Cannibals & Cursed Ground | Late Night Horror Anthology With Supernatural Revenge

Welcome back, my spookys. Tonight, every road leads somewhere worse. A mountain waterfall promising a beautiful sunrise hides a man who only comes alive after dark. A deserted stretch of Ohio asphalt remembers every creature left broken beside it. One neighborhood porch light welcomes tricker treaters into a house where the tricks are cruel and the treats are still screaming. And at a lonely rest area, an old roadside legend is waiting with an axe and a terrible appetite. These are stories about places we pass without a second thought, campsites, country roads, quiet houses, and glowing rest stops. After midnight, even the most ordinary destination can become a hunting ground.

So check the back seat, ignore that hitchhiker, and keep on driving. When the next rest area appears, turn down the lights, turn up the volume, and prepare yourself for four terrifying tales of killers, cannibals, monsters, and deadly detours. And make sure you're subscribed on your favorite podcast app, because every Wednesday we bring you a brand new terror tale, whether you like it or not. Now, let's begin Fortune Falls by David O'Hanlon. Janine and Rose were on summer break from their third year at the University of Kansas. Being from a flat, landlocked wasteland, the Lady Jayhawks usually took their breaks on a beach in Galveston.

Then something immensely terrifying it happened the previous year. They'd been on the beach for three days. Between surf lessons and volleyball games, all anyone could talk about was this new movie opening that weekend. They decided to take a chance and join some of their friends for the first evening showing of Jaws the next day. They all just sat on the sand the day after and every day after that until it was time to return to school for the summer of seventy six. They decided they'd try something different and far away from the threat of shark attacks.

Kansas didn't have been but it didn't have mountains either. Oregon was Jeanine's idea, and Rose had fallen in love with it. She studied the maps and picked the route for their journey of self discovery. Five days of backpacking and camping from the isolated town of Sheldon to the Silver Creek lodge, where they'd celebrate with a final day floating lazily down the Snake River. We should just camp here, Janine said. It's going to be dark soon, and we still kind of suck at setting up the tent. The signs say overnight camping is prohibited. Rose replied that couple said it was only eight miles to the next town.

We'd be lucky to do that in three hours, Rosy. Besides, everyone we've talked to has said that we need to see this waterfall at sunrise. We already missed it this morning because you didn't want to get a ride from that trucker, because hitchhiking is dangerous, she scoffed. And that guy was gross. He looked like an evil Jerry Garcia. Scary Garcia, Janine said, with a giggle. Come on, Rosie, everyone's leaving the park anyway. No one will know we're here. Worst case, some ranger smith guy comes by and we make dough eyes at him until he just gives us a warning.

Rose seemed to consider it. She looked over to the parking area, and Jeanine was correct. Almost everyone had already cleared out. The park. Rangers wouldn't lock the gate until sundown, but with less than an hour to go, there wasn't much to do except feed the mosquitoes. A family of was packing everything into their station wagon, a couple of teams made out on a park bench, local kids played the last downs of their football game, and a red pickup truck sat unoccupied in the far corner of the lot. No one would be around to notice them, and it would be nice to see the waterfall at first light.

That had been their original plan, after hearing about it from a couple at a diner two days earlier. The locals called it Fortune Falls because the water broke up and sparkled like a cascade of diamonds at sunrise. Roses better safe than sorry approach had set them back hours. However, when they arrived at noon, the site was anything but impressive. The waterfall wasn't particularly large and only descended some fifty feet to the punch bowl below. After the big show at dawn, most people moved along to the larger recreational areas. It did seem unlikely park services would spend much time locking down the tiny Fortune Fall site.

An engine turned over and rose glanced around again. The station wagon was ready to go. The winning football team was high fiving while the losers collected their bikes from the lawn, and the makeout session was getting hot enough that it would soon need to move to a more private location. That red truck still sat there. However, an ominous feeling came over Rows, but she shrugged it off. She always had an ominous feeling. It seemed okay, we can stay, she conceded, but we'd better not get caught. Janine used the sawback of the survival knife to split a thick limb.

She tossed one half into the fire and stuck the knife into the ground next to her. Janine's boyfriend, Howard, was in the rotc back home. He'd insisted she'd take the knife along, joking that she could use the compass on the pommel to find her way back home. Janine watched the needle settle and look to the southeast. She knew that somewhere beyond the expansive wilderness was Kansas. She'd never liked it there, over the last three days, she'd come to like it even less. It was boring in every possible way, right down to the men, she thought.

As she pulled Howard's knife from the earth. Two more days and we'll be at the river, Rose said, folding her map. There's so much more stuff to see. We could come here every summer, and I don't think we'd ever find it all. I don't think I want to come here next summer, Janine whittled at the end of the stick. Jesus, Rosie, just look at it. How could anyone go back to Kansas once they've seen all this? Like? You want to transfer here? Why not? The university is a few hundred miles that way, she pointed with the knife, then checked the compass and corrected her aim.

That way. There's an entire ocean nearby, an ocean that's too cold for sharks too. Didn't Jaws take place in New England? Okay, so maybe they still have sharks. But there's a whole state of this. She gestured to the deep black wilderness around them. Have you met anyone boring in the last few days? I'm sure I have. Rose couldn't think of any When did you decide this? I haven't decided anything, Janine sheathed the knife and inspected the point she'd put on the limb. Everywhere we've been this week has been so alive Kansas is just an after birth.

It's like God ran out of ideas and just left the canvas blank when he made it. What about Howard, the boys are cuter, Rose laughed. She didn't necessarily agree with her friend, but there was a ruggedness about the Oregon mountain men they'd encountered that was lacking in the Kansas stock. Howard is sweet, Janine continued, But all he can think about is the future. How can anyone give a rat's ass about the future when we have all this right now? Maybe you're right. We got an eight mile hike tomorrow to talk about it. Rose said, Let's get some rest.

We don't want to miss the sunrise showing. We can make sure we have the best view before the gates even open. It's going to be magical. Yeah, Janine tossed the wooden spike into the fire. There's a lot to see tomorrow. The tent lit up suddenly from the outside. The bright light shone through the nihil, turning the structure into an oversized lantern and roused the girls from their slumber. Jeanine rubbed her eyes, trying to clear away confusion. With the sleepiness. Rose groaned and rolled over in her sleeping bag. It cannot be mourning already, she mumbled, it's not.

Jeanine sat up sharply. She could hear the gentle rumble of a truck engine outside. Shit, I think we're busted. Rosy Rose said something, but the words were lost in the sudden rumble of the motor. The light became more intense as the headlights rushed closer. The shower of earth and rocks thrown up by the truck tires rained noisily through the tree branches. Janine watched as the tense, thin skin glowed brighter and brighter until the side collapsed and rushed towards her. Wrapped around a half ton of Detroit steel, Jeanine couldn't comprehend what was happening, or that the thing that struck her was the truck's bumper.

Suddenly it was dark again. The ravaged tent lay draped over the women. Rose was silent. Jeanine felt a crushing weight on her right arm. She tried to move it, but the appendage wouldn't budge. She pulled harder. A lightning bolt shot threw her fingertips to her elbow. From the effort, Rosie, she cried out a gentle sob answered her. The tent rustled wildly. I can't move, Rose, Janine said, what's happening? Rose sniffled. She fought with the nylon, clawing and punching at the tent as it collapsed on top of her. Her voice grew panicked and shrill. I can't, I can't get this off me.

