"Sorry guys. This is Chester. He found me in the woods. His family has a cabin out here. He was looking for fire wood when we ran into each other. I asked him to help me with this little stunt. I guess it worked." He grinned sheepishly as he looked around at the group.
Igor was revived by Teller. Penn stood looking at Sketch in a mixture of disgust and awe as he held onto a hyperventilating Heather.
"That was cool! You even had me fooled!" Penn exclaimed, impressed by Sketch's ingenious creativity.
"Who is this guy?" asked Teller.
"He has a cabin out here. He's here with his family..."
"So he says," muttered Igor irritably.
"He says we can stay out here with his family tonight and he'll give two of us a ride to a gas station to get help in the morning," Sketch continued as though he was not interrupted.
"Great! So where is this cabin?" Penn asked.
"Oh about fifteen minutes that way," Sketch said pointing. "Just enough time for one more story." The others all groaned. "Oh come on, it can't be that bad. Besides, it might strike a chord with one of our number. It's about a group of thieves." Sketch put out the fire with loose soil. "Well, there is a man by the name of Michael who was staying at a hotel. He was on a business trip and one night he was feeling a bit sexy. He went to a club and started chatting up the beautiful ladies. One lady was digging him, or so it seemed. They got kind of drunk and staggered back to his hotel room. They made nice, if you know what I mean. After all the alcohol, it’s a surprise that he even knows where his wang is, let along what to do with it. Afterwards, he fell into a drunken slumber and he was completely dead to the world. When he woke up, he found himself in the bathroom. He couldn't feel his body. At some point, housekeeping came in. The maid found him lying in the tub and she screamed. He was in a tub of ice. When the ambulance came to pick him up, they found that his back had been cut open and his kidney was gone. He died on the way to the hospital of hypothermia. However, he isn't the first to fall victim to these organ thieves, and he won't be the last." Sketch looked at Heather. "Is that what happened to you?"
"What do you mean?" Heather asked in genuine confusion.
Sketch raised an eyebrow. "You ARE missing a kidney right?"
"How did you know?" she asked in shock.
"I'm psychic."
"Yeah, a regular James Van Praagh," Penn quipped. The others laughed, thinking it was a joke, but they stopped when they realized that Sketch wasn't laughing.
"I have a very bad feeling about this," said Teller. He was looking around at the trees, noticing how very far they were getting from the road.
"Me too," said Sketch in a sad and misty voice.
Teller pulled Sketch to his side and they fell behind, out of Chester's ear shot. "I hope you know what you're doing," Teller said, anxiety and distrust in his voice.
"I do," Sketch replied. "Trust me." He opened his trail pack, put his hand beneath the rags and pulled out a Beretta and three clips. "Just in case. Call it 'insurance'," he said, pressing the gun and clips into Teller's chest for him to take them. "I'm going to give Penn one, too. I always prepare for emergencies." He lifted his shirt to reveal another Beretta tucked into his pants and a hunting knife in a sheath on his belt.
"You're serious about this, aren't you?" Teller asked, his voice lowered to a stunned whisper.
"I told you, I'm psychic. And I have a bad feeling about this." Sketch looked a bit pale, even in the dark. The clouds shifted and the moonlight revealed a look of mingled fear and determination stamped on Sketch's Cherokee features. Sketch moved up level with Penn as they trouped along the path. He tapped Penn and Penn bent slightly to hear Sketch's hushed voice. Teller came up just behind them and heard Sketch telling Penn that he was armed. "I think it would be best if we," Sketch said, indicating the three of them, "carried a little 'insurance'. I know you know how to use this." He pressed a Beretta and three clips into Penn's large hands. "The guns are loaded so be careful. And it would be best if we stuck together until we're safely back on the road."
"Yeah," Penn said shakily, his face a hardened mask of determination. The three picked up the pace to catch up with the others. Penn tucked his gun into his waistband and covered it with his jacket. Teller stuck his in the back of his pants and let his jacket fall over it. Sketch casually laid his hand on the handle of his knife and they tried to prepare themselves for what was to come.
After a bit, they got their first sight of the cabin. It was a large log cabin with nice windows looking out into the trees. In the daylight, the scene would be inviting, but under the present circumstances, the sight was nearly more horrific than the trees and the sneaking shadows.
"I don't like this at all," whispered Heather in fear. "I feel like I know this place, this scene, like it happened before. I know I've never been here."
"Well, I have." Sketch played his flashlight over a tree. It had a sinister message upon it: "The Dead Rest Among These Trees. Rest In Peace."
"What does that mean?" Igor asked in a hoarse whisper.
“Nothing good,” Sketch said.
