Choose Your Own
Nuthouse
(Nick)
Chasing after a man whose knife you know the name of, but not his. After three campers have been decapitated. In the dark. And you’re dragging your best friend with you. Wow, that’s bright.
You and Dave go running through the darkness and after the man. You never see the man. Occasionally, you manage to catch a glimpse of Louis glinting in the moonlight, but that doesn’t make you want to run any faster.
Dave stops in the middle of the woods, panting furiously.
“Hey… *puff* You think we should… *pant* Stop and figure out… *puff* Where we are? *wheeze*”
“Well, probably,” you reply. “But do we really have the time to get our bearings? I mean, there’s a crazy man with a knife named Louis running around.”
“A slasher named Louis?” Dave asks.
“Um… no. His knife is named Louis. I never got the slasher’s name.”
“You bring a maniacal killer into our campsite and you don’t bother to get his name? Thanks, that was responsible,” replies Dave.
You’re about to respond with what is undoubtedly an incredibly witty response, but it sticks in your throat when you see Louis rising up above Dave’s head. A glint off the knife almost seems like a wink, and then Louis descends straight into the top of Dave’s skull. A sound like a soda being cracked open resounds through the forest as Dave’s head is popped open.
As a spurt of blood and what you can only assume is brain matter sprays onto you and your clothing, you scream like Vivian Leigh in Psycho. Dave’s body drops to the forest floor, and reveals the slasher (although perhaps he can now best be categorized as a “stabber”) crouching there. He’s grinning. Well, you think he’s grinning, until your eyes adjust and you see that he has cut his lips off.
The idea of hauling ass out of here occurs to you, but you decide against it. You have to avenge the savage murder of your best friend. There’s a manly reason behind all of this, but you know deep down this is just a way to pick up chicks. Of course, you’re completely unarmed, and you couldn’t defend yourself against a girl scout in hand-to-hand combat, but anything’s worth a shot.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!” You go running at the slasher/stabber with fists at the ready. The ten feet between the two of you seems like crossing a football field. You brace yourself for impact.
As you tackle into the killer, you attempt to avoid the amazingly dexterous swipes he makes at any exposed part of your body. The two of you roll around in the underbrush, making attempts on each other’s lives at the rate of about one a second.
You manage to get standing at one point, but that lasts for about three seconds before the killer sweeps your legs out from underneath you, leaving you lying on your back. He stands above you, raising the knife as he pins you to the ground with an immense steel-toed boot.
This is it,
you think. What a grand fucking way to go out- pinned to the ground by
some
jackass who named his knife, in the middle of a fucking forest. Joy.
You prepare yourself for the
impending stabbing that is
going to occur…