Roxy, Stu, Christine, Eric, and Betsy worked their way back through the factory, looking for a way down. They’d gone from searching for two missing friends, to searching for one who’d possibly fallen to his death right in front of their eyes. They were tired, they were dirty, and their clothes reeked of lingering beer sweat and campfire smoke. And yet, to stop now would be to give up, to accept Brandon’s death as truth, and that was something they simply couldn’t do.
After a few turns, Roxy spotted a broken sign that read Stairs and almost didn’t believe her eyes. “Thank you, Joan Jett,” she sighed.
“Don’t you mean God?” Betsy asked, and Roxy grinned.
“Same thing.”
The five made their way down a spiraling set of stairs, a few steps of which were either loose or missing. Pitch black darkness and the musty smell of mold and wet brick surrounded them. Eric stifled a laugh when it occurred to him that it was exactly how he pictured the stairway to Hell. Luckily, no one noticed.
They reached the lower level and weaved their way through the building to where they believed the catwalk would have fallen. There was nothing there. Just a little further than that, however, they found the shattered pile of metal.
In a panic they searched the wreckage, moving some of it aside to get a better look underneath, shining their lights, hoping all the time that they would find Brandon alive and well. But there was no sign of him.
“This is good,” Stu said. “This means he’s alive.”
“Or someone took him,” Eric added.
“Don’t say that,” Christine spit. “We just need to find him.”
“Like we found Jennifer and Keith?” Eric asked. Stu’s face went red as he got in Eric’s face.
“Listen, man, don’t be such an asshole. We’re all trying our best here, alright? We don’t need you knocking us down.”
For a moment, Eric looked as if he was going to tear Stu apart with his bare hands. Stu had never seen his friend this way. They were all under extreme pressure, and there was no telling what that kind of stress could do to a person, but it was still a shock. The moment passed, however, and Eric turned away.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, and they left it at that.
Meanwhile, Roxy had made a discovery nearby with her lighter. “Check it out,” she called to the others. They rushed over to see what she’d found: footprints in the thick layer of dust covering the floor. They looked to be made from sneakers about Brandon’s size, and they led away from the fallen catwalk all the way to a nearby door.
Betsy nearly burst into tears. It was the first positive sign she’d seen all night, almost enough to make her think they might be alright. The others were already following the footprints with their lights, and she hurried to catch up before they left her behind.
“Why wouldn’t he shout for us?” Stu asked.
“Maybe he’s hurt,” Roxy replied.
A few rooms later, any newfound hopefulness they’d felt died a quick death.
“Jesus Christ,” Stu gasped, staring at the lifeless bodies of their friends, Jennifer and Keith. Keith’s head, Jennifer’s legs, what had been done to them was beyond brutal, it was unthinkable. The metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air.
“Who would do something like this?” Betsy whimpered, holding onto Eric to steady herself.
“A real psycho,” Stu replied. He was thinking of the last San Palmo football game he’d been to, how Keith led the team to victory with Jennifer cheering him on from the sidelines. They were so happy and alive that day, kings and queens of the world. Now they looked like broken mannequins in a forgotten store.
“What do we do now?” Roxy asked, looking like the wind had been knocked out of her. Stu looked up from the bodies, his features sharpened and fierce.
“We need to find Brandon,” he replied. “And we need to get the hell out of this place.”
A few minutes later they reached an area where little dust coated the ground, which meant they no longer had Brandon’s footprints guiding their way. They continued on as straight a path as possible, but by that point it was little more than guesswork.
Worse, they heard footsteps again. They sounded like they were coming from far off, but then the sounds inside the factory were so odd, at times the person next to them sounded a hundred miles away. There was no telling how distant they truly were, or who they belonged to.
“Guys, I really don’t like this,” Betsy whispered.
“What’s there to like?” Roxy asked. “This whole night is one big—” She paused. “Wait,” she said, her eyes narrowing as she came to a stop. “Did you hear that?”
The group stopped to listen. Then they heard it as well: a scraping sound, coming from somewhere in front of them. It sounded like someone was dragging a metal pipe along a wall, a slow, methodical sound with purpose, and it seemed to be growing closer. Stu was about to suggest that they head back and find another way through, but it was already too late.
Only a few yards away, a figure emerged from the shadows. He wielded a large, bloodstained bludgeon almost as tall as he was. Old-looking clothes, like a worker’s uniform, covered his massive frame, and he wore a black welding helmet on his head, the metal covered in dents and scratches.