"Let's get inside, guys," called Chester. "It's cold out here tonight. My wife's got a blazing fire in the hearth and there's hot cocoa waiting for us." The group went inside, Sketch bringing up the rear.
When they got inside, they found a pleasant family of four sitting around the hearth. Chester's wife was roasting marshmallows over the fire as two children sat eating s'mores and playing "War". Chester sat watching his kids play. "Make yourselves comfortable. Mi casa es su casa."
"Chester, who are your friends?" his wife asked kindly.
"Well, I'm Penn Jillette. This is Teller, the young lady is Heather, and this fine woman is Igor."
"Oh, and who's this handsome young man?" Chester's wife said, standing and putting a warm hand on Sketch's shoulder.
"His name is Truman, but everyone calls him Sketch."
"Why 'Sketch'?"
"Two reasons. One, he's an artist. Two, he hates the name 'Truman'."
Chester's wife laughed warmly. "Well, it's a very nice nickname. I like it. My name is Sandy, that's our son Zach and our beautiful daughter Cori. Want some s'mores?"
"Uh, no thanks," Sketch said, politely moving away from Sandy. "I had a big dinner. I'll be fine."
"How about you guys?" Sandy asked the others. They all politely refused.
"I think they might be tuckered out. They've been out there for a few hours waiting for help," Chester suggested. "We do have a room we're not using. You guys can sleep in there."
"Thanks," said Igor appreciatively.
"Well, feel free to check it out."
"Thank you, I think we will," said Heather. Teller glanced at Sketch and saw him nod slightly. The others in the group caught the gesture and they went together to scope the room.
Sketch closed the door and turned on his flashlight. The room was dark but Sketch soon found an old-fashioned kerosene lamp. He lit it and looked around the room. The others looked confused as to why Sketch was so intent upon getting them alone together. Sketch sat near the head of one of the two beds in the room. Heather and Igor sat across from him, Teller sat on the other end of the bed Sketch sat on and Penn leaned against the wall, his foot propped against it at about knee level.
"Guys, this is important so listen closely. There is danger lurking in this place. An evil that until now has had no form. Keep your eyes and ears open. Our lives may depend on it," Sketch said gravely.
"How can you tell?" asked Penn incredulously.
"I can feel it in my bones. I've got a really bad feeling about this place. Nothing good can come of our being here, but we don’t have much choice in the matter right now. I can’t tell you anything now. If we stay in here much longer, they might become suspicious." Everyone got ready to get up and leave. "Penn, Teller, can you stick around for a bit?" The girls left the room and rejoined Chester and his family.
"You guys are really good at this kind of stuff. I have this idea that I need you guys to help me out with. Are ya game?" Sketch asked with an evil grin.
"What's the plan?" Penn asked excitedly. He and Teller came close as Sketch laid out the plans. Penn chuckled wickedly as he listened and Teller's mind was already running at full speed to find a way to pull it off.
Around eleven o'clock that night, everyone sat around in the light of the fire telling ghost stories. Chester went out to get more wood from the wood pile outside. Penn looked bored as he played with a handball. Teller was practicing sleight of hand with a deck of Bicycle cards. Igor yawned sleepily. It had indeed been a long day.
"I'll go put the palettes down so that we can get to bed soon." Sketch went into the other bedroom to set up palettes on the floor for the guys to sleep upon. He was gone only a few minutes when Chester came in carrying firewood. He stood in the doorway, exhausted from the weight of the wood.
"I'm back guys. And just in time too. Looks like there's a storm brewing out there. Wind's picking up and..." Chester's words became a choking gasp. Someone had come up behind him and stabbed him in the back with a knife. Chester dropped the fire wood. Every muscle in his body seized as the knife lacerated his spinal cord. The logs rolled across the floor.
The killer wore all black, with a black cape and a black and red, vintage, Jersey Devil comic book mask. The mask was red with a black cover over the mouth. The horns looked sharp and menacing. The black eyes looked alive and malicious. The killer pulled the knife out and plunged it back into his flesh again... and again... and again. The killer had Chester in a chokehold as he stabbed. Chester coughed up blood as he slowly drowned in his own fluids. The madman wrapped his gloved hand firmly around his knife and slashed the blade across Chester's fleshy throat. Blood spurted from the wound.
Penn pulled his Beretta from his waistband and slammed a clip into the butt of the handgun. He fired several shots at the killer. Several bullets hit Chester's dying body as the killer used him for a human shield. The flesh around the impact sites exploded outwards.
The killer dropped Chester's body and ran. Penn gave chase with his Beretta in hand. Those in the cabin could hear leaves crunching and twigs snapping as Penn crashed through the trees. Several more gunshots echoed through the still air. Just as Penn returned, out of breath and frustrated, Sketch came out of the bedroom sweating.
