A dim light shines down from two-feet above his head. The light is so close he can fell the warmth from the old bulb on his head. The hiker emerges from unconsciousness, completely disoriented. The last thing he can remember is leaving his apartment with his girlfriend to go on a ten-mile hike. He can’t recall anything else after that.
He has dry blood over his right eye, indicating a plausible reason for his amnesia. Before he was rendered unconscious, he does remember being hit with a severe blow. What he can’t remember is why.
In front of him is a wall of darkness. The light above is strong enough to reveal a concrete, damp, floor that transcends into the darkness. He can hear the constant sound of water dripping at a distance. This tells him that he’s in a wide space.
The air is moist and musty. He quickly realizes that he is unable to move. He glances down at himself and discovers why he is immobile. He’s standing upright, strapped down on a metal table from his torso to his ankles.
“What the hell?” he blurts out.
He tries to free himself again, using all of his might, but the leather straps are far too durable.
“This is my favorite part, when the victim slowly wakes up and realizes that he’s in a world of trouble,” a voice speaks from the nearby darkness.
“Who said that?” the hiker asks fearfully.
“I'm over here.”
The hiker follows the voice to his left and squint his eyes so he can see clearer. He spots a person, wearing a long brown cloak, sitting in a wooden chair with his arms resting on the armrests. His nails are tapping the wood as he waits for the hiker to become fully aware. Most of the man's face is covered in darkness, for the exception of his chin.
“What kind of sick joke is this? Let me go now,” the hiker demands.
The mysterious man snickers in the shadows.
“I do like a good joke now and then, but this is no laughing matter.”
The hiker attempts to free himself again.
“It’s useless. You’re not going anywhere.”
“I don't know who you are, but people will start looking for me.”
“They already started. That doesn’t change your current circumstance at all. They will never find you.”
“I’m warning you, if you don't let me go then..,”
From the shadows, the hooded man slams a fist on the armrest of the chair.
“Or what, you're going to stare at me to death? Give me a fucking break,” the hooded man replies. “You're in no position to make threats around here, boy.”
“Listen, if you want money, I can get it for you. Just let me go…”
“I don’t care for money,” the mysterious man butts in.
“I don’t know what I’ve done, but if I wronged you in anyway, I will make it up to you. Just let me go,” the hiker pleads.
“Trust me, this is nothing personal. My destiny, my purpose, is to afflict pain and kill as many people as I can. I love to do this. I live for this. I can’t breathe without this. It’s… in my nature. I can’t help myself. I could’ve killed you on the spot, but I wanted to make things interesting. I want to feed them hope. I want them to think that you are still alive and well. But eventually I will kill you and get rid of your body somewhere.”
The mysterious man claps his hands and laughs with excitement.
“I wonder where I should dump your body,” the hooded man ponders. “I can’t wait. I’ll even place absurd clues at the scene to throw them off. Lancaster won’t know what to do next.”
The hiker starts to whimper as the hooded man plans his murder right in front of him.
“You sick bastard. You can’t just go around killing people. What kind of monster are you?”
The hooded man sighs from the chair.
“I'm...uh...a complicated monster. Most people call me the boogeyman. I hate that name. But..,” he says while standing to his feet.
The hooded man begins to approach the frightened hiker as he proceeds with his speech.
“There's one name that really stuck with me. I didn't like it at first, but it's definitely a lot better than the boogeyman.”
The hooded man stops in front of him with his face lowered.
“I am...,” he lifts his hood back, revealing his grotesque face. “The Hellhound,” he says with a smile.
The hiker gasps loudly with wide, petrified, eyes.
“OH MY GOD!” the hiker finally manages to speak. “Someone, help me!” the hiker shouts desperately for help. “Help me please!”
Hellhound closes his eyes and savors this special moment. The terrified pleas of the hiker are like music to his ears.
“That's why I love this job. There's nothing better than the useless sound of someone crying for help. It’s beautiful. Actually, that's not true.”
Hellhound walks away from his sight into the shadows. A moment later, he reemerges from the shadows, carrying a smile on his face and a chainsaw in his hand.
“There's nothing better than the sound of someone crying for help while getting gutted with a chainsaw,” he says to the soon-to-be victim.
He then starts to laugh loudly as he brings the sharp blades to life. The hiker begins to yell at the top of his lungs. Hellhound lifts the chainsaw high in the air, grimacing more than ever.
“That's the spirit!” Hellhound says while laughing his hardest.
Defensively, the hiker continues to scream for help; however, not one soul is able to hear his dying plea...
CHAPTER 5: GLENWORTH UNIVERSITY