Chapter 12 Michael
Michael
Which was why he was wandering alone in the dark, cursing his hubris.
Surviving through life didn’t mean he knew how to make his way through the freaking woods.
He’d never gone to Cub Scouts camp as a kid, like Jason.
His parents couldn’t afford to send him.
But he couldn’t let Carrie down. He was going to be her knight in shining armor.
He was going be the hero for once. Not Jason.
Tiffany would finally regard him with the respect he was due, instead of like an unwanted tagalong, and Jen would never call him Pipsqueak again.
His phone lit the way, although he had no idea where he was going or where he actually was.
Without a signal and GPS, his state-of-the-art device was only a glorified flashlight.
Shame washed through him so powerfully he wanted to scream.
At least he’d gotten rid of the fireplace poker, hurling it as far as he could off the dock into the lake.
Goodbye, fingerprints, and the blood and bits of Russ’s hair stuck to the end.
Hopefully the evidence would be rendered too inconclusive to pin any crime on him.
Something in the trees chittered above. Michael yelped and threw his arms over his head, expecting a swarm of bats to dive-bomb him. The shame hit him again, smothering any fear he had of the dark. Did bats even live in evergreen forests? It was probably an angry squirrel.
He needed to be brave. He wasn’t that kid with the taped-up glasses anymore. Yet he was cowering as if his drunk parents were screaming at each other again. He bet Jason wouldn’t have ducked. And he would’ve never panicked and run off into the woods like Michael had.
Michael blamed the shock. He’d never hit anyone before, let alone caused them to crumple to the floor. He also couldn’t believe how much blood had come out of Russ. Enough to rival peak tourist season when the Slasher shadow cast did two shows a night.
He shuddered, feeling stupid. This was going to screw everything up.
Fucking Ranger Russ. Michael had really thought he was Carrie’s ex, after she’d called him Daniel.
Carrie wasn’t afraid of much, which most people didn’t realize because of her wholesome image.
But he’d heard the anxious hitch in her breath and had struck without thinking.
And now Russ was probably dead because of him.
Michael wanted to throw up. In a way he was glad he was in the woods right now, because he didn’t want Carrie to see him like this.
The manly exterior he’d worked so hard to build during the past few years had flaked away in a matter of seconds, revealing the helpless little geek he’d been in high school.
He’d thought he wasn’t Mikey anymore, but here he was, near-shivering from his regrets.
He needed to do better. He had to be stronger, like Jason.
Jason. A sliver of discontent pierced Michael’s gut.
This was ultimately Jason’s fault. When the dust settled, the blame would fall on his cousin.
Michael had never intended to set foot in Cedar Lake ever again, but Jason had practically begged him to come.
Jason was hurt that Michael never visited the Ackermans for the holidays.
His cousin didn’t get that Michael had a new life now.
He had nothing to come back for. Jason had good memories of their hometown, having been the cock of the walk.
Michael didn’t. Except for those stolen moments with Carrie when they were kids.
But then Jason had mentioned the summer IT job at the mayor’s office, and Michael figured this was his last chance to make his mark on the town that had never respected him.
He’d taken the job and temporarily moved back in with Jason’s parents at the beginning of June.
He was going to show Cedar Lake that being brainy was a good thing.
That you didn’t have to play football like Jason or Billy to be successful.
Outside their dinky little town, being a top athlete meant nothing unless you were a professional.
It was smart guys like Michael who went on to build Fortune 500 companies and marry beautiful and accomplished women.
Last he heard, Billy was working as a personal trainer, and Jason was on track to be a gym teacher like his dad.
Michael refused to settle for that kind of forgettable life. He was above that. He’d returned to Cedar Lake to prove his worth, if only to himself.
And no one was going to stand in his way.
“The geek shall inherit the earth,” Michael declared to no one, and then promptly stumbled over a tree root.
Okay, maybe not this particular patch of earth.
He peevishly kicked at the root with the toe of his hiking boot, fantasizing about bulldozing this forest to build a Kline Industries office.
A sprawling tech campus would show the townspeople what was really important in this world.
They wouldn’t care about football and some old horror movie if Michael offered them jobs.
If he decided to ever come back, that is.
When he was a famous tech founder, he’d tell people at parties how he and his wife Carrie had met.
Their humble beginnings at Cranfield House.
How they’d clawed their way out of that shitty little town that had looked down their noses at them.
And have either of you returned to Cedar Lake since high school?
No fucking way. Even when the mayor had begged, so they could be paraded around as success stories.
Well, there was that one time we reunited with friends at the old Slasher cabin.
The weekend everything went wrong. But you probably heard about it on the news—
A lump formed in Michael’s throat, thinking of Carrie.
She must be getting anxious without him.
He checked his phone again. Still no cell service.
It was a light-emitting brick. A light-emitting brick with 1 percent battery.
He stared in dismay as the light flicked off and the screen faded, leaving him alone in a darkness as black as his thoughts.
He shook the phone and smacked the screen, as if that would help, and hated himself because he knew better than anyone it wouldn’t do anything.
