SLASH U

Is murder truly such a bad thing? Well, yeah. People like Benny, however, had long since decided that the whole ‘killing people is wrong’ thing, was more ‘moral philosophy’ than, you know, the law. Regardless, possessing the will didn’t make the sport easy. Why couldn’t he have been assigned to something simple like Myth Insertion or White Walls? Of course, he gets stuck with butchering teenagers. Teenagers are surprisingly hard to kill, they enjoy running, and some of the little bastards could snatch the gold from Usain Bolt. Don’t even get him started on the screaming. Honestly, the whole situation goes from ‘subtle murder at Riley’s Bowlerama’ to ‘herding cattle with the energy and unpredictability of your local meth-head.’

It’s okay, he had trained for this, he just needed to breathe and get to work. He currently had them trapped in a bowling alley, this was the last stand, the last area he scouted, if he didn’t do it here, he would fail. It wasn’t brilliant that bowling lanes are polished and build up more oil than a fourteen-year-old’s face working a deep fryer. Point is, the entire place was a slipping hazard, it could make a chase tough. Luckily, it was slippery for them as well. A long counter bordered the eastern wall, to the west was a small food court, ample places to hide and yet, the only entrance was also the only exit. Now, Chainsaw’s aren’t known for their mental acuity, but this one was pretty difficult to mess up. Let’s see how he fairs!

“One, two, Benny’s coming for you,” he sang in a low voice aching with abuse, the man’s impressive heft and heavy footfalls almost complimenting his song in a warbling chorus. By the way, please ignore the painfully obvious plagiarism, as previously mentioned, Chainsaw’s weren’t entirely clever, apparently not very creative either. In saying that, what a Chainsaw lacked in technical ability or … a brain. They more than made up for with their powerful command of fear and sheer durability. Sure, he couldn’t throw a knife with pinpoint accuracy or stealthily study every movement of his victims like a Blade, nor could he infect a target’s mind or create horrifying apparitions like those kissed-on-the-ass Sickle’s. Fear though, was a magic in its own right, and no one does raw, visceral fear better than a Chainsaw, be it horrible deformity, the fact that they refuse to die or the far more common — batshit insanity. You didn’t need fancy tricks when your mere presence induced fear, fear turns even the most stalwart of foes into bumbling babies.

“Three, four, the Barista grinds your gore,” that one could have used some work, even he realised that. Benny the Barista, no, that isn’t a joke. Half of the Slasher profession — especially for a Chainsaw — is your story, or your legend as it were. If fear is your sword, your story is your whetstone. Say what you will about frightfully obese Benny dressed in tattered white button-up and a brown, bloodstained apron, he had a good story.

Benny’s good story

A younger — still fairly old for a barista — Benny, was hard at work in Lovely Sunday’s Café. The smell of freshly roasted coffee beans and toasted croissants never failed to put a smile on his face. It was this jolly, rather toothy, grin that had won him the hearts of his regulars and frequent flyers. For a while, the consumers would refer to him as ‘Coffee Santa,’ they never told him this to his face, he didn’t have a beard, so it was quite clearly a fat joke. Despite the rude nickname, most were fond of him, especially the children who would happen by every now and then. They would ask him for a ‘grownup’ coffee so they could be like mum and dad, Benny would give them a hearty laugh and agree whilst shooting a sneaky wink to the parents. What he actually served the kids was a slightly bitter hot cocoa. The kids knew no better, and the parents were happy their incessant little ones were only receiving a sugar high and not a coffee buzz. The difference might seem slim, but a ‘sugar high’ made a parent drop their head in their hands and regret ever having children, a ‘coffee buzz,’ made a parent buckle their child into the back seat and drive eighty kilometres-per-hour off the nearest bridge. Subtle, yet important difference.

The establishment itself was a small rustic affair within a bustling airport, a wooden interior with potted plants and a healthy amount of natural light coming in from a nearby wall of glass that looked over the tarmac. This atmosphere and location clearly attracted a metric shit-tonne of hipsters. An endless flood of beige weirdos hellbent on never finishing that one screenplay they’ve had going for seven years but were taking a short ‘me-weekend’ in Bali. Don’t judge them too harshly, ‘it’s the next big thing man, like, for real. I’m going to turn the cinematic world on its head, the world just isn’t evolved enough right now for my ideas, that’s why I haven’t been signed.’ Unbearable as they were, Benny didn’t mind them, although he preferred good ol’ fashioned literature, however, writers in that medium were too busy locked inside their dark homes contemplating the pros and cons of online dating vs dying alone as their cats slowly devoured their corpse. They didn’t go out for coffee; they simply didn’t deserve coffee.