"What happened?" he shouted to be heard over the screams of terror and wails of grief coming from seemingly everyone in the room. "What the fuck happened?! I heard gunshots. Is everyone all right?"
"No, god-damn-it!!!" Sandy screamed. "My husband is dead. He's dead!! Some fucking creep in a mask killed him!" She held Chester's limp body to her chest. "Oh, God, why my Chester?" she wailed.
"Where were you?" Igor asked Sketch in suspicion.
"I was making the palettes. I heard screams but I thought it was just because of those ghost stories. When I heard gun shots, I hit the floor. After living in South Jersey all my life, it became a reflex." Sketch looked at Chester lying in a spreading pool of blood. "Oh, God," he moaned. "Oh, sweet merciful God, what do we do now?"
"What happened to the killer?" Heather asked Penn.
"I lost him. He's still out there. Somewhere. Watching us. Waiting..." Teller held onto Heather and Sketch protectively as Penn comforted a sobbing Igor.
"What on earth have we gotten ourselves into?" Teller asked in a trembling voice.
"Nothing on earth friend. Nothing on earth..." Sketch answered sadly.
"Whoa! What do you mean 'nothing on earth'? What are we dealing with?" Igor practically screamed.
"You're much happier not knowing," Sketch said airily. "We have to keep watch. We'll take turns. Who wants the first watch while the others sleep?"
"Sleep? Who can sleep after what just happened?" asked Heather softly. She was slowly getting her nerve back. She felt that she had to be strong now if she wanted to get out alive.
Sketch yawned sleepily. The others could see every vein in his tired, red eyes. Suddenly, Teller yawned, as did Heather. "Okay then, I guess I'll take first watch," offered Penn, eyes wide open and Beretta easily accessible.
"I'll stay up too," said Sandy. "I wanna get the son-of-a-bitch that killed my husband."
"All right then," said Teller. "I'll take the next watch with Sketch. I'm going to go lay down. Wake us in two hours." He, Sketch, Igor and Heather turned in. The little children went whimpering to their beds.
A bloodcurdling scream jolted Sketch awake. Teller sat up next to him quickly, looking about for his pistol. Heather rolled out of bed and hit the floor behind Teller at the next scream and Igor ran to the door. She threw the door open and screamed. The others came out past Igor to see what the matter was. They saw instantly and had very different reactions. Heather began to cry ceaselessly, burying her face in Teller's chest. Teller swallowed repeatedly then let his mouth hang open slightly in horror. Sketch had run to the window, opened it, stuck his head out and vomited.
Penn had been attacked. He had a knife in his side under his rib cage and he was losing consciousness. Sandy had been stabbed multiple times through the chest, stomach, and back. Her limp bloody body hung from the back of the door and her blood had formed a puddle on the floor. Her once beautiful face was covered in gashes and her eyes were gone.
Penn coughed hard enough to bring his head off the floor and slam it back down, hard. Teller fell to his knees beside Penn and lifted his head. "Penn? Penn!! Are you all right?" Teller asked frantically.
"Oh yeah, having the time of my life," Penn responded sarcastically, his voice raw and low. "I've been stabbed, you idiot! How do you think I'm doing?"
"What happened?" Heather asked, her voice choked with tears.
Penn weakly held out a hand to her and pulled her close. Heather buried her face in his shoulder. "That thing came back. He got me from behind." The others finally noticed the broken window. "He must have cut off the power first because it suddenly got dark in here. I heard the window break and then something hit me over the head and I passed out. When I came to, Sandy was already dead and the monster tried to gut me. When Igor threw the door open, he got scared and left through the window."
Heather kissed Penn's face gently, kissing him all over his large head, her tears wetting his face. Penn's eyelids fluttered closed and he lay still. "Is he...?" Heather began, unable to finish.
"No, he's still alive." Teller checked his pulse and added, "Just barely. We have to get help."
"How?" Igor asked, now on the brink of panic. "We're miles from any city. Help would never get here in time."
"She's right," Sketch agreed. "Heather, Igor, would you like to stay here with Penn and try to make him comfortable, or would you rather come with us?"
Heather looked down at Penn, kissed her fingers and touched them to Penn's lips, stood and faced Sketch and Teller. "I'm coming with you."
"Ditto," Igor said.
"Okay, stay here. I'll get the kids." Sketch went into the kids’ room and backed out suddenly. "Oh my God... Oh, in the sweet name of Jesus," Sketch moaned in terror. He put his head on the door jamb and cried. Teller walked over to where Sketch stood and glanced into the room. He took one good look and nearly fainted.
