Page 2 of The Killing Game

Colton was drafted onto the practice team for the Chicago NFL team after attending a junior college for barely two years. He’s still expected to finish his Associate’s before he could start his contract. Colton didn’t mind, though. He saw every opportunity as baby steps to his dream goal of being the captain of a pro-league football team. One day, he’ll be on TV and I’ll be able to tell everyone, “That’s my friend!”

Jason’s modeling career picked up pretty quickly after he reigned in his fashion style. He’s modeling for whatever the next up-and-coming alternative clothes line is. Creepville? Gothiccc? Black Heart? I don’t even know anymore. It’s hard to keep count. He talks about it enough that I started to tune him out from time to time. I can only take so many renditions of his stories about being hit on by the staff before I feel physically nauseous.

Sam started her own garden after high school and grew it into the town’s first apothecary. It’s essentially a holistic shop that focuses on natural remedies, but she still insists on Western medicine for things beyond her control. Lots of people were skeptical about the practice at first. It gained popularity when they realized modern medicine comes from the Earth’s most basic ingredients. To her, holistic medicine isn’t just woo-woo. It’s connecting back to nature in a way science has forgotten.

I used all the dark thoughts inside my head and my obsession with true crime to become Graveslake’s first published writer. I’m still considered an Indie author, but I make enough to be self-sustaining without a secondary job. It was the perfect way to channel all those urges inside that I tucked away for good keeping. If anyone asks why I am the way I am, I just point to my writings. You can’t really argue with written art.

I turn my gaze back out the window, but keep my attention on the current conversation buzzing through the car. Jason and Sam continue to argue the semantics of a masked serial killer roaming the backwoods of Graveslake as the cabin comes into view. Rumor has it, the killings started back with one of the early 2000’s senior class traditions at Graveslake High. A tradition every year to celebrate graduating was to play senior assassin. It’s exactly how it sounds. There’s the game master who keeps track of the assassin list, collects the money, and rewards the jackpot to the winner. People put money in the pot and get their first “kill”. The objective is to catch the assigned kill person by surprise and soak them with a water gun (or other fluids, some sick fucks like to bend the rules). The only off-limits spots were school grounds and the person’s place of work. The game continues until the last person stands and the prize is awarded. Some years the game was played well after graduation.

The year the killer arrived, people stopped playing. Within a three week period, ten kids went missing only to slowly have their bodies show up in the woods. They were mutilated beyond anyone’s wildest imagination. The crime scene photos were a sadist’s wet dream. Those images are seared into my memory. I can slum it with the roughest crime scene journalist, but even this was grotesque.

Mackenzie Fuller’s crime scene in particular has stuck in the rumor mill for years. Her body was found skinned and dismembered in the woods behind her house. The corpse was re-articulated postmortem to look like a marionette doll. There was a six inch cavity in her chest that was hollowed out and lined with her skin. Forensic reports showed remnants of latex and glycerin, suggesting the killer used her corpse as his personal flesh light. They didn’t find any DNA at the scene. From the police reports and local news, the only thing left behind was a distressed skull mask with the words time to die carved into the forehead. This dude went full movie slasher with a side of what the fuck. The discovery made three veteran cops quit the force on the spot. That was over twenty years ago. Since then, every year one senior disappears right before graduation, rightfully dubbing the mystery killer The Senior Slayer. The missing bodies are found months later, mutilated in the same M.O. as the original killing spree. Each year mimicking one of the original ten slayings. After the first ten years, the style of killings reverts back to the beginning. The horrific ritual starts all over again. Last I checked, there’s still no DNA traces and no suspects. It leaves the town officials stumped.

Each year, students wonder who will be the unlucky person. Social status doesn’t matter to this killer. One year a cheerleader was grabbed. Two years later, the resident dweeb was kidnapped. In our graduating class, the valedictorian was the unlucky victim. He was found four months later at the bottom of the lake. The body was too decomposed to formally connect it to The Senior Slayer, but everyone knew better. It’s the dark tradition of our small town. We scheduled our vacation well past graduation and we’ve been alumni for over three years now. Surely, there’s no masked killer still running around in the woods.

