Page 16 of Are You Scared, Krowe?

The house is empty when I open the door.

I can sense it as much as I can see it. The ghosts of the family who was murdered here are gone, and I can only hope that means they've found peace.

.. that they went to a place better than this.

Not that I'm complaining, for my part. I actually may be having more fun dead than I ever did alive, and yes, that's fucking tragic, but it doesn't matter.

Nothing matters except this... him.

Vengeance.

I drop Krowe onto the floor in the foyer, where he doesn't even have the wherewithal to keep his head from slamming into the hardwood floor.

He did just witness his mother violently murdered and also watched her holding his father's severed head.

For that, I might almost feel bad for him.

But his parents were every bit as horrible as he is.

The rotten apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

When Spade told me the last things he remembered about the night he died, I realized we had more in common than I initially thought. Not only are we both dead, but we were both led astray, lured to our deaths by the promise of companionship, friendship, love...

Oh, I didn't expect that when he invited me to hang out that Krowe was going to be my epic love.

I didn't have any delusions about marriage or soulmates or any of that sappy shit.

But I did think that maybe something would come of it, that we'd enjoy ourselves so much we decided to see one another again, that we may keep each other warm once the bitter winter overtakes the fall.

I let myself think I could mean something to someone.

And Spade let himself believe the same thing when Christine Miegel invited him to party that night twenty years ago.

He took the bait, just like I did, only for Christine's boyfriend and all his friends to turn on him.

It had all been a trap, and Christine was the bait.

Her boyfriend tied him to the stake where the scarecrow waits to protect the field, and they left him there, tied up as they drank and danced and fucked.

And when Spade was foolish enough to think it was over, they left him.

That's when his heart gave out. It's why John Krotowski tried to prevent any further Hollow Night scarecrow sacrifices.

It's why he went on to be the sheriff, because he thought it may help make up for his own cruelty.

Of course their son would be every bit as awful as them.

Jackson's unconscious when Spade drops him onto the ground alongside his best friend, which is perfect. Krowe's too traumatized to do anything yet; he stares up at me as I smirk down at him, thoroughly enjoying the terror on his face.

"Are you scared, Krowe?" I tease, keeping my voice intentionally soft... soothing and mocking all at once.

I already know the answer. He's more than scared. He stepped into me out in the field, and in doing so, he surrendered himself. He felt my pain, my rage, my terror, my sickness and rot and death... and now he knows exactly what awaits him.

His voice is small when he answers, "Yes."

"You should be."

The fire is already spilling through town, devouring everything in its path.

It had to be done, and so it is. The town itself was sick— tainted by the legacy of death and injustice, cruelty and violence disguised as harmless fun.

Guilt leaves a film on people's souls, gauzy and tacky like a sticker that's been peeled off, but the residue remains, catching everything, dirtying it.

Those who hadn't yet sullied their souls with cruelty and violence?

Those ones we sent to the house, for Natalie and Hal to lead to a better place.

.. an escape from this town, which devours everything. Or, at least, it did.

Now, the fire is devouring everything.

The flames ring everyone in; the house is surrounded, and the cornfield has no open exit.

I watched Jackson’s father, the mayor, burn to death as he tried to escape the flames by running through them.

But there is no escape—not for any of them.

Half the town is already dead, flesh and muscle and fat melted into the dirt so that their bodies can sow the earth.

It's coming closer with every second, every one of Krowe's panicked heartbeats.

Nobody who was here tonight celebrating a legacy of death with fucking carnival games is getting out alive.

Violence has a price, and so does silence.

.. Christine found that out firsthand, and now she's probably already turned to ash in the very cornfield where she made the choice not to stop the cruelty against Aiden.

I'll admit, I was a little afraid that he may somehow disappear after we killed Christine.

I worried that with John and Christine both dead, the architects of his death, he might suddenly find his spirit capable of moving on.

I'm not sure if that's really a thing, but I am grateful that he's still here with me.

When he comes back, it's with a smile on his face and supplies in hand... a butcher knife, a meat cleaver, various little implements tucked in his hands.

His eyes seek mine and the smile deepens, until it disappears when I grip him by the back of his neck, dragging his mouth to mine.

