Rhonnie Fordham

rhonnief@yahoo.com

68,000 words

Idol Worship

By

Rhonnie Fordham

CHAPTER 1

The Crane house was just ordinary, abandoned trash. Boring even. The house was a two-story farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Miles of woods surrounded it. Needless to say, there weren’t any neighbors for miles either. The house’s mailbox stood tall, wearing its abundance of rust like a wretched paint job. Rather than a paved driveway, a long stretch of faded dirt ran through the house’s tall grass and weeds, all the way up to the decrepit front porch.

The clear country sky illuminated the home in a vivid light. The house a beacon that only drew local paranormal enthusiasts and juvenile delinquents looking for cheap thrills in the small town of Stanwyck, Georgia. Even if you didn’t believe in ghosts, the Crane house certainly did look the part. 

The once-pretty country home looked to have gone uninhabited for decades. Crooked shutters guarded the large cracked windows. Busted wooden steps led up to the house’s creaky front porch. The home’s bricks all faded with age.

Like a forgotten relic, an archaic lantern hung on the porch, its glass case long shattered. The rocking chairs were at least functional if you could look past the layers of thick cobwebs wrapped all around them.

Given the house’s many deficiencies and its hopeless place in the open market, the hot Georgia night brought a huge surprise when a pristine and shiny new convertible zoomed down the long dirt driveway.

Appearing with the sudden quickness of a mirage, the car’s tires scattered dust everywhere. The convertible’s top was down, the occupants inside blasting loud and obnoxious pop music.

The car came to an abrupt stop just a few feet away from the porch. As the rag top started coming back down, the music and lights were shut off. After the doors swung open, jovial laughter echoed through the night.

Out stepped two beautiful young women. Bonnie Campbell and Carty Elizabeth, both of them in their late-20s and both of them ultra-attractive. A gay couple just as clever as they were sensual. These weren’t the nerdy ghost enthusiasts, the Stanwyck High dropouts, or any of the other typical yokel explorers. This was a couple straight out of a Beverly Hills photo shoot.

Bonnie was a tall and streetwise Latina. Fit enough to be a supermodel, but too anti-establishment for that kinda shit. Everything about her was rebellious. From her hairstyle all the way to her attire. But instead of being scary or intimidating, the aggressive swagger was hot thanks in part to her pretty face.... a fact Bonnie was well aware of.

On the other hand, Carty was less confrontational in both her personality and style. While Bonnie gladly wore the "Butch" persona, Carty was the feminine "girly-girl" of the pair. But like Bonnie, Carty didn’t take much shit either. After all, these ladies were entrepreneurs. Bonnie was holding a wireless mic and Carty a camcorder for a reason. They knew how to exploit what God gave them.

The couple stopped and looked on at the derelict house, both of them awestruck for different reasons. Bonnie with excitement, Carty with Maybe some unease in Carty.

"Fuck, it’s gorgeous," Bonnie said. "Absolutely perfect..."

Carty gave her a weird look. "Gorgeous?"

"You know what I mean." Bonnie grabbed a hold of Carty’s hand and led her up to the front porch. "Come on. Let’s explore."

With big frightened eyes, Carty looked on at the imposing farmhouse as they got closer and closer to the porch’s battered wooden steps. It was a country home from Hell, she thought. A cross between a Cracker Barrel and Amityville.

Like a playful older sibling, Bonnie leaned in toward Carty. "Creepy..." she teased Carty in her best horror-host voice.

Carty pushed Bonnie away from her, annoyed. "Fuck you!"

"Aww, you scared, hon?" Bonnie replied.

"Who wouldn’t be?" Carty said. She stole a glance back at their car.

"I’ve seen worse." Bonnie noticed Carty hadn’t even turned on the camcorder yet. Outraged, Bonnie stopped and snatched Carty’s arm. "Carty, what the Hell are you doing!"

Carty yanked her arm away from Bonnie’s grasp. "What!"

Bonnie waved at the camcorder. "The camera, girl!"

Groaning, Carty turned it on.

"Establishing shots, hello," Bonnie reiterated.

"Here’s your damn establishing shot," Carty responded. Agitated, she pointed the camera at Bonnie. "Scene one, enter the bitch Bonnie."

Bonnie cracked up.

Still pissy, Carty lowered the camera. "It’s your idea to come here in the first place."

"Man, this ain’t even that scary!" Bonnie protested. "That old motel in Decatur was way freakier."

Carty went silent and looked on at the house. Technically, Bonnie was right, Carty thought. This place was no different than your average abandoned shack... but something about it felt different. Like maybe they had gone too far off the beaten path of local haunts. After all, there wasn’t a whole lot about the Crane house on-line.

"Shit, the graveyard in Bainbridge," Bonnie went on. "I still have those ant bites on my ass."

Carty chuckled. "Well," she beganas she stole a glance at Bonnie’s shapely booty. "It still looks pretty nice."

Bonnie admired her own ass. "I think they made it bigger."

"Still not as big as mine," Carty quipped.

"Mmm, but I’m getting there," Bonnie replied. She slapped Carty’s bubble butt. 

Giggling, Carty pointed the camera at the house. "How’d you find this place anyway?" She looked on at the rocking chairs, both of them mummified in cobwebs.

"You know, just the interwebs," Bonnie said.

"Reddit?"

"Pretty much," Bonnie replied with a smile. She faced Carty and ran her hand along Carty’s arm. "Let’s go."

Still uneasy, Carty looked at her.

Sensing Carty’s unease, Bonnie leaned in closer. For once, Bonnie pushed the camcorder away, giving them a sense of privacy.

The couple shared a sweet kiss. One not for the cameras but for themselves. Its potency certainly did the trick for Carty. She felt all of Bonnie’s love for her in that one pleasant embrace.

They smiled at one another like teenage lovers.

"You ready?" Bonnie asked mischievously.

Grinning, Carty looked over at the farmhouse. Either the house wasn’t that scary to begin with or the drug that was Bonnie’s kiss really had calmed my nerves, Carty thought. "Sure," Carty said.

Bonnie pulled Carty in closer to her as they approached the porch’s first step. "I got what I could for the legend."

Carty aimed the camera at the house, getting the "establishing shots." "Any of it true?" she asked Bonnie.

Stopping them in front of the porch stairs, Bonnie turned and grinned at Carty. "True enough."

"Okay," Carty said. Using the camera, she motioned Bonnie toward the porch. "You want the honors?"

In a confident stride, Bonnie stepped up in front of the camera. "Absolutely." She glanced back, making sure the house could be seen behind her like a looming castle.

Carty pointed the camera right at Bonnie. A steady grip. "Awesome," Carty congratulated herself.

