It has been approximately two weeks and three days since the last big attack when things start to go awry again. Since September 9th, there has been no sight of the carnival killers. The Bubblegum Twins and the Animal killers seem to be the last thing on most peoples minds, and it’s safe to assume that they left with the annual carnival. Though of course, things are not slowing down for the residents of Shrike Heights as the threatening activity is still on the rise, with the other killers being responsible for multiple happenings over the past few weeks.
saturday september 26th, 1987
The sun had set over an hour ago, and Lake Wright is almost home. She’s not entirely sure why she isn’t scared of being out so late, in the dark. Tonight, there seems to be something deep inside her that gives her an intense confidence; I shouldn’t have to abide by some suggestion of a curfew, how likely is it that I’m to be a target of the killer, anyway? She had been thinking to herself. She hadn’t been attacked so far, after all. And there hadn’t even been many, if any, genuine sightings of the killers around her block. Perhaps she has immaculate luck, perhaps the killers just aren’t all that terrifying. Either way, she doesn’t see the point in wasting energy being worked up about it on this particular night. She considers it a good feeling.
Though as she approaches the next street, she thinks just for a second that she sees someone standing beneath a tree. Her head snaps to take a better look. Lake is confused, to say the least. There is a white sheet, with a vaguely human shape beneath it. She has to take a moment to remember the date. If it were closer to Halloween, she might have thought it was a Halloween decoration. But being late September, there was no excuse. She slowly approaches the figure, watching cautiously to see if there is any movement beneath the sheet. When she’s within arms reach, she waits for a moment, holding her breath. With a sudden movement, she reaches forward and tears the sheet down. There is nothing left behind. Lark starts to laugh at herself. You idiot, it’s a sheet stuck on a branch, she thinks, letting the sheet fall to the ground. She continues her trip home. No sign of a killer tonight.
sunday september 27th, 1987
It’s only a short walk, one that Beauregard Wakefield - being carefree in nature - doesn’t find himself worrying about even with the recent events still on the town's mind. The sun has set, yet the street lights brighten his path and make it easy for him to find his way home. It’s been a long enough amount of time since Beauregard last heard of any attack in Shrike Heights, and as most of the town seem to believe the Animals and the Bubblegum Twins came and went with the carnival, the threat while walking home so late doesn’t feel so pressing; that is, until a still figure on the footpath on the opposite side of the road catches the corner of his eye. Going against his better judgement, Beauregard freezes, staring into the darkness.
They don’t look quite right; immediately Beauregard knows that this figure doesn’t belong to a person innocently out on a walk. They’re tall and slender in build, wearing clothing with nonsensical bumps and bulges all over, standing in a position mirroring Beauregard’s as he faces the other side of the road and stares. He hurriedly tries to think of the descriptions of the killers to see if he can find a match, his heart beating hard against his chest as the most unsettling feeling washes over him. This couldn’t be a killer, he thinks, but who or what else would be standing so ominously in the dark like this? Beauregard takes a step towards them, trying with all of his might to see them clearer, but when they copy his movement and close the distance between the two of them even further Beauregard knows he needs to flee. In their hand they hold something he can’t quite make out due to the dim light and the distance still existing, something similar to a baton in shape and size, something that could easily be used as a weapon. Beauregard no longer wishes to know more, and wastes no time in running off to safety. They mightn’t have looked like any of the killers he had read about before, but he’s still sure he made the right decision in getting out of there quickly.
monday september 28th, 1987
Miette Auclair doesn’t have time to think about breakfast, or a coffee, or anything else that people normally do before they head to work. In fact, they spend no more than three minutes gathering everything they need into their bag before rushing out the door, tying their hair up into a scrunchie as they push the door open with their hip. When she takes the first step out of the door, she hears crunching beneath her foot. Miette is quite accustomed to the sound of dry fall leaves beneath feet – and there’s something foreign about the noise that makes her look down. A small gasp escapes her mouth as she takes a step back.