Why is this happening? The truck pulled forward, releasing Janine's arm from beneath its tire. The ground moved beneath them. Rose screamed. The tent was caught on the truck. They were being dragged. The fabric tore, but not enough to get free. Janine pulled her injured arm close to her body and rolled over, looking for a way out. The engine growled as the driver hit the gas. Rocks and branches tore through the bottom. As the tent sped along behind the vehicle, deeper into the woods. It finally came free. The truck's tires slid loudly to a stop. Rose found a tear and worked at it with both hands, forcing it open until she could get through Janine.

She searched the ruins of the tent for her friend, finding a body shaped lump beneath Janine. Get me out of here, Rosie. I'm hurt, bad, I will Oh my god, We're in big trouble. Rose stared at the truck, unable to look away. She could only discern the outline of the vehicle in the moonlight, but was convinced that it was the red pickup truck from earlier. The truck reversed, turning around slowly. The back bumper crunched against a tree. The noise snapped Rose out of her paralysis. She wrestled the tent off of Jeanine and gasped. Her friend's face was a mask of blood.

Her forehead was split open in a large gash, showing bone beneath. Rose moved the flap of flesh back over the exposed skull. The headlights shined fully upon them as the truck finished writing itself. Rose leaned close to Jeanine. Stay really still, she whispered, don't make a sound. The engine revved. The driver did it two more times, letting the women know he could run them down with ease. Then the door swung open. A man stepped out of the vehicle, but leaned back inside to get something. He stepped in front of the lights, casting a long shadow over the women.

Rose couldn't see any of the man's features except the distinctive shape of a cowboy hat atop his head, and then the even more distinctive shape of the axe held at his side. Why are you doing this, she asked shakily. She clenched her teeth and drew a deep breath. She blew it out and asked again, with more force, why are you doing this? What do you want? The cowboy moved towards her without a word. He swung the axe on to his shoulder. His walk was cocky and nonchalant. He looked like he was out for a casual stroll.

Janine groaned and Rose shushed her quietly, praying the cowboy didn't hear. If he did, he didn't let on. He just kept walking closer. Please stop this, Rose shouted. She pushed her hands out in front of her. Just leave us alone. The cowboy swung the axe one handed. The blade whooshed by harmlessly, and he placed it on the opposite shoulder, spitting tobacco juice playfully at Rose. He took a backhand swing. Rose fell felt the hit, but didn't realize the gravity of it until the three stumps on her right hand spurret it. Before she could respond, the cowboy took a two handed chop, it struck with the sound of a gunshot, and flung her into the dirt.

Rose wheezed air sputtered wetly out of her collapsing lung. She rolled over, hugged her chest, broken ribs gouged into her palm. Janine shifted carefully in the tent. Her legs were still inside the sleeping bag. She moved slowly to wipe her eyes with shredded tent fabric, being careful not to draw attention to herself. Everything was blurry, but simultaneously all tis clear. She could see the cowboy and the axe, and her best friend laying on the ground. She closed her eyes again, but it didn't protect her from what came next. She listened to the crack of the axe striking Rose again.

Why. Rose asked why. The cowboy answered her with another chop. Rose kept repeating the word, and their attacker continued to respond the same way. Sharp cracks became softer, wetter. Rose's voice got weaker, and then went silent entirely. Two more chops followed. Janine dared to look once more. The cowboy was kneeling over Rose. He sat on her hips and leaned on his axe. Janine carefully crawled free. The blood pouring down her face slipped past her lips. She knew she'd be tasting a lot more of it. If the cowboy spotted her, he probably thought she was dead already.

She could have laid there until he left, but maybe he wouldn't have. Maybe he would have used the axe to make sure she couldn't take the risk. She knew begging wouldn't work. It hadn't for Rose. Once her legs were free, she brought herself into a crouch and glanced over her shoulder. The cowboy was standing, but still seemed focused on Rose. Janine wiped her eyes again. She kneaded a few seconds of clear vision. She pushed off in a dead sprint for the running truck. She heard a frustrated curse from the cowboy. Janine stumbled, bouncing off the bumper.

She pulled herself up and whipped inside the cab. Her injured hand struggled with the shifter, forcing her to use her left. The cowboy ran at her in the headlights. Janine stomped the gas pedal down. The tires spun and threw up dirt. They gained traction as the cowboy grabbed the open door. The truck jolted forward. The cowboy stumbled, tossing himself over the side of the truck bed. Jeanine swerved around a tree. The rear window shattered, and the cowboy boots struck her in the back of the head. The truck veered hard, throwing her out of the open door.

It plowed into a stump. The cowboy flew over the vehicle and disappeared into the darkness. Jeanine climbed woozily to her feet. She ran the trees, blocked the pitiful moonlight. Branches tore at her skin to tritas stabbed into her feet. She bounced off the trees and kept on running. She was terrified. She was blind, she was hurt, she was heartbroken. She was flying. Jeanine laid against the rocks. The water gently sloshed over her face and down her throat, choking her back into the world of the living. The waterfall poured down across the pool from her. She blindly ran straight over the edge in her desperate escape.

It was still dark out, but there was nothing blocking the moon at the waterfall, and she could inspect the damage to her arm for the first time. It was swollen, with the skin deeply miscolored. She could move her fingers, but the pain made her wish she couldn't. She knew it was definitely broken. She risked touching her forehead. It wasn't bleeding as badly as she feared, but she chalked that up to being almost out of blood. She knew Rose was dead. She'd laid there and listened to her best friend die. No you didn't, she reminded herself.

You don't know she's dead. Janine looked around for any sign of the cowboy. Not finding any, she worked her way onto the rocks and began her hike back to the campsite. She checked her watch. It was a dainty, pretty thing that she'd picked out for esthetics and not its ability to survive a fifty foot fall into a pond. She put it close to her ear. It wasn't ticking. The time was stuck at three am, but she had no idea when it had stopped. What she did know was that meant there was less than three hours until the opened.

She needed to get back to the campsite and check on Rose. Then she could wait for the rangers to come and open the park. The cowboy had to be gone. He couldn't know where Jeanine had run to. And that red truck, she remembered it was still there when we left to set up the tent. He would have to leave his truck to escape. He has to make sure I'm dead. He's still here. More scarce to come, weekly, Spooky, We'll be right back. She pulled herself from the punch bowl and started up the steep incline back to the campsite.

Janine was sure the cowboy was looking for her. She wasn't going to make it easy for him. She had to serve. If she didn't, then there was nothing stopping that bastard from doing it again and again. Rose might not have even been his first, and she certainly wouldn't be his last. If Jeanine didn't get to the police, there'd be dead Roses all over Oregon. The hike back to the campsite came as close to killing Janine as the cowboy had. Her arm throbbed as she collapsed to her friend's side. Rose's face was gone, her arms ravaged where she tried to defend herself.

There were no errant swings. The cowboy had practiced this, he'd killed before. Janine was sure of that. Rose hadn't wanted to camp there. If Jeanine had listened, none of it would be happening. I'm sorry, Rosie, she whimpered. This is all my fault, and I'm so sorry. Janine scoured at her tears, aggravating the head wound in the process. She looked around quickly. The truck was gone. There were no headlights shining anywhere in the woods, no flashlight searching for her trail. Janine tried to convince herself the cowboy was gone, but she didn't buy it. Maybe he's waiting for the Rangers himself.

She thought he could say he got stuck inside and they'd just let him go. He'll be in Canada by the time they finds. That can't happen. It won't happen. I promise Rosie, it won't fucking happen. Janine rummaged through the wrecked tent until she found Howard's survival knife. She cut a strip of nylon and tied it around her head, pulling it tight to hold the flap of skin in place. A bent up aluminum tent post made a quick splint for her arm. Once the wounds were taken care of, it was time for other concerns. She'd helped her father cut firewood back home.