Facing Carty, Bonnie fixed her shirt. Now it showed off her boobs even more than she realized was possible. She straightened her hair quickly for good measure. Her and Carty knew they had to look good on camera. Even when they were trespassing onto creepy private property.

"You ready?" Carty asked Bonnie.

For a final test, Bonnie raised the mic and gave it one firm hit. Ready to go. "Yeah, roll it," Bonnie said.

Eager, Carty flashed her a thumbs up.

Bonnie paused for a moment, letting the camera capture her in all her candid glory: pretty face, a stern yet commanding expression, and some really big breasts. In the staunch darkness and with the terrifying house lurking behind her, Bonnie had the aura of a Playboy-sponsored horror show host. A more sexualized Elvira. Just what Carty knew Bonnie was going for.

"Welcome back, voyeurs," Bonnie said in a ghoulishly campy voice. She squeezed her big boobs together in sexy, obnoxious fashion. "Tonight, your two favorite sexy starlets are taking their well-endowed talents to the sleepy little town of Stanwyck, Georgia. Home of the infamous Crane house."

Struggling to contain her laughter, Carty took a few steps back, capturing a wider shot of the house.

God, Bonnie was really hamming it up tonight, Carty thought. Bonnie’s silliness could turn any of these eerie locations into both a literal and figurative playhouse for us.

Bonnie looked right into the camera, being as serious as her "acting" would allow. "Thirty years ago, at this very house, sexy, carefree housewife Bette Crane flipped out on her stud farmer husband." With the dedication of a terrible actress gunning for an Oscar, Bonnie took a step closer toward the camera. What should’ve been porn-level lighting actually gave Bonnie an otherworldly quality in the country night. "Bette took a frying pan, the very thing she’d used to make Farmer Studbucket’s scrambled eggs for him that morning and then turned it into a vicious weapon!"

"Oh God..." Carty muttered through a smirk.

"Bette Crane savagely beat her husband with that frying pan until his face was mushier and more splattered than the greasiest eggs she’d ever cooked," Bonnie continued. "But the housewife wasn’t through. After beating her husband to death, Bette took the biggest butcher knife she could find."

Holding the camcorder with the steadiness of a veteran Hollywood filmmaker, Carty stopped right in front of Bonnie for a closer shot of the host.

"And she walked over to her husband’s bludgeoned body," Bonnie went on. "And plunged the knife straight into her forehead!" Toning down the theatrics, Bonnie locked eyes with the camera. One on one with her audience. "Ever since the murder, people believe the Crane house is haunted by evil spirits."

Bonnie pointed toward the farmhouse, as if she were emulating a horror tour guide rather than a horror host. "Stanwyck residents have reported many ghost sightings and paranormal incidents over the years," Bonnie said. "Objects seen flying around, weird noises being heard, even what is believed to be the ghost of Bette Crane still walking around with her bloody frying pan." Bonnie paused for dramatic effect. "So now," she began. Still keeping her serious demeanor, Bonnie took a step closer toward the camera. "We’ve arrived not to investigate the Crane house." Bonnie’s stray hand moved down toward her breasts. "But for the house to investigate us."

Faster than a Mardi Gras veteran, Bonnie stuck out her tongue and flashed the camera with those glorious breasts. "This is Paranormal Fornication, bitches!" she shouted with glee.

Carty burst out laughing as she lowered the camera.

Bonnie lowered her shirt. "You got it?" she asked.

Still laughing, Carty lowered the camera. "Yeah, for sure."

Stepping toward Carty, Bonnie held up the mic like a showman greeting their critics. "How was I?" she asked, fully expecting Carty’s enthusiastic response.

Carty wrapped her arms around Bonnie. "Magnificent, babe!"

Flattered, Bonnie ran her hand along Carty’s back. "Mmm, thank you, boo," Bonnie said.

The couple locked lips once more. A gentle kiss that was much more tender than any of their on-screen ones. 

"Alright," Bonnie started. She led them toward the stairs. Like a director, she motioned around the porch. "Try to get a few shots of us going in."

At her command, Carty aimed the camcorder at the house. "Roger that, Bon."

Looking through the lens, Carty thought their walk up to the front door was being filmed like the climatic scene to The Blair Witch Project. A slow trek to a foreboding entrance. It looked great on camera. Maybe we can shoot a real horror film someday, Carty thought. 

Bonnie slapped Carty’s juicy ass, snapping Carty out of her post-pornographic aspirations.

"Ooh, baby!" Carty exclaimed with a startled smile.

"Just keep filming, babe," Bonnie said.

"I know," Carty said as they made their way up the rickety steps. If it weren’t for their model physiques, Carty questioned whether these creaking stairs could even hold them.

Breaking away from Carty, Bonnie strolled up onto the front porch, reveling in this conglomeration of country decay. 

"Bonnie!" Carty said with unease. Even just a few feet away, Carty thought the distance between the may as well have been a hundred feet considering the eerie circumstances.

Unconcerned, Bonnie gazed around at the house’s offerings. The rocking chairs. The busted windows. Even the harsh graffiti scribbled on the aged wood. This house had it all. "God, just look at it!" Bonnie said. The wooden floor kept creaking and giving in like a worn-out mattress beneath her feet, but she didn’t care one bit. "What a fucking spot!"

"Yeah..." the nervous Carty said as she stopped next to Bonnie. While filming, Carty kept clinging to the camera. Both as a source of light and as a potential weapon. "Fucking weird..."

Reaching out, Bonnie touched a rocking chair and made contact with all the sticky cobwebs. Bonnie drew her hand back, but the icky texture seemed to give her a thrill rather than sicken her. She watched the chair rock back-and-forth in a slow rhythm. The chair’s loud creaking formed a hypnotic tune. 

Concerned, Carty snatched Bonnie’s arm and pulled her away from it. "What are you doing!" Carty yelled.

Chuckling, Bonnie faced her. "What? I just wanted to see-"

Carty stepped back. "Oh my God, you touched it!"

Trying to calm Carty, Bonnie held her hands up in a facetious manner. "Hey, look, nothing got on me."

"Whatever!" Carty backed away and stumbled into a dangling cobweb. Crying out, she rushed back toward Bonnie. "Fuck!"

Bonnie grabbed Carty’s shoulder. "Babe, just chill-"

"No!" Carty yelled back at her.

Bonnie motioned toward the rocking chair, highlighting its continuous melody of creaks. "Look, we should be filming the shit!"

At its height of rocking, the chair went completely still. As if all those spiders had somehow stopped it.

"Holy shit!" Bonnie exclaimed.

