The Butcher of Camp Barlow

by Derek Slaton

  “Okay, Daphne, you’re right,” he said. He squinted suddenly, catching a glimpse of what appeared to be an arm in the distance. He stepped cautiously past his girlfriend to investigate, and all the hairs on her neck stood up.

  “What is it?” she hissed.

  “I think I see someone,” he replied, pushing his way through the brush. As he approached the clearing, he realized it was an arm dangling motionless beside a tree. “Cooper, is that you buddy?” he asked, hoping to hear his longtime friend tell him to fuck off because he was getting some.

  But no answer came.

  Pete grabbed Daphne’s hand as they reached the clearing, both of them grimacing at their friends’ gruesome demise. Heather’s head was still firmly attached to Cooper’s crotch as the ground beneath them soaked up their still warm blood.

  “Oh my god, that’s a horrible way to go,” Pete whispered. He stepped up behind Heather. “Baby, I need you to look away.”

  “What are you doing?” She gasped as he planted his foot into Heather’s back and wrapped both hands around the machete that was holding their friends together. She covered her mouth to prevent from retching as the blade grinded against her teeth and skull.

  The recently deceased couple collapsed onto one another after Pete retrieved his newfound weapon. He stepped back over to his girlfriend before bending down to pick up Cooper’s lighter that was laying beside his corpse.

  “If we’re going back then we’re going to need to be armed,” he said as he handed her the lighter. “Here take this, we might need it.”

  Daphne nodded and pocketed the lighter with shaking hands. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “We’re going to run straight for the van, you’re going to check Ritchie’s pocket and I’m going to keep watch.” Pete replied. “You find the keys, you get in, and you start it up.”

  She chewed her bottom lip. “What about Edgar and Marie? We can’t just leave them behind to die.”

  Pete was conflicted, as his first priority was to get the woman he loved to safety, not to mention himself. But he knew if he didn’t at least try to save the other two then she’d never forgive him.

  “Okay, when we’re in the van and have it running we’ll honk the horn,” he suggested. “If they show up, we all get out together. If that maniac shows up we hightail it out of there.”

  She crossed her arms. “And just leave them behind?”

  “We won’t be able to help them if we’re dead hon. We’ll get to a phone and call the police and they’ll just hide until help arrives. Easy peasy,” he said, in an attempt to comfort her.

  Deep down he felt that if they weren’t in the van with them there was a good chance they were goners, but he needed her to stay hopeful so they could survive.

  Daphne’s voice trembled as she spoke. “Pete, I love you-”

  “I love you too babe,” he replied, cupping her cheek gently. “Now come on, let’s get outta here.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Marie’s eyes were swollen and red, the image of her lover being lobotomized by an axe wielding maniac seared into her memory. Tears streamed down her face as she haphazardly ran down a makeshift path in the woods, stumbling over every exposed root and rock the forest had to offer.

  A branch snapped in the distance, freaking out the already traumatized girl. She turned to run faster, but her feet betrayed her. Her foot caught on a branch, sending the brunette beauty tumbling face first into the dirt.

  Panic set in as the disturbances in the forest grew louder. She struggled to get to her feet, moving as fast as she could, but it wasn’t fast enough.

  The Butcher moved into view when she peeked over her shoulder, his bloody axe in tow. Her screams only seemed to make him move faster, like a dinner bell summoning a hungry farmer to the table.

  Distracted, Marie never saw the suspicious leaf pile in the middle of the trail, although with her lack of outdoor experience it was unlikely she would have noticed it anyway.

  Her foot stamped down in the middle of the pile, rubber meeting metal as she set off a rusted bear trap. The jaws of the device dug deep into her calf muscle, triggering shrieks that echoed through the woods for no one to hear. Searing pain shot through her body, dropping her to one knee.

  “Help! Somebody help me!” she cried.

  Her attempts to pry the device open were fruitless. It had been designed to capture and hold quarter ton creatures, so a hundred pound girl stood no chance against it. “Please! Anybody!”

  The savage towered above her before moving in close to inspect his prey. She continued to cry and plead as he poked around the booby trap.

  “Heheheheheheh,” he gleefully hissed, sending Marie into a full blown panic attack.

  The beast left her side, moving to the tree next to them. Moments later he emerged holding a thick chain with a noose on the end, tossing it over the large limb above them.

  “Oh god, oh god, oh god. You don’t have to do this!” Marie sobbed, her pleas falling on deaf ears. She attempted to fight against the behemoth as he draped the metallic lariat around her neck.

  She continued to beg for mercy as the Butcher yanked forcefully on the chain, rapidly elevating the young woman off the ground. The noose tightened, slowly strangling the life out of her.

  As she swung slowly like a pendulum, he raised his axe and swung with all his might.

  The bloodied edge impacted just above her hip bone, shredding through her stomach and intestines. The cut would have been a clean one if not for her spine slowing the momentum of the mighty slash. The Butcher watched with delight as Marie rocked back and forth across the trail, her innards slipping out of her torso.

