DESPERATE

28

Jillian and her children's hearts plummeted when Randall finally tracked them down. They had believed they were safe, far removed from the clutches of the deranged little man, but their sense of security was shattered. There he stood, right in front of them once more, gleeful at the prospect of tormenting them with his upcoming twisted game.

"You thought you could escape me," Randall taunted, his voice dripping with malevolence. "Haha, you were wrong. I've tracked you down, and now I won't let you slip away from my gaze. We have one final game to play." He brandished the butcher knife, swaying it menacingly as he surveyed the room.

Doug, the homeowner, felt totally confused about what was going on. He wondered who the little sinister-looking figure was. "I don't know who you are," he stammered, trying to sound brave. "But I demand that you leave my house immediately, or else I'll call the authorities."

Randall eyed Doug with disdain, digging his finger into his nose and flicking snot around. "No one tells me what to do," he declared, inching closer to Doug. "Wherever I go, I am in control," the blade of the butcher knife grazed Doug's trembling legs, leaving him frozen in fear.

"You could be useful for our little game. I'll give you instructions and you'll follow them. But if you don't, you'll suffer painful consequences." Randall, told the man who couldn't stop shaking.

"My foot really hurts. Can we do something about it?" Dionah cried.

"Let me look at it," Randall said, approaching her. Dionah didn't want him near her, so she scooted away from him.

"Maybe I can help you. Get me a piece of cloth, a lighter, and alcohol," Randall ordered. No one moved. "What are you waiting for? Do you want her to get a serious infection?"

Doug gave Randall a cloth, a lighter, and a bottle of whiskey Everyone was curious to know what the little man was going to do.

"Show me your foot, now." Randall demanded, brandishing a butcher knife in his hand. "Don't you dare try to hit me. I won't hesitate to chop it off. When I was a kid, I stepped on a rusty nail. My Pa didn't waste time taking me to the hospital. He dealt with it himself." He spoke with a grim determination, as he soaked a rag with whiskey and set it ablaze. He pressed the flaming cloth against her wound, ignoring the pain in his own fingers.

With a piercing scream of pain, Dionah lashed out at his face, hoping to make him stop. But Randall was faster than her. He dodged her attack and landed a blow on Doug's groin instead.

A sharp agony pierced his lower belly, like a knife slicing through his flesh. Doug groaned and bent over, holding his groin with both hands. Tears stung his eyes and his sight dimmed. He opened his mouth to scream, but only a feeble moan escaped his lips. He fell to the ground, curling into a ball.

Randall's eyes narrowed into slits as he sneered, "Oh, that was brutal. Lucky it was him not me." He watched with sadistic glee as Dionah writhed in agony, the burning cloth he pressed against her foot searing her flesh. The room reeked of charred human meat. "You, sicko. You enjoy torturing people." She spat at him, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Randall couldn't stand Dionah's constant insults any longer. He had dreamed of having a loving family and a cozy home. They made him feel worthless. He decided to end their torment with one final game. He pulled Doug by his collar and dragged him to a chair. "Sit down," he snapped. "We don't have much time left."

Doug got up and stumbled to the chair. He obeyed the little man, even though he could have overpowered Randall easily. He was still in agony from the groin-punch he had received earlier.

"Where are your guns?" Randall demanded, eyeing the animal trophies on the wall. "Don't tell me you don't have any. You're a hunter, aren't you? You like killing things. Maybe we should add your heads to his collection." He gestured at Jillian and the kids, who shrank back in fear.

"Come on, man, that's not funny," Jordan said, his voice trembling. "You don't really hate us that much, do you?"

Randall ignored him and continued to intimidate Doug, who tried to resist but eventually caved in. "They're behind the couch," he muttered. "I keep them there in case of intruders."

Randall smirked and walked over to the couch, keeping an eye on his hostages. He grabbed a gun and felt its weight. It was too big for his hand, but he didn't mind. He wasn't going to pull the trigger anyway.

"Listen, very carefully. You have to do everything I say, or you'll regret it." Randall hissed in Doug's ear. He waved the gun at Jillian. "Cover his eyes!" He commanded.

"Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt. I want you four, Jillian and your brats, to line up against the wall." Randall said.

"I can't stand up. My foot is killing me," Dionah whimpered.

"Shut your mouth. Or I'll blow your brains out. Move it!" Randall snapped.

Randall grabbed the hand of the blindfolded man and thrust the gun into his palm. "Think of them as the prey you stalk in the woods, show no mercy. You have only six-bullets in the chamber. That's six chances to make it count, when you're done, you can mount their heads wherever you please in the house."

Doug felt a twisted thrill in his dark mind. This was a new kind of game. A game where the targets were human. He felt a surge of arousal and shifted his position.

"Please, Doug, don't do this! You're better than him," the voices begged.

Doug gripped the heavy hunting gun, feeling its cold metal against his skin. He was blindfolded, unable to see anything but darkness.

"Come on, don't be a chicken," Randall taunted him. "It's either them or you, buddy. You know the rules."

"I can't do this. I can't see what I'm shooting at." Doug pleaded.

"Don't worry, I'm here for you. I'll tell you where to aim," Randall assured him, his voice dripping with false sincerity. He glanced at the terrified Andera family. "This is it, folks. Time to meet your maker."

Randall jerked Doug's arm and squeezed the trigger. Four deafening shots rang out. He grinned maliciously as he gazed at the four lifeless bodies in a pool of blood.

He yanked off Doug's blindfold. The man was stunned beyond belief. He had just killed an innocent family in cold blood. He had succumbed to his dark side. He was speechless. He gazed with tears streaming down his chubby cheeks.

"Don't shed your tears for them. They deserved what they got. I have other things to deal with. You can do whatever you please with them," Randall said to the bewildered man.

"You can't just abandon me with the corpses. Help me bury them at least." Doug pleaded with him.

"Help you bury them?" Randall scoffed. "You were the one who shot them, not me. So it's your problem, not mine. I bet you loved every second of it." He slammed the door behind him.

Doug was at a loss. He couldn't turn himself in. How would he explain to the cops that some twisted little man had forced him to kill the family? They would never believe him. He would spend the rest of his life in jail. Burying them was too much work for him. It would strain his heart. He groaned and shut his eyes.

The loud gunshot startled Randall. He ran back to the house where he had left baby Cyrie. What was he going to do with her?