Nervous, Carty focused her camera on the chairs. "Okay, that was creepy."

"Shit, let’s get this party started!" Bonnie said. She stepped toward the front door.

Carty looked at her real quick. "Bonnie!"

Before Carty could stop her, Bonnie snagged the rusty doorknob. She flashed Carty a smile. "Be sure to get this." 

Carty pointed the camera at Bonnie.

"You ready?" Bonnie asked.

Carty gave her an apprehensive nod. "Yeah."

"Okay," Bonnie said. "Into the Crane house we go." She started to turn the loose doorknob when an incessant noise startled her and Carty.

"Shit!" Carty yelled as the couple whirled around.

They saw both rocking chairs now swinging in unison. Beneath the weight of age and the cobwebs, these rocking chairs were going harder and faster than seemed possible. Their consistent creaks a countrified chorus.

All the while, Carty kept filming the eerie event. "Oh my God..." she said in fear.

"Shit, this is amazing!" Bonnie exclaimed. She staggered up toward the chairs.

Carty snatched her shoulder, the tight grip ensuring Bonnie wasn’t straying too far. "No, don’t leave me!"

The rocking chairs came to a sudden stop. Either a slight breeze had gone away or the spiders had used their collective force once more... or the Crane house’s spirits had moved on.

Somewhat disappointed, Bonnie pointed at the chairs. "See, it’s nothing," she said to soothe Carty. She caressed Carty’s shoulder. "We’re gonna be fine."

"I don’t know," Carty said. She lowered the camera. "I’ve got a weird feeling about this place."

Bonnie gave her a playful smile. "You get a weird feeling about everywhere."

"Yeah, but not like this..."

"Well, I’m here," Bonnie replied. She leaned in closer toward Carty’s lips. "And I’ll protect you."

Reassured as always by Bonnie, a grin cracked through Carty’s nerves. "You better."

"You know I will." Bonnie gave Carty a soft kiss on the lips.

Carty liked it.

But right before Carty could expect more, Bonnie nodded at the camera. "You got all that shit, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Carty said.

Back to business, Bonnie looked back at the door. "Awesome."

"God, we’re not still going in there, are we?" Carty said.

Bonnie faced her. "Why not?"

Upset, Carty motioned toward the chairs. "Not after all that shit!"  

Bonnie grabbed Carty’s wrist in a gentle grip. "Carty, please. Can we just go inside?"

The silent Carty just looked at Bonnie. Bonnie’s pretty face and persuasive brown eyes were such an irresistible combination when Bonnie really wanted to do something. Especially when it came to Bonnie’s passion for the paranormal.

"This is what we do," Bonnie went on. "Our scary shit." With a sly and seductive touch, she pulled Carty in closer toward her. "Look, I’ll make it up to you, baby. I promise. But let’s do this first, okay."

How can I say no, Carty thought. Bonnie was rather tough anyway... certainly, braver than me. She was so cute this excited. She always was. "Okay," Carty gave in.

Bonnie leaned in toward Carty’s face. "I promise I’ll make it up in there, baby," she said in a seductive whisper. Sweetening the deal, Bonnie guided Carty’s hand all against her breasts. "I promise."

Carty didn’t have a chance. She felt on one of those double-Ds, immense pleasure coursing through Carty’s veins. She cracked a smirk. "Goddammit, Bonnie..."

Chuckling, Bonnie pulled her toward the door. "Come on."

Carty pointed the camera at Bonnie as Bonnie grabbed the knob once more. "Take two," Carty joked.

Turning, Bonnie smiled for the camera. "Paranormal Fornication, motherfuckers."

With dramatic emphasis, Bonnie turned the old doorknob and let the door swing into the house with a grueling creak.

The open doorway now lied before Carty and Bonnie. The dark farmhouse was beckoning them to enter. Paranormal Fornication must go on! it seemed to scream.

CHAPTER 2

The couple journeyed through the farmhouse’s narrow downstairs hallway. The camcorder and Bonnie’s small flashlight like torches in uncharted terrain. Behind them, the front door was still wide open. Carty refused to let Bonnie close it. Carty didn’t want that sinking feeling of hearing the door slam shut. It was too definitive. Like they were being locked in not just for the night, but forever. 

Holding her mic and the flashlight, Bonnie led the way, Carty right behind her. Carty did her best to keep up, but Bonnie seemed to glide on that torn carpet. Like a detective sniffing out a breakthrough clue. "Slow down," Carty grumbled.

"I am," Bonnie retorted. Her eyes were drawn to a doorway on the left at the very end of the hall.

Through the unflinching camera lens, Carty captured the usual array of spooky clichés inside. There were the broken counters and bookshelves. The torn carpets. The literal holes in the walls that reoccurred like patterns on the faded paint. A wooden staircase in the very back that looked like a poor farmer’s attempt to be regal. Even a small door under the staircase that looked like it was designed to be a small child’s hiding place. The small door aged yet functional. Like a well-preserved toy.

But it wasn’t these scary attributes that bothered Carty. It was how the house somehow appeared... clean. There weren’t any spiderwebs or rodents. No dirt, cigarette butts, beer bottles, or any of the other types of debris the duo saw in all their other explorations. The inside of the Crane home was in decent condition. As if someone had been in there and tried to straighten the place up as much as they could. And to Carty’s horror, she thought maybe someone had.

"Hello?" Bonnie asked aloud, her voice echoing down the hallway.

Carty glared at her. "Bonnie, shut up!" 

Ignoring Carty, Bonnie went closer and closer to the doorway. "Is there anybody home?" she said, her voice seemingly louder.

Carty could only groan in dismay.

But there was no reply. No answers from the Crane house.

Still following Bonnie, Carty looked toward the stairway. Darkness awaited whoever dared walk up those steps. Or whoever could make it up those steps. Several of them were dilapidated, even moreso than the porch steps. The stairway’s crooked railing wouldn’t offer much support either.

Uneasy, Carty saw the small door under the staircase was open just a crack. No one appeared to be inside it nor were there any lights on inside. It had to be a closet and a small one at that, Carty figured. Not a bad spot for hide and seek...

Bonnie snatched Carty’s arm, scaring the shit out of her.

"Jesus!" Carty yelled at Bonnie.

Shushing Carty, Bonnie stopped them just a foot away from the doorway. "Do you hear that?" Bonnie asked.

"What?"

Bonnie clenched tighter to Carty’s shoulder. "Just listen," Bonnie said. She waved her microphone toward the doorway. "It’s coming from there."

Carty looked toward the doorway.

And there it was. A soft crackle and pop. It sounded soothing. It sounded like Christmas. And then Carty realized it felt like Christmas as well. The dank house felt a little toasty.

