Page 6 of The Killing Game

“I haven’t even been down here today until now. How the hell would I be able to plant that?” I cross my arms as I stare at him. Let’s see how he talks his way out of this one.

Jason’s silent. He unclenches his hands and crosses his sculpted arms across his chest, his lips pursed in a thin line. He’s clearly thinking of a better excuse to give us. Sam and I stare back at him waiting for an answer.

It feels like minutes tick by. Everyone sitting in silence waiting for one of us to break. A showdown to see who’s going to own up to this fucked up prank.

Colton speaks up before one of us cracks, breaking the silence the only way he knows best.

“Either go have a weird, hate-fuck threesome or get over it. It’s our last trip. It’s really not that bad.” He’s sitting up now in his lawn chair. His hat is placed back on his head as he looks at us. The disapproving look has returned.

“That is one way to settle this. Ladies?” Jason raises his eyebrow at us and holds his arms out. An invitation for something neither Sam or I would accept.

I scoff at him dramatically. What is this? Some weird reality show on MTV? That would literally never happen.

“Hard pass there, skippy.”

Sam scrunches her nose in disgust for the second time this weekend, her face turning into a permanent frown. She crosses her arms and starts pouting. This didn’t go the way she wanted.

“I would rather get back with my ex before getting in the bed with you, Jason.”

Jason smiles wildly. “That’s your stipulation? I can find his number and make that happen. Last I heard, he’s still obsessing over the fact you left him to become friends with Ashe. He thinks you’re secretly together and, if that’s the case, I want to watch.”

“Ugh. Shut up, Jason!” Sam throws her arms up in defeat. The energy surrounding our discovery dissipates and the group dynamic returns to homeostasis.

Colton gets up in front of his seat. He swipes the masks from off the dock and examines it in his hands, flipping it over before putting it over his face. No one has actually seen the killer in real life, but I can only imagine the confusion and fear in someone if they saw this haunting face chasing after them. Colton is a big dude, too. Even a seasoned freak like myself would probably hesitate for a second in disbelief before running for my life. Colton dramatically jumps at us. Sam jumps back and screams. Jason flinches. I just stand there, laughing at his antics. It’s cute.

Colton chuckles as he removes the mask. “I was wondering what you were doing in the shed for so long. This is a good replica, Jason. How’d you get the words to stay so red? It looks fresh.”

Jason throws his hands in the air and gestures towards Colton. “I told you guys. It wasn’t me. I assumed you planted it there when you came up last weekend to clean up.”

Colton shakes his head as he hands the mask to Jason. Jason brings the cursed thing near his face, examining the letters closer.

“Nah, man. I didn’t even check the shed when I came last weekend,” Colton says.

Jason frowns again. He’s silent for a minute, deep in thought. I’m watching him again, wondering what’s going on in his beautiful head. His finger swipes at one of the letters on the forehead. It comes away stained red. He looks up at us; his face ghost white.

“Stop with the dramatics, Jason,” I chastise him. Clearly, they added the paint before they hid the mask earlier. Even if they deny it, I know for a fact it was one of them.

Jason shakes his head and passes the mask towards me. “It isn’t paint, Ashe.”

I yank the object away from him, inspecting the letters for myself. My fingers trace over the maroon carvings.

“What the fuck do you mean it’s not–” I halt as I bring my fingers to my nose and the smell hits me. Metallic and earthy notes hang in the air in front of me. Everything in me is on high alert. I know that smell all too well.

Blood.

My index finger drags across the T in time. I hold it up to the sky to see it better. The red liquid clings to my finger. It’s sticky and slightly translucent in the sunlight. What kind of blood, I don’t know, but it’s unmistakably blood.

“Call the cops,” I mumble. It’s barely a whisper. I’m unable to tear my eyes away from my finger. My overactive imagination is running through every plausible reason as to why this mask has blood on it and none of them are comforting.

“Call the cops!” I yell at the group.

FIVE

4:28 P.M.

We’re all sitting in the living room of the cabin as we wait for the cops to arrive. The infamous mask lays between us on the oversize, metal coffee table at the center of the room. No one wants to talk, especially to me. Silence ripples through the space between us, each one of us spiraling through our own dark thoughts.

Colton is sitting in the leather love seat in front of the fireplace. He’s bent over, his face in his hands. He hasn’t spoken a word since he got off the phone with the police. Every once in a while I see his shoulders shake. I can’t tell whether it’s heavy breathing to calm himself or if he’s silently crying.