On her doorstep is a neatly organized pile of very small animal bones (which she assumes could be a mix of rabbit bones, or other small mammals such as rats.) The way they’re organized is almost shrine-like, and it’s all too deliberate. Miette can’t help but feel anxiety well inside her as she stares at it, trying to figure out what it could possibly mean, and who could possibly have put it there. It was almost witch-like, really. The thought of someone trying to hex her sends a shiver down her spine, regardless of her level of superstitiousness. It could be the work of anyone, but somehow, deep down, she knows it’s the work of a killer. She glances down at her watch, and she’s reminded that she’s wasting minutes that she doesn’t have. As they finish tying their hair in a messy ponytail, they carefully kick the pile of bones asides and decides to deal with them later, crossing their fingers that they haven’t somehow cursed themself for touching the thing.
monday september 28th, 1987
Layton Danvers grows increasingly more nervous as he leaves Perkin’s, the sun already setting outside. He’s thankful he wasn’t required to work the closing shift, but still feels uneasy as he walks out the back exit of the mall knowing that it will be dark out in only moments. The heavy door closes behind him, and something to the left of him catches his eye; a figure stands in the shadows, and while Layton could easily walk away, headed in the opposite direction anyway, a mixture of fear and curiosity leaves him fixed to the spot. He stands and stares, his heart beating a little faster than usual, and while he hopes desperately for the figure to be just another employee or a customer who might be lost, the Slayer steps out from the shadows.
Layton is terrified, but the terror breaks him out of the frozen state he’s in and he begins running down the alleyway in the direction of safety and freedom. He can hear heavy footsteps trailing behind him, his pace not quite matched - but he knows he can’t keep up this pace. The fear already caused his chest to tighten and his breathing to become uneven, but the addition of the physical activity causes his asthma to flare up and it renders him unable to breathe completely, a sharp pain in his chest. Real panic begins to take over, but he knows he can’t stop running. He clutches his chest with one hand, his throat with the other - as if that will bring him relief - but as he does so he turns his head to see how far ahead of the killer he is, hoping to have gained enough distance for him to slow even slightly and catch his breath. Unfortunately, however, as he moves and struggles through breathlessness, pain and panic, he stumbles and falls to the ground abruptly and harshly. Wincing through the pain of his newly scraped up and bleeding forearm, Layton twists on the ground, gasping through more pain for a breath, but then suddenly he notices the Slayer is gone. He can no longer see the killer, no longer hear the footsteps - but regardless, he flees as soon as he can get back onto his feet.
tuesday september 29th, 1987
Phoenix Laurel skates home late afternoon. They’re a little slower than usual, their backpack being full of groceries that they bought at Griff’s request, with their favourite beverage from Double Shot in one hand (that they’d made themself, so it was absolutely perfect). Griff was lucky enough to have a day off working at Karaoke Dokie, so he’d sent Phoenix to work with a list of what he needed and surprisingly, Phoenix remembered to oblige. (Though Griff owed them big time.) As she approaches the door and comes to a halt on her board, she can’t help but notice that the paint has been damaged. Her brows knit together tightly as she steps aside and leans in to get a better look.
The front door to their place seems to be just as it usually is - except for one detail. There are four deep dents in the wood, evenly spaced apart. Phoenix can’t for the life of her think of what might have caused such a thing. With her free hand, she runs her fingers over the chipped paint, and over the deep indents. There is simply no way that it happened without a great deal of force. Phoenix remembers having heard of previous instances happening in the past, killers marking the doors of their next victims. Even within Shrike Heights, someone had a dangerously sharp knife stuck in their front door. This however, didn’t look like the work of knives. Sure, Phoenix wasn’t an expert on weapon analysis, or whatever it was that would determine what had made the marks. But they were sure as hell that it wasn’t a knife. With a sudden pang of guilt and anxiety, Phoenix picks up their board and heads inside to be sure that her housemate is still alive and well, and if he is, to ask how on earth he hadn’t heard whatever had attacked their front door.