"Did you hear that?" Bonnie asked.

"Yeah."

Another pop echoed toward the couple.

They looked on at the doorway and saw a faint orange glow radiating from inside the room.

Bonnie pointed at the light, excited. "Look at it!"

Carty stared at the doorway, her fear the exact opposite of Bonnie’s enthusiasm. The crackling continued as a soundtrack to the faint glow. Stunned, Carty realized it was a burning fireplace. "Bonnie-" Carty began.

Bonnie grabbed Carty’s hand. "Come on!"

Carty was no match for Bonnie’s powerful pull. "But wait-" Carty tried to say.

"Just keep filming!"

Bonnie led Carty into the mysterious room.

Through Bonnie’s small light and the weak flickers of the fireplace, Carty could make out they were in a spacious room.

Bonnie stopped in the middle of the room, fascinated. "Are you getting this?" asked Bonnie, her eyes gazing all around the living room.

Staying as close to Bonnie as possible, Carty scanned the room with her camera.

It was definitely the farmhouse’s living room, but not one from the twenty-first century. There was no T.V. and seemingly no electricity. No family photos or portraits. No decorations at all. And not much furniture aside from a couple of wooden shelves.

"When’d that murder happen again?" Carty asked.

Still shining her flashlight around the room, Bonnie didn’t even look at Carty. "I don’t know, like maybe thirty years ago?"

Carty saw a tombstone radio standing near the fireplace. An open doorway was about ten feet away from the radio, this one leading into yet another dark room.

Leaning in closer for a better look, Carty could tell this room had a large wooden table. It must’ve been the kitchen, Carty thought. Or what was left of it.

For all the lack of amenities in the living room, at least the antique radio was an impressive if outdated source of entertainment. The fireplace was similarly grandiose. But thirty years ago, Carty wondered. Didn’t the eighties at least have MTV? What were these bitches doing?

"It seems older," Carty said. She pointed the camera toward a raggedy couch that stood by the fireplace and radio. "Looks older."

"Yeah, well it was like 1982, 1983," Bonnie said. She thought she saw something on a corner wall across the room. Bonnie shined her light toward it and squinted her eyes, trying to see what was there.

"1983?" Carty asked. Her amusement shifted toward fear after she focused on the fireplace. So much wood was piled up in there... wood that had been consumed over a longer period of time. "Shit..."

Bonnie could tell the corner wall had large letters drawn on them. "What the Hell is that?" Bonnie wondered aloud.

"What?" Carty asked.

Intrigued, Bonnie stepped closer toward the letters.

Clinging to the camera for her security, Carty followed Bonnie to the spot. "Bonnie, wait!"

Bonnie stopped and stared at the wall, stunned yet awestruck by her new "discovery." "Oh fuck..."

"What is it!" Carty said as she stopped next to her.

Spraypainted letters splattered across the wall. Vile graffiti. The words looked like they’d been there a long time, practically implanted into the farmhouse’s walls at this point. And the words all shared the same color: blood red paint.

Nasty phrases and slurs made up the collection: Bitch! The Crane Cunt! Bette The Psycho Bitch! Murderer! Cocksucker Crane!

Uneasy, Carty filmed the sight in all its vicious glory. She moved the camera around, even seeing how the graffiti carried over onto the other walls. Like the endless profanities and insults were all a big billboard bought to you by Stanwyck’s resident assholes as a commemorative FUCK YOU to Bette Crane. 

Carty stared at the entire scene in horror. This was further indication that this secluded farmhouse truly was home to something horrific. Something so traumatic and disturbing that to this day, the citizens of Stanwyck still felt the need to make this vengeance-fueled pilgrimage.

But to Bonnie, the graffiti was further proof that the couple had come to the right spot.

"Shit!" Carty said. She looked over at Bonnie. "We can’t stay here."

With the excited eagerness of a kid about to catch a foul ball in the stands, Bonnie reached out toward "Bette The Psycho Bitch."

"Bonnie!" Carty yelled in outrage. She grabbed Bonnie’s arm, stopping her.

Bonnie faced her, annoyed. "Carty, what the fuck!"

"What the fuck are you doing!"

Scoffing, Bonnie waved the mic toward the wall. "See for yourself!"

"No!" Carty said. "Someone’s been here, Bonnie. And they might still be here."

"It’s just a fire-"

"Just a fucking fire!" Ready to leave, a pissed-off Carty headed straight for the hallway.

"Carty!" Bonnie snagged Carty’s arm, making Carty face her. "Look at me! This house is empty!" Using the mic, she motioned toward the fireplace. "Whoever did this shit’s probably gone anyway."

"Probably!" Carty replied, incredulous.

Desperate to comfort Carty, Bonnie caressed her shoulders. "Hey, whoever it is is more scared of us than we are of them," Bonnie went on. She ran her finger against Carty’s smooth cheek. "They’re gone, Carty. And they ain’t coming back."

"I don’t know," Carty said. Still uneasy, Carty looked toward the fireplace.

"Look, Carty, this is what we do. Even when shit gets weird and scary." Bonnie ran her hand along Carty’s arm. "We can’t stop now."

Carty faced her. "But the fire. This isn’t-"

Adamant, Bonnie stepped away from Carty. "They probably left when they heard us pull up! Just think about it, Carty."

"I don’t know..."

Proving her point, Bonnie shined her flashlight all around the living room. "Hello!" she yelled at the top of her long. "Come out, come out, wherever you are, bitches!"

"Bonnie!"

"Come out, motherfucker!" Bonnie went on.

No answer was heard. Just the consistent crackle of the crisp fire.

The lack of a response was helping Carty ease up. Much to Bonnie’s delight.

"We don’t bite!" Bonnie aid. She gave Carty a flirtatious smile. "Well. Maybe I do."

Carty chuckled and shook her head.

The whole house seemed silent except for the fire. And the couple’s soft laughter.

"See," Bonnie said as she grabbed a hold of Carty’s hand. "It’s nothing."

"But why here?" Carty asked. "Why can’t we just go somewhere else?"

"Look, just think about it, alright," Bonnie said in a gentle tone. "This is gonna be so big, Carty." She waved the flashlight around the living room. "I mean just look at this place! A creepy fucking Texas Chainsaw house, and we discover the fireplace, the graffiti! The damn rocking chairs." 

Carty didn’t argue. She knew she couldn’t due to a combination of Bonnie making sense and being too stubborn to turn back now.

Bonnie caressed Carty’s face. "Think of the hits, baby," Bonnie went on. "All the ads we’ll get on the site."

