fear feeder edited

8/3/2019 Fear Feeder Edited

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FEAR FEEDER

by

MARANTHA JENELLE

[3,692 words]

FEAR FEEDER

MARANTHA JENELLE

Marston Ellis looked down at the corpse of

the truck driver as energy surged and

crackled along his nerve endings, making

him feel invincible.

Considering how tough and threatening theguy had been in the bar when Marston had

"accidentally" dumped his beer on him,

Marston had been shocked when he had

caved into the fear within mere hours of

Marston's "games".

Marston had lain in wait, nursing a bruised

rib from where the truck driver had driven

his fist into his side, outside the bar.


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He had had a feeling the guy wasn't going

to let it go after he had put on that show of

being so cowed when he had "run" out of

the bar after the guy used him for a

punching bag.

Man, the brawny ones could be so stupid

sometimes...all bulk and no brains. The fool

had been just drunk enough he had followed

Marston, wanting to continue the fight...

Marston was waiting for the guy as he had

rounded the corner leading to the pitch

black back parking area.

Marston had shot out the two pitiful bulbs

hanging from wires strung across the

parking area with a pellet gun he had

stashed at the corner of the building before

going into the bar.

He always targeted bars that were more or

less isolated and poorly lit and he alwayscased them out during the hours when they

weren't open, studying possible escape

routes and places to hide the pellet gun and


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the billy club he had taken off of a cop he

had killed about three years earlier.

He heard the drunken lunk coming and

nailed him with the billy club as he came

around the corner. The truck driver went

down with no sound save the soft thud as

his lard ass hit the ground.

Marston raised up his shirt and begun

unwinding the length of slender nylon

clothes line he had wrapped around his

waist. He had gone into the bar prepared,

hunting.

This wasn't the first time he had hit a bar

for a hunt...you could always count on some

hothead following you if you pissed them

off.

He tied the guy up and gagged him with a

rag he took out of his back pocket, then

pulled him the few feet to the car he hadstolen several states...and multiple

murders...back, and locked him in the trunk.

Nearly fifty miles of winding back roads


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later he pulled into a heavily wooded area.

Dragging the guy from the trunk, he tied

him to a tree and then began his games.

The guy had lasted through several hours of

taunts, tiny carefully calculated cutting and

gradual loss of certain body parts before he

finally kicked the bucket.

His muffled screams had filled the woodedarea despite the gag and he had soiled

himself not once but several times.

And then had come the part that Marston

liked best...his signature...the brand

showing an outline of a diamond and heart

overlapping, with the diamond being the

upper emblem.

Marston branded all of his kills...after all, an

artist always signs his work.

Marston didn't even bother untying the theguy, he just made sure he left nothing

around to identify him and then got in the

car and drove off, leaving the guy tied to the

tree. It would be a while before he might be


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found, and Marston would be long gone by

then.

He was running out of places in this little

burg to "play" and he didn't dare risk many

more feedings, for two of his victims had

been discovered already and the area

residents were getting jumpy.

Maybe it was time he pulled up stakes and

moved on. After all, he had already been

here two weeks past his normal month in

any one place.

Hmmm, maybe he should just move over a

couple of states till this whole area cooled

down a little.

His decision made, Marston drove back to

the motel he had been staying at while he

had been pretending to look for work,

cleaned up, loaded the bloody clothes in the

trash bag he had brought in from the trunkand then gathered all of his stuff and hit the

road, headed North.

The feeding high stayed with him longer


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this time, giving him the energy to stay on

the road for nearly four days before the

warning signs came that he needed to find

a safe place to go to ground for about one

or two days, someplace where there

wouldn't be much chance of anyone finding

him.

The lethargy that always followed a feeding

hit about midnight of the fourth day after hehad killed the truck driver.

He knew he had about five hours before he

became completely helpless while the

nearly trance-like sleep that always

followed a feeding took him, so he startedkeeping a lookout for somewhere he could

go to ground without risk of possibly being

seen and caught.

He had been driving about two hours when

all at once, where one moment the airoutside the car had been clear as a bell and

he had been able to see miles of stars, now

he was surrounded by a fog so thick he was

reduced to driving with his lights on high at


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barely a crawl as he strained to see the

road ahead of him.

