Price’s

I think the safest option by far is PriceGaz. They’ve both got a lot of control over themselves. They keep each other in check too. You’ve got full reign of the house, hell of the property. They’ve been plannin to snatch someone up for a long time. Been watching you for a long time too. They’d have both met you individually before taking you. They thought of all the logistics and back up plans and swooped you away to basically the middle of the woods. They own acres and acres of land and there’s no way you could clear the property before one of them found you. You could honestly live a long life with them. They have no desire to hurt you needlessly. They’d prefer if you just behaved. They just want to keep you. Company, someone extra to warm the bed. Don’t be fooled though, you fuck up bad enough (thinking maybe you try to hurt Kyle, specifically) and Price is coming down on you like the hand of god. Kyle will be there to coddle you when it’s over. When Price drags you to him and holds you by the hair so you have to look up at Kyle’s eyes and apologize. “Fuckin say it.” “I’m-m’sor-sorry, Kyle. I’m so-so so sorry, I’m sorry” “aw babes, learned your lesson, huh? Had to learn the hard way? We just want what’s best f’you. C’mere. C’mon, I forgive you. I forgive you this time love.”

Thinking GhostGaz are probably the second best case scenario . They’re calculated. Not going to be sloppy with you. They’ve got a house, pretty secluded. One of them is with you at all times. You strongly favor Kyle. Simon is usually wearing that scary mask. Or worse, sometimes he shows you his face. The first time he did you just screamed and screamed. Normally might’ve been worried about hiring this feeling or upsetting him, but with that horrid smile on his face if you can call it a smile, you think he rather enjoyed it. Kyle wanted someone sweet to dote on. Simon wanted a toy. Don’t worry though, Kyle won’t let him break you. You can’t tell if Kyle is good at talking him down, or if Simon is good at pretending to be talked down. Simon loves nothing more than taunting you. Stalking over to you as you shake in the corner, getting right in your face. “Bet ya wish it was just you and the pretty boy, huh. I’m not good enough for you, sweetheart?” “Simon, c’mon, leave em be.” “”Jus’ askin a question, nothin wrong with that, is there, luv? C’mon, let’s talk.”

You don’t so much as round the corner as you crash, hips first into the metal garbage bins against the far wall trying to dip off the street and out of view as quickly as possible. You fall and a broken groan is punched from your throat as something hard and unyielding jabs you in the ribs. Your hands hit the ground in an attempt to catch yourself and they land in something that’s wet and smushes underneath your weight. A sour pungent odor blooms beneath your nose, burning your nostrils and you instinctively cringe away from it.

You don’t have time to check your injuries, though you’re sure you’re bleeding from at least one knee as you hastily pick yourself up out of the garbage and leap back into a sprint.

He rounds the corner just as you get to your feet. He’s tall, the street post behind him casting an ever lengthening shadow over you as he closes the gap. You sob and sniffle as you try to put as much distance between you and him as possible. You want so desperately to look back and see if he’s gaining but it’s a luxury you can’t afford; chances are you’ll just fall again and then the knife he’d used to slash your back with will sink its steely edge into your throat or your heart or your liver and then it’s over.

So you don’t look back, just scramble down the alley as the pounding of your heart and the soles of your shoes echo off the dense brick walls and berates your ears with their deafening boom. You stumble and nearly trip over your own feet scurrying away from him. The alley narrows and you pray to whatever deity will answer that this isn’t a dead end because if it is you’re fucked.

Your back stings, the tacky blood sticks your shirt to your skin and it pulls at the lips of your wound with every pump of your arms. Your left hip throbs and your lungs are burning, you’re worried you’re very quickly running out of gas. You won’t be able to keep this up much longer and now you fear you’re only prolonging the inevitable.

Your sneakers splash in a deep puddle, splattering foul water up on your shins but you hardly notice as you bang, face first, into a chain link fence that caps the end of the alley. On the other side is another lamp post and you dare a look over your shoulder to see he’s only about forty feet back.

You have no options, it’s climb or die so you mount the chain, fingers pushed through the links as you scramble up the side. The top seems impossibly high and you anticipate the arresting grip of his iron paws at every second. You get a leg up over the top and throw your body weight over the side, toppling over the edge and falling onto the pavement on the other side, there’s a curt wheeze as the air is punched from your lungs at the end of the drop.