  “Heheheheheheheheh...”

  Like a child playing with a new toy, he pushed the disemboweled shell to keep it in motion. The corpse gracefully swung through the air, painting a bright red design on the forest floor. When she slowed the beast pushed her again, but the force of the shove severed the lower half of her body from the top. The Butcher looked on in disappointment as his plaything was irrevocably broken.

  He remained fixated until she stopped moving, wanting to get every ounce of enjoyment from her while he could. As the body came to a stop, the Butcher moved back towards the camp with purpose.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Oh my god, Edgar,” Daphne gasped as they surveyed the crumpled body from the head of the trail. “Where’s Marie?”

  “I don’t know hon,” Pete replied, but he knew that if Edgar was cut down that Marie virtually no chance at survival. He carefully scanned the area, relieved to see no movement at all. “Okay, I don’t see that big bastard, so we gotta move now.”

  He sprinted towards the van, brandishing the still bloody machete. His girlfriend followed closely behind, keeping her head down to avoid looking at Edgar’s body.

  “Coast is clear, find the keys Daphne!” Pete instructed, moving between the van and the edge of the woods.

  Daphne was hesitant to touch Ritchie’s body, even more so now than when he was alive, although it was a close call. She hovered over him, attempting to summon the courage to riffle through his pockets.

  “Have you found them yet?” Pete demanded, his eyes fixated on the tree line.

  “Not, not yet,” Daphne hesitantly replied. She took a deep breath to psych herself up then dove in like a champ. Reaching in to his right pocket she felt cool metal, resulting in panicked excitement. “I feel them!”

  Her boyfriend huffed. “Well get them out and let’s go!”

  She removed the keys from Ritchie’s pocket, but as she pulled her jerked towards her. She squeaked and dropped the keys, blood pounding in her ears before she realized what had happened. “Shit, they’re attached to him!”

  “Can you get them?” Pete barked the question, momentarily breaking his watch on the woods and staring her down.

  She turned to snap at him that she was doing the best she could, but her voice came out a terrified squeak at the hulking figure emerging from the t
ree line. “Look out!”

  He looked back in time to see the maniac closing fast on him. He raised the machete to defend himself, but the Butcher’s blood coated hand wrapped around his throat. The killer’s momentum slammed Pete into the side of the van, his head ricocheting off of the tacky barbarian airbrushed there. The violent impact rendered the boy unconscious, and his blade tumbled to the ground.

  Daphne thought she might die of fright as she stood there and watched the life being choked out of the love of her life.

  The fallen machete caught her eye, and without thinking she crawled underneath Pete’s dangling legs and grabbed the blade. She quickly rose to her feet and thrust, driving it a good six inches into the slayer’s gut.

  The Butcher let out a primal scream and dropped his victim to the ground, arms flailing wildly in response to the pain. He caught Daphne across the face, sending her tumbling backwards.

  As she picked herself up, the Butcher pulled the machete from his gut like it was nothing more than a small splinter. He tossed it aside before beginning pursuit of his final target.

  The brunette sprinted towards the house, reaching it well before her injured predator. She slammed the front door shut and threw the lock, hoping that it would be enough to keep him at bay.

  An uncomfortable silence fell over the house. No banging on the door, no shattering of glass, just silence. A panicking Daphne quickly ran to the kitchen, grabbing a steak knife off the countertop.

  Trembling and terrified, she held the knife out as far as she could, her body jolting in response to every little creaking sound. She began a slow and steady breathing regiment to calm herself down, a technique her high school volleyball coach taught her.

  Normally when she employed this it was to steady herself for a big serve, not to help her survive a massacre. After a few moments her hands steadied, but this was short lived.

  The front door latch exploded from the force of the Butcher bursting through, using Ritchie’s corpse as a battering ram. Daphne froze and watched helplessly as he tossed the lifeless body aside like a child bored with his toy.

  Blood from the machete wound pooled around his gut, staining the grungy dark blue shirt just a little darker.

  She broke from her stance like a sprinter out of the blocks, hitting the bottom step before the Butcher could react. He quickly followed, squealing with delight at the chase. Daphne reached the landing first, grabbing a book from the shelf.

  As the killer approached the top step, she launched the hardcover at him, striking his face and distracting him for a brief moment. Seizing the opportunity, she lunged forward with her blade, impaling her pursuer in the shoulder. He instinctively lurched back at the strike, throwing him off balance. His massive size combined with gravity did the rest.

  Skull violently met wood as the Butcher’s head crashed into the stairs. His body slid down the remaining steps, coming to rest gently on the first floor.

  She remained vigilant, careful to notice any movement from the deranged killer. When none came, she grabbed another book from the shelf and lobbed it in his direction. It bounced off his large blood soaked belly, drawing no reaction.

