Free Wormwood Dawn (Episode III) by Edward Crae

way up, leading to the landing, where there was more writing.
     
    Watch your step
     
    Dan looked down. There were bloody drag marks on the last landing. Dan swallowed hard, shining his light up into the hallway. There were more handprints on the walls leading to the bedroom door at the end of the hall.
    “This is fucking crazy,” Drew said.
    Jake grunted, peeking through the railing. “It’s beyond crazy,” he said. “But we gotta know.”
    Dan nodded, mounting the top step and proceeding down the hallway. The floor creaked, and the doors whined lightly as they passed; moved by the force of their wind.
    When they reached the bedroom door, Dan saw that the handle was bloody. He didn’t want to turn it, but thankfully the door itself was ajar. He pushed it open with his shotgun, standing back; ready to fire.
    The smell of decay was stronger here, but still not quite as strong as it had been in the other houses. But here, the scene was even more grotesque. The bed was the dominant feature in the room, located in the exact center where all four men could see. Shirley’s body was there; chained to the bed posts and spread out as far as her limbs would allow.
    She had been skinned.
    “Holy fuck,” Dan said, stepping into the room.
    The others followed, each of them gasping as they saw the carnage.
    “Damn,” Vincent said. “Poor lady. Shit.”
    “Dude,” Drew whispered, pointing his light high on the wall behind the bed. There were more words scrawled there; written in blood in the same hand.
     
    Fear the Reaper
     
    “Jesus Christ,” Dan exclaimed. “What the fuck is going on?”
    “Some of her blood is still wet,” Jake said. “She’s still kinda juicy.”
    “Dude,” Drew said. “This happened recently.”
    Dan shook his head in disbelief. “No, no, no, man,” he protested. “No fucking way. We set crazy dude’s house on fire at least four days ago. There’s no way.”
    “Blood doesn’t take long to dry,” Jake said. “Especially when spread out this thin. She would be dry by now. At least on the outside.”
    “That crazy fucker is dead,” Dan said. “His throat was cut, and I pissed on him before we set his house on fire.”
    “Let’s get the fuck outta here,” Drew said. “I’m about to shit my pants again.”
    Dan stood still for a moment as the others stepped out. He felt sorry for Shirley, and terrified by the whole situation. Could the psycho have survived somehow? Who survives cutting their own throat? Was that even the actual guy lying dead on the bed? Had he just pissed on another victim?
    “Sorry, Shirley,” he whispered, backing out.
    The four of them returned to the Hummer. They were quiet and tense; Dan and Drew, especially. They all sat in silence as they contemplated the situation. Dan’s mind was abuzz with various scenarios—none of them good. If the serial killer was still alive, then where was he? He and Drew had burned his house down.
    Hadn’t they?
    “I want to check and see if the guy’s house is still there,” Dan said, putting the Hummer in gear. “Maybe the fire went out.”
    “It couldn’t have,” Drew said. “We doused the fucker with a shit ton of gas.”
    Dan pulled out, kicking rocks up as he slammed the Hummer in drive. They quickly wound through the wooded road, bouncing over the potholes and fallen limbs. Dan was focused on the road ahead and didn’t even pay attention. Fuck it, it was a Hummer.
    It could take it.

Chapter Eight
    The psycho’s house was burned to the ground. Only the chimney and a small portion of the fireplace remained standing. Dan breathed a sigh of relief as he scanned the property. The killer was dead, so the incident had to have taken place before they came here; maybe even the same day they “rescued” Shirley from the mercs.
    “See, man,” Drew said. “It’s just circumstantial evidence. Maybe the cold weather kept her blood wet.”
    Jake nodded. “That’s possible,” he said. “If she was dead, she