You pick yourself up quickly and nearly fall again as you stumble back from the thin chain barrier separating you from him. It’s nothing but open street behind you and the ancient primal part of your brain is screaming at you to keep going but all you’ve done is run and he’s just kept coming. So you gather the last of your nerve in a desperate bid to appeal to whatever human compassion may still reside in the monster that’s been chasing you down like a sadistic beast for the last eight blocks.

You swallow harshly and it catches in your windpipe, making your first attempt sound like choked garbles.

“Please!!!” You swallow again but your mouth is dry and nothing goes down, not that the tight ball of fear that had become your stomach would accept anything even if it did. Tears cut wet paths through the oily sheen of sweat that had permeated your skin as they flowed freely down your face.

You force your gaze from the darkly gleaming street to the figure standing ominously in the shadows, just out of reach of the light. Like if he stepped into it too quickly it’d burn him like flame. Your breath hitches as he moves, stepping out of the pregnant darkness, polluting the light.

It’s your first good look at him and the glimpse of white mask you’d seen earlier turns out to be a stark white skull. Dark brown orbs peer out at you emotionlessly from the eye holes. He’s abnormally large, the breadth of his shoulders nearly scraping either side of the alley walls. The chain link fence creaks and bows with his weight as he leans forward onto it, resting his forearms just above his head.

There’s a bright golden flash as something metallic catches the arc sodium light and it glints cheekily back at you. You’ve felt its bite and now you get to observe its shape. A wicked downward sweep, reminiscent of a tiger's claw, with a pinprick point juts from one meaty fist. It’s hollow grind is still dripping with your life’s blood, the deep red of crushed cherries.

You try again and find it easier the second time around, though your pitch still fluctuates erratically. “Please!! Please, just go!!! I—“ Your hands tremble and you force them to your sides to steady your nerves, try to alleviate the shake in your voice. I h-haven’t seen your face. I won’t say anything!! Won’t even call the police I swear!! Please!!! Just go!!”

He’s eerily silent and you think for a moment that maybe he hadn’t heard or perhaps didn’t speak the same language as you. His head slowly lolls to one side, cocking at a near forty five degree angle and something about it makes your blood chill.

You’re paralyzed with terror as the hand not gripping the knife pulls away from the fence and bunches the fabric around the base of his throat in his fist before slowly but seamlessly peels it back from his face and pulls it over his head.

You’re left with the image of a dead pale face, marred by pale pink and crisscrossing scars. There’s a deep one cut through the plump skin of his lips, beginning just under one nostril and ending in the dip of his chin. There’s another bisecting one thick chiseled eyebrow. His nose is crooked, probably broken more times than he’d kept count. His jawline is strong and supported aptly by an impossibly thick neck. Wispy, arrant strands of hair gleam in the golden light, amplifying their natural blonde hue.

Despite his flaws, if it had been under any other circumstances you’d find him almost devastatingly attractive. But currently instead of devilishly handsome you only found him to be devilish and so held him with disgust and an inordinate heap of terror.

“Run.” It’s the first time you’d heard him speak and it’s almost too low for you to hear. The deep rumble of rolling thunder sounding over the horizon, a warning from a far distance.

“W-what?” His mouth twists into an ugly scowl, brow furrowing, nostrils flaring as he repeats himself, getting louder with each word, like a train whistle gathering steam.

he exhales. slow. almost a growl.

“jesus. stop talkin’.”

“why?” you blink up at him, all wide eyes and flushed cheeks, far too innocent for someone who’s very much not being innocent. “am i makin’ you nervouuus?”

his head tilts just slightly, just enough to peer down at you again.

“no,” he says, and even drunk you hear the grit in it. “you’re makin’ me hard.”

he says it like he hates himself for it. like it slipped out - cut from the meat of some deep place the inebriation in his veins simply won’t let him keep inside.

and you?

you blink slow, lips parting in surprise.

“fuckin’ finally.” you exhale with a smile. slow and crooked and dangerous. “thought i’d have to be on my knees and naked for you to admit that—“

he doesn’t let you finish that thought.

“fuck’s sake, y’little minx.” he’s dragging you now, as if he’s realizing the dangers that are surfacing the more this conversation continues. by this point he’s half-carrying, half-hauling your giggling form down the hall like you weigh nothing. “y’need to stop talkin.”

“you like it,” you slur between unsteady steps. “y’like me like this cause you’re a freakkk—“

his grip tightens. morals in tatters. control evaporating.

“i’d like you more if y’were unconscious.” he huffs, hard. “or duct-taped.”

that makes you giggle more. worse, it eggs you on.

