They all stayed the night at Maddie’s house that night due to the fact it was Friday, their parents felt it would be safer in numbers anyways. Karla woke up in the middle of the night with cotton mouth and a cold sweat weeping down her forehead. Sara’s pleas rung in her ears repeatedly, she could neither dream nor think of anything else. She decided that no matter what the others thought, she was going to the police station tomorrow morning and confessing everything she knew.
Sitting up she notices Maddie lightly snoring in her bed alone, Donald and Matthew took the floor near her computer desk. Donald’s belly heaved up and down covering Matthews appearance next to him.
She goes into the kitchen to get a glass of water, Maddie’s dad was in a deep slumber surrounded by beer cans and an overstuffed ashtray. The room reeked of B.O. and other smells she wasn’t familiar with, a mixture of what could almost be described as vinegar and shame if that was possible.
Walking down the hallway to reach the kitchen, she’s stopped as the bathroom door opens up. The call girl from yesterday steps out wiping her mouth, smeared lipstick and blood ran across her hand. She smiles at Karla before pulling up a loose bra strap and says, “Hey kid.”
“Uh hi there,” Karla responds to be nice but felt uncomfortable and tried to walk past.
Turning around the call girl responds, “Heard about your friends missing. Sorry to hear it.”
Karla stops and leans against the door frame to the kitchen. “Yeah it s***s…sorry I don’t really know what else to say to tha-”
“I almost was a mom once, some years back. Had the big ole’ belly and everything,” she motions her hands outwards in up and down strokes before reaching in her pocket and pulling out a smoke. “Yeah but that all changed, maybe it was for the best? Hell kids going missing in this town all of a sudden, that would of been worse after raising them for that long, ya know?” She lights up and exhales near Karla’s tightened face. Sara waves her hand lightly, trying not to seem rude.
“You scared kid?” the call girl asks with a glint in her eye.
“Wouldn’t anyone be?”
“Guess it depends, you wonder if anyone ever deserves to die horribly? Poor Becky, awful way to go out.”
Karla turns around choosing not to engage whether anything was justified and walks to the cabinet to grab a cup. The call girl tosses the cigarette into a sink full of soapy water and whispers, “Keep an eye out kid, place ain’t safe no more.” She exits the house while Karla fills her cup with tap water from a shaky faucet. About to take a drink she stops and turns around quickly. Becky’s body was never found, only reported missing. How did she know she was dead?
Karla runs outside to see the call girl gone, a cold gust of air stings her face. She backs up and creeps past the living room and into Maddie’s room. She sits back down onto the floor trying to forget what happened. She tells herself the woman just assumed she was dead, that there was some logical reason as to why she said what she did. She begins to doze off on the floor in darkness, the only light illuminating was from the moon, barely scraping past Maddie’s bed.
She rolls onto her side and sees a slim figure under a blanket, one that wasn’t visible before. She sits up and slides back until her back hits the mattress. She elbows the bed until Maddie jumps up exclaiming, “Wait what? What’s going on?”
Karla points to the wadded blanket, her voice was buried under a mound of anxiety. Maddie grabs a half empty soda can and tosses it to the figure. In fairness, as stupid as it seemed, if it was a intruder then her dad was merely a few feet away if she needed him. The can hits the pile, suddenly Matthew throws the blanket off saying, “Ow what the heck?”
Karla focuses around the room and says, “Wait, if that’s you, then where is Donald?” Maddie gets up assuming that they’re over reacting, but after searching the house she comes back with a pale expression. “He’s not here, neither one of you saw him?”
“M-maybe he went home?” Matthew says.
Maddie bends down after seeing a light from underneath the foot of the blanket, Donald’s phone vibrated and slightly spun halfway. A text appeared from an unknown number. “3 to go.” it said.
The air was hard to breathe in, it felt heavy like trying to gargle syrup. It was muggy and hot, Donald could feel his breathe being recycled in an enclosed space. He opens his eyes as a cold feeling braces among his cheek. He picks his head up and looks around, a warehouse is what he figured he was in. A giant pan is what he was laying on, wiped down with cooking oil from what it seemed like. “What the hell?”
A clown turns the corner as he observes Donald’s naked body on the giant cooking sheet. “There’s some sick people on the internet, you know that?”
He drops a blood stained pick axe on the ground and plops down in a chair in front. Donald’s view was blocked from his right and left side, as he tried to move he felt chains around his thick ankles and wrists.
“Don’t bother, you ain’t going nowhere.” the clown says. A female appears from the dark approaching Donald, she walks past the clown and caresses his chin. He starts sobbing as heat slowly elevates from below, it was an oven he rested in. “Why do you cry? Death comes for us all, sometimes he uses people to do his work when he is weary. Want a tip? You could slam your head around until you go unconscious. Seen it happen before, not sure if it helped, but you could try. Either way, A Feast For Kings was requested. You can suffer or try not to, that choice is yours.”
Donald tries to reach out but the oven lid slams his forehead pushing him back. The female, wearing a black mask and hoodie, turns a lever blocking the oven door. Heat intensifies surrounding the crowded area he was in, there was no room to turn around. He begins to punch the door trying to push it open. His knuckles bleed after a few hits, but he refuses to give up. Sweat begins to build creating a layer over his body, the clown walks over and reaches up turning a knob. Flames flicker from below reaching higher levels of heat.
A man wearing a porcelain mask appears and waves at Donald with one hand, in his other he pulls out Sara’s head. He places the bloody stump on the table and aims it to where her eyes were watching Donald.
Donald begins to curse and yell as loud as he can, all the while punching the door. His knuckles begin to give way, like a hard boiled egg slammed against a kitchen counter repeatedly, his hands soften becoming like shattered egg shells. When the pain becomes too much, he takes the woman’s advice and begins to headbutt a wall as hard as he can. He wasn’t getting out alive, so why try to fool himself? His forehead separated after the fifth blow, yet he was still conscience. The heat was wrapping around him in thick coats, he began to slam harder. Three hits later he began to feel dizzy. His face covered in blood and tears, he pushed again to finalize his self induced coma.
Donald fought for as long as he could hold out, his body dropped and his eyes went blank after a slam against the burning wall made his vision go black. It wasn’t too long before his tender aroma began to linger and sway through the air. Later on, the clown forced a butcher knife through Donald’s back near his shoulder blade. Tearing off a chunk of meat he begins to chew on it and looks towards a camera while smiling through his missing teeth.