hoping that he wouldn’t find her in the dark.
The man groaned beneath him, slurring pleas and trying to beg for his life -- but Tate had selective hearing and decided to block out his cries. They wouldn’t come in handy; they wouldn’t do him any good. Tate wasn’t going to give up, he wasn’t going to stop until he was covered in blood.
So, instead of granting the man a second chance at life, he in return just pressed the tip of the blade further into the man’s flesh. It was then that the writhing piece of garbage under him started to pray, beg god for his life since Tate didn’t listen. This only upset the ghost more.
“Oh, stop! Stop it! Shut...up.” He hissed through clenched teeth, eyes rolling to the back of his head momentarily. “What, do you think some big man is going to come down through the clouds and save you now? Huh?” He shook his head, manic laughter escaping through chapped, parted lips.
“Riiiight.” He concluded, removing the knife from the man’s throat, and instead jabbed it into his shoulder. When the man cried out in pain, Tate just continued to laugh.
He withdrew his blade and held it high, about to drive it through the center of the man’s chest, when he heard something. He stopped for a moment, and looked to where it was coming from, but seen nothing, so he quickly returned his attention to the man, going through with his blow to the chest. Blood instantly began to pool in the center of the man’s thin, ripped shirt. “Someone might be watching!” He said, removing the blade to slam it back down again. “I better hurry and get you dealt with before I have two people on my back, huh?” He spoke, teeth still clenched, breathing hitched.
The prey tried to speak, but now it was just gurgles. Tate leaned in close to his face, watching the life leave his eyes. “You’re a scarecrow after all, you belong here.” He whispered, and as soon as the words left his lips, the man went limp. For a moment, he basked in it. The feeling of having so much power, enough to decide who lives and dies. Their life was like putty in his hands, and he loved it.
He looked down at his blood covered hands, and pulled the knife out of the man’s chest; wiping it clean on his jeans before folding it up and putting it back in his pocket. Tate rose to his feet, and instantly, his eyes began scanning the area where the noise came from once more.
“Come out, come out wherever you areeee..” His tone was sing songy, taunting whoever or whatever was watching. “I just put on a show for you, the least you can do is thank me.” He called out, waiting for a response.
