Page 13 of Last Summer

Chapter eleven

TERRIFIER

DANICA

Sunday Late Night

The sobs that wrack through my body shake my bones.

I collapse to the ground, dust flying up around me as I fall.

The fire has long since died, now only a few glowing embers are left inside the fire pit in front of me.

The only light comes from the moon high overhead, leaving distorted shadows dancing across the ground beneath my shaking body.

Abby is dead.

I just watched my best friend die.

And that was definitely not a fucking accident.

My hands fly to my mouth as I try to hold in another strangled sob. Someone is out here. Someone who wants us dead. But why us? And who’s doing this?

“What the fuck?” Chris screams behind me as he angrily paces along the dirt ground behind me.

I can’t answer him. I can barely breathe. My chest constricts tightly as I start to hyperventilate.

“This isn’t a fucking joke anymore. I’m calling the damn cops,” Chris growls as he begins to stalk off into the night.

I want to tell him to stay, beg him not to leave me alone, but I can’t manage to get the words out. The world shifts and spins beneath me. I think I’m going to be sick.

I hear sticks snapping, feet pounding, the sound of a car door. But it all sounds far away. I’m lost in my own grief.

“What the hell is going on here?!” I hear Chris scream.

A hand slides into my hair. Thick fingers dig into my locks, nails scraping my scalp. He pulls hard, causing my head to jerk back. I pull in a sharp breath as pain radiates through my head from him pulling on my hair. The cold night air bites at the damp trails of tears running down my cheeks.

“Where the fuck are my keys?” Chris seethes between clenched teeth.

He’s dangerous— murderous .

“What are you talking about?” I ask between choked sobs. He has my neck bent at an awkward angle making it exceptionally hard to speak.

“My keys, Danica. Where are they? I’m done playing games.” His grip on my hair tightens, making it feel like my scalp might be ripped from my skull at any moment.

“I don’t have your keys,” I shriek as I reach up and claw at his wrist. My nails sink into his flesh but he doesn’t relent. “Let me go!”

“Not until you give me the car keys.” He leans in even lower, so close that I can see the mania in his irises. “I’m getting the fuck out of here, with or without you.”

Movement in my periphery catches my attention, but I don’t dare look away from Chris.

His chest is heaving as he glares down at me.

His free hand comes up and closes around my throat, constricting my airway.

Immediately, panic grips me. I claw and pull at his thick fingers, but it’s no use, he just squeezes tighter.

“I’m not dying here,” he pants as he crushes my throat.

My lungs burn and my eyes water as I desperately fight for my life. But he’s too big, too strong. Black starts to cloud my vision, and I can feel my fight fading.

This is it. This is the end.

I close my eyes and let the darkness pull me under.

“Please,” Chris whimpers as the pressure on my windpipe recedes ever so slightly.

I’m able to suck in a small breath. Not much, but just enough. Slowly, I slide my eyelids back open, and I’m terrified by what I see.

Chris is still holding me in a tight grip, but behind him is a figure in a horrifying clown mask.

The white plastic is adorned with a grotesque depiction of a sinister sideshow freak.

A wide smile spreads across the lower half of the mask.

It sends a shiver down my spine. The eyes are open holes, allowing me to see the true monster beneath.

Our gazes lock, and they look so excited—so hungry for our pain.

Something about the eyes is so familiar—a monster from my past coming to claim their vengeance.

The creepy clown has a large knife in their hand, the tip held tightly against Chris’ throat.

“Chris,” I plead in a scared whisper.

“Danica,” he replies before the blade slices across his throat.

At first, it’s just a thin red line on his neck.

His pupils go wide. I open my mouth to scream but no sound comes out.

And then the blood comes. A cascading spray of red shoots from the deep gash.

Each pump of his dying heart causes a new spray of blood to coat my face and chest. The warm liquid is sticky as it drenches me.

Finally, my lungs regain enough strength to let loose the earthshaking shriek that’s been building.

I scream and scream as more and more blood covers me.

The taste is metallic and thick on my tongue.

His body falls with a soft thud. His heavy presence no longer covering my shaking form. I open my eyes. Staring back at me is the sinister black and white mask—only now it’s splattered in red blood. They cock their head and laugh.

I run.

Pushing off the dirt, I scramble through the slick red oozing from Chris’ dead body and covering the earth below me.

It’s so slick that I almost fall, but I regain my balance and manage to stay upright.

I run with everything I have in me up the hill and towards the cars.

I don’t look back. I just keep pumping my legs, pushing my body to go, go, go.

Chris said his car didn’t have keys so I run past his.

I throw open my driver's side door and scan the cupholder. Empty. I know I left my keys there. Why aren’t they there? What the fuck?