thursday september 30th, 1987
Alastair Campbell walks down a thin path near the outskirts of town, watching his feet as he moves to ensure he doesn’t trip on the uneven and rocky ground; it’s in doing this that he notices something shining across the path, a silver glistening under the sun. He steps closer hesitantly, and immediately recognises the shining to be wire, the wire bent into a circle over the path. At first inspection, Alastair assumes it to be a stray wire sticking out from the fence he walked beside, where it seemed to be coming from and attached to, but it only takes a moment for him to see that it is a large snare trap in the way. The trap looks to be too big for an animal you would regularly use a snare on.
Are one of the killers responsible for this? He naturally wonders to himself, then moving carefully to inspect the area surrounding, searching for any kind of evidence or information or clue. Nothing else seems to be out of place, nothing else seems to be left behind where it shouldn’t be, but Alastair still feels a chill that makes him believe the trap was here for some sinister reason. He wishes he had a camera on him to capture the evidence, but then quickly supposes the trap itself will suffice - as he knows he must remove the trap anyway to keep anyone from getting hurt. He works carefully to remove the wire from the fence as he squats down on the ground beside it, however, just before he can complete the job, part of the wire that was previously pulled taut snaps free from the fence, striking Alastair across the face. His cheek is hot and burning with pain, a single drop of blood rolling down his face. The cut isn’t deep though - thankfully - and Alastair is left able enough to take the trap and the uneasy feeling with him home, left to wonder who planted it there, left to wonder if his gut feeling is right in thinking it was the work of a killer.
thursday october 1st, 1987
It’s early morning, and despite the blue sky and the crisp yet not too cool air, Ryanne Williams is feeling a little unsettled, for reasons unknown. As she walks down the street, pulling her scarf a little tighter around her neck, she finds herself nearly tripping right over onto the sidewalk, but she manages to regain her balance before any damage is done. For a second she thinks maybe she was just dragging her feet a little too unenthusiastically, but upon looking down, she sees what has tripped her. A trap lies across the path, sharp razor wine pulled firmly across the way. Her jeans are torn from the impact, but she’s thankful that it didn’t nick her skin. Panic seems to set in quicker than she’d like, feeling a sweat breaking out on her forehead and her heart hammering hard in her chest. It’s hard to comprehend that the Hunter would be setting up traps for unsuspecting victims outside of the mall. Tears well in her eyes as she struggles to think of what to do.
No doubt this is the skilful work of the Hunter. She knows this when she crouches down to evaluate the trap. Ryanne wipes the tears from her face and takes a deep breath before she works on dismantling the trap, pulling at the wooden pegs that seem to be hammered deep into the ground - evidence that the trap is extremely well thought out. Her hand slips as she pulls with all her strength, and her palm hits the wire. She doesn’t even have time to register the sting before blood starts beading to the surface of the wound. She curses and holds it against her jeans in an attempt to stop the blood. Despite the setback, she manages to destroy the trap, carefully kicking it aside. The minute she has access to a phone, she calls the authorities to let them know the location, so that they can dispose of it properly. Even being within the comfort of her own home again, Ryanne still feels unsettled.
friday october 2nd, 1987
Jude Graham admires the beautiful nature heavily surrounding the small town in which he lives, his old dog seeming to enjoy it too as they make use of a walking track in the forest closest to home. The leaves that are rapidly changing into shades of yellows, oranges and reds cover the path they walk, the sun shining down through the treetops to illuminate their way. Jude likes how untouched the forests are, and finds the peace and quiet to be something he desperately needs after all he’s already endured in Shrike Heights. Unfortunately on this day, however, he seems to have been lulled into a false sense of security and safety. It all happens in a flash, faster than he can comprehend or begin to understand just exactly what has happened to him.
