Slasher Summer(30)

In the kitchen, he stood sentry while Patrick wrestled with the plastic overwrap covering a case of bottled water. The sliding door was open, letting in the scent of rain and greasy charcoal from the barbecue. Cedar Lake gleamed faintly in the distance, like a memory. Michael was somewhere out there, wandering in the dark. Where was he? What was he doing? Carrie shivered, wishing she had the time and courage to run upstairs and get a sweater.

“Forget the snacks. What we need is hardware.” Jen lunged for the knife block on the counter just as Freddy had the same idea.

“Hey, gimme that!” Freddy said as Jen beat him to the largest handle.

“Careful!” Carrie cried. They were going to hurt themselves worse than any potential attacker.

“You snooze, you lose, Shaggy.” Jen waved a chef’s knife with smug aplomb.

Freddy pulled the second-largest handle and looked crestfallen at the bread knife’s blade, which would be dangerous only if you were a baguette. Tiffany grabbed the remaining handle. The tiny but wicked blade of a paring knife glinted under their flashlights. “Trade?” Freddy said hopefully.

“No fucking way,” Tiffany said.

Freddy set the bread knife on the counter and started to pull things out of the drawers. Patrick yelped in protest as ladles and spatulas flew onto the floor. Whooping, Freddy triumphantly held a small corkscrew aloft. Carrie shook her head. What did he think he could do with that?

“Ooh! Are you going to uncork a nice Cabernet for Russ?” Jen said.

“I’ve seen The Girl on the Train,” he said darkly. He stashed the corkscrew into the pocket of his cargo shorts and picked up the bread knife again.

Patrick paused unpacking the water and shone his flashlight around the counter. Carrie’s skin prickled with alarm. She didn’t like how jerky his movements were, as if he were searching for something.

“That can’t be right. There were four knives in this block,” he said in a strangled voice.

Everyone froze, staring at the empty slots.

“What do you mean?” Tiffany said.

The Adam’s apple bobbed sharply in Patrick’s throat. “The largest knife is missing.”





10



Tiffany

    Tiffany gaped at the empty knife block, which only moments ago had seemed like a godsend. The paring knife suddenly seemed small and laughable in her slender, manicured hand.

“You didn’t take it?” Tiffany said to Patrick, hopefully.

Patrick shook his head. “I haven’t touched it since we got here.”

“Wait a minute,” said Jason. “What’s this doing here?”

He bent down and picked up a hat off the floor under the shadow of the counters. A broad-brimmed hat, slightly dented on one side.

A ranger’s hat.

The bubble of dread that had been expanding behind Tiffany’s ribs threatened to burst. Carrie’s eyes grew so wide the whites were nearly visible in the dim light. “Russ took the knife—” she started.

“And dropped his hat,” Tiffany finished. Panic rose up in her throat, scorching like she’d drunk too many cosmos on an empty stomach. She wished she hadn’t smoked Freddy’s weed, because she didn’t know what was cannabis-induced paranoia and what was good old-fashioned terror. Regardless of whether her fear was authentic or not, she had to get the fuck out of there.

“We should go,” Carrie said in a small voice, and it was the first thing she’d said since she’d arrived that Tiffany could get behind.

No one felt like packing snacks after that.

Jason put the hat down and Tiffany followed him out of the kitchen, her thoughts swinging wildly in a dozen different directions. Patrick had promised this weekend was going to be perfect. She’d believed him, because she trusted his obsessive attention to detail. More fool her. This weekend was the very opposite of perfect. Her new Keds were ruined and tendrils of her hair had escaped her ponytail and clung damply to her face. The bikini was a mistake; it held water like a sponge and was cold and heavy against her clammy skin.

She kept her head turned away from where Ranger Russ had fallen. She’d never been good with blood. If she didn’t look, maybe he could still be lying there. As opposed to, say, hiding behind the curtains with the missing knife like the Slasher. She pictured hulking Russ, his ranger’s uniform stained scarlet, and the shining blade flashing again and again like the killer’s knife in Psycho.

Pretty blondes like her never did well in Hitchcock films.

Once Tiffany was outside, however, she almost wished she were back in the cabin. Her flashlight beam pierced the darkness but eventually dropped off, devoured by the night. And then there were the noises. The rain had thankfully stopped, but that had lifted the curtain on a symphony of eerie nighttime sounds. Rustling leaves and breezes sweeping through trees. The blood in Tiffany’s ears, roaring like the crowd at a homecoming game. She’d never realized how much sound a quiet night could make, because she’d always been laughing and chatting and, frankly, dead drunk every time the Jumpscare Society had come to the Slasher cabin.

Tiffany forced her straining lungs to breathe as the six of them stood awkwardly in the driveway. She eyed Russ’s SUV longingly. “I suppose no one knows how to hot-wire a car?”

“Surprisingly, no,” said Jen.