Swinging an axe was exhausting and slow. She thrusted the knife into the air a few times. That wasn't slow at all. She found her belt and attached the kN knife to it, but could only manage to scrounge up a mixed pair of their hiking boots. Rose's pack was mangled, but the metal flashlight on the side had survived. Janine inspected rogue stitches on the face of the pack. The Jayhawk patch Rose carefully centered on it was missing. The idea of the cowboy taking a trophy turned her stomach. She envisioned him mounting the patch over his mantle with souvenirs from other kills, like the antlers her father had mounted back home.

Janine took the light and started towards the parking lot. The red pickup was sitting in the corner spot, exactly where it had been before. Janine dropped behind a bush and watched for movement. There was still no sign of the occupant or any other axe swinging psychos. Janine stayed low, crawling along the perimeter of the lot. With still no cowboy present, Janine made her move on the truck. She broke into a crouching run and rolled to the side of the vehicle. It hurt more than the TV shows led her to believe. Her heart skipped. A sudden dread washed over her.

There was something wrong, or, more correctly, nothing was wrong. She peeked around the front of the truck to inspect the bumper. It was rusty and dinged up, but she'd seen the truck wrack into a tree. The crash she'd heard must have done more than a few dents. She moved down the side and checked the back glass. It was intact. It wasn't the cowboy's truck, So where the hell is he? She looked around frantically. There were no other trucks, no other anything. She was completely alone. As far as she could tell. She'd seen the tire tracks all the way from their camp site back to the parking lot.

Rose's killer had definitely driven out the same way he'd come in. She clicked on the flashlight and set out for clues. She shined high first, hoping to catch a glint off the truck, or to spotlight the sun of a bitch himself. When that didn't work, she moved the light down to search for tracks. A metal door clanged behind her. Jeanine spun, waving the flashlight around for the source. She froze. The light hung on the blocky concrete building that housed the bathrooms. Each had a steel outer door that could be padlocked during the off season. Jeanine snuck to the restrooms and waited.

She didn't hear anyone inside, but knew the door was too heavy to have blown in the barely present breeze. She sat the flashlight down on the archaic water fountain. Jeanine drew the knife. It was uncomfortable in her left hand, but it was going to be a lot more uncomfortable in the cowboy's belly. She pulled the outer door and pushed the other inward with her foot. No one chopped it off. Janine sprang inside, keeping the knife close to her body. A chunky, disheveled man threw his hands into the air, hiking his keep on truckin shirt over his belly.

His eyes flicked to the knife. Fuck shit, He shook his head violently. Be cool, Be cool, you motherfucker. Janine hissed, where is it? Where's the truck right outside? The man pointed shakily, Not that truck. That's the only one I got. The man shrugged. I know the sign says no camping, but stabbing is a bit fucking extreme. Lady, aren't you supposed to write me a ticket or something camping? Who are you Phil? Why did you try to kill me? Kill you, lady, I went to jail for being a conscientious objector. I don't even kill bugs. The park is closed, Janine snapped, Why are you here?

Fleetwood Mac is playing in Boise this weekend? He let his hands fall, slapping against his thighs. I stopped here to score some weed from a buddy had got super baked and fell asleep by the falls. By the time I got back, the gate was locked. Janine hadn't gotten a good look at the cowboy, but she was sure he had been slimmer and taller and didn't reek of marijuana. She leaned against the wall and started to cry. If Phil wasn't the cowboy, then she'd failed, and the axe murderer had escaped. Phil took tentative steps towards her, patting the air as he went.

Please don't stab me, he said softly. You look really banged up. Let's go to my truck and get you some help. It's a dodge, it'll crash right through that gate. What time you got, Janine asked, sheathing the knife. Phil checked his watch quarter past five, About an hour until anyone comes to rescue you. Guess that makes you my shining night. You uh drew the short straw, then he chuckled. Janine let Phil help her off the wall when a bright light assaulted her eyes. What are you two doing here, a strong masculine voice demanded. The park is closed.

The man moved the light back and forth between their faces, keeping them both blinking and blocking their eyes with their hands. Whoa dude, chill with the light, Phil whined, This lady needs help. She was attacked, I know, the man said. The flashlight clattered to the floor. Janine's vision was blurred, but she could make out the curves of the cowboy hat. The axe split Phil's face and stopped in the back of his throat. Phil stumbled backwards, bounced off a stall, and came forward. Woo oie. The cowboy exclaimed, we got ourselves a dancer. He grabbed Janine by the hair and pulled her close to him.

You see that, he asked, means he's dead, but his body don't know it. I love when that happens. I wonder if you'll be a dancer. What do you think, dollface, you want to dance with me? Janine pulled the knife and brought it down into the cowboy's thigh. He howled and let the axe fall. Janine twisted the blade and jerked back, but the knife didn't budge. She could see the strands of meat caught in the sawback. Since it wouldn't come out, she went back in. She worked the saw through his thigh until the cowboy whipped her away.

Her face smashed into the wall, breaking teeth against the cinder blocks. Janine slumped down. The axe sparked off the wall. Janine rolled away. Her boots slipped in Phil's brains, and she toppled against the sink. The axe shattered the porcelain. It continued downward, hacking into Janine's foot. She fell on top of Phil. The cowboy straightened his hat and limped to her. He took the axe handle with both hands and rested the blade on Jeanine's forehead. He took each hand off in turn, rolling the wrists in preparation for the killing blow. Why are you doing this, Janine asked, Someday one of you will ask an original question.

He said, it's always why. Well, Dolphace, why not how about that one? He raised the axe high to show his might. The asbestos tile overhead shattered, raining down dust around the cowboy. The distraction was just enough for Janine to move her head. The axe buried into Phil's body. The cowboy wrestled to free it from Phil's oversized belly. Janine kicked the protruding knife with her good leg. Her attacker fell, smacking his head on the wall. Tobacco juice rolled from his lips across his fancy Western shirt. Well, I'll be damned, doll face. He stretched for his hat and used the trash can to pull himself up.

I reckon, that's a pretty fine answer to my question. He put his hat back on and unsnapped his shirt pocket. He held up something for Janine to see. He squeezed it into a ball and tossed it to her. I think I've had enough sport for tonight. Sooner rather than later, I'm going to see you dance, he promised. Then he was gone. Janine lifted the crumbled Jayhawk patch. She crawled frantically for the exit. A truck engine rumbled to life outside. Janine used the door handle to come to her knees and forced her way outside. Her face hit the ground.

She pushed herself out into the lawn in time to see the dark blue Ford pulling from behind the outbuilding. Janine was helpless to stop him as he plowed through the gate. She rolled onto her back and held the patch to her chest. She watched moths bounce off the dim yellow light overhead. The sound of the truck faded out, and she laid there alone. Janine wondered if the cowboy was a man of his word, and somehow knew that he was. If she lived, he would find her, and if she lived, she'd make damn sure she was ready for him.

Roadkill by Travis van House. Lucas Riggs was on top of the world. For years, he had struggled to make it as a professional photographer, a career he believed he was destined for. Yet he had never made a sale like the one he had just closed. He attributed his sudden success to the unorthodox and disturbing subject matter of his latest series of photographs. Buyers had placed competitive bids on the series, resulting in a crisp check for one hundred thousand dollars folded neatly in his back pocket. It's been a long time coming, Lucas thought. He always knew he was talented, and could hardly believe it had taken until age thirty three to get his first big break.