Unaware of the trap that has been set up across the path that happened to be hidden by the leaves that were quick to fall and other pieces of foliage from around them, Jude steps right into it, being promptly swept off of his feet, landing on the ground with a loud thud while his foot caught in knotted rope is pulled into the air above him. Pain in his back and head where he landed renders him dazed for a moment, but as soon as he regains at least some of his clarity, he is able to realise how lucky he is that his weight keeps at least most of his body on the forest floor - making his escape much easier. The escape and the importance of it being achieved swiftly is at the forefront of his mind; he doesn’t want to fall victim to a killer again, the blame for this immediately being put onto them as he’s sure any hunter or person aiming to catch only an animal would steer clear of walking trails. His skin burns underneath the rope as he struggles and pulls, though with the help of an especially sharp rock he finds next to him, Jude is soon able to cut the rope and break free, not hesitating in the slightest before he leads Obi back into town.
saturday october 3rd, 1987
Larkin Delaney finds themself jogging sometime around dusk through Shrike Heights’ favourite family-friendly park. Perhaps they would have picked one of the lighter hiking trails any other day, but considering the events, they figure that with the sun nearly setting, it might be best to jog in a well-lit area with other evening traffic. So they decide to do the standard path through and around the park (with the idea of maybe doing a second lap if they felt like it afterwards - they’d see about that.) As they jog along the path and take a sharp turn, careful of the overgrown bushes that make it difficult to see around the corner, they run straight into a tall, broad figure, winding them. They cough and take a step back, hand over their abdomen as they catch their breath. It takes a moment before they can even consider apologising to the figure.
As they look up, they feel their stomach drop. The figure is unnaturally tall and broad. And instead of a human face, they find themselves staring at a menacing pumpkin mask. Lark feels it’s almost too unfortunate to be true, and they don’t even bother debating whether or not it could be a hoax before they’re attempting to turn and run. Before they can, however, the man grasps them by the arm with an iron grip that shoots pain down their limb. Lark struggles against his grasp, so hard that when he lets go, they tumble to the ground. Their hands and knees scrape on the pavement below, and they scramble to their feet to run as fast as they can away from the attacker, so quickly that their legs and their lungs are burning. They’re thankful for the jogging that they’ve been doing lately; or else they mightn’t have had the stamina to escape.
sunday october 4th, 1987
Tomas D’aureville isn’t particularly happy about having to work the closing shift, though he is thankful that no one seems especially interested in walking in for a spontaneous tattoo or piercing on this random, uneventful Wednesday night. He takes advantage of the lack of customers by locking the store up for a moment, only to head outside for a smoke and to stretch his legs after he’s found himself sitting in the same position working on some new designs for way too long. The air has a chill to it and the sky has darkened, though the darkness only reassures him that he can head home soon - he doesn’t find himself afraid of it, not thinking much of anything in the moment. His passive mood is quick to change as he stands out the back of the mall, unknown company suddenly appearing and grabbing him from behind, their grip so tight that it hurts, the pain earning a loud groan.
“Fuck!” It’s the only word he seems capable of speaking as he kicks a leg behind him, the perpetrator losing their footing and releasing Tommy while they steady themself once again. He turns quickly, and standing in front of him is the Hunter, a large knife grasped firmly in his hand. Tommy is given no time to think before he’s forced to jump back, the Hunter lunging towards him, his knife aimed at his victim’s stomach. A sharp gasp leaves him as his stomach is cut vertically, though thankfully it’s only slightly deeper than a scratch. Despite his injury and his terror, Tommy is able to successfully dodge the next attack, moving back far enough this time until he’s confident he has enough distance between them for him to make an escape. He runs towards the back entrance, his breath caught in his throat, but before he can reach it he’s pulled down to the ground by the back of his jacket. He lands harshly and spins to face his attacker immediately, another groan sounding at the pain, but before the Hunter can plunge his knife into his stomach as he seems to aim for, Tommy kicks it out of his hand, and once again he’s up and running away. This time he reaches the entrance, even making it back up to Skin Deep without another sight of the wolf, and though his shift isn’t scheduled to end just yet, Tommy closes the store as quickly as he can, rushing home to take care of his injuries.