Debating the idea, Carty looked off toward the bright fireplace.

"We’ll make so much money, boo," Bonnie said."We’ll have enough to do the Lady Macbeth piece."

Carty faced Bonnie, allured by the prospect of doing their dream project. Just the sheer mention of it got Carty’s attention.  

Displaying a warm smile, Bonnie rubbed Carty’s shoulder. "Like we always planned. We’ll do real movies from now on, no more creeper sex shit."

"You promise this is the last one?" Carty asked, her voice begging for a yes.

"Yes!" the excited Bonnie said.

"Okay..." Carty relented.

"Thank you!"

"Let’s do this."

Bonnie gave Carty a quick kiss. "I love you, baby," Bonnie said.

"I love you too."

"This is gonna be so perfect," Bonnie said. She stepped away from Carty and focused her attention on the corner wall graffiti. "Fucking crazy."

Carty followed Bonnie’s gaze toward the gratuitous graffiti. All those vile words were more than just your average juvenile’s bullshit. The phrases looked embroidered with emotion. Like they were sculpted from pure disgust and hate.

Thinking about the creepy stairway, Carty looked back toward the hallway. She couldn’t help but wonder if their squatter was hiding upstairs rather than in the woods. "This still feels weird," Carty commented.

Bonnie faced her. "Why, babe?"

Nervous, Carty hesitated on how to answer. "I don’t know. It’s like someone’s watching."

Bonnie stepped right in front of Carty, not even attempting to make her sexual tease more nuanced. "Someone’s always watching."

Carty grinned.

CHAPTER 3

Thirty minutes later, Bonnie and Carty’s film shoot was going hot and heavy. Steamy, sexy, scintillating. Words you usually wouldn’t associate with a "haunted house." But then again, this was Paranormal Fornication.

Sprawled out on the couch, the naked duo engaged in passionate and exuberant sex.

Bonnie and Carty’s lovemaking was certainly chock-full of genuine pleasure. Their emotions, the moaning, and the undeniable chemistry between the two were well on display. But their exploitative positions and cloying mannerisms proved that they knew how to put on a show.

The warm fire bathed the couple in a glorious light. Their clothes stacked up in neat piles right by the sofa.

Sitting on top of the tombstone radio, the camcorder filmed the couple’s erotica with the detachment of an asexual filmmaker.

Leaning back on the sofa, Carty moaned in pleasure.

All the while, Bonnie continued going down on her partner. The pace was frenetic but Bonnie was gentle. She knew all the right spots. And Carty wasn’t complaining.

Carty wrapped her hands around Bonnie’s head. "Ooh, baby," Carty said. She tilted her head back and shut her eyes. Just let Bonnie do her thing, she thought. Stopping her now would be like stopping LeBron from going in hard with a highlight-reel dunk. Sometimes, you just gotta let greatness do its thing.

"You like that?" Bonnie said with dirty talk glee.

"Yes, baby!" Carty moaned. She opened her eyes just to steal a look over at the camera. A quick glance for their audience.

With rough quickness, Bonnie started to flip Carty over.

"What are you doing?" Carty whispered.

"I gotta get that ass, mamacita," Bonnie replied.

Glaring, Carty stopped Bonnie. "Just hold on!"

"Carty, the camera-"

"I don’t give a shit about them!" Carty grumbled as she turned on her stomach. "Just be more gentle next time."

"Okay," Bonnie sighed. Back in porn mode, she caressed Carty’s round booty. "That ass, mamacita!" she exclaimed.

Carty cringed at Bonnie’s forced delivery. These glorified butt scenes were a little much, she thought. Maybe I should let out a fart to really shake things up.

"That booty though..." Bonnie continued. She gave Carty a quick (and literal) kiss on the ass.

"God..." Carty mumbled. This wasn’t the Bonnie she liked.

Bonnie felt along Carty’s butt, cradling it for all the camera to see. It was an impressive booty for sure. Fake as Hell, but that certainly didn’t bother Bonnie nor the Paranormal Fornication faithful.

"I gotta see that ass in reverse, girl," Bonnie said in a most oversexualized manner. If this was the extent of her acting abilities, her Lady Macbeth performances must’ve been a fucking disaster.

"Ooh, you want it, baby," Carty responded, disinterested. She wiggled her ass with the enthusiasm of a jaded stripper on her last day at work.

Bonnie smacked Carty on the ass, making that booty jiggle for the camera.

"Ooh, harder, baby," Carty said in a more seductive tone, making sure her voice was loud for the camera.

"That’s my girl," Bonnie beamed. 

Bonnie’s next smack on Carty’s butt was quick and gentle. More like a love tap that Carty actually enjoyed.

Smiling, Carty looked back at Bonnie. "Mmm, keep going, sexy..."

Bonnie crouched down toward Carty’s smooth bubble butt. "With pleasure..." 

Bracing for more ass worship, Carty looked toward the hallway. She was surprised at how aroused she was getting in such a creepy place... Bonnie’s kisses along her ass were actually feeling really nice. Hell, this was Bonnie’s best "performance" since the Hiers farm in Alabama, Carty realized.

"God, you’re perfect," Bonnie said.

Carty grinned. She knew that wasn’t Bonnie the actress talking, but Bonnie the girlfriend. Not that it was hard to differentiate since Bonnie was a shitty actress.

Carty enjoyed the touch of Bonnie’s soft hands running along her lower back and perky butt. The gentle kisses. Maybe we need to keep this episode for ourselves.

A soft, hushed singing drifted toward Carty’s ears, piercing through her pleasure. The song’s words were murky and unclear, the voice similarly vague. The singer could’ve been a boy or a girl. But whoever it was didn’t sound like they wanted to be heard. Not yet at least.

Alarmed, Carty looked on at the hallway. The singing appeared to be coming from near the staircase. "What the Hell..." she muttered.

A set of teeth sunk into Carty’s juicy ass, startling Carty. The bite was a vampire’s wet dream, but Carty knew it wasn’t no vampire. "Shit, Bonnie!" Carty fumed as she confronted her girlfriend.

Bonnie leaned back, confused. "What?"

"Did you hear that!"

The haunting singing continued, pulling Carty’s attention back toward the hallway.

"I don’t hear shit." Bonnie responded.

Carty pointed her toward the stairs. "It’s coming from in there!"

Alert, both women listened out for the singing. Even as the words stayed jumbled, the voice had gotten louder. The singer would’ve never made it on American Idol, but it had a pretty meekness to it. Like that of an innocent child. The voice sounded too deep for a girl... but such vulnerability seemed more fitting for a melancholy teenage female singing herself to sleep.