I mull over that last thought. I wouldn’t be opposed to a masked man arriving for some fun. Being stalked by a ghost is thrilling. It wouldn’t be the first time, either. The tingles running down your body when your nerves are on edge. Your breath becomes short and labored. You don’t know if you’re going to cry or moan in fear. Ugh, that shit makes me wet just thinking about it. And don’t even look at me with that face. I told you earlier I like things extra dark. Think I wrote all these horrmance novels without a little…experimenting? People will try the damnedest things given the opportunity. It’s fuck or get fucked in this twisted world. I will always choose the latter, thank you.

“We’re here!” Colton cheers in the driver seat as he shifts the car into park. His family estate looms in front of us between the oak trees. This cabin was always our summer getaway before school started. It allowed us to exist without expectations or prying parental eyes. This summer, the trip is a little heavier. It’s our final get together before we officially go our separate ways into our adult careers. I glance at the clock on the car dash. 1:37 p.m. We have a whole seventy-two hours to make lasting memories. I send up a silent prayer to the universe hoping this won’t be the last time I see my friends. I mean, come on. All the horror movies aside that say you should never be alone in the woods, what’s the worst that could happen?

TWO

1:45 P.M.

“Home sweet home, y’all!” Colton throws the front door open with dramatic flare, like it’s the first time we’ve ever seen this place before.

We all follow Colton inside the cabin. It’s more of a modern house on a cliff than a cabin. Colton’s family inherited this land from his great grandfather, a founder of Graveslake. The original house still exists somewhere on the property. I’ve never personally seen it, but he claims it’s haunted. According to Colton, his parents didn’t like vacationing in something so “primitive” and “run down”. So, they moved the driveway and built a brand new home overlooking the lake, instead. The house clings to the side of the cliff with a fully furnished balcony. It would make the best location for a secluded horror movie. This building may or may not have been the setting for a few of my earlier writings. It was easy to pull inspiration from here since this was our second home growing up.

“I’m really going to miss this place. The love and memories we filled in this place make it so magical. We love you, Miss Cabin. Only good vibes this weekend.” Sam wanders around the room, her rosy, tanned arms outstretched in a greeting to the home. She always starts our trip with a little positive manifestation. I don’t really believe in all that stuff, but if it brings her joy, I’m happy to play along.

“Yes, Universe. Please make this the best weekend of our lives. We accept whatever you bring into our space.”

Walking over to Sam, I take her hand in mine, mimicking her stance. My hands raise to the sky like a silent prayer. Sam squeezes my hand as she closes her eyes. I can see her start her deep breathing to cement the mantra in her head. This is one of the very few times I see her in her element. Completely calm. She looks so serene and content in this moment. It’s honestly kind of beautiful. I admire her from the side as my eyes roam over her body. My breath catches as her perky tits rise up and down beneath her lavender crop top. Her lips part as her breath slows. I know she’s not into me, but what I wouldn’t give to feel those lips on mine. I blanch at the thought of it and immediately dismiss it. She may be the only girl that holds my attention right now, however, I would never betray her trust like that. Her friendship is more important than a potential fling.

I have enough boys lining up to experience the infamous rumors spread about me to keep myself occupied. It was fun for the first few months when my stories were gaining momentum on BookTok. All these silly “alpha males” sliding into my messages, thinking they can tame the demons inside me. When push came to shove though, they were groveling at my knees. I like them strapped to my bed, spread eagle, a ball gag in their mouth, and a knife to their throat as I ride them, using their small drops of blood as lube until I find my release. Then I let them go on their merry way to finish themselves off at home like the good little fucktoys they are.