“was that supposed t’be a threat?” you ask, lips glistening. “cause if so, it’s workingggg.”

he grunts - some deep, violent sound in his throat like that one hit a nerve. “bloody hell.”

by the time you make it to your door, he’s breathing heavy. less from exertion and more from sheer fucking restraint. it takes two seconds before he throws the hinges wide, kicks it shut with his boot, and all but drags you onto your bed.

and you hardly even realize you’ve reached it until the cotton caresses the side of your cheek. but that feeling is quickly forgotten when simon, the gentleman that he is, leans over you - one knee braced on the mattress as his hands go to work on the laces of your boots.

your thighs tense. he notices.

“fuck, simon.” you can’t stop yourself. not even god himself could, at this point. “i’ve been into you for ages, y’know.”

he pauses. boot in hand.

“…what?”

he says it low. like a warning - like a don’t you fuckin start. but you’re too drunk to care - especially when all you smell is him and all you see are those shoulders, leaning over you while you’re flat on your back beneath him.

your lashes flutter.

“jus sayin- since, like. you’re in my room, on my bed above me like one of my codeine fever dreams.” you slur, brain sloshing. the room spins with it. “thought y’should know.”

he looks at you like you’ve hit him with a brick.

your head lolls. glassy eyes dragging up over the length of him. “used to think about it—you—when i couldn’t sleep.”

he swallows, and you watch his throat work with it. the grip he’s got on your ankle could shatter bone.

“….you tellin me y’think bout me when y’touch yourself?” he asks.

“god yes.” you don’t even realize you’ve said it. “you. your hands. bending me over the sinks. in the showers while muttering filth in my ear, tellin me to behave—“

“—fuck.” it punches out of him like it hurts.

the silence falls heavy. he doesn’t blink, breathe, or move for what feels like forty minutes, when in reality, it’s like forty seconds - just long enough for him clamp the leash back on whatever beast is tearing through him.

not fully, but enough.

you stretch like a cat, oblivious to it. arch your back. sigh. “d’you think about it?”

he doesn’t answer. not at first. then—

“only when i breathe.”

your stomach lurches. your thighs twitch. “you mean that?”

he looks at you, finally - eyes darker than the devils deal, filled with filth and heat from the fire you started without even trying.

he shakes his head, his jaw clenches with the effort of keeping the beast at bay. “i mean, if you don’t stop talkin, m’gonna fuckin’ fold.”

the alcohol in your blood just roars, at that. fuel to the flaming fire inside you.

“tell me.” you murmur. “you think about fucking me? what i’d sound like moaning your—“

before you can finish that thought, his hand is over your mouth. it swallows your face, makes you twitch in all the wrong places — and he sees it.

“enough.” it’s barely a whisper. “christ. fuck. you’re gonna make me do somethin’ stupid.”

you moan against his hand - it spills out of you, vibrates against his fingers. he curses.

“y’wanna know what stupid looks like?” he mutters, head dropping down until his lips near your jaw. “you, wakin up with my fuckin dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

his palm silences everything but your pulse, which is roaring, at this point.

your fingers come up, shift a few of his digits until your voice finds room to leak out. “please.”

his eyes snap shut.

“y’dont know what you’re askin for, sweet’eart,” he mutters, grabbing the edge of the blanket with his free hand and yanking it over your hips. “ain’t gonna wake up with you hatin me.”

even drunk you realize he’s a man of morals.

“you think i’d regret it?” you whisper. stars in your eyes. he doesn’t respond. “simon. i just told you i’ve fantasized about fucking you. i wonder how big you are, if it’d hurt—“

his palm tightens over your lips again.

“one more fuckin’ word and i’ll forget every goddamn reason why i shouldn’t touch you right now.” he spits. “if y’even remember this tomorrow, y’come say it to me sober. promise on every grave i’ve ever stood over i’ll bend y’over on the spot and fuck the idea of regret right outta you.”

then he pulls back, moving slow like it hurts, and you smile.