  “Slow and steady Daphne, just like coach taught you.” She cautiously moved down the stairs, pausing half a dozen steps from the killer’s feet. Not wanting to risk a surprise attack, she leaped over the banister, landing hard on the wooden floor. When she was satisfied the Butcher wasn’t disturbed by her actions, she ran over to Ritchie’s body.

  The impact from the door had further mutilated his carcass, making him even more repulsive than he was in life. Her hesitancy gone, Daphne rolled him over and went straight for the keys. The keyring was attached to a large silver clamp hooked around his belt loop. She struggled to open it before realizing there was a tightening screw that needed to be loosened.

  “Could you be any more paranoid Ritchie?” she muttered.

  As she freed the keys in triumph and sprung to her feet. Before she could turn towards the door she pitched forward, hitting the cabinets hard. The force of the impact dislodged the keys from her hand and they skittered across the counter.

  As she whipped around, a bloody bandaged hand wrapped around her throat.

  “Heheheheheheheh,” the Butcher chuckled, happy to have his plaything again.

  Daphne swung with everything she could muster, catching the killer in the face.

  “Heheheheheheheh,” he continued to laugh, unfazed by her blow.

  She threw her fist forward again, catching him directly in the jaw. He didn’t get angry, just laughed as he tossed her aside to the ground. As she struggled to get to her feet he picked up the keys and dangled them in front of her like a mother trying to soothe a crying baby. Without warning, he launched them across the house and into the back room.

  “Fuck you!” Daphne yelled as she hobbled out the door.

  The Butcher yelled, displeased that his toy wasn’t playing fetch with him. He pursued her out the front of the house and towards the dilapidated bunkhouse. She vanished into it a few seconds before he could reach it, the door slamming against the frame but not latching.

  The interior of the building was in shambles as the fire a decade ago had done a number on it. Charred beams criss crossed the structure, destroyed bed frames were scattered randomly about, and there was a large hole at the base of the sidewall some wildlife had created to find shelter for an evening. The structural integrity of the dwelling had achieved supermodel status, in that a strong gust of wind could knock it completely over.

  Breathe, but not loudly... Daphne thought as she took cover behind some burned out bed frames. Her hiding place was very obvious given the layout of the room, but the last thing she needed was to give the maniac any more help. She tensed up as the door slowly creaked open, footsteps following closely behind.

  “Heheheheheheheh,” her opponent laughed, as if he were a child playing hide and seek.

  The footsteps grew louder, forcing her hand. She dove towards the hole at the base of the side wall, hoping that she was thin enough to fit through.

  The Butcher saw her and immediately darted after her. The fit was tight, but she was able to squeeze the top half of her body through the opening. She screamed as he gripped her ankle and jerked back on it. In desperation, she pressed her hands on the outside wall, hoping that somehow his grip would falter.

  “Heheheheheheheheh,” he continued to laugh.

  Daphne continued to thrash her legs about in an attempt to break free, but to no avail—his grip was too strong. As she held onto for dear life, the wall swayed dramatically every time he pulled, as if it was ready to come down.

  “Come on Buddy, you can’t get me!” she taunted. She braced for pain as he yanked as hard as he could. The wood beneath her arms cracked as she lurched forward, splinters digging into her skin. The wall swayed violently as he continued to yank on her. “Come on!”

  He yelled as he gave one more violent tug, causing the decaying wall to finally tumble over. He dropped Daphne’s leg to protect himself from the falling burnt wood, raising his arms to his face at it impacted him.

  While freed from the killer’s grasp, Daphne’s gambit came at a price. Chunks of the building crashed down on her legs. She winced as the wooden beams dug into her lower extremities.

  She struggled to stand up, amazed at her luck that the collapse hadn’t crippled her. The walk back to the house was a slow ordeal, with the pain limiting her to a step every few seconds.

  “Yeah, sorry coach I can’t play the rest of the season,” she muttered. “Why? Well it’s a funny story, you see this building collapsed on my legs while this axe wielding maniac chased me.” She stumbled back into the cottage. “Keys, I need the keys. Where did you throw them you bastard?”

  She waddled across the floor towards the back room, where she believed the killer tossed Ritchie’s keys. Upon reaching the door she blindly felt the wall before discovering the light switch. A single 40 watt bulb dangled, illuminating the tiny eigh
t by eight foot room. She scanned the floor and was relieved to see them resting against the back wall.

  As she leaned over to get them there was a loud thud from the doorway. Startled, she tumbled to the ground.

  “Why won’t you die?!” she yelled, whipping around as fast as her injury allowed.

  Pete stood in the doorway. “Good to see you too hon,” he wheezed, his throat still marked with the Butcher’s handprints.

  Daphne collapsed, her back resting against the wall. She smiled and began laughing as she held up the bloody set of keys. “You wanna get out of here?”

  “You have no idea,” he said as he moved towards her.

  His progress was interrupted when a bloody bandaged hand grabbed his shoulder.