So, where did it all go wrong? Well, to answer that we need to look beyond the customers (surprisingly) and cast a judgemental eye toward the colleagues. He never quite understood why his co-workers disliked him. They would often snigger behind his back, point, and shy away when he was near. They were young, mostly university students, perhaps they were just shallow? He knew he was bigger than the average person. That was his way of putting it, truthfully, Benny made Fat Albert look like a bulimic fitness instructor. Sometimes he thought they hated him because the customers favoured him, maybe they were jealous? Ha! Perish the thought, Benny knew no one had ever been jealous of him in his entire life. And yet, he could feel it, every day, those eyes that burrowed deep into the back of his neck, vibrated his spine, reverberating judgemental laughter through the depths of his sub-conscious. Benny was no stranger to bullying, he looked forward, and focused on the good aspects of his job. A bully is just a prick with an opinion unless you allow it to be fact. Little did Benny know, those silent tensions had been brewing behind the scenes, nasty jokes becoming hateful comments, hateful comments becoming sinister plans. They had something in store, a way to take this mockery to new heights. The following, a set of actions they would surely regret.

That fateful day started like any other, Benny entered Lovely Sundays as the sun rose, glittering off the onyx asphalt behind him. The sharp chill of fresh morning air blunted by the constant artificial warmth of an airport whose climate was forever fixed. He breathed a deep lungful of chocolate-scented air and enjoyed the rare moment of silence before more popular flight-times arrived and smiled. A familiar, but surprising voice called from behind the counter.

“Benny boy!” This was Sam, a mop-headed blonde, he was popular with the other workers, though, like them, he rarely spoke to Benny.

“Could you give me a hand and mop the storeroom? I know it’s a shit job, but I have to prepare sandwiches, lay out cookies and a million other things.” He spoke earnestly, charisma dripping from every word as if he’d cultivated the language itself, Benny understood why people were drawn to him. More importantly than all that, he sounded kind. It was this that knocked common sense from Benny’s mind, perhaps they were finally opening up to him? He flashed those giant pearly whites and gave Sam a nod.

“Thanks mate, you’re my saviour, really. There’s a bucket back here, just filled.”

Benny nearly skipped through the staff gate as he retrieved the mop bucket. Tendrils of steam tickled his face in comforting warmth. This was shaping up to be a really great day!

“Careful, it’s hot.” Sam said.

In his excitement to help Sam and maybe, just maybe create a bond, he rushed toward the storeroom. The storeroom itself was actually a large walk-in fridge, most everything they served required cooling or freezing, so, considering they put everything in there anyway, they referred to it as the storeroom. He clasped a meaty hand on the sliding door handle and rolled it open. As his boot crossed the threshold, his eyes noticed something strange, the tiles … they were awfully shiny? Too late, his foot had made contact, and without a moment to react, it slipped uncontrollably. Gravity happily manipulated his weight bringing him to the ground with a harsh crash, the mop bucket had flown high above his head, the bucket’s contents came down like a toxic waterfall drenching his face and arms. For one beautiful moment, he resembled a shampoo advertisement. Unfortunately, this photogenic moment was followed by a searing burn. The chemically infused water was also boiling.

His skin began to blister almost immediately, his uncoordinated hands clawed at his face in a panic, slopping chunks of tender skin to the floor and bursting serum-filled blisters as they formed. The pain was unlike anything he knew possible, like his entire nervous system was being dissected by an electrically charged filleting knife. His screams were only matched by the roaring laughter of Sam and now Jennifer, who had suddenly appeared. An olive-skinned witch, who openly had a bad attitude.

Suddenly, a feeling quite foreign to Benny replaced his pain, an unflinching, potent rage. He leapt to his feet in a feat of athletics that defied the laws of physics and would have made Newton throw up on himself. In a flash, Sam was being clutched by the collar staring into the broken eyes of a monster. Benny bared that large grin through a wash of lumpy purple and maroon skin. Benny clasped Sam’s throat and ripped back like starting an old lawnmower, removing Sam’s larynx and adam’s apple. Laugh now fucker!

Sam fell to the floor attempting to scream, yet he could only manage strained gurgles. Jennifer screamed and tried to sprint past Benny, desperately calling for help. He quickly tossed his handful of Sam into the nearest receptacle he could find, an old-fashioned coffee grinder. Blood and muscle sluggishly slid down the large vial-like receptacle and soaked into the pristine coffee beans as he blocked Jennifer’s escape with his hulking mass. With a meat thermometer in one hand and frothing pitcher in the other, Benny the Barista was born. Fun fact, a human can swallow a frothing pitcher given enough force. Also, a brain is roughly 36.6°C. Benny the Barista would then finish that Sam infused brew and create a lovely latte with a few drops of vanilla essence to offset the taste of iron.

Yes, Benny the Barista had a good story, unfortunately it was complete and utter bullshit. The truth? Benny did work in a café, he was, however, not liked by the customers, as he came off ‘rude and unsociable,’ He also had a slight history of sociopathic tendencies and one really upsetting browser history. Finally, no one set him up, he slipped on ice, and decided killing every witness was the least embarrassing option. Also, his coffee sucked.

Back to the bowling alley!