No one ever expects the pretty horror writer to actually enjoy the things she writes about. Jokes on them; that’s the only way I get off. Writing is my own personal form of foreplay. Maybe one day I can find someone who can match my demented games. I just want one person to fuck me into submission. Chase me down in the woods. Grab me by the throat and throw me like they hate me. Gag and restrain me. Make me fear for my life. Degrade me to the point I’m begging them to fuck my pulsating, wet pussy for sweet release. Treat me like I’m their own little fucktoy. For now, I’ll settle for the simps. It’s good for PR, anyway. There’s no better promotion than self promotion, even if the tactics are less than acceptable to community standards.

“Allllrightttt. Who wants to join me in the bedroom for some extra curricular activity before we start drinking?” Jason grins at us, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively with a bundle of red rope held in his hand. I know shibari rope when I see it.

I roll my eyes.

Way to ruin the mood, asshole.

“Where the fuck did you get that from?” Sam looks at him, disgusted. She barely tolerates his sexual antics on a regular day. I’m sure she hoped this weekend would be different. Jason never means what he says, at least not around us. He respects our boundaries and usually says shit for the jokes. However, there’s a part of me that wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t secretly hope pushing enough times would make one (or both) of us cave. Sam would never. After her ex, she vowed to only date soft, masculine men. I don’t blame her. She deserves someone who worships at her feet like the forest goddess she is.

“You’re such a fucking tool, Jay. Keep your shibari rope at home to use with Jill.” I wave him off as I turn for the kitchen. An extra strong rum drink is calling my name. A dark and stormy might do the trick. I’m definitely going to need it if this is how we’re starting the trip. For fuck’s sake. If I wrote romcoms, this weekend would be a treasure trove of material. Maybe I can fantasize killing him in my next novel. Let’s see how he likes that joke.

“Ashe, you wound me! I have never slept with Jill Adams. Not without lack of trying, at least. She’s pretty committed to her boyfriend,” Jason says as he follows me into the kitchen. He saunters over, grabbing the bottle of rum I can’t reach on the top shelf.

“Thanks,” I say, swiping the bottle from him with a scowl. “I wasn’t referring to Adams.” I hold up my hand with my fingers extended, wiggling each finger to get my point across. I hold in my giggle, waiting for him to catch the reference.

Jason stares at me. His eyes narrow as the joke sets in, lips thinning into a straight line. I can see his jaw tense for a fraction of a second. Then, the tips of his mouth slightly lift. Suddenly, he’s on top of me. Putting the bottle down on the counter, he leans in closer and cages me between his arms. His deep, golden eyes darken when I look up at him, annoyance flooding my veins. There’s a flutter from somewhere inside me that awakens. I try to push it back down because this is Jason. He’s disgusting and I refuse to give him what he wants. Admittedly, I’m failing miserably as the annoyance slowly fades into pulsating desire. He’s doing the one thing no one else has been able to do — make me feel helpless and small. I’m only five foot eight, so his six foot five frame easily towers over me. My bitchy attitude usually makes up for what I lack in height, but right now, that attitude is only egging him on.

I try to move one of his arms to leave. He grabs my wrist and pins it back to the counter’s edge. His other hand plays with a stray strand of blue hair that escaped from behind my ear.

Jason leans in close enough that I can feel his breath against my neck, but not so close for me to feel his lips against my side. Goosebumps rise on my skin. My breath shallows, waiting to see what he’s going to do. His whisper is low and deep, rumbling through the most sensitive parts of me. “You think about me jacking off, Ashe? You better watch your words this weekend or I might just find another way to occupy that smart mouth of yours.”

He pulls away. A shit eating grin covers his face as he saunters away. I’m left speechless for the first time in history. No witty comeback. No snarky remark about him having a tiny dick. For years, I’ve been suppressing any urge towards wanting him and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel in control of the situation. That’s not how I like to operate. When I’m in control, I know exactly what will happen. I have the power to make the outcome whatever I want.