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I Don’t Wanna Wait for Your Lives to Be Over

By Brian Prisco | Miscellaneous | October 9, 2009 |

By Brian Prisco | Miscellaneous | October 9, 2009 |

The following is Round II of the Boogeyman Project. If you missed the introduction and Round I, please click here.

“You dial.”
“C’mon. I did the last one.”
“This is the first time!”

The two teenagers gazed through the window at the couple necking on the couch. They both wore long black robes. One held a cell phone, the other held a hunting knife. They both carried long white Munch masks.

“Just call her and ask ‘Do you like scary movies?’”
“Why are we doing this?”
“We’re B-movie actors, pushing thirty. The best we can hope for is to be the killer.”
“That’s not fair.”
“They aren’t even giving us character names. People are just assuming we’re Skeet Ulrich and Matthew Lilliard.”
“That’s bullsh—”

The one holding the knife turned to the bushes behind them as they gently rustled A shadowy figure seemed to be looming just in the shadows.

“Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“That sound?”
“What sound?”
“What the fuck? Are we Abbott and Costello now? The sound!”
“What fucking sound?”
“Is that a piano or a tch-tch-tch-hah-hah-hah?”
“What are you— OH MY GOD!”

He pointed through the window as a chainsaw-wielding maniac lopped off the heads of both of the reclining teens with one fell swing. Blood geysered from their necks as the aproned butcher bellowed and raged.

“Did you see that?”
“Yeah! How the fuck do you sneak up on someone with a chainsaw?”
“What? Oh, no!”

The bushes began to rustle louder. The gentle tinkle of piano keys played over the breeze, blending with a menacing breathing sound. Both steadily began to crescendo as the two teens turned towards each other.

“Which way?”

The cell phone teen opened his mouth to make a point when a rusty baling hook jagged into his mouth and yanked him backwards. A grizzled old fisherman in a rain slicker grinned down at him. “Caughtcha.”

The Fisherman twisted the hook, spearing into the teen’s brain. His eyes rolled up in his head. The Fisherman tore it free and scowled at the other teen.

The teen backed off, raising his hands. “Bullshit. I’m not getting killed by Spencer Pratt’s father.”
“Oh, you little shit. You know how much I hate that joke?”
“You know how much I’m gonna stick you, Gorton?”
“More fucking fish stick jokes. I’m gonna cut you, pretty boy, and then hang you up to dry.”
“Yo-ho-blow me.”

That would be the last word on the matter, as the bushes exploded. A machete-swinging, hockey-masked Jason plunged his blade into the Scream teen’s chest just as Michael Myers emerged from behind him and jammed a butcher knife into the boy’s back. The two silent killers tugged to free their weapons from the struggling boy. He screamed, mostly because it was the ironical hipster thing to do. Michael shoved against the teen’s back, his knife hooked in a rib. Jason tried ripping his machete upwards, pulling it through the boy.

The Fisherman laughed at the two killers as they tug-o-boyed for their weapons. This was cut short by Leatherface smashing through the bay window and landing saw first on the Fisherman. His slicker rained with blood as Leatherface went straight down through him with the saw.

The Scream boy grunted, “…can’t….hear…a…fucking…saw?…the…hell…”

As both halves of the Fisherman went starboard and port, Leatherface shrieked and shook his bloody saw in the air. Jason and Michael looked at each other and started tugging harder. Jason swung the handle, turning the boy and Michael towards Leatherface. Leatherface’s saw came ripping into Michael’s shoulder. Michael writhed, and jerked to the side, pitching Jason into the path of the saw. Jason caught the chainsaw in the chest, shuddering as it bit down into his breastbone. Jason heaved backwards, pulling the Scream kid into the saw. The saw sank into his neck, catching on the spine.

The three murderers started do-si-doing, trying to yank their weapons free when a cloaked figure in a mask appeared from the bushes and stabbed Michael in the shoulder. Another came from the side of the building, carrying a katana, which he swung at Jason. A third rose up from the roof, and a fourth. More and more, dressed in Ghostface masks, carrying knives, swarmed from all directions. They leapt on to Leatherface, climbing his back and working at his face with the blades. Jason grabbed one of the teens and held him aloft as the others sprung at his shoulders, pulling him down. Michael caught a kid by the neck and throttled him, but the others slashed at his arms and face. The three slayers went down under the onslaught of Ghostface killers. Several of the kids were left mauled, broken by the merciless killing machines, but eventually the three monsters were left bleeding and dead on the ground.