“guess i’ll see you tomorrow.”

you heard her whimper and darted your eyes to her in silent horror.

she had clenched hers closed so there was no way to tell her to stay as quiet as possible with your desperate wide-eyed look. you weren’t risking speaking to calm her or even giving a gentle shush.

he’d found the others for less. if you had to you’d cover her mouth like you were your own, shaking hands or not.

as you shifted where you crouched, you could feel the uncomfortable stick of blood between your thighs. of all the times to be on your period. you’d bled through your pad a while back and paranoia had you feeling like you were leaving a trail behind you for him to follow even though you knew it wasn’t true, not even if you were at your heaviest. it was more likely he’d just be able to sniff you out like a shark.

regardless of blood or noise being your downfall, you weren’t feeling so lucky that you’d be able to get away if he did find you; from the lack of screams in the forest, it had seemed that the attacker had already caught the rest of your friends so there’d be no distractions to give you a head start.

bile rose in the back of your throat as tears dripped down to the tight seal of the hand still clamped tight and harsh over your mouth. you couldn’t think about the others right now, the state you’d seen some of them in, the sounds you’d heard.

you let out a slow, shaky breath through your nose and squeezed faith’s hand. there had been no noises after she’d initially whimpered; not from her or the forest.

the silence had you uneasy. it felt like he was close.

crouched as you both were behind the large, old fallen tree trunk, you wouldn’t have the best start to run for it if needed. you swallowed and tried to listen for any footsteps but there was nothing.

you frowned. you should be hearing something at least; the cicadas, or the owls or foxes, not just nothing. your heart dropped to your stomach and you scoured the forest from your point of view with darting eyes. you tugged faith to get her attention and nodded your head forward, towards the light in the distance, when she looked at you.

we need to run, you tried to convey. she understood going by the renewed flood of tears and tired slump of her shoulders. she shook her head defeatedly and you tensed waiting for her to make a noise and reveal your spot to the predator you knew was lurking in the shadows.

you squeezed her hand and nodded back firmly. this wasn’t going to be a debate, you didn’t have time and this was your best shot for survival. removing your other hand from your mouth you tried to smile at her reassuringly and wipe away her tears as she clung to your hand with both of her own. after a moment she relented and with a loud sniffle that had you jerking to look over her shoulder you both clumsily pushed up from the rustling leaves and started to run on weak legs.

“come on, come on, keep going,” you whispered desperately, breathlessly, as you dragged her along with you. he’d have already spotted you, there was no point staying silent now and faith needed all the encouragement she could get. she’d twisted her ankle and although you’d done your best to wrap it, it had made her significantly slower. “the cabin is this way. the car— if we can get to the car...”

you looked back over your shoulder as you ran, paranoid and ignoring ever horror movie rule you could remember, and choked on a wet gasp when you saw him.

he’d lost the hammer he’d arrived with, smashed gina’s head in with; the axe he’d taken from the cabin you and your friends were staying at and used to hack jason to pieces; the bear trap you’d watched him drag scott away with; but that didn’t make his presence any less frightening.

faith heaved loudly, sobbing hard, as you tried to pull her along faster, faster.

but her ankle gave way and her hand slipped from yours as you automatically kept running.

“no, wait, wait! please, no, please,” she cried and begged as you slowed and turned back to her. he was barely twenty paces from her now, if you went back you’d both be—

and the cabin was just there, you could see it, you could see the lights and the car parked next to the back shed. the keys were in your back pocket.

you turned away from her and sprinted.

“w-wait, please! don’t leave me, stop, you fucking bitch, don’t leave me, please!”

you skidded to a stop at the shed and opened the door, pulling out the first garden tool you could get a hold of - a shovel - and looked back at the sound of her scream getting cut off.

the light was dim with how far they were from the cabin’s porch light, the trees were not too tightly packed however that you saw how he knelt over her, strangling her as she kicked and clawed at him uselessly.

it would be a slow enough death that you could still get to the car without him catching you and try to drive on the shredded tire, even with the delay, but instead you ran back towards your friend.

you heard her gasping gurgles as you got closer and let out a guttural cry as you swung the shovel at the man. the monster.

his hands let go of faith and caught the metal edge with a wince and a huffed groan before it could hit his head. you heard faith suck in a gasping breath before choking on the sudden airflow and build up of saliva in her mouth.

he stood, still holding the end as you struggled to pull it back, and you saw where the edge had cut into his palms from the blow you almost landed. human after all, you almost laughed deliriously at the realisation. it only encouraged you to keep fighting back.

you tried again to pull it from him and he snarled, holding tight as you yanked and yanked until he finally let it go just as you put the last of your strength into it. the momentum caused it to reel back and you smacked yourself in the face with the handle. you stumbled to the ground with a cry, the shovel dropped and forgotten as you tried to catch yourself on the cold ground. your cheek throbbed, already beginning to swell, and a sharp ache echoed in your teeth where the handle had landed.

faith hadn’t stopped crying once she had her breath back, stuck laid prone between his feet, but when she started whimpering pleas you tearily looked up to see him lifting the shovel back up and spinning it so he had hold of the wooden end instead of the flat, metal spade. he raised his arms over his head, the shovel parallel with his body, and slammed it down, cutting off faith’s begging with a sick, slick crunch. you barely had time to look away before her blood spattered your temple and cheek.

you shuddered, your breath coming in short and thin.