sunday october 4th, 1987
Josephine June knows this area like the back of her hand. She has lived here for most of her life, after all. She knows that she’s mere minutes away from returning to her residence, so her anxiety is low, confident that she’ll make it with no issues along the way. The crickets are singing their song - surprising since the month is getting colder and colder as the days pass. Posie knows that soon her walk down this road will be silent. But the silence comes sooner than she expects it. Wondering what stopped the symphony, she turns examines her surroundings, wondering if perhaps an animal had crossed over the insects path, causing them to stop their song. However, a man was seen standing several yards behind her. In the dark, it’s hard to see - but she wears the mans head is shaped like a pumpkin. Like that of the Jack-O-Lantern killer.
It starts with slow, heavy footsteps towards her. Posie is frozen in place as she tries to figure out exactly what the figure is doing. But the footsteps get quicker, and the strides get larger, and Posie decides that she isn’t taking any chances. She breaks into a sprint, but even over the sound of her own footsteps and her heavy breathing, she can hear the footsteps catching up to her quickly. She ducks into the bushes, pushing past the prickly leaves and branches to get to the barbed wire fence behind. Jack groans as he tries to push through the thick brush, slowing the chase. Posie squeezes through the fence, barbed wire catching on the back of her shirt and scratching her skin, tearing holes in the fabric as she pulls away. She runs several yards, close to a caravan with outer lights on, where she feels a hint safer. When Posie turns back to see if she is still being pursued, the figure stares back at her several moments before he turns and walks away. She exhales with relief. She’s safe. For now.
monday october 5th, 1987
The skate park on the outskirts of town has been relatively empty at this time of night as of late; tonight there is an exception in the form of Hen Wen Szeto, who skates on a beat up board up and down the ramps. Light is scarce, but Hen Wen doesn’t feel as though anything more than an attempt at a new trick will go wrong, and they know this skate park well enough to trust their abilities even in the dark. They believe they know how to keep themself from harm, however, as they reach the top of the half pipe, moving quickly on their board, a figure catches them and they immediately feel anything but safe from harm. It takes a moment before her eyes adjust enough for her to make out that the Jack-O-Lantern killer has grabbed her tightly before she could land, panic hitting as the realisation does.
With no weapon and nothing to grip onto, Hen Wen thrashes in his arms, breathless immediately from panic but in no hurry to let that stop her trying to fight. Her legs kick out and against him at awkward angles, fists punching and palms pushing away from him as best as she can. Somehow she slips from his grip, yet he’s quick to catch her, only with his arms extended this time so she is no longer held tight against his large body. Using the position to her advantage, Hen Wen kicks both of her legs up, feet against his torso, and she flips herself over and out of his arms properly this time. She lands against the side of the half pipe harshly, her entire body hitting against the concrete multiple times as she falls to the bottom. Despite the pain and the blood dripping from their grazes and small cuts, Hen Wen immediately gets back onto their feet, running as fast as they can until they find themself safe in their apartment again.
wednesday october 7th, 1987
Though Drew Abrams wouldn’t know it until later, today was a very bad day to decide to be adventurous with the lunch food options. Unhappy with the selection in the food court, Drew decided to go to one of the smaller restaurants in town, a few blocks away from the mall. She knew she could be done and back in time for the rest of her shift, no problem. However, upon taking the shortcut through an alleyway would prove to be a poor decision. As she takes a step, she’s met with great resistance, toppling her over onto the rough pavement before her. She instinctively reaches out to catch her fall. “Fuck,” she groans. She lays still for a moment to collect herself.