He had flown home to Ohio with a shit eating grin plastered on his face. He was eager to spread the word of his good fortune. His few friends would refer to him as arrogant. They believed he expected the world to hand him everything on a silver platter, and his obsession with status defined him. They all knew he was living life on his parents' dime. Those in the art world despised him. Lucas had a habit of dismissing their work as amateurish and lacking inspiration, even though he had not sold a single peace since college. He was a hypocrite with many enemies.

Lucas riggs his arrogance extended far beyond his photography, seeping into every aspect of his life, especially his interactions with women. Lucas believed he was God's gift to women and would seethe with rage whenever he was rejected. When he looked in the mirror, he saw a masterpiece and couldn't understand why any woman would ever consider turning him down. He believed they should feel honored to be in his presence. When a woman rejected him, he always found a way to get his revenge. He wasn't violent by nature, but he acted out when he felt slighted. Once he had been snubbed by a girl at a bar.

When he saw her kissing another guy. Recognizing the cars she drove to the bar, he slashed all four tires with the switchblade he always carried. Physically, Lucas was undeniably attractive. He worked out and took care of his body. He had well defined muscles and a strong jawline. His arms were covered with expensive tattoos. His smile revealed full lips, perfect teeth, and deep dimples. His eyebrows and lashes were dark and striking, framing his hazel eyes. His hair short on the sides and tussled on top. Seemed casually perfect, though he spent at least half an hour each morning creating the just rolled out of bed look.

Rolling down the window of his red BMW, Lucas lit a cigarette and cranked up the stereo. An old rock tune blasted through the speakers as he drummed his fingers in time with the music on the steering wheel. The cocaine he had snorted in the airport parking lot was still coursing through his veins, and his buzz was keeping him sharp and jittery. He couldn't wait to get home to keep the party going. The night stretched on as he drove down an old road known as Route seven forty seven that led to Rigg's Manor, where he lived with his wealthy parents.

He had the guesthouse to himself and rarely engaged with his mother and father. In his mind, their only purpose was to fund the extravagant lifestyle he had been accustomed to since birth. He never said it out loud, but he couldn't wait until they died so he could inherit their fortune, something he felt he was entitled to. Lucas's father was a day trader, and his mother was a famous lifestyle blogger. Together, they brought in nearly thirty million dollars a year. Lucas couldn't understand why they lived in Ohio. He continuously encouraged them to relocate to the West Coast, but they refused, explaining that they loved the tranquility of their small Ohio town, hobbs End, believing it kept them grounded.

They feared moving to a big city would change them and challenge their humility. Mister and missus Riggs knew they were solely responsible for Lucas's behavior. They spoiled him as a child and often discussed cutting him off to find his own way in the world, but neither of them could bear the guilt of actually doing it. Towering stalks of corn flanked the road the BMW was speeding down. Lucas's sharp eyes scanned the road ahead. The cocaine heightened his senses, and his wide eyes were overly alert. Deer were notorious for darting out from the sides of the road this time of year, and he had no intention of damaging his pristine BMW by hitting one.

Just a month earlier, he hit a deer on this road, but unlike the others who might swerve to avoid the deer, Lucas deliberately hid it for his art. An art professor once told Lucas that there is beauty in everything, even death. He was referring to the vibrant hues of the leaves changing color in the fall, but Lucas took this to the extreme. His mind fixated on Route seven forty seven, the desolate stretch of road to his home. It was the kind of road where you could speed for miles before passing another car. For this reason, it was also littered with roadkill.

All types of wildlife lived in the woods and fed in the cornfields surrounding the road. Almost everyone who lived along Route seven forty seven had at some point hit a helpless critter on this stretch of asphalt. Once a week, a city clean up crew arrived to collect and dispose of the dead carcasses. Lucas often wondered what type of man could do such a job. In his eyes, public waste workers were beneath him. What a sad fucking existence, he would think with a sneer when he saw them working. On more than one occasion, he'd even tossed an empty bottle from his window at them, his lips curling in satisfaction.

Beauty in everything, even death, The professor's words echoed in Lucas's mind the day he pulled his car to the side of Route seven forty seven, where he spotted what looked like a dead raccoon in the middle of the Grabbing his camera, he slung the strap over his neck and stepped on to the hot asphalt. He could smell the decay as the animal rotted in the beating sun, but the odor didn't bother Lucas. To him, the scent represented art. When he arrived within touching distance of the dead and bloated animal, his brilliant white teeth appeared behind a smile that would have been disturbing if anyone else had witnessed it.

Large black flies buzzed around the rotting corpse, and maggots were already feasting on the critter. A black beetle crawled from a hole where one of the raccoon's eyes used to be. Raising the camera, Lucas began shooting the raccoon. The camera clicked and the film inside rolled. As Lucas collected photograph after photograph, he knelt to adjust his angle, then lay flat on the hot asphalt to snap an even lower perspective of the poor animal. As he stood up, he noticed large black winged vultures circling above. Their slow, ominous movements told him they would descend to feast the moment he left, he made a mental note to return in a few hours to capture the gruesome act of the circle of life.

Throughout that afternoon, Lucas captured what he considered beautiful photographs of raccoons, squirrels, a possum, and even a dog. He had found his inspiration in death and believed each photograph was a work of art. But he craved something more, something significant, smashed and strewn across the road, something big and fresh. Lucas spent the rest of the day developing film in his photo lab tucked in the back of the guesthouse of Riggs Manor. His parents had paid for every piece of expensive equipment. As he watched the pictures slowly develop, he was consumed with excitement. He had never seen something so beautiful as the entrails of roadkills spilled on Route seven forty seven.

He was amazed at how the white maggots shined in the bloody folds of the dark fur. This calls for a celebration, Lucas said aloud, patting himself on the back. As he admired his work. He poured himself tall glasses of whiskey and coke, and he was thoroughly drunk by nightfall. That is when inspiration struck a brilliant, twisted idea to complete his collection of photographs. He'd take the gardener's truck, head down Route seven forty seven and scatter apples from the family orchard along the deserted road. He'd bust them open, hoping the scent would lure a deer, maybe even an entire family, on to the road.

When the moment was right, he would floor the truck, propelling it forward, metal meeting flesh and bone. He'd then take his camera and create another photographic masterpiece, the perfect work of art, to complete his collection. Returning from his art exhibit in California, Lucas hadn't seen a single piece of roadkill on Route seven forty seven. He was still thirty miles from home and eager to tell his parents about his good fortune, letting them know he would relocate to California. He couldn't wait to hold up his check and prove to his parents he had finally made it.

He'd have called ahead, but had left his cell phone in the hotel room in California. It was being shipped back to Rigg's Manor the next day. Up ahead, something caught his eye. This time it wasn't roadkill. It was a woman, a stunning woman. She stood on the edge of the road with a brown suitcase in one hand and her skirt hiked up with the other. Her leg gleamed in the moonlight and the headlights of his car. Even from a distance, he could see the woman's smile, her long blonde hair blew gently in the evening breeze.

Lucas eased his foot off the gas pedal, pulling the car to the side of the road. He assumed the woman needed a ride, and Lucas was more than willing to offer one, perhaps even more if the opportunity presented itself. As the car rolled to a stop, the woman swiftly moved toward the vehicle, her suitcase gone. Lucas barely linked his eyes before both the front and back passenger doors swung open. The vixen slid gracefully into the front seat, while a strangely dark, rough looking man slid into the back. What the fuck, Lucas froze as both the doors slammed shut.