“f-faith, faith,” you mumbled. you could see her, what he’d done to her, in your peripheral and it had you frozen. “oh god.”

he stepped over her, into the puddle of blood spreading ever closer to you, and crouched in front of you so you couldn’t see her.

“that was brave,” he said surprisingly softly, looking at you with inquisitive eyes. he gently tilted your face closer to his own and he smiled when you shut your eyes tight, your lips pressed closed thinly to hold back your scared sounds. “you’re more interesting than i’d thought. not so cowardly after all, eh?”

you didn’t answer as his palm drifted over to your plump cheek. it left for a moment but you didn’t dare move; his palm had been warm and the brief interlude before coming back left your skin cold in his wake. his fingertips were wet as he traced them along your cheek, dragging in the crude shape of a heart.

you opened your eyes as his hand pulled back again and saw his fingers covered in blood. faith’s blood.

your shoulders heaved with a gag and a sob while your stomach clenched as it tried to upheave your lunch for the nth time that evening.

he laughed as he watched you hunch over your knees dry heaving and stood to his full, looming height.

“i’m going to give you a chance, little lamb,” he offered plainly. “get running, let’s see if i catch you.”

you could tell by his grin this wasn’t going to be fair by any means, that this ‘chance’ was really just an extra layer of sociopathic fun for him. the hunt isn’t fun if your rabbit just lays down to die, the chase brings excitement.

you were tempted to say no, but you were well aware he could still manage to drag this out, painfully so if he wished; you could still hear faith’s chokes echoing. shakily you got to your feet and waited for him to indicate you could go, tempted almost to ask how much of a head-start he’d give or to try and dive for the shovel again.

“good girl. off you pop,” he said dismissively, and waved his hand as if shooing you away.

you scowled back, pissed that you were not only about to be murdered, but that it’d be done by a condescending prick, just to rub salt into the wound.

his smile widened and you knew your disgust was written clear as day across your face. you didn’t dawdle any further though, and instead turned on your heel to run towards the car not twenty five feet away.

you didn’t look back as you tried to pick up the pace, unsure on how long he’d give you your head-start, though maybe you should have if only to brace for the impact as he slammed into your from behind. he dragged you to the floor and pressed you flat even as you struggled wildly.

“get off me! get off!” you screamed, blubbering.

he grabbed your head and slammed it once into the ground, dizzying you and making your movements sluggish. your nose ached furiously and fresh tears sprang to your eyes.

he leant up and shuffled so he was knelt just behind your arse, keeping your legs pinned tightly together. you thought you could see lena in the distance from where you were laid, where he’d impaled her next to the fire pit.

you wanted to turn your head away but you didn’t have the strength and he kept one hand pressed between your shoulder blades while the other rested at your waistband.

“you on the rag, love? bled through a tad,” he snickered as he caught sight of the stain leaking through your jeans. you felt embarrassment wash over you and hated him all the more for it. why couldn’t he make it quick like he had with the others? or had he spoken to and taunted them the same? “let’s get a better look, shall we?”

he tugged at your jeans, letting go of your back to use both hands to pull at the sides until the button and zip gave way at the front beneath his ministrations.

realisation as to the intention of his actions came over you slowly, your imminent death clouding your thoughts until suddenly your arse was bare and his fingertips were running between your bloody lips.

“stop, what are you—?” you reared up to try and shake him off, but he pushed you face first back into the dirt. at least now you were facing away from lena.

“i just want to know if this pussy is more of a crybaby than you are,” he sneered into your ear before pushing two fingers inside. the blood helped slick his way, but you yelped regardless, feet kicking uselessly behind him. he set a rough rhythm and pulled more surprised cries from your throat.

“please,” you begged wetly, snot running from your nose and causing dirt to cling to your face alongside the tears. “just stop—“

“bleats like a lamb too,” he laughed. “the gift that keeps on giving, aren’t ya?”

he pulled his hand free and shifted your shirt up to your shoulders. using his slick fingers he drew on your back, another bloody heart. he snorted at the sight of it.