Bonnie finally heard it. All the confidence drained from her face. For once, she looked rattled by the pair’s paranormal excursions. "Shit..."

Carty glared at her. "I told you this was a bad idea!"

The singing kept on repeating the same tune. The same melody. The same scrambled words. The whole production a loop of insanity, albeit, a pretty loop.

"We shouldn’t have ever come here!" Carty went on.

Lost in thought, Bonnie turned and looked over at the camcorder. The camera stared right back at her, taunting her with its mere presence. The show must go on...

"Let’s fucking go!" Carty pleaded to Bonnie. With uneasy eyes, she looked over at the downstairs hallway.

The singing stayed on a steady path of instability. The words never clear, the mysterious voice wobbling between lovely and stilted.

"Shit..." Carty muttered. She turned and saw Bonnie get off the couch. "Bonnie!"

Bonnie threw on her clothes.

Ready to get the fuck outta there, Carty stood up and did the same. She saw Bonnie grab the camera.

"Are we going?" Carty asked with impatience. She pulled her tight shirt over her head. Both women were now dressed. Easily the fastest either of them had ever put their clothes back on.

Bonnie gave Carty a quick kiss for reassurance. "I’m just gonna go look."

Carty pushed Bonnie back. "Are you crazy!"

"Carty, it’s just for the site," Bonnie said. "We’re just gonna look real quick and see what it is."

"Oh God," Carty said. Terrified, she turned away. She could still hear the singing. That fucking voice.

Bonnie retrieved the flashlight from her pocket. "Just follow me, alright," she told Carty.

Carty took an angry step toward her. "No-"

"Then what do you want us to do!" Bonnie interrupted. "The door’s that way, Carty." 

The repetitious singing went on in its hypnotic loop. Now the voice was even louder, as if it was begging for an audience.

Groaning, the scared Carty looked off toward the fireplace.

Bonnie ran her hand along Carty’s shoulder. "Think of the show, babe," Bonnie said in a gentle tone. "Think of us."

Carty confronted her. "I am!" Carty yelled. "But this is crazy, Bonnie." Her trembling hand pointed toward the fireplace. "Whoever’s here made the Goddamn fire!"

Forcing a smile, Bonnie turned on the flashlight and put it up under her face in a playful manner. "Then let’s just hope it’s a ghost."

Like an amateur field reporter, Bonnie showed equal parts bravery and stupidity as she took off for the downstairs hallway. Toward the singer’s lair..

"Shit, Bonnie!" Carty yelled after her. Left alone in frustration, Carty looked down and saw the mic lying on the ground. Desperate, she snatched it up and hoisted the mic like a weapon.

*

Still filming, Bonnie staggered through the hallway. Her steps slow. Unlike Carty, her filmmaking skills were non-existent. The footage she was shooting would’ve been shaky-cam quality at best or nausea-inducing at worst. Bonnie’s nervous excitement was getting the better of her.

The singing was now deafening, echoing through the farmhouse without the aid of a speaker.

Relying on the camera’s light, Bonnie stopped in the middle of the hallway, searching the ominous landscape for any sign of the singer.

The singer’s voice was harsher. Now not so much a song as it was a mumbled compulsion.

Bonnie listened closely. She could discern the words and could finally understand the lyrics.

Eyes without a face. Eyes without a face, got no human grace...

The singer repeated this same chorus in slow, agonizing fashion.

Bonnie remembered the song. A 1983 pop song. Eyes Without A Face. But it wasn’t being sung with the clear, brooding tone of Billy Idol. It sounded like a harrowing soliloquy from someone in an asylum cell. Not an eloquent ballad courtesy of Idol. This was someone’s serenade to alienation. And they wouldn’t stop. Hell, maybe they couldn’t stop.

Got no human grace. Your eyes without a face...

The singer wasn’t even bothering to hold a tune at this point. Their bitter tone just had to keep repeating these words like they were safe words. Pop music for their sanity.

Eyes without a face...

Holding on tight to the camera, Bonnie waved it around the room. But she didn’t see anything. All the while, the voice continued, seemingly taunting her.

Got no human grace. Your eyes without a face...

Bonnie turned and looked down the narrow hallway. The front door was still shut. No way the singer was outside. "What the Hell..." Bonnie said to herself.

Reaching out of the darkness, Carty’s hand snatched Bonnie’s arm.

For once, Bonnie jumped in fear. "Shit!" she exclaimed as she faced Carty.

"It’s just me," Carty said in a hushed tone. The fact that Bonnie was this jumpy destroyed Carty’s hope that the singing was "just the wind" or some other lame excuse.

"Damn, girl, you scared the shit outta me!"

Eyes without a face...

Hearing the singer’s unnerving cover of Eyes Without A Face, Carty’s frantic eyes searched the room. "Where is he?" she asked Bonnie.

Bonnie broke away from her. "Shit, I don’t know!"

Carty saw the closed front door. Faint hope struck her. They had a straight shot to escape.

Your eyes without a face...

The mysterious voice was more violent and hectic on this time around. Idol’s lyrics now spouted in a wild burst. A burst that came from the staircase.

Carty turned and saw Bonnie rush toward those stairs. "Bonnie, no!" Carty yelled.

Hellbent on securing the footage, Bonnie held her camera out in front of her as she made her way to the staircase. Too determined to notice how shitty her handheld filmmaking was.

"Let’s get the fuck outta here!" Carty yelled after Bonnie.

Got no human grace. Your eyes without a face...

Terrified, Carty ran toward the stairs. Toward Bonnie. She couldn’t let the love of her life confront the eerie voice alone. "Bonnie!" she yelled.

Your eyes without a face...

Bonnie laid one foot on the first wooden step. A grueling creak erupted.

Carty grabbed Bonnie’s arm, stopping her from going further. "Bonnie, please!" Carty pleaded.

Annoyed, Bonnie pulled her arm back. "Carty, just chill!"

Got no human grace. Your eyes without a face...

Both women listened in horror. The voice was louder than ever. And the couple now realized it was coming from beneath them.

Carty grabbed Bonnie’s arm, ready to lead them off to the front door at around 100 miles per hour. "Let’s go-"

The small door under the staircase burst open with great force. 

Carty let out a horrified scream.

A masked person emerged from the closet beneath the staircase. A tall, slender figure. Their outfit couldn’t mask what was undoubtedly evil intentions. They wore black leather gloves. A gray hooded bathrobe perfect for an occult ceremony. They made their way toward the uneasy couple.

A black paper-mâché mask with painted red streaks covered the mysterious person’s face. But it couldn’t hide their glowering eyes. The mask was homemade and looked faded with age. A paper-mâché recreation of a melancholy face. A face that wasn’t overtly feminine or masculine. Like an androgynous Angel of death.