He crested a small rise and then, as he

began to move downward, he saw a faint

glimmer of light shining through the mist.

With the exhaustion pulling at him, and

discovering that he was going to need to

refill the tank, he was really hoping that

that light just happened to be a filling

station.

He was glad to see that it was, for the car

was just about running on fumes, and he

still had to find a place to rest.

As Marston drove onto the lot of the little

station, he gave the place a cursory look

over, then sneered at the rundown condition

of the single building and the lone gas

pump.

He got out and began filling the gas tank,

then opened the trunk and reached into the

duffel bag and got the gun and hunting

knife.


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Entering the little station, he began

wandering around the pitiful offerings they

had in the way of snacks and canned

drinks.

He had to stock up on plenty of snacks,

especially anything high in sugar content,

for when he awoke from the feeding sleep,

he was going to be very, very hungry, a fact

he knew from past experience, and itseemed that the sweeter stuff was what he

craved at that time

He took his purchases up to the counter

and looked around for the clerk. Come to

think of it, there hadn't been anyone behindthe counter when he had come in, either.

He stood there for a moment or two, then

gave a shout to see if anyone was there. He

was just about to shout out again when an

elderly woman came out of a little doornext to the cigarette case, muttering under

her breath, telling him to just be patient,

she wasn't as young as she had used to be.


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She moved to stand across from him and

then began to ring up his purchases, never

once looking directly at him and not saying

a word.

When she had rung up the last item, she

finally looked at him and he was a little

shocked to see that her eyes were nearly

covered with cataracts. How the old bat

had seen to pick up the items he hadchosen, much less ring them up, he didn't

know.

She told him the amount due in a voice that

was strangely flat and without inflection,

her face emotionless, looking past himrather than at him.

Taking out his wallet, he paid for the

purchases and then left, looking back at the

store just before he got in the car.

Man, that old broad had been definitelytwilight zone, he thought to himself as he

started the car and pulled out of the lot, his

tail lights soon lost in the now once again


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strangely clear night.

And in that store, the old woman's eyes

turned an eerie glowing red as a smile of

what could almost have been described as

smug satisfaction touched her lips and she

whispered, "Welcome, Marston Ellis, we've

been expecting you!"

And as the sound of chilling laughter

suddenly filled the empty silence, the

station began to fade...

Till all that was left was the burned out

shell of a building covered in weeds and

creeper vines.

Marston drove into the small town square

about thirty minutes after leaving that

really creepy old bat back at the station.

Looking around, he spotted a flickering

motel sign a little ways ahead.

On the way to the motel, he spotted a

couple of convenience stores and a bank.

He was going to have to get some money,

and he knew the bank was out of the


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question, so he focused on the two

convenience stores, studying their layout,

their size, and other things he would need

to know if he meant to rob them...

Which he did, for the money he had taken

off of the truck driver was running out.

Marston pulled up to the motel office, then

got out and went in and paid for three days

in advance.

Before leaving the office, he looked the

clerk right in the eyes, telling him that

under no circumstances was he to be

disturbed for anything...that anyone that did

would get the crap beat out of them.

Once he located the room, he pulled into

the slot in front of it, then got out and took

just long enough to grab the duffel bag from

the trunk.

Those bags held had the gun and spare

ammo clips. He grabbed the two plastic

bags of snacks and drinks he had gotten at

the creepy station as well and then went


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inside.

Entering the room, he set the bags on the

floor, then bent over the duffel bag and

reached in to get the spare hunting knife.

He turned to the door and locked the chain

and button on the door and then drove the

knife blade into the door jamb as an extra

guarantee that he wouldn't be disturbed.

Turning from the door, he reached down and

picked up the bags and took them over near

the bed, sitting them down on the floor by

the leg of the nightstand, within easy

reach.

Reaching into the duffel bag he pulled out

the gun and his hunting knife. After placing

the gun within easy reach on the

nightstand, he placed the knife beneath the

pillow. He stood only long enough to remove

his jacket and toss it over the back of theonly chair in the room, then lay down.

He was asleep nearly before his head hit

the pillow.


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Marston slept through that entire day, not

moving an inch, lying there almost like a

corpse, and far into the following night.