I thought she was alone. He became instantly nervous, jumping slightly. When the cigarette he had been smoking had burned down to his finger tips, searing his skin. He flicked the butt out the window without taking his eyes off his passengers. His eyes darted to the rear view mirror. He had seen enough movies to know he might be in a terrible predicament. Thanks for picking us up, the blue eyed vixen said, with a comforting smile. I'm Doris, and that's my boyfriend, Derek. She nodded toward the back seat. No problem. Lucas's tone was sharp and steady, although he was nervous.

His hand trembled as he gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. He didn't like the idea of a strange guy sitting behind him. Too many horror stories about people picking up hitchhikers and being robbed or murdered started this way. Don't worry, we're not psychopaths, Doris laughed lightly. As if she could read his mind. We were riding with another guy, but he kept getting handsy, so we had him drop us off. He's not the type of guy Derek and I would invite into our bedroom, she remarked playfully. Lucas's shoulders relaxed slightly. He wasn't against the idea of joining Doris and her boyfriend in the bedroom, as he couldn't take his eyes off her.

Yeah, you have to be careful who you ride with or pick up these days, Lucas said, glancing at Derek in the rear view mirror. He was tall and lanky, and Lucas knew he could take him in a fight, as long as the guy didn't have a weapon. He also had long brown hair, which Lucas considered to be sissy hair. He didn't believe real men should grow their hair long unless they were bikers. Where are you headed, Doris asked, Home. I live about thirty miles down the road. Lucas glanced at the glove compartment, wishing his switchblade was in his pocket instead of locked away.

Perfect, we can find our way to town from there. We're just trying to meet up with some friends. They were supposed to pick us up from the bus station, but their car broke down, Doris said, with a smile, sorry to hear that. Lucas put the car and drive, pulled back onto the road and speeded down Route seven forty seven. Once again. He kept his eye on Derek through the rear view mirror to ensure he wasn't up to something sinister, but he sat quietly, holding the brown suitcase on his lap. There was a big white sticker on the side that declared pork sucks.

The rock music on the stereo played softly, almost blending into the engine's hum. I don't even remember turning it down, Lucas thought. Don't you get scared driving on these old roads alone at night? Doris asked, scared? Should I have something to be scared about? Lucas knew the cocaine buzzing through his system was most likely making him paranoid. He shook off the creeping anxiety but remained on guard. Not really, I like the seclusion. It's beautiful out here, Lucas replied, focusing on Doris. He prayed that she didn't hear the tremor in his voice. This time, he couldn't hide it.

Something was off about the couple, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He regretted picking them up, but couldn't think of a way to politely get them out of his car, so he stepped harder on the gas pedal, speeding up to get to his house as soon as possible. I just think it's creepy out here, Doris said, her voice soft. She crossed her legs in a deliberate motion, and Lucas couldn't help but notice we heard strange sounds when we were standing alongside the road. I started to imagine spirits lurking in the woods or cornfields, She laughed, nervously.

I've never seen a ghost out here. Lucas scoffed. He didn't believe in such foolishness. I drive this road almost daily, and the grisliest thing I've seen has been roadkill. No ghosts, Lucas replied, calmly. Really, Doris asked what the hell does she mean by really? A sound came from the back seat. It was slow, heavy breathing. If that dude is masturbating behind that suitcase, I will be pissed. Lucas couldn't bring him self to look in the rear view mirror. He was focused on Doris, who shifted her skirt higher. Lucas was sure she was intentionally giving him a show.

Yeah, I hit a deer out here a few weeks back, tore the shit out of the front hood of the truck I was driving, Lucas said, his voice thick. He felt himself growing hard. He didn't know if it was because of Doris or from remembering how beautiful the dead deer had been when he smeared it across the road. He could still remember that night as vividly as if it had happened yesterday. After scattering apples along the pavement, Lucas pulled the gardener's beat up green truck to the side of Route seven forty seven and waited with the headlights on.

He knew most deer were reckless when it came to light. People said they ran straight toward the light, as if they were drawn to them, like moths to a flame. Lucas didn't have to wait long. From the edge of the cornfield, a large deer had emerged, cautious but curious, its legs moving hesitantly across the grass before stepping on to the pavement. It placed its nose against the concrete, sniffing the broken apples on the asphalt. Tapping the apples with its nose, It lifted its beautiful head to stare directly at Lucas and the truck. Then hunger went over fear, and it dipped its head again, nibbling at the apples.

Tightening his seat belt, Lucas eased the truck to the center of the road. The deer didn't seem to notice or care. He pressed the gas slowly at first, then harder. The deer looked up with only a few seconds left to escape, but was frozen in the headlights. Lucas hit the accelerator, colliding with the deer. He heard the sickening thud, followed by the scrape of the body hitting the bumper as it flew up and over the hood before landing on the pavement. Fuck yeah, Lucas screamed, spittle flying from his lips. He slammed on the brakes, coming to a screeching halt.

He placed the truck in park, opened the door, and ran to the deer. It was twitching and making horrible sounds. It was still alive, strug to get up, but Lucas could see one of the legs was broken and bleeding, nearly torn from the hip. Blood was pulling around its mangled body. But that wasn't enough for Lucas. He wanted more slick blood, torn flesh, and twisted organs. Lucas was panting as he jumped back into the truck, put it in drive, and floored it. He felt the dull crunch as the tires rolled over the deer. The brake squealed as he put the truck into reverse, backing over the deer.

This time, the tires crushed its skull and tore its flesh from its bones. Its guts smeared across the road. Lucas killed the engine, grabbed his camera and ran to the deer. It was still twitching, barely alive. His hands trembled with excitement as he began snapping photos, each one more beautiful than the first. It was the most incredible work of art he had ever created. Amid the frenzy of his work, he didn't hear the faint cries from the cornfield. A noise that was both animalistic and disturbingly human was the deer. Okay. Doris lowered her eyes, then stared out the windshield.

Her voice was slow and quiet, almost haunting. Lucas shook away the vivid memory of killing the deer, wondering why the hell. She asked if the deer was okay. He thought it was just a pointless animal with no soul or purpose, even if its meat tasted fowl. Don't know, Lucas lied with a casual shrug. I got out and it was still moving a little, but I didn't know what to do, so I just drove on, leaving it on the roadside. He didn't want to share the secret of his creative process that was just for him to savor.

You hit a poor, defenseless animal and left it to die on the roadside. Doris's voice wavered with shock. Lucas turned to look at her. Her eyes, which had been a beautiful shade of blue, now appeared almost entirely black, as if her pupils had dilated, erasing all color. It had to be the faint glow from the stereo to display playing tricks on him. Lucas glanced into the rear view mirror and was pleased to see the guy in the back seat staring blankly out the window, uninterested in their conversation. He reached for his cigarette in the center console, grabbed one and placed it between his lips.

Do you mind, he asked. Doris shook her head slowly. Lucas lit the cigarette, taking a long drag to calm his nerves. It was just an animal, he muttered. Wanting to change the subject, he tried to switch the conversation to see if the couple was interested in going to his guest house to party for a bit and let Doris show off more of her legs. His mind flicked to the fat check in his pocket. He was no longer afraid of the situation. He wanted to celebrate his big win. Just an animal. What the hell do you mean by that?

That deer was a living and breathing organism. It had a family and friends. It even had kids. Doris screamed in rage. Lucas almost laughed at the absurdity. He assumed she was an animal activist or a dirty hippie. He hated hippies. He nervously took another drag of his cigarette, noticing the sincerity in the girl's eyes. At the same time, he once again heard the man in the back seat breathing heavily. It was a deer, just an animal. No harm was done, Lucas said flatly. He glanced in the rear view mirror as fear crawled up the back of his neck.