The figure’s gloves tightened their grip on the handle of a double bit axe. Both ends of the vicious weapon were clean and pristine. Sharp as Hell as well.

The masked person didn’t say a word or sing the Idol lyrics as they marched toward the scared Carty and Bonnie. 

A horrifying realization became clear to both women: they were this singer’s target all along.

Trying to play tough, Bonnie pulled Carty up on the stairs with her. "What the fuck is this!" she yelled at the figure.

Like she was aiming a gun, Bonnie pointed the camera right at the figure.

The singer stopped a few feet away from them. They stood tall and strong, basking in the camera’s glorious light.

Carty stared at the singer, petrified in fear.

"Leave us alone, asshole!" Bonnie yelled.

The singer just looked at them with those unflinching eyes.

Carty couldn’t tell if the masked intruder was either studying them or challenging the couple to make the first move. Even hidden behind a robe and mask, the figure seemed too confident, Carty thought. They weren’t scared like us.

"Well, what the fuck you gonna do, huh!" Bonnie hurled at the singer. "You little bitch!"

Carty looked between Bonnie and the figure, hesitant on what to do. Maybe Bonnie was being too antagonistic, but Carty had seen Bonnie’s tough-butch routine work plenty of times. If there was one thing Carty was confident in, it was that Bonnie could back up that mouth.

"Yeah, you’re just a pussy!" Bonnie continued to the singer. Taunting the figure, she stepped off the stairs and walked toward them. "I got your bitchass on camera now!"

To Carty’s surprise, both the figure and Bonnie were the same height. Close to the same build. Minus the axe, this’d be a fair fight.

"We already called the cops," Bonnie shouted at the figure. She put the camera up toward the androgynous mask. "We got your ass too! Fucking stalker bitch!"

The masked figure’s gloved hands gripped the handle tighter. Their muscles flexed through the robe. The singer belied their uneven voice with real brute strength. Any more pressure in their grip, and the wooden handle would’ve probably snapped in two.

Uncomfortable, Carty watched the confrontation unfold. The figure’s rage seemed to accelerate with each one of Bonnie’s insults.

Bonnie gave the figure a harsh shove. "Get outta the way, bitch!" Bonnie yelled.

But the singer didn’t budge at all. They stood tall. Their broad shoulders were only the beginning of a sculpted frame. 

Carty reached into her pocket. She felt her phone. All she needed was the perfect time pull that baby out and dial the cops. Even f she was hesitant to do so considering her and Bonnie’s modest criminal record.

Ready to fight back, Bonnie raised the flashlight up toward that fucking mask. "You stupid bitch-"

In a quick and sudden movement, the singer’s gloved hand snatched Bonnie’s wrist.

"Bonnie!" Carty said in horror.

Bonnie tried to break free but didn’t have a chance. The figure’s grip was harsh and stronger than Bonnie expected. During the struggle, Bonnie dropped the camera.

It hit the ground and slid over by the first step, the camera’s red record light still on. The lens pointed right at the stairway, putting the spotlight now on the frightened Carty.

Bonnie turned and looked toward Carty. "Carty, run!" she yelled.

Leaving her phone in her pocket, Carty rushed toward them. Saving her lover was more important than calling a bunch of bumpkin-fuck police officers.

Using her free hand, Bonnie tried to swing on the figure, but the blows didn’t bother them in the slightest. Instead, their stoic mask just looked straight at Bonnie. No anger on the androgynous face. Just nothingness.

"Bonnie!" Carty yelled. She tried to pull Bonnie away from the clutches of the singer.

"No, go!" Bonnie screamed. She pushed Carty toward the front door. "Get out!"

"I ain’t leaving you!" Carty proclaimed. Channeling her inner Bonnie, Carty raised the wireless mic like a baton.

Acting quick, the singer threw Bonnie back against the staircase.

Bonnie tripped on the first step and busted her ass on the uncomfortable stairs. All the steps caved in slightly beneath her weight.

The singer turned and honed their gaze on Carty.

"Run, Carty!" Bonnie pleaded.

Advancing upon Carty, the figure raised the axe with the flourish of a knight unsheathing a long sword.

Overcome in fear, Carty held on to the mic and backed against a wall. The eerie mask quashed her newfound "bravery." 

"Carty!" Bonnie yelled. Cringing in pain, she leaned up on the staircase. "Carty, run!"

The singer held their weapon out and traced both blades against Carty’s fragile face.

"No!" Bonnie cried out. She staggered back to her feet.

Disturbed, Carty swung the mic toward the mask in a pathetic attempt at protecting herself. "Get back!" she said in a loud whimper.

With unnerving agility, the figure dodged the mic. They hoisted the axe back for the fatal blow.

"Oh God..." Carty said, helpless. She pressed her head against the wall, wishing she could dissolve into it before suffering at the hands of the double bit axe.

Bonnie rushed toward them. "Carty!" she cried.

The singer brought the axe down in a forceful swing.

Carty shut her eyes, bracing for the vicious hit.

A messy THWACK erupted in the farmhouse.

Thick drops sprayed across the the floor.

Realizing she was still alive, Carty opened her eyes in confusion. Then she screamed in a bellow of distraught horror.

The axe protruded out the top of Bonnie’s skull. Bonnie had gotten in front of the weapon just in time. Just in time to save Carty.

Bonnie stood still as if the sheer force of the hit had frozen her in place. Blood flowed all down her face and body. Like she was a fountain of flowing red water.

Weeping, Carty looked down at her hands. Another helpless scream escaped her lips. Gallons of Bonnie’s blood had splattered across Carty’s smooth skin.

The crimson spots resembled an incurable disease. Then again, it was. Bonnie was dead. And Carty was next.

The helplessness only further set in for Carty once the masked killer yanked the axe back out without so much as a grunt.

The effortless pull sent more of Bonnie’s blood spraying across Carty’s mortified face.

Bonnie’s corpse tumbled to the ground. The vivid wound had split the top of her head open. Her blood and gray matter spewed out like a spilled bowl of mushy fruit. Bonnie’s face forever frozen in fear, her dead eyes looking straight at Carty.

Horrified, Carty stared at her deceased girlfriend. This wasn’t the Bonnie she wanted to remember. This wasn’t the sexy, confident Bonnie she’d fallen in love with. This was a slaughtered corpse.

A flurry of quick whacks from the figure’s axe ravaged those final moments between Carty and Bonnie. Like an unstoppable machine, the singer swung the axe straight down onto Bonnie’s face, smashing it into a hundred red pieces.