"Th-that m-monster," Teller hissed in a tear-choked whisper. "They were just children."
"Were?" Igor said, not fully understanding yet.
"Oh my god," Heather said in a stricken whisper.
"Teller, you stay here with the girls. I'll go check the perimeter. I'll whistle if the coast is clear. We've got to get out of here." Sketch jogged out the front door and looked side to side cautiously before running to his right.
Heather clung to Teller's shirt watching for a sign of Sketch. Igor bowed her head. "I'll pray to the Valkyries to preserve their spirits and guide their souls to Valhalla."
"And I suppose you'll be wanting to give them a Viking burial at sea too huh?" Teller snapped harshly.
"Well I'm sorry if I have offended you, but I'm just as upset as you are about those poor little dead children. I don't think they deserved to die, either!" Igor snapped back.
"Oh, I am so sorry. I shouldn't be upset with you. Pray to Odin and Thor if you want. I just want to get out of here alive. All I wanted was--" Teller was cut off by a high scream that ended in a choked groan.
"Oh God, I hope that wasn't Sketch," said Heather, her hand covering her mouth in fear and anxiety.
"Maybe he got the killer," Igor said hopefully. Teller didn't respond. He had his gun drawn and focused on the door. A leg appeared, framed in the dim firelight in the doorway. Then an arm, a shoulder, then, with a lunge, the killer came through the door. He had something concealed behind his back.
"Oh god, oh no, what happened to Sketch?" Heather screamed. As if in response to this query, the killer revealed the treasure behind his back. It was a head. Not just any head, but the severed head of Sketch, his mouth frozen open in a silent scream.
Teller squeezed the trigger. A gunshot echoed through the cabin. The first bullet missed the killer completely. The second caught him in the shoulder, forcing him to drop his bounty. The third caught the killer in the thigh. The killer continued to limp towards them. Teller squeezed the trigger again, but instead of the blast of gunpowder, there was only a click. The gun had jammed. Teller swore. "Oh fuck!" He threw the pistol at the advancing madman, but it simply glanced off of his shoulder and clattered to the floor.
The killer was upon Teller in an instant, stabbing with a knife. The knife retracted into the handle and fake blood poured out. Teller's shrieks of pain became peals of laughter. "Oh, we got you girls good. Take off the mask, Sketch."
Sketch triumphantly whipped the Jersey Devil mask off and smiled at the girls. "We are the masters of the prank," Penn trumpeted as Chester took off his shirt to reveal a fiberglass chest plate with small blood-filled condoms on it. "A few squibs still haven't gone off, but the overall effect was awesome. Great acting, Chester."
"I do it all the time. I'm a special effects technician." Chester hit a switch hidden under a desk and the lights came on. Sketch was helping Sandy down off of the door as Teller and Chester pulled Penn to his feet.
The kids came out of the room with nooses around their necks and face paint that made them look livid and bluish, as though they had been strangled. They went to a wash basin near the hearth and washed off the makeup.
"What genius came up with this stunt?" Igor asked in a deadly whisper.
"It was our idea," Penn said, gesturing towards Sketch and Teller as well. Just as Igor approached Penn, hands raised to strangle him, the lights went out.
"We're not falling for that again," said Heather angrily.
"We, uh, we didn't do it," said Chester in a frightened whisper.
Suddenly, a gust of wind blew the fire out and they were cast in darkness.
"I don't know what you're trying to do, Sketch, but it won't work this time," Heather said icily.
Sketch struck a match and looked around. In the match light, they could see a very sober expression. The match burned down to his fingers and Sketch dropped it. "This isn't right. This really isn't right."
"Who's that?" Igor asked in surprise. "Someone bumped into me."
"Oh sorry," said Sketch. In the pitch black room, Sketch moved easily. He found and lit a candle.
"That's better," Heather said while Sketch lit a few more candles. She sighed in relief and looked around. She froze when she caught a glimpse of the wall over the fireplace. Igor saw it too and gaped in disbelief.
"Not very original, Sketch," Igor said impatiently. "It's been done."
"I didn't do it." Sketch showed them his clean hands. "See, no paint. We'll have to catch the culprit red-handed. Pun intended." For up on the wall, written in red paint or blood, was the scrawling message "Misery loves company but death loves a party. Consider this your invite."
"Really not funny, Sketch," Penn said. "I was with you on the prank, but this is taking it a bit too far."
"Forget it. Don't believe me. I don't give a damn. I'm leaving." Sketch took his knapsack and left.
"He's got to learn that there is a thin line between appropriate and overdoing it. He just doesn't know when to quit," Penn said, arms folded over his chest.