Christine screamed for them to run. They scattered like leaves and the terrifying man lunged at them with his free hand, almost swiping Betsy, but she managed to stay clear.
“Guys!”
A voice shouted at them from across the room. Stu glanced over to see who it belonged to, and was relieved beyond words to see it was Brandon. He stood in a large doorway, waving them over frantically. “Over here!”
Without a glance back they all ran for the door. Roxy was last, and she could hear the thundering sound of the man right behind her. She even thought she could smell him, a stench like week-old roadkill, but she had no idea if it was real or just in her mind. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the door.
Eric reached it first, then Stu, running straight through as Brandon stepped out of their way. Then Betsy reached the door, clipping her arm painfully on the frame but making it through, and finally Roxy.
Brandon gasped as the massive man reached the door. He slammed it shut just in time, turning the handle and locking it. The moment it locked, an enormous crash came from the other side as the man bashed into it. He banged on it three, four, five times, the group screaming and yelping with each impact as the entire room seemed to shake around them.
Then, a moment later, it stopped.
They all caught their breaths as they listened for footsteps, banging, anything that told them what the horrible man was doing now. Eric stood off to the side of the group. On his face was a distant look, as if he were working out a math problem.
Roxy, her chest rising and falling, looked around at the others in a mixture of fear and anger. “Who the fuck was that?” she asked.
“Whoever he is, he killed Keith and Jennifer,” Brandon said solemnly.
Stu nodded. “Yeah. We saw them.”
“Why is he doing this?” Christine asked, her eyes filled up with tears.
“Because it’s him,” Eric said, and everyone turned to him. “The story, you guys … it’s real. It’s all real.”
Roxy scoffed. “That Bludgeoner guy?”
Eric nodded. “I thought it was just a made-up story, something to scare kids, but you saw him. You saw what he was carrying.”
“So what is he?” Stu asked. “A spirit? A serial killer?”
“I don’t know. Maybe both.”
Brandon straightened up, standing tall for the first time in a while. “Well whatever he is, he’s not going to win. This fucker killed three of us, but he’s not getting anyone else. I won’t let him.”
“Brandon’s right,” Betsy agreed, but her voice cracked with terror.
“That’s great, but how the hell do we stop something like that?” Roxy asked, motioning to the locked door. “Did you guys even see the same thing I just saw?”
“Yeah, I saw it,” Brandon replied. “I think all of us together could take him.” But Roxy just laughed.
“Let’s just get out of here first,” Stu said, looking for an exit. “We’ll figure out the rest later.”
“No,” Brandon argued. “We should stay and fight him. We can’t just let him walk away and do this to someone else.”
“If he can even be stopped,” Eric said. They all looked at him, waiting for more. “Think about it. People have been telling that story for a long time, and he didn’t exactly look like an old man. I was a little kid when I heard it from my uncle, and he was a kid when he heard it.”
“He’s not some mythical creature,” Brandon scoffed. “He’s a man, flesh and blood, and we can kill him.”
“Hold on,” Stu said, approaching Brandon. “Let me talk to you a second.” He turned to the rest of the group. “Guys, just rest for a second while we figure this out.”
“Screw that,” Roxy said, “I want to hear whatever you have to say.”
Stu grabbed her by the shoulder. “Please, Rox, I just need a minute to talk to him.”
Her eyes pierced into him. “Whatever,” she said, pushing his hand off. Stu turned back to Brandon and lowered his voice.
“I know what you’re saying, man, about stopping him, but the girls are scared.”
“Roxy’s not.”
Stu shook his head. “She may not show it, but trust me, she’s terrified. So are you, so don’t try to act tough.”
Brandon shrugged. “So what?”
“So we’re not up to taking on this psycho right now. Let’s find a way out of here, get everyone safe, and then we can figure it out.”
Another series of bangs came from somewhere in the factory. The man—The Bludgeoner—was testing other doors, trying to find a way in. Brandon’s face softened as he realized Stu had a point.
“Alright,” he said. “We make getting everyone out of here our main goal. But you’d better believe if I see a chance to bring this fucker down, I’m taking it.”
Stu nodded. “Okay. Now let’s find a way out—before he finds a way in.”
