The Devil's Wicked Temptations

28: Master of Fear

It was long past midnight when Jonathan returned to his pitch black house. Shutting the backdoor behind him, he leaned against the wood, squeezing his eyes shut. His heart pounded furiously against his chest, and beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. He tore his mask off, gasping for air.

He could picture their petrified expressions as clear as day, Sherry's red lips gaped in horror as he'd jumped on the hood of the car. They were more frightened than he'd predicted. And they had no idea it was him. With that burlap mask over his head and a "gun" in his hand, aimed directly at them, he became an entity of pure terror—something inhuman that would haunt their dreams, mutating them into nightmares.

That was what he'd thought.

What he hadn't expected was for them to scatter like crows, tires squealing as Bo whipped out of the clearing. In the distance, Jonathan had sworn he'd heard a faint bang, like metal denting. He'd wanted to investigate and savor every detail of his revenge, but he knew he couldn't linger. Instead, he'd fled home, the crashing sound repeating in his head the entire journey.

A wicked smile crept up his lips, and a small laugh slipped through. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, but he knew he needed to move. With quick, quiet footsteps, he scurried upstairs, where his grandmother's snores filled the space. Relief washed over him, and he entered his bedroom, hiding the water pistol behind his wardrobe. Then, he tossed the mask onto the bed and changed out of his tattered shirt.

He pulled a T-shirt over his head before grabbing the clothing and sneaking back downstairs. The backdoor made a slight creak, but he slipped outside and dashed into the cornfield. For once, the darkness and eerie silence didn't bother him. He almost felt like he was one with it.

The mannequin of a scarecrow, which didn't look so frightening now, loomed over the stalks. Jonathan redressed it, fastening the burlap with rope. When he stepped back onto the dirt, he looked up at it with fondness. Maybe Bo was onto something when he'd given him the childish nickname.

Jonathan knew he should've returned to his room now and tried to get some sleep, but questions plagued his mind. Had the car really crashed? Had they lived?

He hoped not. It surprised him how much he didn't care if they were dead. They'd dedicated their lives to humiliating him and torturing him.

They deserved this.

***

Saturday morning, the news swept over Arlen like dark, sudden cloud, casting a shadow over the community and washing away any sense of normalcy. Ellie spent the day in bed, dismissing her mother every time she appeared at her doorway, offering a variety of snacks and drinks in an attempt to make her feel better. While she appreciated it, nothing helped.

The night came and went, and she tossed and turned on her mattress, unable to close her eyes for more than a second without imagining the accident. Even though she hadn't witnessed it, her mind seemed to think she had as it conjured each gruesome image.

Once the clock hit 5 a.m., she couldn't stand it anymore.

Throwing the covers off of her, she climbed out of bed. It was still dark outside, and through the window, she noted a dismal fog settled over the front lawn. Ellie exited her bedroom anyway and descended the stairs, making her way to the front door. As expected, she opened it to find the Sunday paper awaiting her family, wrapped up on the front porch. Dread washed over her.

Her movements were stiff as she took the newspaper inside, flicking on the kitchen light and sitting at the table. While she unrolled it, she knew exactly what would cover the front page. It was the local paper after all, and not much happened in Arlen.