“I can’t believe we won!” shouted one of the girl killers.
“Neither will anyone else. One by one, we’re weak, but en masse we’re unstoppable.”
“I can’t believe all it took was knives. I thought they’d be harder to kill.”
“Well, fortunately, you chopped off their heads.”
“We what?”

A Scream teen went down as Jason’s machete took off his leg at the hip. Michael Myers latched on to a teen’s robe and pulled him down, bones crunching under his massive fury. Leatherface sprung up fiercely, punching a ragged fist into the back of one of the masks until blood sprayed through the eye holes.

“They’re risers! You have to take their heads! Cut them to pieces!” The boy grabbed Leatherface’s saw from his compadre’s corpse and ran towards where his friends were scrambling the pin down the killers. Others grabbed up hooks and knives and blades and started rending the maniacs to shreds. A Ghostface with a wheelbarrow carried the pieces towards the woodshed.

The others sat on the ground, breathing heavily. “Have none of you ever seen Jamie Kennedy’s video?”
“Like the rest of the world, I have never actively watched anything Jamie Kennedy’s ever done on purpose.”
“We need to cut them to pieces and bury them in consecrated ground. That’s the only way to be rid of them.”
“Did anyone tell that to Bob?”

Bob came from out of the woodshed, brushing his hands clean. A Ghostface shouted, “Bob! You bury them deep?”
“Bury them? Fuck that. I just chucked them in the furnace in the woodshed.”
“A furnace?! Are you crazy?”
“Burning’s as good as burying. They’ll turn to ash. Right?”
“Wrong! Fire never works! And a furnace? That’s where things get…reworked.”

The woodshed exploded outwards as the three killers stood shiny and new. The Ghostface squealed. “No. No, no, no. It’s REMAKES.”

Bay’s Leatherface cracked his neck, clutching a shiny amped-up chainsaw. Zombie’s Myers clutched a pitchfork. Bay’s Jason held a shovel, rusted jagged on one end. The Ghostface sounded like he was crying, “You just dumped Red Bull on a hacker. You killed us all.”

A bigger Ghostface picked up two knives and held them ready. “I’m not going down without a fight. Don’t be a pussy. You four, take on the cannibal tranny. The rest of us, split up and take out the mommy issues.”

The Ghostfaces went for the split swarm as the killers took their vengeance.

Leatherface’s saw sang, taking off arms and legs. A killer managed to get a knife into his saw shoulder, and he was thanked for his effort with a Stihl to the forehead, splitting his mask at the scream. Jason took out knee bones with his shovel, jammed the blade of the shovel into a Ghostface’s neck and separating the mask from the robe. Myers was taking a lot of abuse from the knife work, but he jabbed one of the teens in the face with the pitchfork, then in the stomach. One of the kids tried to escape, but Michael hurled the fork like a javelin, spearing the fleeing killer in the back.

Jason held the last Ghostface by both arms, pinning him to the ground as he stomped viciously down on his back, shattering his spine. He was the last to realize it was just the three of them. Michael made him painfully aware by jamming two knives into either side of his collarbone. Jason fell to a knee, reaching his arms back to swat him away. Michael forced the knives down as Jason struggled. He yanked them free intermittently, sticking the hockey-masked maniac like a pincushion. Jason got a hand on a loose knife and spiked it into Michael’s leg. Michael bellowed, but held strong. Jason twisted the knife free and gashed it into Michael’s crotch. Michael went down. Jason turned to stab again as Leatherface’s slaughterhouse swing stove in the front of his mask. Myers stabbed Jason in the chest as Leatherface battered his skull. Jason fell under the brutal beating.

Myers took the chance to stab Leatherface in the chest with his knife. Leatherface dropped his hammer and staggered backwards. Michael lurched towards him. Leatherface caught him by the jumpsuit and hoisted him in the air. Myers punched Leatherface in his deformed head, and the big man swooned under the abuse. He stumbled, and dropped Michael. On to his running chainsaw. Leatherface pressed down on Myers as he twitched, the sawblade biting up through his janitor’s outfit and tearing his torso in two.

Leatherface pulled the knife from his chest, and feeling clearly insane for having bested Jason Vorhees and Michael Myers, punted a Ghostface mask into the trees before slogging off towards the house to do more killing.

Brian Prisco is a bitter little man stomping sour grapes into fine whine in the valleys of North Hollywood. He’s a screenwriter who’s never been professionally produced, an actor who’s never joined a guild, and a director who made one bad film. He’s one waiter apron away from a cliche, and he’s available for children’s parties. You can tell him how much you hate him at priscogospel at hotmail dot com.

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