Swiftly, I spin. Bathed in the light of the moon is a scene straight from a horror film—Chris is still laid out on the ground, his murderer straddling him with their knees on either side of his waist. They rise up, the blade of the large knife glimmering in the moonlight, before falling forward and stabbing Chris in the chest. Blood spurts.

They rise up again then fall and stab him again. And again. And again.

I can’t just stay here like a sitting duck. I need to get out of here.

My eyes scan the area for something, anything. Then I see it—Julie’s truck. It’s still stuck in the yurt where it crashed the first night. We never moved it in case the police accused us of tampering with the scene. It might be my only hope.

I sprint down the hill, moving as swiftly as I can.

The blood is starting to dry, leaving me a sticky mess.

But I don’t let it slow me down. I rush to the truck.

Looking over my shoulder, the masked murderer doesn’t even notice.

They’re in a frenzy—stabbing Chris’ long dead corpse over and over again.

They have so much rage. Who could possibly hate us all so intensely?

I didn’t even know any of the others besides Abby before this. They must be some crazed psycho.

Reaching the truck, I throw the door open and hoist myself inside.

The keys are in the ignition. Just fucking sitting there.

I don’t question it, I just turn the key.

The engine rolls over with a loud rumble.

I chance a glance up into the rearview mirror.

There, in the reflection, I watch as the face of the sinister clown snaps up, their crazed gaze is full of murderous intent.

They pause their assault of Chris’ corpse and stand, knife tightly clenched in their hand.

Fuck .

I throw the truck into drive and peel out.

The truck stutters slightly, stuck from the collision.

I give it more gas, watching in the mirror as the masked maniac steps over Chris and begins a slow approach towards me.

I gun it. The tires spin briefly before gripping the ground.

The truck jerks forward as I careen back towards the road.

Branches snap against the side of the truck but I don’t stop.

My eyes flit back to the mirror, watching as the figure in the mask gets smaller and smaller.

I don’t dare slow down until I can no longer see the sinister smirk of the mask, the blood, the bodies, the yurts.

I drive down the road until all that’s left is trees and darkness behind me.

Only then do I let myself breathe.

Looking around the car, I see Julie’s phone in the cupholder. I’m sure it won’t work, but I have to try. Grabbing the device, I swipe to open it. It turns on immediately. Full service.

What the fuck?

None of us have had service this whole time. If her phone was working, why didn’t she call for help? But that’s not the part that has my veins freezing with horror. There, in the background of the phone screen, the face of a ghost stares back at me. A ghost I haven’t seen since last summer.

Why does Julie have a picture of my dead boyfriend as her screensaver?

I pull off to the side of the road as the entire world spins.

My vision begins to cloud as my chest constricts.

Jonathan. My Jonathan is staring straight at me from the device in my palm.

His green eyes alight with mischief. It’s not a picture of him I remember though.

What the fuck is going on? I pull up the photos app.

The first is a picture of Lucy. The same as the picture I found in the Polaroid camera.

The next is a video. I pull it up and press play.

Immediately, painful screams fill the silent cab of the truck.

“Admit what you did!” someone off screen demands.

Sarah’s tear-streaked face takes up the entire screen as she blubbers and whines. There’s a noise, and then Sarah screams again.

“Fine! I’m sorry! I was young and didn’t mean any harm!

” she cries out, but I can’t see who she's talking to as the camera is zoomed in to only show Sarah. “I had gone out drinking the night before. I didn’t mean to show up to work still messed up,” she sobs.

Based on what I can see, this is right before we found Sarah.

Whoever shot this must have been the one to cause the beam to snap and impale her.

Could Julie really have done all this? Why?

“You let evidence from my brother’s death be contaminated and lost. But you didn’t mean any harm?” the person, a woman from the sounds of it, seethes from behind the camera.

Brother ? Something clicks in my mind. A realization that makes my mind twist in horror.

I exit the video, scrolling back through the photos until I reach just over a year earlier.

Picture after picture of Jonathan and Julie fill the screen.

The two of them laughing at the beach, on a hike, even cooking together.

One appears to be a video. I click on it and the sound of Jonathan groaning in pleasure blares from the speaker.

“Fuck, yes, babe. That feels so fucking good,” he moans in delight, throwing his head back and exposing the thick column of his neck. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows deeply.

The camera shifts to show Julie between his thighs. Her head moving up and down as she sucks on his cock. His hand is threaded through her dark hair, guiding her to take him deeper. She looks up at the camera, her green eyes flashing with mischief. Green eyes I know so well.

“That’s it, baby doll,” Jonathan’s voice praises from off camera. “Swallow down my cock and show me what a good little sister you can be.”