by Kaitlyn Koehler
The sound of rustling leaves could be heard in the distance. A screech of a crow echoed through the alleyways of the dark, damp suburbs of a small town not too far away from Kansas. Teenagers, children, and even adults lined the streets. Skeleton masks, doll masks, and blood-splattered masks filled the streets of teens awaiting the chime of the bells. The bells symbolized the start of Fright Night, the holiday most people dreaded. Fright Night starts at five pm on halloween night and end the day after at 5 am The night is filled with pranks, regular trick-or-treating, and occasionally, murder. For the last six years, two unidentified masked figures went around slaughtering the poor helpless children and teenagers of the town. Last year, Hunter Laurie had the unfortunate time of being the first, and surprisingly last, victim of the masked villains. This was the death to end all of the murder.
Hunter Laurie was a thirteen-year-old boy who went as the same thing for Halloween every year: Frankenstein. Hunter didn’t mind getting made fun of. He was content with what he had, plus, the older people would give him extra candy for being so cute. Hunter loved Fright Night more than anything. He loved getting candy and seeing kids prank the adults. That all changed when Hunter saw a prank he wasn’t supposed to see. Hunter was going down the street when he heard a yelp.
“Jesus, Paul, do you really need to put that much blood on her door? She’s already going to be upset when she sees her dog. I think you’ve done enough,” said a boy who Hunter recognized as Rowan Wallis. The Wallis brothers were notorious for doing the most horrific pranks every year. The year before, they had lit a church on fire. Paul Willis came up with each awful idea. He always claimed the same thing: “You wouldn’t yell at me if it were your kid who did it.” Every year a parent of the Willis boys would bail them out of jail. They were spoiled and never disciplined. When Hunter walked up on them spreading the blood on the door, he screamed.
“What the hell was that?” yelled Paul. He looked around until he locked eyes with Hunter, who was frozen in fear.
“You’re dead, kid!” Paul yelled. Paul ran after Hunter and Rowan quickly followed. Eventually they caught up to Hunter and threw him down. Hunter screamed as his wrist hit the hard ground and snapped. Rowan grabbed onto Paul’s shoulder.
“Don’t you think we should stop, Paul? C’mon, the kid’s hurt enough. All he’s going to do now is complain to his mommy.” Paul smirked and grabbed Hunter. Without saying a word, Paul quickly ran with Hunter to a place where he knew Hunter would never get out of. Paul was twisted and psychotic. Nobody knew of his nature to kill. Rowan followed silently. He knew what was about to happen.
“Paul, you can’t keep doing this. Someone is going to find out sooner or later. I can’t keep covering for you. This is getting ridiculous. You need help. You-” Rowan was cut off by Paul slapping him in the face.
“Do you think I like doing this? Huh? Do you think I like killing little kids? I can’t help it. I have to.” Rowan remained quiet as he continued to follow Paul to the place. The place where people are taken to die. Paul slammed Hunter down in a hard, rusty chair. Hunter groaned as the wind was knocked out of his fragile body. Paul tied down his arms and legs and put a blindfold on the kid. He didn’t like the poor victims to see themselves die. He had a little compassion. Rowan stayed close to the door that lead up to the sky above them. It made him sick to watch his brother torture innocent people.
Paul laughed and cried as he grabbed a knife from a hidden drawer. He needed to kill. He hated it, but he needed it. It was the only way he could keep peace in his life; the only way he could live a “normal” life. Paul slid the knife across Hunter’s face and sighed at the tears and blood flowing from the kid’s face.
“I’m sorry kid. You were at the wrong place at the wrong time. This has to be done.” Paul went down further and slit Hunter’s neck. Silence filled the room as the blood flowed from Hunter’s neck. Paul sighed and sat against the wall of his underground murder room. He then started laughing and used his knife to cut his own hand. He rubbed the blood from his hand on Hunter’s face. It was has signature mark. Out of nowhere, Paul felt a sharp pain in his back. The pain intensified. Paul reached around his back and grabbed the sharp object that was lodged in it. He looked at the object and noticed Rowan standing in front of him with tears in his eyes.
“I can’t let you do this anymore. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” Paul made a gurgling sound and fell over. Rowan walked out of the underground room and closed the latch door that kept it closed. He struck a match and threw it on the ground. In a matter of minutes, the whole area was engulfed in flames. Smoke filled the air. It was, however, the end of the terrible murders that occurred every year.
Hunter Laurie was never forgotten, but instead, celebrated. Fright Night became a holiday to celebrate those who died in that span of six years. Everyone enjoyed their nights and never worried about possibly being murdered. Nobody had to. The only problem that remained was Rowan’s guilty conscience. After all, he did backstab his brother.