The group moved toward what they believed to be the front of the building, as well as away from where they’d heard the banging last. They reached a long, narrow hallway with a series of doors on each side, most either broken or locked, the rooms beyond them holding little more than discarded tools and dead machinery. After a few hundred feet they discovered the hallway was a dead end, leading to nothing more than a large pile of metal barrels stacked against the wall. A few of them had fallen on their sides, allowing the noxious, oily liquids inside to leak and pool.
“I guess we gotta go back,” Brandon sighed. Everyone’s faces dropped, their bodies sagging from exhaustion.
“This is just great, Brandon,” Roxy said, throwing up her hands. “I always knew I was going to Hell, I just didn’t think you’d be my guide.”
Brandon raised his finger to lay into Roxy. Before he could speak, though, he was cut off by loud banging on a door from the direction they’d just come. All of them jumped. With each powerful hit, the sound of cracking wood became louder and louder. This time, they knew the door between them and The Bludgeoner wouldn’t hold.
“What do we do?” Betsy whimpered.
“Everyone grab something, anything you can use as a weapon,” Brandon commanded, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. They fanned out and searched a few of the rooms, tossing junk aside and looking for anything with weight.
“Here, take this,” Eric said, handing Stu a length of pipe. He picked up a large wrench for himself, gripping it tightly as he prepared to fight.
“Thanks,” Stu muttered, the sound of splintering wood nearly drowning him out.
“Alright, everyone ready?” Brandon asked. His eyes darted from one friend to another. They all nodded, their expressions determined yet terrified. “Wait for my signal,” he instructed, a crowbar clenched tightly in his hands. “When I say now, we attack together.”
The door finally gave out, exploding into the hallway in a thousand shards. A terrible few seconds passed as nothing happened. The group held their makeshift weapons in silent anticipation, waiting for Brandon’s signal.
Then, The Bludgeoner stepped into the hallway.
Christine gasped at the size of the hideous man. His tattered clothes, his face hidden behind a mask of metal, it was like something out of a nightmare. All at once she knew that the stories were real, that San Palmo was home to this monster, and that she and everyone she knew would likely die at its hands.
“Now!” Brandon roared, charging at the monstrous figure that loomed before them. The others followed suit, makeshift weapons raised high as they let loose desperate, primal screams.
Brandon’s crowbar was the first to make contact. It struck the side of The Bludgeoner’s head, clanging against the metal face shield. Despite Brandon’s considerable strength, the large man’s head barely moved from the blow.
“Leave us alone, you freak!” Christine yelled, swinging her metal rod at his chest with all her strength. It connected with a sickening crunch, and yet the Bludgeoner was unfazed. He took a swing at Betsy with his bludgeon but Eric managed to push her out of the way and behind their attacker.
“Keep hitting him!” Brandon urged, his own weapon striking over and over. “Don’t let up!”
Despite their onslaught, The Bludgeoner had set his sights on Christine. Before she could pull back, he reached out and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her off the ground, her feet kicking wildly.
“No!” Stu bellowed, panic flooding his body. He watched helplessly as The Bludgeoner lifted Christine higher. The rod in her hand fell with a clang to the floor as The Bludgeoner began to squeeze her throat shut.
Before he was even aware of it, the pipe in Stu’s hands connected with the side of the Bludgeoner’s head with more power than he’d thought himself capable. The force of the blow sent the killer stumbling backward. He dropped Christine, who crumpled to the ground gasping for air.
Brandon shouted for everyone to run, but he was horrified to realize The Bludgeoner was blocking their way back. Eric seized the opportunity to help Christine to her feet.
“Look!” Roxy cried, pointing to a large window above the stack of metal barrels. “We can climb out there!”
“Go, go, go!” Brandon urged, pushing his friends forward. One by one they scrambled up the stinking barrels, their feet slipping and barrels tumbling beneath them. But one after the other they made it through the window, their bodies shaking and slick with sweat.
“Come on!” Roxy reached down to help Brandon up. With a final surge of adrenaline, he hauled himself through the window, the last of the barrels falling out from beneath his feet, and tumbled into the night air, collapsing onto the cold ground beside his friends.
“Is everyone okay?” he panted, his breath coming in painful gasps.
“Never better,” Stu replied, clutching at a stitch in his side.
Christine, back on her feet, looked around frantically as she noticed something was amiss. “You guys,” she said nervously. “Where’s Betsy?”
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