The whispers woke him at midnight, calling

his name. Moving for the first time since he

had lain down, he began to twist and toss

as the nightmare came again.

It was always the same...a sensation of

falling for what seemed like forever, then

landing to find himself surrounded by a

circle of eerily glowing red eyes and

glimpses of skeletal hands reaching for

him.

And each time those dreams came, those

eyes grew larger and those hands grew

closer to touching him.

Marston came awake with a gasp, his body

drenched in sweat and his heart feeling as

it was trying to come out of his chest, hiseyes wild as they swung around the room.

There was no doubt about it, there was

definitely a sense of his not being alone,


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though he could see nothing and no one in

the room to give him that feeling.

Marston sat up then ran his hands over his

face, and realized they were trembling.

Damn those dreams, they had begun to

come every time he fed.

But what was really odd was that that was

the ONLY time they came.

Sitting there he realized that he needed

something stronger to drink than the sodas

and juices he had gotten at that last stop.

He stood and grabbed his jacket from the

back of the chair, then got the gun and his

good knife and put them in the duffel bag,

after which he headed out to the car.

He never, ever left that duffel bag behind.

He drove around the little town for a while,

searching for a bar, but there didn't appearto be any, so since he was now wide awake,

he decided to just get on the main

thoroughfare and drive out beyond the town

limits.


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After all, a lot of towns did have bars...just

not in their city limits for the sake of all the

"upstanding" folk.

He had been driving for about an hour when

he saw a car on the side of the road with its

emergency lights flashing.

Pulling up behind it he discovered that it

was a couple of teenagers, a boy and a girl,

evidently out on a jaunt.

The kids told him their radiator had blown

up and that they had been stranded there

for over three hours.

Marston, as he stood listening to the two

kids explain how they had come to be out

that late, felt the hunger begin to stir.

For the past four months the hunger had

begun to come more and more

frequently...and insistently.

And Marston knew all too well what

happened when he tried to ignore it or fight

it.


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Oh yes, Marston knew what happened when

he tried to fight the hunger...it hurt like hell.

He knew because it had happened just

recently when he had to walk away from

potential prey two states back when a

group of the intended victim's friends had

shown up just as he had begun to walk

away with them towards his pickup.

He had met up with the kid at what had

appeared to be a town festival of some

kind. The kid had literally almost run him

down with his bicycle.

When the kid had swerved at the last

minute he had turned right into a curb and

his bike had flipped, throwing him right over

the handlebars to land hard on one

shoulder.

Marston had just been wandering around,

searching for a possible target, for thehunger had started the previous afternoon.

When Marston had seen what had

happened, and he had acted without


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thinking. Walking up, he had helped the kid

to his feet and then offered to take him to

the closest medical facility.

The kid had been pretty shaken up and his

shoulder had been at an unnatural angle,

clearly indicating that he had either thrown

it out of joint or broken it.

Whatever the case, it had been plain as day

that the kid had been in a lot of pain, and he

had not even hesitated in accepting

Marston's offer.

They had just started to walk towards the

area where Marston had his truck parked

when four or five other kids had ridden up

on their bikes, calling the injured boys

name and giving suspicious glances at

Marston.

The kids had taken the injured boy aside

and began what had all too plainly been aserious ass grilling for trusting strangers.

The boy had hung his head and then after

looking at his friends and nodding he had


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walked over and gotten his bike and then

rejoined the other kids.

And Marston had been left standing there,

seething in fury, as they had ridden away

without a backward glance.

Damn the little meddlers to hell and back!

He had been so close!

He had discovered that the younger thevictim was, the greater energy surge he got

from their fear and terror.

It had taken Marston two days after he lost

his chance with the boy to find another

victim, and by then he was nearly mad with

the hunger.

And that time had taught him very well

what could happen if he did not feed when

the craving first struck, for by the time he

finished with the transient he had lured into

an abandoned warehouse with the promise

of booze, the guy had barely resembled a

human being at all.

And what had shook Marston up was that


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he had not remembered even one moment

past when he had chained the guy to the

pipe deep in the bowels of that building.

He had literally cut the guy to pieces a

chunk at a time, leaving nothing but a

carcass that looked like a badly put

together nightmare of exposed muscles and

bone.