He froze, his cigarette hanging from his lips as the heavy breathing from the back seat turned into a low, guttural growl. Lucas's heart pounded in his chest as sweat pooled under his armpits. It wasn't just a deer, it was my father, Doris screamed, her voice trembling with fury. What the fuck, Lucas hissed. I think it's time I drop you too off. Lucas wanted to say more, but the words died in his throat. Lucas's foot eased off the gas as his trembling hand reached for the gearshift. Cigarette smoke burned his eyes As Doris's face began to change, her soft porcelain skin faded, replaced with coarse, bristly brown fur.

Shocked. His cigarette fell from his lips, landing between his legs. He slammed the brakes as her long blonde hair morphed into a thick brown pelt sprouting from her scalp. Lucas didn't want to believe his eyes as he stared back at Doris's unblinking, black as tar eyes. Doris, the woman was no longer sitting next to him, replaced by something else. The growling from the back seat increased. Lucas dared to look into the rear view mirror, just in time to see the man, Doris called Derek now with the face and hoofs of a deer, his mouth stretched unnaturally wide.

Deer don't have teeth like that, Lucas's mind screamed. The teeth were elongated into jagged, razor sharp points. Derek lurched forward, the suitcase tumbling aside. Lucas let out a strangled scream as Dereck's teeth sank into his cheek. Blood rolled down his neck as the flesh was torn from the bone. His foot slipped from the brake pedal as the car inched forward into the ditch next to the cornfield. This can't be fucking happening, Lucas's mind twisted, but he couldn't deny what was occurring. The two strange hitchhikers had transformed before his eyes into deer with razor sharp teeth.

We are more than roadkill. We are alive. We are man and beast. Doris's distorted voice roared as she bit into his side. Lucas cried out in pain, blood dripping from his torn flesh. Derek spoke for the first time. She watched you hit him and run him over again and again. Had I been there, you would have been dead that night. We've been watching you and waiting for this moment. Their dear and people. This was the last coherent thought Lucas had as Doris and Derek tore him apart with teeth and claws. They ripped open his stomach, spilling his guts, just like he had done to Doris's father.

When the grizzly task was done, Doris and Derek began to shift back to their human forms. Their clothes were tattered and torn as they sat naked, covered in blood. Doris leaned over, kissing Dereck gently. Thank you, baby, she whispered through tears. Derek nodded, pulling the suitcase from the back seat. He ripped Lucas's still warm heart from his chest and placed it inside the suitcase to bring to the others as proof of their revenge. They scattered Lucas's remains, draping his entrails across the road, recreating the exact scene he had left behind the night he killed Doris's father.

As the wind swept across Route seven forty seven, Lucas's shredded one hundred thousand dollars check fluttered free. Later that night, Lucas's mangled corpse would be discovered the most gruesome roadkill ever found en Route seven forty seven in hobbs End, Ohio. Old Jerry by RT. Reynard Great another broken blade, God damn saws all. This Japanese piece of shit just isn't built for hard work. Or is it Chinese? I don't know, it's one of those Oriental countries. I mean, if you're using it in an air condition, perfectly ventilated workshop a month after you bought it, and all your cutting is five eighth inch plywood, it'll work great.

But I swear the moment you take it outside or it gets dirty or what you're cutting is a little messy, you spend more time on saw repair than you do actually sawing. Hmm, maybe I'm being too hard on it. I'm pretty sure that bone isn't something the saw was designed to cut. No, fuck that this thing is designed to cut through aluminum bone shouldn't be a problem. I should have just paid a little extra for an American made one fucker fine there, new blade, you happy saw? Can we please finish this before sunrise? I still have a hole to dig.

Relax, Jerry, breathe, Just a little bit more work and you'll never have to see this kid's smug, little fucking face again. At least he'll never egg your house again on Halloween. I bet this was the little shit who's been doing it every year without fail. Each November First is spent cleaning rotting egg off of my stucco, or toilet paper out of my tree, or a smashed pumpkin off of my porch. I have been vowing for years to catch the fuck face who kept doing it, and I did, didn't I You little bastard. You thought that you could get away with it again this year.

Huh. You thought, well, I'm just gonna pick on old Jerry, just minding his own business. You didn't count on the fact that I was watching this year, that I saw your little devil costume throwing that egg with your friend's Dracula zombie and skeleton cheering you on, that I would recognize your stupid little costume when you walked up to my door alone asking for candy. Kind of a bonehead move when you think about it. Everyone knows that when you're trick or treating, you walk up to the door, knock, ask for candy, get candy, and go on to the next house.

It's called trick or treating for a reason. You know, it's in the disjunctive. You do one or the other, not both. That would be trick and treating. More on, even if it wasn't just plain illogical. If you're going to do both, you should do the trick after you've already gotten the candy. Dull, and you're never supposed to go into the person's house, particularly when you don't know them, particularly if you've already egged the house because you're a cocksucking asshole kid with no sense of decency, particularly when you've been fucking with old Jerry for years already.

You weren't the sharpest crayon in the box, were you? Chief? Oh shit, see, that's exactly what I'm talking about. You'd think a saw could cut through some viscera without getting all jammed up, but no, Ugh, blood's all over the place. Now. Fuck it's in my goddamn I hold on this shit stings even in death. You're giving me crap. All right, it's settled. I need a new saw. When this is all over, I'm gonna dump this fucker in the hole with you, Bud. You know, honestly, I wasn't expecting the welcome to my Haunted House line to work.

Most kids probably would have politely declined it was the obvious play. Admittedly, I hadn't expected you to have the balls to actually walk up to my house. I didn't have the time to think of a really creative way to lure you in. I was in the middle of cursing myself for my unpreparedness when you said thanks mister and waltz through my front door like you owned the fucking place. You fell for my ruse hook line and sinker, complete with stupid smile across your chubby, idiot face. I had such a hard time restraining my joy as I marched you through the house towards the kitchen.

I probably could have done without that snide comment you made about how my home looked more like a haunted crack house. Yeah, I get it. I live by myself, and I wasn't expecting guests. It's as clean as I mind it, but it probably couldn't hurt to dust and mop more regularly, now that I'm reflecting on it, the condition of my house probably helped sell the half baked scheme in the first place. But who the fuck are you anyway? You're just some idiot kid. What the hell do you know about interior decoration. You probably have a fucking video game poster on the wall in your room.

Classless, fucking asshole. And the comment about the insects on the dishes in the kitchen sink, apparently you're too good to eat bugs. I mean, it's food that walks right up to you. You'll eat whatever the hell nug it is, but if it has a thorax all of a sudden, it's too gross for you, bourgeois bitch. I swear some people have no vision. But you know what I regret. I regret not having a video camera set up to capture your face when you turned to me and said this is a pretty lame haunted house. You were expecting to see me disappointed at the bad review.

I could see it in your eyes, in your shit eating grin. You wanted to ruin my night to inflict psychic torment on who you thought was a poor, earnest haunted house proprietor with your dissatisfied customer routine. I mean, I know it was just a ploy to get you in the house, but I was offering you a free haunted house tour Grottis as far as you knew, it would cost you nothing. Despite this, nothing would have given you more pleasure than to see old Jerry's feelings hurt. It's just sadistic when you think about it. You relished the opportunity to be an asshole right up until the moment I cracked you in the forehead with the hammer You never noticed me holding.

