The Butcher
It was a gloomy October night and Brendan’s parents had left their thirteen year old son home alone to his own devices: videogames and movies.
He waved to them through the window as they drove off, signaling his freedom. All of his friends were busy, meaning that Brendan was on his own.
He went back in and sat down to play some 16-bit glory. It lasted until he got hungry. He flipped the game off after dying again in Final Fantsy 2 and sifted through the stack of movies they let him rent from Kram’it and Go. He picked one out and put it on.
The trailer played as he microwaved the dinner his mom left him. His food finished heating up. He sat down and fast forwarded through the rest of the trailers for some B-movie slasher films until he found the words: Feature Presentation. From a black screen, the score started. Thunder clashed, but it wasn’t the movie. Rain pattered down and he looked out the window. It’d started storming, the perfect setting for a scary movie. He settled in on the couch digging into the beef stroganoff. The title appeared: The Butcher in the Woods.
The action moved quickly as a maniac escaped from a mad house and met his first unsuspecting victim, killing him with his bare hands and gaining a sackcloth mask and weapon. Meanwhile a group of teenagers arrived at a cabin a few miles down the road with all intentions of having a party. That was when it slowed down.
Brendan got up and grabbed a soda from the fridge and started making popcorn on the stove. He looked out the window, it’d gotten darker. The storm looked bad. There was another clash of thunder. He wished he wasn’t alone. Pop! The kernel exploding made him jump. He listened as the rest cooked.
CREAK. The sound came from the hallway. He crossed the living room to check it. It was dark, but he could still make things out. He walked down to the end. Nothing was there. Everything was as he’d left it.
The popcorn stopped. He headed back and grabbed it and returned to the couch. The escaped lunatic found the house. He watched them from the cover of the woods.
Thunder clashed again, ear-ringing and shattering. The movie went black.
Brendan grabbed the remote and tried it. Nothing happened. He crossed over to the wall and tried the light switch. A click but still dark. The power was out.
He looked outside. He couldn’t see the streetlights through the downpour. They must have been taken out as well. He sighed, unsure of what to do.
There was another clash and shattering followed by a thud. It was from the hallway; in one of the rooms. He jumped and ran to the kitchen. He grabbed the cordless phone, but it was useless without power. He snuck over to the closet and opened it and pulled out a bat.
“Who’s there?”
He started down the hallway, reaching several closed doors. Wind whipped and screamed from behind his bedroom door. That’s must have been where the sound had come from. He neared the door. He reached out, took the knob and turned it in one motion. The door squealed open swinging in. He peeked inside. A large rock sat in the middle of the floor amongst shattered glass. His head craned up to the window from where it came. He saw the hole from it with rain spraying in.
It was weird. Everything else was in order, besides the rock and broken window.
He stepped in and picked up the rock. He went over to the window and looked around outside it. There was no way anyone would be out in the storm. He couldn’t believe he’d let his nerves and imagination get the better of himself.
He turned and walked back to the door.
Knock, knock, knock.
Something was at the window. He turned around. The Butcher, masked in sackcloth, stared back at him from outside.
Brendan stared out the window at the madman in sheet terror. A clash of lightning silhouetted him, blinding Brendan for a moment. When he recovered, the maniac was gone.
Brendan turned and ran out the door, slamming it closed and ran back to the living room. He hid behind the couch, listening for whatever noise may come from the hallway. Nothing did. He peered around the side, knowing all too well that’s when he’d find the butcher staring back at him.
There was a knock from the door. Brendan jumped at the sound. He waited for another knock, or better yet a voice.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
It was louder, not friendly. He peered out and saw the figure of the madman looking in through the lace curtains in the window.
Brendan watched the killer slink away. The Butcher had to be going for another way in! Brendan jumped up and ran to the backdoor in the kitchen, locking it. He ran back to the reverse side of the kitchen island and sat on the ground. He couldn’t believe how tense he’d become.
He was frozen in terror.
It had to all be a dream, he thought.
He looked around, then up, spotting a knife. He grabbed it and nicked his arm with a sharp ping. He tossed the blade to the side as he pressed his hand to stop the bleeding.
A pounding rattled the kitchen door. Brendan tensed again. It stopped. He snuck his head around the corner. The doorway was clear. Where’d he go? Brendan turned again to the front windows. Nothing.
Three taps came from in front of him, from the window. He turned to look up as the window shattered down towards him and the maniac started hoisting himself in through it.