He had placed the guys body in one of the

furnaces in the basement, then cleaned up

in a restroom and left, but all the way back

to the motel, he had been dwelling on what

had happened.

And he knew that he must never, ever again

let him go that long without feeding, for if

he did, he was sure to get caught.

Marston told the kids he would give them a

ride back into town and tried to look

sincere and harmless, but he was alreadyplotting where he could take them.

He looked at his watch and then asked the

kids if they could excuse him a moment


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while he cleared out the back seat, then

headed for the car.

Opening the driver's side door, Marston

grabbed some of the empty snack wrappers

and other debris and crammed it into a

partially filled garbage bag that had been

on the floor board.

Carrying the bag, he moved to the back and

opened up the trunk, tossed the plastic bag

in then opened the duffel bag and got the

killing knife and slipped it into the custom

sheath he had crafted from an old leather

jacket he had taken off of one of his

victims.

Slamming the trunk, he walked back

towards the kids and told them to go ahead

and get in the car, he would take them back

to town.

Over two hours later he stood, recharged,and stared with a sense of accomplishment

at all that was left of those two kids...

Which was to say, not much.


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He was so charged he decided that just this

once he wasn't going to try to hide his

handiwork, it needed to be appreciated...

After all, he had gone to such pains to make

sure that the switches he had made in

both of the bodies looked somewhat natural

when he had super glued the part into their

new places.

All at once he grinned...the boy had actually

turned out to be little more than a wuss,

and it was only appropriate that his new

equipment matched his true

nature...while the same could be said for

what was left of the girl...after all, she HADbeen the one with the most balls!

But he had one more teensy weensy detail

to take care of before he could head back

to the motel...his signature.

Reached down and pulling the knife oncemore from the sheath, he walked up to the

trees to which the two bodies were tied,

and after cutting away some of the bark so


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that the mark would show, he gouged his

signature symbol into the trees.

After replacing the knife, he gave the two

bodies a mocking salute and then returned

to his car. About two hours later he was

back at the motel, cleaned up and gathering

his things.

He decided to hit the smaller of the two

convenience store, as he was now down to

only a couple of dollars, then he figured he

would find somewhere to lie low for a few

days.

But that act of vanity he had allowed

himself had cost him...

Marston cursed virulently beneath his

breath as he watched the men moving

cautiously on the trail below him...they had

finally, it seemed, caught up with him.

As he hunkered down on the overhang

above the trail, he watched as the dogs

went about, noses to ground, trying to pick

up his scent.


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He silently chuckled to himself, fat chance

of that.

He had come across a dead deer and had

what, to him at least, had seemed the

brilliant idea of using the carrion to throw

the search dogs off of the trail.

So he had used his hunting knife to carve a

different kind of meat than it was normally

wont to.

And then he had stripped and rubbed the

chunk of rotting meat everywhere he could

reach on his body and then over his clothes.

He had nearly gagged while doing it, but to

his way of thinking, nausea was preferable

to what would happen if he were caught.

Besides, by the following night he was no

longer aware of the smell at all. He guessed

his nose had gotten used to it.

And he took the hide and put it in the cave,

storing his clothes with it so that the smell

soaked into them.


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That had been two weeks ago, and he had

tried to be careful about getting wet and

risk washing away the scent, for he had

finally had to get rid of the hide when it

begun to turn maggoty.

But life was a real bitch...the rainstorm two

nights back had pretty much drenched him

before he could reach the caves where he

had been holed up for the past threemonths, and he had run out of the clothes

that had been "doctored", so had been

reduced to wearing clothes which allowed

his own scent to fill them for the past two

days.

As he watched the activity on the trail

below, his thoughts drifted back to what

had brought him to this point...

He had stumbled onto the caves after a

close run in with the law after they hadfound the kids.

His car had broken down not far from a

heavily wooded area, above which could be


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seen what appeared to be some large

mountains.

He had left the car sitting on the road,

taking time only to grab his gun, the satchel

of ammo, the canteen, all incriminating

paper work that might identify him and the

satchel containing the junk food that he had

managed to steal along the way at a couple

of the gas stations and convenience storeshe had robbed.

