HELL'S NIGHT II
CHAPTER 5- THE MASSACRE
Officer Blackie had been walking alongside his comrades through the thick fog-infested woods for at least two miles without a single sign of life. He could make out the figure of Officer Truscott walking about ten feet to his left, but just barely.
Goddamn Sheriff and his bright ideas. We could have walked right over the damned corpse of Myers and wouldn’t even have known it in this shit, Blackie thought to himself as he continued to slowly walk heel to toe, heel to toe, straining his eyes for any slight movement.
He was pissed, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t scared. Christ, he could practically feel his heart beating in his throat.
Okay, ol’ boy, get a grip. Couple more miles to go, then we are out of these damn woods and can get back to some real police work.
Blackie paused and took a deep breath, swallowing hard as he tried to get his heartbeat back under control. However, just when he did, a large butcher knife shot through the back of his neck and out the front, squirting blood everywhere. The last thing Officer Blackie saw was his own adam’s apple on the tip of the knife before it was plunged back through the hole.
“Shit what was that?” Officer Truscott gasped as he heard a weird gargling noise and leaves rustling off to his right. Clutching his pistol, he attempted to shine his flashlight over to see what in the hell Blackie was up to, but the beam only reflected off the deep, dense fog.
“Blackie, Blackie, are you okay?” he whispered over, but got no response. Just a cloudy white aura floating about him. Concerned, Truscott looked over to his right and tried to wave down Kirsch, but he was nowhere in sight.
“Blackie, come on! Quit messing around! Is everything okay or what? We are going to get separated.”
Still not getting a reply, Truscott sighed and continued to blindly shine his light into the fog. He was just about say something else when a pale white mask suddenly appeared directly in front of him through the fog and stuck a butcher knife through his stomach. Before Officer Truscott could mutter even as much as a groan of surprise, Michael Myers snapped his neck with one hand.
“Kirsch, Kirsch damnit, spread out some, you’re too close! Keep your god damned intervals,” Officer Hine whispered over to Kirsch, who was a mere few feet away from him.
“Oh, right, roger that,” Kirsch replied, sounding horrified and barely moved over another foot.
“Kirsch, I mean it. You better be in visual contact with Truscott,” Hine commanded while still tromping through the woods.
When Kirsch didn’t answer, an infuriated Hine turned to him to really chew his pathetic ass out. But as he did, he saw Kirsch standing there with both of his hands clutching his neck in horror. Hine looked confused until Kirsch’s hands finally fell lifelessly to his sides. At that point, Hine clearly saw that his throat had been sliced from ear to ear.
Hine’s eyes widened in terror as Kirsch’s body dropped to his knees, then face first into the cold ground of the forest. And standing directly behind him holding a blood-dripping butcher knife was Michael Myers staring blankly right at his newest prey.
Without hesitation, Hine quickly raised his gun to fire but before he could even place a finger on the trigger, Michael flung the butcher knife furiously through the air and struck the policeman about halfway through his forehead.
The body of Officer Hine quivered and shook violently for a few seconds before he ultimately collapsed to the ground with a thud. Observing his kill, Michael methodically walked to the fallen body and retrieved his butcher knife. Yanking it out of Hine’s skull with a sickening thwack, Michael removed pieces of the officer’s brain in the process, spewing more blood and ooze onto the ground. Then, turning his attention back to the fog, The Shape made his way down the line to the rest of the remaining officers and Sheriff.
Proceed To Chapter 6
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