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The Holy

Marson exited her old truck and dragged a thick suitcase through the dirt. There were many things in life she was prepared for, and catching the Face Slasher was number one on the list. She committed to memory every detail of the case: the first happening, the first victim. She even knew what the deceased wore and their blood type. “Runt, give me a hand, will you?” she called, breaking the stiffness in the air. “Do you really need all of this? For fuck’s sake, Marson…” Her neck snapped towards him, and her gaze sharpened in a way that had him waving a white flag with both hands in the air. “I left a wonderful opportunity to investigate another suicide around Hembridge Lake for this… And I know what I’m doing,” she boasted, snatching Policeman Runt’s coffee for a sip. She immediately spat it out. “Trust me when I say shut up and do as I say.” Policeman Runt pursed his lips awkwardly and nodded. There were only two people in this world who could talk to him like that, and they both happe...
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1968- Face Slasher

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The wind cursed loudly as the perpetrators crossed into the sacred grounds. The young couple tumbled, their bodies desperately clinging to each other as passion blossomed alongside bruises. They didn’t seem to care that they were committing unholy acts on holy grounds. Had the moon shone brighter on the grave beneath them, would their fate have been different? Neither of them saw it coming. Its footsteps were as silent as the night. Not even the birds sang to foreshadow their fate, for theirs too could be intertwined. The grim beast raised its hand, wielding a demented blade, and swung with such power that the youngsters’ lives were snuffed out in an instant. Grunting, pleased with the sacrifice, the grim beast returned to its stone form on the grave of the late Master of No Man’s Land . The sun rose, clearing the mist from the graveyard, the beast covered its head with a hood and stabbed the blade into the grave, sealing itself until the next perpetrators arrived. When the police cau...
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Hotel 317

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