He had wandered, totally lost, for about

three days when he had stumbled onto the

caves, which went far back into the

mountains in which they were located. Andthat was where he had set up temporary

camp.

Water had been no problem, as there was a

stream not far from the caves, but food was

another thing altogether.He had had to resort to sneaking down into

the closest town, which lay only about two

or three miles from the entry to the forest


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surrounded the caves, in the dead of night

and raiding the dumpster behind the two

grocery stores and the three local eateries.

He hadn't wanted to call any more attention

to his presence than he had to.

As for clothes...and a few beat up pots and

cooking utensils and dishes...he raided the

local charity bin that sat on the edge of

town. He couldn't carry much at one time

and still hike all the way back to the caves,

so he had learned to be very selective in

what and how much he took.

The garments that didn't fit he simply

dumped down a shaft he had found while

exploring the cave he was in, and food that

went bad went the same way, as did his

bodily waste.

He never, ever lit a fire in the main cave, but

rather used one that was further back,which had a really high ceiling that allowed

the smoke to dissipate without choking

him, as actual living space.


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All in all, it had proven to be a fairly cozy

little set up, and for the first time in longer

than he could remember he had actually

stayed in one place for longer than two or

three weeks.

And then the hunger had come and ruined it

all.

Women...oh how he hated them...that little

tramp he had carved up along with her

boyfriend had scratched him...

And the cops had evidently gotten hold of

some of his DNA from old medical records

back after they had found that damn

engraved watch his dad had given him.

Marston hated all women on principal...

Especially that bitch who had brought him

into this miserable cess pit of a world.

But he had returned that little favor bytaking her out of it on his eighteenth

birthday after she had snuck into his

bedroom, drunk off of her ass, and tried to

seduce him.


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Not that he would have ever touched the

fat, child beating whore even if she had

been sober, he had too much class for that.

Marston had been his mother's punching

bag more than once in the past...and she

had not had to be drunk, either, to find

cause to beat him...

Taking her rage at his father running off

with his secretary about four months after

Marston's fifteenth birthday out on him.

Truth be told, that secretary had been a

total knockout, so Marston couldn't really

blame his old man for his actions...

No, Marston couldn't blame his father for

leaving...but there was one thing he DID

hold a grudge against his father for...

He just wished the selfish bastard could

have taken him with him, and not left him

with that fat, sloshed sow who had given

him birth.

And that was the night he learned that he

could gain strength from fear and terror.


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The feeling that he had gotten that night

while he was beating his mother to death

with his football trophy kept him going, not

even requiring eating or sleep, for two days

before it wore off.

The downside was that he had slept for

nearly twelve hours straight, almost like a

corpse, not even moving from the position

he passed out in. And he had eaten like ahorse for about a two days afterwords.

But he had liked that feeling of power...oh,

he had liked it very much!

He had drug his mother's body out to his

pickup...ironically a seventeenth birthday

gift from the old bat...an attempted sop to

her conscious for the crappy way she

treated him, he had guessed. After tossing

her body callously in the back he drove out

to the rock quarry at the edge of town.He had driven far back into the quarry, then

had dug a hole and dumped his mother's

body into it.


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Appropriating one of the front end earth

scooping machines, he had loaded about

four or five scoops of gravel on top of the

grave...it would be a while before anyone

found her, he had thought with vindictive

glee.

After making sure there was nothing around

to link to him, he had left the quarry and

headed home, where he started packingand gathering the things he would be taking

with him when he left that miserable little

hole in the road.

A day or two after he had returned from the

quarry, he had gone through all of herpapers and computer files till he found a

copy of her signature and her bank account

number.

Then he had sent the bank an email

notifying them that "she" was going to begoing on a road trip, and was taking him

with her, and that there would be funds

drawn on various ATM machines out of

state.


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He told the bank that "she" did not have a

defined date of return, and that "she" would

contact them when they got back.

Then he had withdrawn two thousand

dollars.

He had gone to the bank with a withdrawal

strip on which he had forged her signature,

telling them that she had asked him to pick

up the money while she finished packing

and getting ready, since he was going to be

in town anyway.

The bank saw nothing suspicious in this, for

his mother had signed papers allowing him

to perform transactions in her name and he

had been doing it ever since getting his

license when he was seventeen.