Brendan crawled back, slipping and slicing into his bare skin with the broken glass around him. Cleared, he turned to the window, whimpering. It caught the maniac’s attention who was still half out of the window. He stopped and locked eyes with the boy. The Butcher wasn’t getting in, finding himself stuck. He plunged out of the window and vanished again. Brendan looked around in desperation.
He heard the glass crunch from his room.
“Shit!” he cried to himself.
Brendan bolted for the basement door. He turned the knob. It squeaked. He slipped inside and pushed the door closed.
He turned on the stair and discovered he was blind. There wasn’t any light below him in the basement. He reached out, feeling his way down the stairs. He listened for the sound of the butcher. He was wandering around the rooms. Brendan reached the cold stone of the floor. He imagined his surroundings: a hamper, washing machine, dryer, Christmas decorations, tools, out-grown clothes. He felt his way around. His foot kicked something big, sending him stumbling and falling over it. His heart raced as he pushed himself up. It was the laundry basket. It’d been moved from last time. He held his breath; the maniac may have heard him. Footsteps stomped across the floor above him toward the door. Brendan crawled forward, along the side of the stairs to the corner. He pulled himself into a ball and squeezed his eyes shut.
The basement welcomed the Butcher with a squeal as the door opened. The steps groaned under the heavier weight as he descended. Brendan struggled to hold his breath. He let it go with a controlled release. The maniac scraped a knife along the wall, for effect. Brendan shivered at the sound.
The killer pivoted on the concrete and started in. He kicked into the boxes, just as blinded as Brendan, who listened with full attention. The maniac neared the middle of the room. He stopped. Brendan tensed. The Butcher had to know where he was! The Butcher picked something up and threw it. It crashed into the opposite wall, he did it again and again and again, all different directions. It was too random.
He doesn’t know!
The Butcher stopped and lumbered on again. Brendan listened, there’s nowhere to hide, no escape from the basement. Brendan couldn’t stay. He crawled to his feet, and took careful steps. The Butcher was on the other side of the basement. Brendan felt around as he went, stepping over and around boxes as he got back to the base of the stairs. The killer bumped into the wall. Brendan froze, The Butcher was going to turn around any minute. Brendan jetted up the stairs carefree of the noise. The Butcher heard and rushed, stumbling back after him. Brendan pulled open the door and jumped through it, throwing it closed bedhind him and locking it.
Safe!
Brendan gathered his breath as he slumped against the door, listening to the thundering steps of the Butcher climbing toward him.
The thunder; maybe that was it! That’s when it started. When the power went out, the Butcher also showed up! If the power returned, maybe he’d return to the movie. How long had it been? How long would it take for the power to return? It might be all night!
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The Butcher pounded on the door. Brendan jumped back. He heard a knife stab into the door. It wouldn’t hold forever. Brendan turned to the backdoor. The storm was dying, he could try running out to a neighbor’s house. He reached for the lock. The basement door gave way as the blade splintered it and neared Brendan’s head.
Brendan flung the backdoor open and ran outside. Thunder burst a second before the sky lit up. He ran around the house and into his neighbors’ yard. He checked behind him. The figure of the Butcher was rounding the corner. Brendan powered his feet faster only to slip on the soggy grassy hill. He screamed and clawed his way up and ran to the door.
Banging on the door, Brendan screamed, “Mrs. Barclay, Mrs. Barclay!”
He looked to the side again, the butcher was in the yard.
Brendan opened the screen door and tried the knob. It opened! He slid in and slammed it closed, locking it. He wiped the rain from his face and let his eyes adjust themselves to the room.
“Mrs. Barclay? Are you home? Mr. Barclay?” he called out.
He started in, trying to make things out in the dark still. It was all silent and motionless. Someone was in the kitchen, sitting at the table, it was a woman’s figure.
“Mrs. Barclay? Hey, I was calling for you, something is awful! Someone’s after me! We’ve got to call the police! Please!”
He neared her, but she didn’t respond. Someone was sitting with her, equally motionless. It’s Mr. Barclay with dinner in between them. He’s bleeding from his head and very dead.
Brendan’s mouth dropped. He put a hand on Mrs. Barclay’s shoulder. Her head slumped into his hand, which he jerked back, causing her to fall to the ground. He’s breathless as he backed up.
The Butcher watched through the window as Brendan approached with his back turned. Brendan stopped suddenly as he spotted the phone hanging on the wall. He ran to it and picked it up, dialing on instinct. He waited for the ring tone. His impatience mounted. He taps the reset. There’s no dial tone.