Tears falling down her face, Carty screamed. "Bonnie! No!"

The masked intruder heaved the axe back. The axe’s cleanliness was now marred by thick, wet blood. Both sides of the weapon for that matter.

Quicker than a lion on the prowl, the killer turned and faced Carty. Blood and grue was all over their mask. At least now, the androgynous mask had some literal color.

But their cold eyes chilled Carty to the bone. And the killer didn’t seem exhausted in the slightest. They were just getting started.

Carty knew there was nothing else she could do. She hauled ass for the front door.

The singer lunged right in front of her, blocking Carty’s path.

Panicking, Carty took a few nervous steps back. "No!" she yelled at the singer. "Fuck you!"

The killer matched her every step, even matching Carty’s speed. The gap never closed between them, but to Carty, the mask and axe only seemed to get closer.

"Fuck you!" Carty screamed. She swung the wireless mic at the androgynous mask.

Taunting Carty, the killer dodged her swing with lackadaisical ease.

"You crazy bitch!" Carty screamed at the singer.

In an eruption of madness, the murderer raised the axe and went charging after Carty.

"No!" Carty shouted. Lowering the mic, she turned and ran toward the staircase.

Her feet splashed through her lover’s blood. Hearing the singer’s heavy footsteps, Carty turned and saw them gaining ground. Goddamn, he was fast!

Carty reached the stairs. With the joy of a runner completing a marathon, she put her foot on that first step in triumph. A shrill creak greeted her ears.

Right behind Carty, the killer lunged forward and swung the axe with all their might.

A nasty slice to the Achilles tendon dashed both Carty’s hope at escape. She screamed in a most horrific agony as she fell onto the flight of stairs.

Slipping from Carty’s grasp, the mic went flying through the air and smashed into the wall in front of her.

Helpless, Carty looked at her wound. The cut on the Achilles was rough and brutal. The mark of the axe’s blade wasn’t clean in the slightest.

Like a grisly sprinkler, blood shot out of Carty’s Achilles in thick spurts. Carty couldn’t bear to look at the wound... and looking back at the hallway only meant having to see Bonnie’s mutilated body once more.

Carty grabbed the cut in a pitiful attempt to stop the bleeding. Instead, all she got was a firsthand feel of a dam bursting with her own blood.

She looked over and saw the murderer step right toward her. Their axe only looked to be clamoring for more of Carty. As if one side of the double bit weapon felt left out from the Achilles slash.

Overwhelmed in fear, Carty turned and tried to stand up, but the attempt only stretched her heel’s hack to even greater depths. The window of the wound spread even wider, exposing bloodied muscle within her skin. 

"Ah, fuck!" Carty unleashed in an awful scream.

She watched the killer stand up over her. "No!" Carty yelled. She attempted to crawl away, the damaged Achilles making Carty resemble an animal struggling to escape with a trap enclosed around its leg. Straining, she laid an elbow on the next step.

The wooden step collapsed under Carty’s weight. She yelled as her arm disappeared through the busted wood. "Fuck!" Carty cried out, weary helplessness in her tone.

Sitting further away, Bonnie’s camcorder filmed Carty’s agony in all its visceral glory.

Taunting Carty, the killer put the axe to Carty’s face.

An exhausted Carty looked on at the blood-stained mask. Its indiscernible features never failed to terrify her. The mask was somewhere between the world’s creepiest mannequin and the face of a stoic high school psychopath.

"Why?" Carty asked the singer in defeat. She struggled to fight back her tears. "Why are you doing this?"

At a deliberate pace, the killer lowered the axe and leaned in closer toward Carty.

With uncomfortable fear, Carty watched them get closer. "No..." she muttered. 

The singer’s gloved hand reached out and stroked Carty’s golden hair.

To Carty’s surprise, their touch wasn’t rough but gentle. Even as the glove tinged Carty’s hair with a redness that mirrored the red stains scattered across the singer’s mask.

Determined, Carty reached out and pulled off the androgynous mask.

Carty’s expression was hit by an unsettling wave of confusion. Somehow, the situation had gotten weirder. And scarier.

Underneath the mask was a human face. The face of a middle-aged black woman. A stern, masculine face with wide eyes and hollow cheekbones. Streaks of red dye in her short hair. Her rough features couldn’t hide her natural beauty. Even given her athletic frame, she could’ve been an unorthodox model if she ever gave a damn about dolling herself up.

The killer looked just as surprised as Carty. Maybe other victims had wanted to see what she looked like before... but no one had ever lived long enough to actually unmask the singer.

"No," Carty said in a terrified whimper. Clutching the mask, she tried to pull her arm out of the busted step. But she was trapped. Trapped with a mysterious female killer.

The murderer leaned back and raised her axe. Her eyes stared down upon Carty. Eyes more expressionless than the mask.

All Carty could do was stare back at the killer. "Please," Carty said, frightened. "Don’t do-"

With primal strength, the killer sunk the blade straight into the side of Carty’s neck, slicing into her precious jugular. The force of the hit made Carty’s head tilt to the side. 

Upon impact, the back of Carty’s head collapsed onto a step, busting through the ancient wood. Much like her entrapped arm, Carty’s head dangled through the shattered opening.

Grisly threads of her flesh were exposed. Blood scurried all down her body. All the way down her arms and all the way down to the mask she still held in her dead grip.

The axe still stuck straight out of Carty’s neck. The other side of the weapon had finally gotten its taste of Carty.

Recovering from the kills, the murderer leaned against the stairway’s railing. She stole a brief admiring glance down at Carty’s corpse. Carty was still pretty after all... even after death.

As she took off her gloves like an employee clocking out, the killer’s soft voice drifted through the room. It was the pretty voice she had earlier. Before her singing went off the rails and morphed into a demented compulsion. "Eyes without a face, got no human grace," the murderer sang with the reserved shyness of an awkward teenager at a talent show.

Finishing the chorus, she wiped sweat off her brow. Her eyes gazed over at the camcorder’s beaming light.

Intrigued, the killer approached the camera, stepping through the overflowing blood. She scooped up the camcorder in excitement and tinkered with it. Even a sly smile crossed her lips.

The murderer looked over at both dead bodies. The sexy lesbian couple. The killer almost seemed like she regretted killing off the two hotties. But deep down, she knew she had to. She wanted those sweet kills.

Turning her attention back to the camera, the singer played back all the footage from earlier.

Her eyes were particularly drawn to one specific scene: Carty and Bonnie’s steamy farmhouse sex. The killer traced her finger along the camera’s screen, right over the couple’s nubile bodies. Excitement shattered through the singer’s shield of coldness.

Next Chapter: