Before starting the long, painful walk home, the three stopped first at Harry’s cabin. Eric insisted that the groundskeeper should have a phone or some other way to contact the town, and though Roxy had seen nothing on her first visit, she had to admit she hadn’t checked the cabin very well. After finding the shotgun, she’d pretty much taken it and run. Besides, they all liked the sound of sitting down somewhere for a brief rest and to check their wounds.
Buck was still trailing behind them, which Roxy chalked up to him still being uneasy about their run-in with the giant, nearly unstoppable monster who she assumed had killed his owner. She wasn’t exactly back to normal herself just yet.
“It’s right up here,” Roxy said, leading the way. She found the clearing easy enough, and then the cabin, which she entered this time without hesitation. Christine and Eric followed her lead, followed by Buck after some coaxing.
With everyone in, Roxy lit the lamp as Christine nearly collapsed into the chair next to the table. Once she’d assured Eric three or four times that she was okay, he dug around the cabin for a phone or something else useful.
Roxy was so tired, she sat on Harry’s dirty, sagging bed without thinking twice. In her head, she could hear Betsy’s voice telling her about bedbugs and fleas and whatever other parasites she could pick up from the bed. The thought made her smile.
“Good news, ladies,” Eric announced. Seated in the only other chair in the cabin, Eric cleared a pile of laundry off a desk to reveal a CB radio setup. “I knew Harry would have something like this.”
“Do you know how to use it?” Christine asked, nearly jumping to her feet.
“Check this out,” he said, flipping a few switches and turning some knobs. Static blared from the speaker, followed by various voices tuning in and out. Christine lit up, rushing over to pat him excitedly on the shoulder. He clearly enjoyed impressing Christine, and though Roxy could barely keep her eyes open, she could still roll them.
“This is the groundskeeper’s cabin on Lake Conklin,” Eric spoke into the handheld microphone, “we have a major emergency here. I repeat, we have a major emergency.”
Eric repeated the call a few times, each time shifting in the chair. Finally, after the fourth or fifth time, he got his answer in the form of a gruff voice.
“This is Officer Bixby with the San Palmo Police Department, and this is an official frequency. Who is this?”
Eric and Christine broke into cheers. Roxy was too tired to join them and only sank deeper into the bed.
“My name is Eric Mulligan, I’m in the groundskeeper’s cabin with two other survivors. This … psycho attacked us. A bunch of people are dead, including Harry.”
Roxy knew he was probably right, but it was dumb to say it to the police like it was a fact. As Eric flexed his Boy Scout skills in front of Christine, Roxy noticed something square fall out of his back pocket and tumble to the ground. It looked, she thought, like a book. Eric was so preoccupied with showing off to Christine, he didn’t even notice it had slipped out. Roxy would have pointed it out to him, except for two reasons.
One, she’d never seen it before. And two, it was stained with blood.
As Eric continued to explain the situation to the skeptical officer on the radio, Roxy stood from the bed and quietly made her way over. Then she bent down and scooped it up, quickly, before he could notice. With her back turned to the others, she inspected what was indeed a small book, its pages glued shut by the dried blood along its edges. It took some work, but she opened it.
She’d cheated off enough of Eric’s tests to recognize his weird, off-kilter handwriting. The book was obviously his diary, and for a moment she was embarrassed at how secretive she’d been in grabbing something so lame.
That was, until she began to read it.
“Hang tight, kids,” Officer Bixby said from the radio. “We’ll be there as fast as we can, over.”
“You got it, sir, over and out.” Eric put down the microphone and turned to Christine, smiling. “So, how are you doing now?”
“A lot better now,” Christine replied with a smile.
“Good. Maybe after all this is over, we can, like, hang out or something.” Eric’s eyes searched hers. “Like a date.”
“Oh.” Christine took an unconscious step back, pulling at her shirt. “It’s … a little too soon, to be honest.”
“Too soon?”
Her eyes darted to the floor. “I was with Stu for a long time, and … Eric, he was your friend, too.”
He paused, searching the air for answers. “So … all this was for nothing?” he asked, sounding impatient.
“Nothing?” Christine wrinkled her nose. “Eric, we’re alive. We should just be happy about that.”
To Christine’s surprise, Eric’s expression turned from impatience to seething hostility. He looked like he wanted to say more, but was stopping himself.
“We went through some crazy shit tonight,” she said, trying to reassure him. “I’m pretty messed up, and I’m sure you are. None of us are thinking straight, so can we just-”
“It was you,” Roxy suddenly said. Eric and Christine turned in surprise. They’d almost forgotten she was there with them, standing on almost the opposite side of the cabin now and looking out the window.
“What are you talking about?” Christine asked.
Roxy turned to face them. “You’re the reason that freak came after us.”
“Me?” He glanced at Christine, then back. “Hilarious, Roxy,” he chuckled awkwardly.
Roxy looked over at Christine, who looked back at her with a look of innocent confusion. “They all died just so you could have a chance with her.”
“That doesn’t even make sense. Honestly, you sound so crazy right now,” Eric replied.
“No. I’m not the one who’s crazy,” Roxy said, holding up the diary. Instinctively, Eric felt at his pocket, realizing too late that the book was gone.
“You said that was Betsy’s blood on you,” Roxy continued. “Did she find your book, Eric? Is that why she had to go?”
Now Christine was piecing everything together. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense, in the sickest of ways. She began to move away from Eric, careful not to make any sudden moments.
“Now just relax a second,” Eric said, his eyes strained at the corners. “Let’s talk about this.” He reached for Christine to calm her down, but before he could touch her, Roxy pulled out the dirty knife she’d taken from Harry’s kitchen table. Buck, who had been laying quietly in the corner, jumped to his feet and began growling at Eric.
Now, Roxy thought, Buck’s behavior was making a lot of sense. All this time, it was Eric he hadn’t trusted.
Eric shook his head at her. “You’re being ridiculous, Roxy. They didn’t die so I could be with Christine.” He paused, something in his eyes shifting. “They died because they deserved to.”
“Oh, my God,” Christine gasped.
“They were all bad people, Christine. Keith? He was a bully to anyone smaller or less popular than him, and Brandon, he didn’t once try to stop him. Betsy couldn’t stay out of other people’s business for even a second.” He motioned to the book and added, “Obviously. And Jennifer? Jennifer only cared about who wanted to sleep with her.” He added, “You’re not a bully, Christine, or a snoop, or a whore. You’ve always been nice to me. That’s why we belong together. Of course I feel bad about Stu, but he just got in the way.”
“What about Nancy?” Roxy asked angrily. “Why did she deserve to die?”
“Oh, right, I forgot about her. Listen, I didn’t know she was coming out here. That was just bad timing.”
Christine’s hand went to her mouth. “Eric … you really killed them?” she asked.
“I didn’t kill anyone.” He took a hesitant step forward. “He killed them. The Bludgeoner. That’s what he does. I just figured out how to bring him back. But I made sure he left you alone. You’ll always be safe with me.”
Eric reached out to her. Christine continued to back away as Roxy pointed the knife at him.
“We’re free, Christine! We can live our lives now, together, without all those assholes holding us back.”
His words momentarily stunned Roxy. She’d said almost the same thing that morning to Betsy in the girls’ bathroom. Hearing it now, from a creep like Eric, hit her hard.
Meanwhile, Eric’s eyes only grew bigger, his smile wider. It horrified Christine. She was truly seeing him for the first time, without any masks. “Holding us back?” she echoed.
“We don’t need them. We don’t even need Roxy, but I understand, you’re friends. I want you to have friends,” he assured her, reaching out again to touch her.
“Stay away from her!” Roxy shouted, lunging with the knife. She sliced his arm deeply, drawing it back before he could grab her. Buck growled and snapped ferociously from Eric’s side, and Eric pulled back to keep from being attacked.
“That hurt,” he said to Roxy, his voice sounding childlike, as he held his bleeding arm shut.
“Good,” Roxy spit back. Christine moved closer to her and away from Eric. The sight of her cowering, trying to get as far from him as possible, enraged him.
“This isn’t how it’s supposed to go!” he shouted at them. “You’re ruining it!”
“You’re gonna rot in jail for the rest of your life,” Roxy replied. “I hope it was all worth it.”
Eric grew quiet. Then, surprising them both, he chuckled softly.
“You know, Roxy, I lied about not killing anyone.” His voice was bitter, condescending. “We’re in his cabin right now. That’s his dumb mutt over there.” He pointed to Buck, who was still growling and baring his teeth. “He was too chicken-shit to stop me. Just ran right off as I caved in Harry’s skull.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Christine cried.
“It’s not like I wanted to do it. I needed a sacrifice to bring The Bludgeoner back.” He took a deep breath, eyeing Roxy with a glint in his eye. “Come to think of it, I need another.”
Eric swiped at Roxy, knocking the knife from her hand and sending it clattering to the floor. Then he lunged at her with open hands to strangle her. He was fast, faster than Roxy had been expecting—but Buck was faster.
The dog sprang into action, clamping down on Eric’s ankle and digging his teeth in deep. As Eric screamed and hollered, Buck jerked his head back and forth, tearing the flesh. While he was distracted, Christine dropped to the floor and scrambled to find the knife.
Eric kicked free of the dog’s hold, sending the animal crashing into the wall. Roxy rushed forward and threw all of her weight at Eric. His back slammed into the edge of the CB radio, and he cried out in pain.
He recovered quickly, pushing Roxy aside with a hard shove. Her head smacked against the cabin wall just below the mounted deer head, knocking it loose. Both she and the dead animal’s head fell to the floor in a heap of legs and antlers.
As the ruckus behind her intensified, Christine found it. The knife had slid under the table, almost hidden behind one of its legs. She crawled forward, tears stinging her eyes, and reached out to grab the knife.
Just as she touched it, she felt a hand on her ankle.
Eric dragged Christine screaming and kicking from under the table, fighting to keep her still. He just needed to talk to her, to explain everything, so she could understand how much he loved her, how if anything, the entire night had only been proof of that.
She flipped over to face him. Before he could speak, though, he caught a glimpse of metal in her hands. Just a flash as it moved toward him, and then a pain like he’d never felt pierced his stomach and forced a cry from his lips.
Eric looked down to see a knife buried deep in his gut, with Christine of all people gripping the handle.
“Why would you do this?” he gasped, barely able to speak. “I … could have made you happy.”
Christine stared into his eyes and replied through gritted teeth, “You just did.”
Eric took an uneven step back. He glanced at the snarling dog, on its feet and ready to attack again. Then at Roxy, shoving the deer's head off of herself. Then at Christine, her face transformed by hatred.
There was nothing for him here. He stumbled to the door and opened it. Then he ran off toward the factory, broken and bleeding, his hands and feet already going cold.
Christine rushed to the door to close and lock it, but there was no lock on the door. She settled for leaning against it with all her weight and holding the handle to make sure it wouldn’t turn.
Meanwhile, Roxy had been holding back Buck from running out the door and chasing after Eric, worried that the dog would get hurt, or worse. She pet him, checking for injuries, but he appeared to be unscathed.
“You did so good,” she told him, and he wagged his tail ferociously. She felt as if he’d needed this victory just as much as they did.
“What do we do now?” Christine asked, her voice shaking.
“Wait until the cops get here.”
Christine sighed. “Was that even them on the radio? I don’t know what to believe now.”
Roxy shook her head. “He wanted us to survive. Or at least you. It was part of his plan, for him to be the hero, and you the trophy.”
Christine shuddered. The knowledge that Eric had been secretly lusting after her while planning the deaths of all their friends left her feeling violated. Yet somehow she also felt guilty, as if she were responsible. She glanced over at the window, hoping not to see movement outside.
“Roxy,” she said meekly, “what if he comes back?”
“You got him good, he won’t last long out there. He’s probably on the ground, bleeding out by now.” She stood and joined Christine at the door. “Besides,” she added, “with the two of us here, I think he knows how dumb an idea that would be.”
Overcome, Christine sprang forward and hugged Roxy. She was grateful to still have one friend left in the world, one she could trust. But Roxy didn’t feel the same way—counting Buck, she had two.
Less than twenty minutes later, eight police officers swarmed the cabin, led by the Sheriff and Officer Bixby, an older man whose voice they recognized from the CB radio. Roxy had to keep Buck from biting one officer who got too close. Which, she mused, only made her like Buck more.
They told the Sheriff everything, starting with the bonfire and ending in the cabin, with all the bloody details in-between. A few of the younger officers hid smirks when they got to the part about The Bludgeoner. Roxy was about to say something to one of them, but decided she was too tired to get into any more fights.
Interestingly, though, she and Christine both noticed a shared glance between the Sheriff and Officer Bixby at the mention of The Bludgeoner. It was a knowing look between two seasoned men. It only took a moment, and if Roxy or Christine had blinked, they would have missed it, but in their eyes there seemed to be a question:
Is he back?
San Palmo was the kind of place where very little happened, and that seemed to suit folks just fine. But the campfire stories they told, the folktales they passed from one generation to the next, those told the real truth of the place.
For the next few hours, the police searched the factory, combing the derelict building. They found the bodies of Betsy, and Jennifer, and Brandon, as well as the others out in the woods. But they found no sign of the masked killer they were told would be there, or for that matter, Eric Mulligan, the boy who supposedly commanded him to kill and kill again.
Once the police had finished scouring the abandoned factory for evidence to log and corpses to bag, the building grew quiet again. It sat alone in the night, its skeletal structure casting long shadows across the forest grounds. Inside, footprints and blood stains marred its layers of dust; echoes of a night spent in hell.
Beneath one of the factory’s old machines, under a floor panel easily overlooked by passersby, the building held its final secret close to its heart. There, down a ladder and through a darkened tunnel, there was a hidden place. More bodies than the police would know what to do with filled the hidden place, with most of the corpses older than the officers themselves. They were little more now than bones wrapped in rags and waxy skin.
Amongst them, dragged there with great, exhausting effort, lay the body of the one responsible for all the others. The Bludgeoner, his side and heart pierced, stared up at the ceiling with slackened features and lifeless eyes. On the ground nearby, his mask laid upturned, held loosely by the hand of another.
Eric Mulligan’s skin was pale and cold, his clothes heavy with blood. Lying on the ground there, among the death, he finally fit in. Except that, like always, there was something different about him.
He was breathing.
After some time, his eyes blinked open. It took a few more minutes, and more effort than he thought possible, but eventually he got to his feet. With The Bludgeoner’s heavy mask gripped between his hands, he looked down at his dead friend with what little compassion he had.
“I served them up to you on a plate,” Eric said, his voice barely a whisper. “But Christine, she still doesn’t want me. It’s … this town. It takes and it takes and it gives nothing back. No warmth. No hope.” Tears pooled in his eyes, but he fought them back bitterly. He looked down at the mask in his hands, its rusted metal no longer cold against his skin. “This place needs to be wiped from the Earth. Smashed into the ground.”
Taking one hand from the mask, Eric parted his shirt and pushed his fingers deep inside the place where Christine had hurt him. He winced and groaned at the electric shock of pain shooting through his body, but he didn’t stop until his hand was coated in thick, dark blood.
Eric smeared his blood all over the mask, front and sides. Then he staggered over to his friend’s side. With his vision fading, he slipped the painted mask over the massive man’s head, covering his rotten face with his true one.
“Take everything from them,” Eric whispered into his ear. The second the words left his lips, his body gave out. He collapsed into the pile of bodies and joined them, finally, as a brother.
The secret room beneath the factory was silent. It was a place where only the dead remained, where nothing moved except the worms and the flies. Then, a moment later, The Bludgeoner’s eyes opened.
Thank you for reading Bludgeoner, my homage to eighties teen slashers. I hope it was fun to read, I really enjoyed writing it myself. Stay tuned next week to learn about my next, all new serial that begins Monday, April 29th.
Thanks again for sticking with me.
-Brian M.