If we're being entirely honest, I hit you too hard. I wanted you to know what was happening before I turned your lights out. I wasn't going for a scream of terror or anything like that. But if I had my druthers, no, please stop would have been nice to hear you say before the end. To be fair, blunt force head trauma is more of an art than a science, and it's not like I do this very often to kids your age anyway. As was you dropped limp without a sound, but ooh boy, it was still pretty sweet.

I'm getting chills just thinking about it again. I knew I had to hit you again to make sure the deed was done, if only to make sure you couldn't surprise me and get away when I turned my back. I've been down this road too many times to not know that one should never underestimate the resiliency of the human body. Afterwards, I dragged you over to the basement door and pushed you down the stairs. There was no way for you to somehow magically escape from down there. I suppose I may have been being too cautious, but these are the kinds of lessons experience teaches you.

I suppose that's the difference between old Jerry and other people. I like redundancies, but my worries were needless. You landed at the bottom with a dull flop, eyes open and dilated. You were clearly dead. Your blood droplets splattered all over my basement stairwell. Oh, remind me later to get to the pharmacy to pick up some hydrogen peroxide to clean all this up. Then came step two of my plan. I cut you up into little pieces so that I could properly dispose of you. I mean, of course, I kept the tastiest parts of you for dinner this week, but my refrigerator is only so large.

Eventually the rest of you'd start stinking. Eventually the smell would draw notice. Best just to dump you in a shallow grave and be done with you. I had just been hoping that the disposal part of this process hadn't been so taxing, if only this saw would cooperate. I mean, look at me, I'm covered in your blood. Old Jerry looks like he's been well, like he's been in a basement cutting up a body all night. No, well, I thought it was funny. Being splattered with your blood does make for a pretty convincing Halloween costume, at least when all's said and done.

Kiddo, you're actually pretty easy to talk to. Don't get me wrong. I still think you're a prick. But I haven't had this much human interaction in months, ever since that psychologist lady told me to stop coming by. Man. Now that is a story, you see. The court ordered me to see a shrink a couple of times a week, but one week she forgot to give me my prescription. I ran out over the weekend, but her office didn't open until Monday, so I did some researching to find where she lived and went to her house. Sh do you hear something?

I think I just heard a knock on the front door. Hold on, let me go see. Hey. Wouldn't you know your friends Dracula, Zombie and Skeleton are here. They look a little worried, perhaps here to check on you. Ah, now I see why you were so bold in coming up to my house. This was all just some bit. You must have thought your friends had your back if anything went wrong. Maybe you should have stuck with the plan and only asked for candy. Who's the joke on now, bitch? They sure did take their time come in to your rescue, didn't they, No doubt the product of an extended debate about whether to go tell someone and risk getting in trouble for tonight's hygiens.

I really have to question your friend's wisdom in approaching the same house you didn't come out of. You really picked some idiot friends. Seriously, what the hell are they teaching you kids about the mechanics of trick or treating these days? Like I said, go up to the house, get candy, leave, approach next house. Repeat. None of this is rocket science. But I suppose they still are witnesses who can link you back to me. And I really don't want the police sniffing around here. Way too much for them to find woo e. They'd bury old Jerry under the jail if they found half the shit I have down here, A few too many skeletons in the closet and in the crawl space and under the floorboards and in the backyard.

Do you think they'll fall for the same haunted house? Rus you did? I mean, you did give me a great costume. How's about it? Hass you in the mood for some company? Yeah, well then we're agreed. Let me go get my hammer. Oh fuck the goddamn saw the hell? Am I going to cut up three more of you with this thing? The rest area by rob Field. Brad and Robbie were traveling along US Route twenty three while coming back from the Ohio State Fair one Saturday evening late in the summer. The two friends were talking about all the fun they had while at the fair, when eventually they came to a very dark part of the freeway, nearly devoid of traffic.

As Robbie was driving, Brad came up with a mischievous idea. He grinned slightly and turned to face Robbie. Hey, Robbie, have you heard the stories about Aaron Rudder. He's supposed to be an axe murderer who just escaped from the state mental hospital. You know. Robbie sighed, but kept his eyes on the road. It's been said that he's hacked up about ten people around this area in the last two days. Brad continued talking in a more quiet, eerie voice. Robbie muttered a sigh. You are so weird man. Brad continued. Rumor also has it that he eats his victims too.

Robbie tried to ignore him, but Brad kept on going. Sometimes even flays them. Robbie groaned, would you please shut up? Brad just laughed, Oh, Robbie, you scare way too easy. Robbie didn't pay any attention. They continued on down the freeway. Eventually they passed a sign that said that a rest area was about one mile ahead. Hey, Robbie, could you pull off at the rest area When we get to it, Brad asked, I need to use the bathroom. Robbie sighed, I guess. When they got to the rest area's off ramp, Robbie pulled off the freeway and parked the car.

They both got out. I'll just be a few minutes, Brad said, take your time, Robbie replied. Brad walked to the men's restroom and went in. After taking a piss, he washed his hands and came back outside. He looked to the car to see Robbie wasn't in it. Suddenly he heard something snap, not too far off in the distance. He waited there for a moment. When he didn't hear anything, he started walking back toward the car. Suddenly he heard another snap, only it was closer this time. Robbie. Brad uttered, is that you? There was no answer.

Robbie Brad repeated, now sounding tense. There was still no answer. He heard another snap as before, it was closer. Brad was feeling really uneasy. Then, as if on impulse, he turned and headed toward the area where the vending machines were. As he was about to open the door and head in, he heard yet another snap, and again it was closer. He turned around to look behind him. Suddenly a figure leaped out from nearby Brad felt a straight edge strike him at the back of his right shoulder blade. He was struck again almost immediately. Brad screamed with each chop and again and again and again, Chop chop, chop, chop, chop chop.

The axe murderer shouted with glee. Brad then realized something wasn't right. For one thing, he didn't feel anything actually cutting into his skin. Second, he recognized who it was that was attacking him. Brad quickly turned around to see him, Robbie. Brad shouted, it was you. Robbie burst out into wild laughter. It was you all the time, Brad cried. Robbie managed to collect himself. He pointed to Brad, you should have seen your face. Brad's face twisted in anger. I could just kill you. Robbie stopped laughing and became serious. Oh but it was okay for you to keep carrying on about Aaron Rudder in the car.

Huh. When Brad heard this, he calmed down. Knowing Robbie was right, he sighed, all right, we're even all right. Robbie agreed, let's get out of here and get home. Sure. As they were walking back to the car, Rad said, you know, that was clever. How you broke those sticks on the way to the vending machines. Robbie looked at Brad oddly, I didn't break any sticks, man. Brad looked at him in surprise. You didn't, no, Robbie answered, I was hiding behind the car when I saw you going to the vending area. I came out from behind the car and got you.

I know I didn't break any sticks. Now Brad was really confused. Then if it wasn't you, I did, A deep rumbling voice, not belonging to either of them answered from behind them. They quickly turned around to see a big man with an axe in his hands, and he was smiling at them in a very demented way. So nice, some of you guys to show up for a late nine. Dinner, the man said to them in a crazed tone. Robbie and Brad knew at once who this man was, and they screamed in terror. They quickly turned and ran for their car.

Aaron Rudder was right behind them. As Robbie tried to get into the car, he heard the slam and immediately saw the axe blade embedded in the roof of the car. Brad was already a long way away from the car. Robbie lashed out and kicked Rudder in the stomach to stun him. Then he turned away from the car and ran himself. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, Robbie gasped as he ran for all he was worth, so much so that he was feeling his own heart pounding. Robbie and Brad were both running into the woods behind the rest area in separate directions.