As for now, lack of medical attention and blatant disregard for the whole ‘don’t pick at it!’ thing, has left Benny’s face a mangled mesh of blotchy scar tissue and stray patches of hair. He still brandishes the meat thermometer as his weapon of choice — he decided the frothing pitcher was a little too much work.

It was time to let his blissful memories go for the moment, as he noticed a small speckling of blood at his feet. Not his? Let’s see where this little trail leads us. He followed the counter tapping the thermometer as he travelled, the specks of blood began to form splotches, then smears. He knew he clipped her!

“Five, six, the … uh,” whoops, he didn’t quite prepare for this far into the song. “Fuck it, I’m gonna’ kill you little shits!” He leapt over the counter, his black boots sending a shockwave through the earth, a young woman was curled as far under the counter as one possibly could, her ankle a mess of blood. Her soft, mascara-stained features began to contort into a scream, just as the sound escaped, Benny plunged his makeshift weapon under her chin piercing through her mouth and into her brain.

“Really don’t like loud noises.” He said in her last second of clarity before her body fell loose. As she exhaled her last breath a voice rang out in his ear with nasty feedback that made him flinch … damn earpieces.

“You idiot! You were meant to leave her alive!” a shrill female voice screamed within his head.

“Why does—”

“Voice down you fat moron! You’re still on the clock!” The voice interrupted.

“Why does it matter?” he whispered.

“They’re called ‘final girls’ for a reason you idiot!” The woman seemed to take a moment to collect herself. After a long sigh, her voice crackled into the earpiece once more.

“It’s fine … it’s the age of the internet and ‘acceptance’ I suppose it could be a final boy? No that sounds horrible, Final person? Oh yes, the young ones would appreciate that. You have two boys … er, people, left. Kill one, let the other survive. You know the drill.”

Benny rolled his eyes; he hated the rules. Regardless, he wanted to graduate, so he had to follow them, he’s lucky they didn’t fail him there and then. He killed the girl first! Stupid! Such a Bronze mistake. Now, which one of the final … people to kill. Oh! The one sprinting down the alley toward Benny and the counters will do. Gotta’ love the heroes.

The young man in question looked quite athletic, a swimmer’s build and a shaved head. Maybe he was a swimmer? Maybe he was a Nazi? It didn’t matter. The Nazi swimmer charged down the alley with a bowling pin raised above his head and fire in his teary eyes. It was then Benny realised he was currently holding the dead girl by her golden hair, showing her off like some demented trophy. He was quite impressed with himself, being scary without even meaning to! Unfortunately, the thermometer was still lodged in the girl’s noggin. There was no way he’d get it out in time. He braced for the impact, it wouldn’t be too hard to take the boy, Benny was much larger.

It seemed neither of them thought about the chest high counter separating them and so the final steps of the boy’s charge were a little awkward. A stumbling step as he adjusted his speed and decided what to do. He decided to throw the bowling pin. It spun through the air at blinding speed and ricocheted off of Benny’s head with a resounding donk! A stare-off commenced wherein Benny didn’t even flinch and the boy stood dumbfounded that his brilliant plan amounted to a whole lot of nothing.

“Tinny, run!” The Nazi swimmer shouted in no particular direction as he turned to flee, Benny was hot on the chase jumping the counter. Benny was ridiculously agile for a man of his size. He realised the boy wasn’t running for the entrance, instead he was running toward the alleys. It was strange but mattered little. The Nazi skidded on the polished lane for a second before crashing to the ground, immediately Benny was on top of him and brought two fists down like hammers on the boy’s face, laughing maniacally as cartilage in the Nazi’s nose snapped beneath his knuckles.

“No!” The boy yelled spraying a mouthful of blood at Benny, that’s okay, blood was Benny’s favourite flavour, although he realised all too late the ‘no’ wasn’t for him as he felt a harsh impact at his ribs. The second boy, this ‘Tinny’ stood beside him with a bowling pin raised as he brought it down for another hit. Benny caught it and pulled Tinny in, a slender boy, short brown curls, pale as a Scandinavian vampire’s ghost on Christmas. In an awkward mess of flailing limbs all three of them piled to the ground.

“One needs to live.” The voice in Benny’s ear demanded. God damn bitch, she doesn’t have two bloody ‘heroes’ scratching at her face right now, he thought.

He needed to end this quickly, before he flew off the handle and forgot the rules, as he wrestled Tinny with one arm, he used the other to bring the stolen bowling pin down on the other boy’s face, with furious strength the pin split through the Nazi’s forehead, a crack, a crunch, a squelch and then silence. If all of his friends were dead, there was no reason to stick around. Benny grabbed Tinny with both hands and threw him off toward the exit, the teenager was airborne for a full second before hitting the ground. One last stare off, Tinny looked past Benny at his lifeless friend, then to the girl whose corpse lay ungraciously on the counter. “Danny? L … Lisa?” The boy called out hopelessly, Benny saw the innocence fade from the boy’s eyes and shivered with pleasure.

Just run tin-man, Benny thought. Little did he know, he had just sealed his fate then and there.