"What if he really didn't do it?" Heather asked.
"What do you mean? Who else would do something so sick?" Penn asked.
"Then why did he stalk out of here like that?" she countered.
"To make us believe he didn't do it."
"Yeah, well, joke or not, there are wild animals here in the forest. There are probably bears and wild dogs out there. I'm going to go look for him," Teller said, grabbing his jacket and Sketch's flashlight. Teller left the cabin without looking back.
Teller searched the forest for Sketch. He was aided in his pursuit by the strips of neon carrot fabric tied to low branches of the trees. He found Sketch about half a mile away from the cabin. He was sitting under a tree, gazing at the stars.
Sketch didn't seem to notice Teller, even when Teller accidentally shone the flashlight directly into his face. He simply sat there, gazing at the vast nothingness of the sky and hummed a song that he made up as he went along. "I sit watching the stars go by/Just wondering where they might go/Do they go for a swim in the deepest of seas?/Do they wander through forests as free as you please?/Where do the little stars go?"
"Sketch, are you all right?" Teller approached Sketch as a person might approach a strange animal. Sketch continued to ignore him. "Sketch?" Sketch stopped singing and just stared blankly at the sky. Teller was just about ready to give up when Sketch spoke.
"It has begun. The stars are in the proper alignment, the moon is full and the hour is upon us. God save us all," Sketch murmured. Then he stood and wandered away from Teller, further into the woods. Teller followed at a distance to see what Sketch was up to.
Sketch entered a clearing. Teller followed him. He saw that it wasn't really a clearing at all. It was a makeshift graveyard. Many of the markers bore the name Leeds. There were wooden crosses and large stone markers placed haphazardly throughout. In his preoccupation with the markers, Teller lost track of Sketch. He suddenly realized how vulnerable he was alone in the woods.
Teller turned to retrace his steps. He used the neon carrot scraps to guide him. After about a mile and a half or so, Teller realized that he should have come across the cabin by now. He was completely and utterly lost.
Back at the cabin, fifteen minutes had already passed and Penn began to worry about Teller. "He should have been back by now. Even he wouldn't do something like this." Penn began pacing nervously. "Where in the world can Teller be?"
Heather watched Penn pace. "Cut it out. You're making me dizzy."
"I'm going to go look for him," Penn said decisively, grabbing his jacket and Beretta.
"Sketch said we should stick together," Heather said.
"He said a lot of other stuff too. How do we know he didn't sabotage the car or write that message? He might be behind all of this," Penn said.
"Heather's right. We're in the middle of the woods, it's after midnight, and there isn't help for miles. We should stick together. That's our best chance," Igor said.
"All right. Stay close. I can't guarantee that I'll look for you if we get separated." Penn left and Igor and Heather followed him. They followed the lime green scraps on the trees. "I bet Teller followed this trail hoping to find Sketch." After a while, they too stumbled upon the grave yard. "Whoa! What's all this then?"
Sketch sat on a marker on the other side of the burial ground. He whistled and rocked back and forth. "Hey, Sketch!" Igor yelled. "Where have you been? We were worried sick about you."
Sketch didn't move. "Hey, Sketch!" Heather yelled happily. "Come on. Let's get back to the cabin." Sketch still didn't move. Penn and the girls approached Sketch. It seemed as though he hadn't noticed them.
"Uh, Sketch," Penn started hesitantly, tapping Sketch on the shoulder. Sketch looked up at him. "Have you seen Teller?" Sketch nodded slowly, rose and motioned for them to follow him. He walked into the trees. The others tried their best to keep up but they soon lost Sketch in the thickening trees. Not only that, but they had been separated.
"Heather! Igor!" Penn called at the top of his lungs. He got no answer. "Heather?!" Penn listened. No answer. "Igor?!" No answer. He grew worried and tried to retrace his steps. After a few minutes of searching for the girls, he realized that he was hopelessly, completely, and utterly… “Lost.”
Heather had fallen into an underground path hidden by foliage and debris. She feared that she had broken her leg in the fall, but she tested her weight on it and found that it was only tender. She looked up and saw the small hole she had fallen through. She judged the height to be about 15 feet. She couldn't make it up alone. She began to holler for help. "Igor, Penn, help me!!!! Anybody!! Please!!" After twenty minutes or so, her throat sore and her voice hoarse, she had to stop. She noticed that the tunnel she was in stretched forward in only one direction. The tunnel was lit by a strange phosphorescent light. She saw no other option but to follow it.
Igor found herself walking in circles. "This is not good. I have no idea where I am. And I know I just walked past that rock five minutes ago." Igor sat down on the rock and decided to wait for daylight.