They both knew Rudder would likely catch up to them. Robbie pressed himself up against a tree to try and catch his breath. I've gotta find Brad, he thought, as he continued to catch his breath, trying to make his little noise as possible as he quickly tried to process the hell he currently found himself in. Suddenly, Robbie screeched as he just barely avoided the axe blade that damn near embedded itself into his throat. He pushed himself away from the tree and resumed running. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aaron Rudder trying to pull the axe out of the tree.

Robbie knew he didn't have much time before this insane psycho would be after him again, and he still had to find Brad. Robbie bolted into the darkness, barely avoiding oncoming trees. He knew he had to try to get back to the car somehow. He needed to get to his cell phone, which he remembered leaving in one of the cup holders. Or better yet, maybe he could get the hell out of the place, rationality said in quickly, and he knew he couldn't just leave Brad behind. What the fuck am I gonna do? He demanded of himself.

Robbie backed himself up against another large tree again. He tried to take breaths without being too loud and alerting Rudder to his location if he didn't know already. Okay, okay, got you gotta think straight now, he mouthed to himself. Okay, where are you? You gotta think straight now? Where is the car? Where is it? He took one more long, deep breath and decided to try to get back to the rest area and get to the car. Robbie looked both ways to make sure that Aaron Rudder wasn't ready to chop off his head again, slowly pushed himself away from the tree.

And turned around. Cautiously, he started to make his way back to the car. After several careful steps, he muttered a curse as he heard the stick that broke under his foot. Fuck, he mouthed to himself. Shit. Robbie forced himself to keep moving, pissed at Brad for not shutting the fuck up about the insane psycho and just why the batshit crazy fucking hell did Aaron Rudder really have to even be at that rest area. Robbie didn't used to believe in things like fate, but now he wasn't so sure. Maybe Brad is on his way back to the car, he mouthed to himself.

Robbie moved from one tree to another to another, cautiously, carefully quietly. Snap, God, damn it, Robbie whispered loudly when he felt another stick break under his shoe. Robbie forced himself to remain focused and saw the lights in the distance. It had to be the rest area. What else was lit up brightly at that part of Outer Maryan, Ohio at that hour of night. He kept looking left right, having eyes in the back of his head, face front. The lights were so close and so far away, Robbie also considered that Aaron Rudder might even be waiting at the car for either one of them.

Okay, maybe Rudder wasn't hanging out at the car, but it was possible that he was keeping an eye on it. Okay, I just have to get to my cell phone, Robbie thought, Or if Brad is there, we can get the hell out of here, Robbie felt in his pockets. He felt some relief in knowing that he still had the keys on him, but then he never just left his keys in the car for any reason. He still had his wallet. Not that he could buy Rudder off, right, But I just had to leave my fucking cell phone in my car.

Of all the fucking things I could leave in my car, I just had to leave my fucking cell phone. How fucking dumb can I get? Robbie decided there was no point in crying over spilled milk. He continued to creep further towards the rest area. He started to feel as if the rest area was moving further away from him. He shook his head quickly and kept moving. After agonizing minutes, Robbie had finally returned to the rest area. He moved to the back wall and made his way around to get back to the front. He was in such a big hurry to get to the main entrance that he didn't see the person had suddenly placed a hand on his shoulder.

Robbie shrieked and started to run. Robbie he quickly stopped when he saw it was Brad. The two of them both backed themselves up against the wall and looked each other over. Robbie looked at Brad as if saying, you're alive. Brad nodded in acknowledgment. They turned and started to creep along the wall until they were both looking out at the parking lot. A lone car suddenly sped by the rest area. Both of them looked around to see if Aaron Rudder was nearby. When they didn't see him, they cautiously moved out into the open and made their way towards the car.

When they reached it, they quickly got into the car and pulled the door shut. Robbie locked all the doors with a simple push of a switch on his inside door. He moved to start the car. No keys, Robbie remembered that he had them in his pocket. He quickly dug for them and pulled them out. As he slid the ignition key in, Brad screamed and the driver's side window shattered. Glass exploded all over Robbie and Brad leaving so soon. Rudder grumbled, it's still dinner time. Robbie didn't even think about it. He quickly turned the ignition key and started the car.

He quickly shifted into reverse and sped out of the parking lot. Rudder raised his axe and gave chase. Robbie put the car and drive and hit the gas. They'd only gone a little bit when they felt something hit the trunk. Brad turned around. He hit the trunk with that axe. Robbie hit the brakes. What the fuck are you doing, Brad yelled at Robbie. Hang on. Robbie pulled the car in reverse again and hit the gas. This time, both of them saw Rudder holding onto his axe handle as Robbie backed the car closer and closer until boom, shit.

Brad cried, shit was right. Robbie managed to get Aaron Rudder off of the car, but at the cost of backing into a utility pole, which caused the trunk to come open. The axe came loose and landed near the back window. At that moment, another car pulled into the rest area. Brad quickly got out and frantically waved to the people in the other car get the hell out of here. Brad took a few steps and pushed the trunk lid shut. Surprisingly, it didn't come open again. He got back in the car. Go. Robbie shifted the gears and floored the accelerator.

The tires squealed as the two of them pulled away from the rest area. Robbie had hit one hundred miles per hour by the time he'd merged onto US Route twenty three North. He didn't slow the car down again until he cleared the Merry And bypass and reached State Route four. From there, they would turn towards Busyris and head for home. Later. After dropping Brad off, Robbie walked into his house. Robbie shrieked when he felt something leap out at him. Robbie realized where he was again and whom he was holding. Oh hey, do well yee, he said, you gotta stop coming at me like that.

He sighed, come on, let's go to bed. Who Robbie said to himself, Well at least we left that crazy motherfucker back at that rest area. From there, Robbie went into his room and got ready for bed. When he got into bed, his dog still seemed restless, but still managed to get a few solid licks in. Come on, Buddy, stop with the licking already and go to sleep. That was the last thing Robbie remembered before he was dead to the world. Licking is what woke Robbie up from a sound sleep. Robbie groaned as he felt the gentle licking on the side of his face.

Then Robbie realized something was off when he smelled something weird as the dog kept licking barbecue sauce. Robbie tried to move, but he realized quickly that he couldn't. He quickly woke up fully and took in his surroundings. He saw that he was outside in the backyard. He also realized he was getting hotter. That was when he felt his own flesh starting to burn. Robbie was tied and gagged on his own barbecue grill. Oh hi, a horrible, familiar grumbling voice said in his ear. So glad you woke up. Dinner will be ready soon. Robbie looked up and saw Aaron Rudder wearing an apron and dipping the brush back into the barbecue sauce.

You worked up quite an appetite in me. Rudder continued just a few. More strokes and all done. Robbie couldn't really think anymore. As the flames started to lick and burn his flesh. Aaron Rudder would finally get his dinner. Well, my spookyas I guess, we made it home, but that doesn't mean everything we encountered stayed behind. Tonight proved that warning signs exist for a reason, the dead do not always remain helpless, and the friendly old man offering a haunted house tour may already have a place prepared just for you in his basement. For more frightening fiction, make sure you subscribe right here to Weekly Spooky on your favorite podcast app.

A brand new scary story arrives every single Wednesday and has for over four hundred episodes. Also rating, leaving us a review and sharing the show helps more spookies like yourself discover our dark little corner of the world. Until next time, don't camp where it's forbidden, never turning into art, at least not literally. Keep your Halloween pranks far away from Old Jerry's house. And when you see a deserted rest area glowing beside an empty highway, remember you can always hold it until the next one. Stay safe, drive fast, and stay creepy. My spooky is