When Drew has the strength to sit up, she notices her palms and her knees are scraped and bloodied. She thinks perhaps the inconvenience of finishing a shift with these wounds is worse than the actual wounds themselves. As she tries to get to her feet, she notices the resistance against her leg again. There is a thin wire wrapped tightly around her, pulling tighter with every move. She realises it’s fastened tightly to a pipe attached to one of the alleyway buildings. With no weapon or tools to free herself, she does what she can. She moves close to the pipe, and carefully pries the wire loose with her fingers. Relieved, she slips out of the trap, only to see the bloody red mark around her ankle from where the trap was digging in much too tight. She knows that all of her wounds are going to bruising and sore for several days to come, and that doesn’t bring her much excitement knowing that she’ll have to conceal them as best as possible for her upcoming shifts. She only hopes that the trap doesn’t catch anyone else.
thursday october 8th, 1987
Arthur Norwich’s board isn’t moving at a very fast pace as he begins his journey home from work, though in broad daylight he doesn’t think there’s the need for any real urgency. After being called in at the last minute for an early morning shift at Shrike Heights Radio, he’s looking forward to making it home, and he wonders what exactly he’ll do with the rest of his day now that he no longer has to come in to work later that day. His question is left unanswered and his thoughts are interrupted as he feels a sharp pain strike across his back unexpectedly. He steps one foot off of his skateboard to stop himself from moving, reaching around to feel a rip in his shirt and a repeat of the sharp pain upon touching his skin; when his hand returns to in front of him, blood lightly coats his fingers. Only a moment later, Arthur notices an arrow has landed on the ground only a foot away, the head glistening, slightly red with what he knows to be his blood.
His head turns quickly to look in the other direction, and that is where he spots the Slayer standing, reloading the crossbow he has obviously just used to attack him. It’s a terrifying sight, the first time Artie has seen a killer in person, but he doesn’t dwell on the fact. Instead, he gets back on his board properly, ignoring the pain in his back and the fear restricting his breath as he rushes away. While the Slayer is only on foot, his pace is concerning as he follows Artie, and despite this pace, he doesn’t struggle at all with shooting off a second arrow in Artie’s direction. He’s only just able to dodge the second arrow, and before he finds himself too late to dodge a third, he turns on his board to skate down the side street he almost passes. This street isn’t on his usual route home, but through the terror he feels he thinks he has a better chance at getting away if he takes as many side streets he can, wanting to give them distance yet also confuse the killer with where he might be headed. After turning down the third side street, Artie can no longer see his attacker, and though he’s out of breath, breaking a sweat and in pain from his injury, he doesn’t stop skating as fast as he can for quite some time, until he’s sure the Slayer won’t find him again.
friday october 9th, 1987
Froggie Oakes makes her way home from her afternoon hockey game, the sun setting over the heights, the sky glowing pink and orange. This alone is a great distraction from her surroundings, keeping her eye on the sky as she heads towards the outskirts of town. She’s humming to herself, finding shapes and pictures in the clouds when the sound of metal hitting the pavement behind her catches her off guard. She’s immediately brought out of her daze, and quickly notices the figure lurking near the bushes in front of her. Without her glasses, she can’t see them clearly until they take several steps towards her. It seems like a blurry, shadowy mass, that she of course assumes is a human (because why wouldn’t it be?)
Froggie turns their head quickly to see a fallen arrow beside them, and when they turn back around, the figure is close enough for them to see that it’s none other than The Hunter, his taxidermy wolf skin mask clear to them now that he is closer. He launches forward, hand ready to grasp them by the collar of their jersey, the other hand moving towards the sheath that holds his hunting knife. but before he makes contact, they swing their hockey stick with all their strength. It collides with the mask that covers his entire head like a hood, causing it to spin around - temporarily blinding the hunter. The killer groans as he tries to fix the mask back into place in order to regain his vision. Froggie turns on her heels and begins sprinting down the hill. She’s thankful that for once, Thalia isn’t with her - there’s no doubt her friend would be lagging behind with how fast she had taken off. There is a sharp thwip noise, and a sharp pain in her cheek before another arrow clatters to the ground in front of her. She takes a sharp right turn and she’s out of reach of the ranged weapon. They hold a hand to their cheek as they continue to run, and when they look back at it, it’s wet with blood.