He had avoided going into town any more

than necessary in order to avoid the

possibility of anyone asking why his motherwasn't seen around for the next two or

three weeks as he had tried to think of all

of the things he might need to take care of


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before he left.

But he had one more thing to take care of

before shaking the dust of that town from

his feet...he had a little "date" with Natasha

Pensworth and that geeky science nerd,

Merrick Nash, she had dumped him for.

Marston had stalked his cheating whore of

an ex girlfriend and her new lover boy for

the two weeks following the murder of his

mother, carefully noting their movements

and patterns, even slipping a tracking

device beneath the bumper of his two

timing little slut of a former girlfriend's car,

and then, on a night as cold as a witch'sheart, he had followed them to an old

hunting cabin up in the hills about sixty

miles from town.

He had gone to the cabin time and time

again while he stalked the two lovebirds,sealing all of the windows and drilling holes

on both sides of the door frame into which

he fitted holders that he had custom

created himself (Whoever knew that taking


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shop class could come in so handy!) that,

once in place and a bar dropped between

them, blocked the door completely.

Then had come the night he had been

waiting for them when the two lovers had

gone up to the cabin for a tryst.

He had tracked them as they had headed

for the cabin, then, after taking some back

roads to get there ahead of them, he had

waited patiently till almost midnight,

watching from his hiding place till he had

been fairly sure that they were down for the

night, and then he had made his move.

He had gone to the little pile of brush to

one side of the cabin where he had hidden

the beam that would go across the door and

the canvas bag holding the brackets, doing

his best to make as little noise as

possible...After all, he hadn't wanted to spoil the

surprise, now had he?

Creeping up to the door, he felt along the


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edges till he found the holes he had drilled

and then placed the brackets in them, then

added the beam.

And then he had doused the entire cabin in

gasoline from the stock of cans he had

been surreptitiously sneaking up and

concealing with brush the same way he had

the beam and brackets.

Then he had gotten the tiki torch he had

hidden with the rest of the stuff and the

aluminum baseball bat and returned to the

cabin...

And using the aluminum baseball bat he had

begun going around the entire cabin

banging on the walls and shouting, calling

the little tramp and her lover everything he

could think of, mocking them, driving them

to a state of panic.

And as their panic had built, his strengthhad begun to grow, and he had begun to

feel invincible.

But the rush he had gotten at the wave of


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sheer terror that had emanated from that

cabin when he had begun lighting the

gasoline drenched wood, yelling the entire

time that he was going to send their

cheating, two timing asses to hell, had been

almost enough to overload his system.

Oh how he had reveled in their screams and

the sounds of pounding and shattering

glass as they had tried to escape!

How he had howled with manic, glorious,

vindicated laughter when he had seen their

terrified faces at the sealed

windows...windows across which he had

mounted steel bars that had fit into thebrackets he had so carefully custom

created and placed over every single

window, and which were padlocked!

Luckily for him the cabin had had only had

five windows, two in the front, one in thebedroom, one in the bathroom and one over

the kitchen sink, and that they all had been

fairly small, for it meant that the bars had

not required much lifting to mount.


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He waited for about thirty minutes after it

went silent, then he gathered all of the

plastic gas containers up and dumped them

on the huge pile of brush he had set up for

just that purpose, after which he set it

ablaze.

Anyone investigating the scene would play

hell getting finger prints, for he had also

worn heavy leather gloves to hang the barson the windows and the one on the door.

And he had always made sure to wear

gloves when he had been preparing the

cabin and to remove any possibly

incrimination evidence of his having beenthere.

He had whistled all the way back to the

truck...

Totally unaware that the watch with its

custom family crest engraved on the facethat his father had given him as a

graduation present had fallen off of his

wrist into a flower bed beneath the


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bedroom window of the cottage...

A watch that had been engraved with the

words "To my son, Marston, the graduate".

Marston had driven back to town and

returned home only long enough to pitch

the tent, storage chests and suitcases that

he had packed and prepared for this

occasion into the back of his pickup, then

he had headed out of town without once

looking back.

That had been eleven years ago. Since that

time he had left a trail of bodies across the

entire fifty states, everything from

housewives who caught him when he broke

in looking for food and things to steal and

sell to campers to joggers to homeless

people...

And all of them had been tortured in order

to obtain the maximum level of fear beforethey died.

And it was now getting harder and harder to

stay that one step ahead of the law.


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It was such a pity he simply could not resist

marking his victims with his "trademark"...a

linked outline of a diamond and a heart,

which to him stood for what he had taken to

calling himself...Diamondheart.

After all, all true artist's signed their work,

didn't they?

It was the same mark he had left branded

into a tree near the cabin with the

miniature brand he had himself

created...once again sardonically thanking

shop class as he had made it...and which

was small enough to fit in his shirt pocket.

All he had to do was hold it over the flame

of the lighter he had had engraved with his

sign and it was ready to use.

As that thought passed through his head as

he knelt, watching the trail, he let out

another string of low curses...he had beenso careful, attending to each and every

detail, and it had all been undone by a

broken watch clasp!


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No one would have known to possibly link

him to that brand when it showed up on his

later victims if it hadn't been for that damn

watch!

The fire at the cabin had, of course, been

investigated, and they had been very, very

thorough...and found the watch...with his

name on it...

And the brand.

Thinking of the watch infuriated him, for

that engraving was one of the little vanity

perks that his father had been prone to...

Just as that brand was his.

It was one of the few times he really hated

his father for his damn pride in the fact that

his family actually had a crest and a

traceable lineage.

His dad's family gave the term "old money"a whole new meaning.

The face on that watch had been custom

engraved with the family crest, a symbol


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that had been well known in not only his

town...purely for the fact that his family

were the town founders and it was on every

police car, courthouse wall and a lot of

other places as well...but in nearly every

county for about a hundred mile radius.

And his name was known by the law

enforcement in his town due to his having

put a police officer in the hospital over aparking ticket about two months after he

got his license.

The only reason he had been able to keep

his license and gotten off on a smaller

charge had been due to his family'sinfluence and money.

Marston's mind was jerked back to the

present by the sudden sound of excited

baying as one of the dogs picked up his

scent. Scooting back, careful to make aslittle noise as possible, he only stood when

he reached the little ravine below the ridge

on which he had been watching the

searchers.


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No sooner had he stood than he took off for

the caves, for he knew that even if they

found the one he had been staying in, he

could lose them in the ones further in.

As he ran, he was cursing mentally, damn it

to hell, he should have been more careful

and not taken the chance of leaving the

body of that drifter in the basement of that

old abandoned factory at the edge of town.

He had needed a terror fix so desperately

he had been actually aching with the

craving for it, for it had seemed so long

since the one that had forced him to flee

and brought him to this place.

But by the time he had gotten through with

the guy, it had been nearly dawn and he

knew he hadn't had much time to get out of

town and back safely to the caves before

daylight. He had been doing his best tonever, ever be seen by anyone.

But someone must have been in the

building and heard the screams of his


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victim, for he had just reached the edge of

the woods leading to the caves when he

heard the sirens...and they seemed to be

getting closer.

Marston made it to the caves and

immediately went straight to the one in

which he had been staying and grabbed the

flashlight, the gun, the satchel of ammo and

then headed deeper into the network ofoffshoots that he had come to know fairly

well during his stay there.

He spent some time going in and out of

ones which all were interlinked by openings

to each other, deliberately running his handover the walls and rocks, laying down a trail

of scent to confuse the dogs.

Then he headed back towards a part that

he hadn't really explored fully, but where he

felt the dogs wouldn't track him as well, forhe doubted that many of the search party

would have flashlights.

He was far back in the tunnel system when


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he heard the echoes of the dogs baying and

the shouts of the men when they evidently

located the caves.

And he knew by the change in the voices

just about when they found his particular

cave.

Moving quickly, Marston continued deeper

into the tunnels, always keeping part of his

mind focused on his pursuers even as he

tried to focus on the twists and turns as he

followed the tunnels.

A person could get lost very easily in that

complex system.

He heard the dogs suddenly start baying

again and guessed they must have picked

up the false trail he had left...that would

keep them busy for a short time going

around in circles.

He had only gone a little further after

hearing the dogs when all at once he began

to get the feeling that someone...or

something...was not only watching him...