Spade devours me, and just like earlier, I lose everything. Time, space, feeling.

In his kiss, the whole world ceases to exist.

I don't stop kissing him until I feel something else... like ants crawling on my skin but not biting.

Spade pulls away, and together we face the two men trying to get past the path we're blocking... one of whom is holding a small, very old-looking box.

"Did you just… did you just throw salt at us?" I ask Jackson, laughing as he takes a step back in horror.

"I..." Jackson turns to Krowe. "I thought it would work!"

"I'm not sure what you thought it might do, but it's probably for the best. You may want some salt for your last meal."

Jackson still looks ready to fight; Krowe, on the other hand, seems resigned to the reality that this is the end. He trembles, but he doesn't try to flee as I pounce on him.

I take him to the ground easily, and he fights me, realizing that this is the end for him.

Once I've got him on his back, I accept one of the knifes Spade hands me, plunging it through Krowe's hand, admiring the scream when blood spurts out around the point of impact.

It tames his fight, the pain keeping him in place, since every movement seems to pull against the knife, the wound, tearing through skin and sinew.

Spade neutralizes Jackson as he tries to run, dragging him back to stand next to me, so that he can watch what I'm about to do to his best friend.

"Oh, Krowe." I moan, because his fear is fucking delicious. His tears are feeding my soul.

Is this why they did what they did to me? Was it fun for them to be cruel? Did it make them feel powerful for once in their lives?

I feel powerful in my death; I drag another knife down his shirt, letting it fall open into two halves to expose his heaving chest. It's covered in sweat, and blood in the spots where I didn't pick the knife up enough, and when I do the same to his jeans, splitting right down the center, he tenses.

"Careful!" He screams when the blade drops too close to flesh, nicking him just above his dick.

"Silly boy." I laugh. "That's the least of your worries."

He doesn't ask what I mean by that, and I don't bother explaining. Instead, I show him.

In the light of the house, with me situated over top of him, he's really got a tiny penis. Like, micropenis, even.

"You're not excited for me to fuck you this time?" I pout. "Come on, Krowe. Don't you want me?"

"I can't get hard when you're holding a knife down there!" He yells, groaning when he tugs too much, and fresh blood pours from his hand. "Please!"

"I mean, I don't need you hard," I shrug, turning to Spade. "I'll take the shears."

"Shears?!"

Krowe screams, trying to buck his hips and get free of me. But he will never be free of me. I will haunt his death, wherever he ends up. Because in his death, he won't be whole. He will be missing pieces of him... parts. His favorite ones, at that.

Spade hands me the shears with a wicked grin curving his lips, and Jackson panics as realization sets in. From the corner of my eye, I'm vaguely aware of him trying to escape, wriggling, squirming, and even trying to bite Spade, as if that will do anything.

"No! No, no, no!" Krowe's eyes are wide and wild, sweat dripping down his body and fear palpable in his every fucking breath. It will stay that way, until I decide when he takes his last one.

"It's so small..." I muse. "It shouldn't be more than a few bites. You’ve got a big mouth, after all."

"Gianna! No!"

He freezes when I grip his pathetic little dick in one hand and pull it taut, lining the blades of the scissors up at the base of it.

His eyes catch mine, and the horror there is so fucking beautiful.

"Please," he whispers, like he's afraid speaking too loudly will cause my hand to slip.

"Snip, snip." I say, half a second before I do it.

Cutting it off is unbelievably easy. I expect to have to fight to get the blades to close around his skin, but I guess my ghostly strength makes that a non-event. I simply close my fingers together, and the blades slice, chopping off his penis in one single, clean movement.

Blood pours down my fingers, making them slick and slippery, so I drop the shears to pick up the disembodied organ.

In my hands, it looks like such a pathetic thing. Small and limp, bloodless, pale... and yet, attached to a man, it's a most vicious weapon.

"You told me I was safe with you." I tell him, catching his eye again as he trembles, his entire body shaking with the pain he can't control. "You told me not to worry. You obviously lied." I laugh. "Time to eat Krowe."

To his credit, he realizes exactly what I mean before I even get his penis to his mouth, and he clamps his lips shut, refusing.