SCREEECH.
His head shot up to the window and the Butcher running the knife along the glass. The line was cut. The Butcher’s other hand jutted up with another large rock and smashed it into the window. Brendan drops the phone and ran to the back and out the patio door into the backyard.
It was hopeless! The Butcher had to have killed everyone around him for safe measure. But that didn’t make any sense! How could he if he came out of the movie when — Was he trapped in some sick twisted version of the movie? He had to get the butcher back into the movie. The power had to come back on! He ran back to his house.
He found the bat. Now he was ready to use it. He just had to keep the creep back until the power came back on. Outside, the Butcher was stalking him again, and the rain had stopped. It wouldn’t be long now.
“Come on!” he taunted, raising the bat to a swinging position. He let it swing wide, for show.
The Butcher disappeared. Brendan shook his head. He knew where he was going. He raised down the hall and hid to the side of the door. On cue, the glass in his room crunched as the Butcher climbed in. He lumbered to the door. Brendan listened, and — WHAM! The bat connected with the Butcher’s head, reeling him back into the room. Brendan took the chance and ran back to the living room.
Something shimmered in his line of sight: The knife he tossed aside. He ran over and grabbed it and jumped behind the couch.
The Butcher made his way in, dazed and uneasy as he swayed. The hit had been more effective than he thought. He looked around. He’d lost Brendan. He started toward the kitchen.
SQUE-
The Butcher stopped and turned around to the living room. He started in looking around. He neared the couch. Not there. Maybe the closet. He crossed the room, opening it — Stabbed from behind! The Butcher dropped to his knees as Brendan ran off leaving the knife in the stalker’s calf.
The Butcher ripped it out and tossed it to the side, grunting.
“I’m going to Home Alone your ass!” The now-cocky Brendan called out from his new hiding place. The killer stumbled along, but something changed: A dull red glow in the kitchen. The phone was back on. Brendan spotted it. He listened again for the Butcher. Was it over? It was quiet. He perked up. The Butcher was gone. Brendan laughed, finally able to let his guard down. The light turned on.
“Mom? Dad?”
Something wasn’t right. The front door never opened. The Butcher stepped back out from the corner. His mask off now, revealing a horrid gruesome face with a twisted smile. He hobbled toward Brendan as Brendan was baffled about what was going on. The Butcher should have been gone. He looked back at the living room. The VCR wasn’t flashing.
Brendan broke to the side and towards the basement, flipping on the light as he moved at a breakneck pace down the stairs and to the back corner to the fuse box. The Butcher reached the top of the stairs and started down them. Brendan looked at the labels on the switches, but still flipped each and every one of them, turning and checking on the Butcher, hoping he’d go away.
The Butcher was halfway to him. Brendan found it: Living room. He flipped it. The Butcher was still there. One more time. Still, nothing happened. The Butcher readied for a swing. Brendan ducked and veered away. He ran back up the stairs. The Butcher was right after him, picking up speed as he was going. Brendan raced for his bat again. He wasn’t letting go of it again. The Butcher was back up. Brendan backed into the couch, causing him to twist around. The VCR was back on!
“Why won’t you go away?” Brendan screamed.
He swung the bat at the killer, but it was caught in a one-handed grasp. Brendan let go as the Butcher yanked it and threw it across the room. Brendan stumbled back, stepping over the couch and onto the remote. A revelation came across his face. He reached down and grabbed it. He hit the power button. The Butcher was on him. Brendan avoided a stab and hit ‘play.’
The Butcher rammed the knife into his victim and casting a look of shock across his face. He collapsed on the couch, dying. Dead. That was it. The Butcher turned to the girl. She was next. She screamed.
Brendan smiles into the empty air above him while the mayhem of the Butcher played on the television in front of him. He was finally alone again. The Butcher was back where he belonged.
He rolled over and sat up. He was over watching this movie after living it, but there was no way that it was real. Whatever that was had to have been a freaky dream, maybe from eating the beef stroganoff. He grabbed the remote and hit ‘stop.’ Nothing happened. He pressed it again, harder. The batteries must have been dead. He flipped the remote over and slid the back down to check them.
BOOM! The Lightning flashed outside again. The rain started. The storm was back.
Everything went dark. The power was out again.
Brendan’s eyes went wide as the TV screen reflected back the Butcher standing behind him. Guess this was the sequel?