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But following him.

Marston paused for a moment to grab his

breath, his heart beating hard as he

strained to listen for any sound of

movement, but only silence met his ears.

He had barely moved a few yards further

into the tunnels when the whispers began,

always saying the same thing over and over

again...voices that sounded strangely

hollow and echoing...

His name.

Now beginning to feel a little spooked, he

continued on, and began to notice that the

ground now seemed to be sloping

downward.

He had reached a cavern of some kind

which had a huge pit not far from the

entrance to it when he once again got the

feeling that he was not alone.

He moved a little ways into the cavern, then

turned to face the entrance and bent over,

placing his hands on his knees as he tried


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to catch his breath and to listen for sounds

of the searchers and dogs.

But only silence met his ears once more...

And then a slight movement in the shadows

by the entrance caught his attention.

Pulling the handgun from the shoulder

holster, he made sure it was loaded then

turned the flashlight on the area he thoughthe had seen the movement in...

And then gave a gasp of sheer horror, for

the apparitions that he saw were now

beginning to advance slowly towards him

he knew could not possibly be real...for

they were none other than all of the people

he had tortured and murdered.

With eyes wide and heart beginning to beat

like it was trying to come out of his chest,

Marston watched as the figures drew closer

and closer, reciting his name in whispering

voices that turned his blood to ice.

By now totally spooked, he began firing

wildly at them...only to watch the bullets


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connect...

And yet the figures simply kept coming,

closer and closer.

As those grisly figures approached, Marston

began to back up slowly, trying his best to

reload the gun while still keeping an eye on

them.

All at once he felt his heel totter on theedge of the pit and knew that he could go

no further. He placed the final bullet in the

gun and began firing into the group of

ghostly figures that were advancing on him.

Marston kept pulling the trigger for several

moments after the last bullet was fired as

his stalkers shuffled closer and closer.

His wild eyes searched frantically for a path

of escape, and found none.

He did not see the skeletal hands thatreached up from the edge of the pit to grab

his ankles and pull...

Causing him to lose his balance and fall


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backwards, right down to the bottom,

where he landed with a thud that knocked

the breath out of him.

Shakily getting to his feet, he immediately

glanced around, seeking a way out of the

pit, but there didn't appear to be any, for the

sides were sheer rock and the top was too

far to reach and pull himself out.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled

out one of the multitude of cheap lighters

he had stolen from various stores he had

robbed over the years, and which he always

kept on him, igniting the flame with hands

that trembled visibly.

He realized that he could no longer hear

that eerie recitation of his name and he

looked up at the rim of the pit, expecting to

see those ghastly figures peering down at

him, mocking him, but they appeared tohave disappeared.

Drawing a shaky breath of relief, he walked

up the wall, looking upwards to see if there


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were any possible handholds he might be

able to use to get out.

All around the perimeter he searched,

seeking a way out, but he seemed to be

well and truly stuck, for the walls were

nearly completely smooth.

Frustrated, cursing under his breath, he

began to pace, and that was when the

whispers began again, whispering in eerie

echoing tones, whispering of atrocities he

had committed.

And then something moved in the shadows

outside the fast dimming glow of the lighter

he had once more held up and ignited when

the first whispers came.

And as he watched, his heart nearly

stopping with horror as those shadows

began to form and move all around him,

drawing closer even as they multiplied innumber.

Backing away, holding the lighter up and

once again searching for a way of escape,


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Marston's heels connected with something

on the floor behind him, sending him reeling

backwards, arms flailing for balance.

Once more getting shakily to his feet,

Marston looked down to see what had

tripped him...

And his eyes went wide in horror as he

stared at his body, lying, twisted in

unnatural order, at his feet.

And he looked up and around as those

ghostly, skeletal figures that surrounded

him began to approach, their bony hands

outstretched, their fingers clawed, their

sightless eyes set in decaying faces locked

on him and glowing red, lips drawn back

over sharp edged, jagged teeth in parodies

of grins as their voices began to fill the

cavern, repeating one word over and over

again...Vengeance.

And as the figures closed in and began to

tear him apart, he began to scream as he


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learned for himself the meaning of terror...

A lesson he would be learning for eternity.

fear feeder edited

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