Useless. Just like him. He threw up his hands in frustrated defeat. Every time he thought he was taking a step forward, hapless Mikey, the boy he’d been, was waiting to kick him two steps back.
Cautious and practical Patrick would’ve packed a portable cell phone charger. Michael might as well return to the cabin to check. He’d already left Carrie alone for too long and he was getting nowhere in the woods. She would need him as much as he needed her.
The trees loomed over him, holding their own secret desires.
An owl hooted in the distance, mocking his foolishness.
At least the clouds had thinned and his eyes were adjusting to the gentle illumination from the moon.
He turned around, praying he was retracing his path instead of plunging deeper into the forest. A familiar shape caught his eye and he felt a flicker of triumph.
He knew where he was now. There was the birdhouse he’d made in high school shop class, that Carrie had helped him hang on a tree near the road.
He recognized the slightly lopsided roof.
A rustle sounded ahead, a little beyond the birdhouse.
In the stillness of the night, it sounded like the crash of a tidal wave.
Michael stiffened. Were there bears in these woods?
Wolves? Wild pigs? He’d read an article recently about feral hogs terrorizing a community.
The Jumpscare Society had never worried about local wildlife when hanging out by the Slasher cabin, save for the occasional raccoon raiding their garbage.
They always made enough noise and light to scare anything away.
But skulking alone in the dark, Michael was easy prey.
A large shadow shifted in the distance. Michael quickly ducked behind a tree, his pulse racing. He peered out from his hiding spot, trying to make out who—or what—was near. His night vision wasn’t the greatest since he’d had laser eye surgery, and the warm, rainy night had coaxed mist into the air.
The mystery person was tall, and crept with a careful, stooped gait. Michael’s first thought was that it was Ranger Russ. But that couldn’t be right. Russ was in a bloody heap on the floor.
Michael felt in his pocket for the Swiss Army knife Jason had given him for his twelfth birthday, to replace the one he’d bought himself.
Dad had pawned it for beer money. In those days, anything that hadn’t been nailed down at the apartment was fair game.
Jason had ordered the knife engraved with Mikey so it would be harder to resell.
He was disgustingly thoughtful that way.
Michael’s teeth gritted, his clammy fingers tracing the multitool’s edges. The knife blade wasn’t long enough to do any serious damage to a person. Not unless he got really close. What was he going to do, skewer the guy with the toothpick? File his nails?
Wait. There was a precision to the man’s movements that reminded Michael of Patrick.
He let out a relieved but shaky breath. What was Patrick doing out in the woods all by himself, sneaking around like he was stalking someone?
Unless Jason had sent him out to look for Michael.
But why alone? Without even a flashlight or his phone to light his way? That didn’t make sense.
Michael leaned farther out from behind the tree, opening his mouth to call out. A last-minute thought killed the name on his lips.
What if it was Carrie’s ex-boyfriend Daniel?
Michael’s breath thickened. He wished it had actually been Daniel he’d clocked with the poker. He had to get back to Carrie and warn her. With all their cars out of commission, she was as good as stranded at the cabin while her ex circled like a shark.
The shadowy figure suddenly stopped, like something had caught his attention.
Michael ducked back behind the tree, afraid he’d been seen.
He peeked out from around the trunk, holding his breath.
The figure turned. At the last moment the moon disappeared behind the clouds, and Michael couldn’t make out the man’s face.
The man seemed to make up his mind and slipped deeper into the woods, melting into the shadows.
Michael let out the breath he’d been holding and came out of hiding, creeping to the spot where the man had stood.
Maybe the mysterious figure had left a clue to his identity, like a footprint in the damp soil.
Michael should be able to distinguish the soles of Patrick’s deck shoes from, say, a hiking boot or an aggressive cross-trainer.
The ground was thickly carpeted with stray cedar needles.
No footprints. Damn it. In mystery novels, suspects were always dropping gloves, torn tickets, matchbooks.
There was no evidence the man had stood here, not even a broken sapling or crushed fern.
Michael sniffed the air, hoping for a hint of identifying cologne or aftershave, but the fresh scent of the rain and cedar erased all other scents.
He was about to give up when the clouds shifted again. Moonlight brightened the little clearing, and Michael caught a gleam at the mouth of a hollow log.
A face was looking at him.
His heartbeat began to ratchet upward in speed and volume. Crouching, he saw the smooth ghostlike features of a white mask. A Slasher mask, its plastic surface clean and shiny, as if it had been placed recently inside the log.
The mask sat on top of a hastily folded pile of clothing. Michael pulled out a gray hoodie and red buffalo plaid jacket. Both warm, as if they’d just been taken off. A frisson of dread shivered down Michael’s back. The clothing might have been warm from the rainy summer night.
Or from whoever had just worn them.
They had to belong to the person Freddy had seen in the road, dressed as the Slasher.
Michael set down the jacket and noticed one last thing inside the log.
A long rod that appeared too smooth to be a tree branch.
Pulse jittering, he pulled it out, mildly surprised by its familiar weight.
His hands instinctively slipped into place around it.
He’d been holding one like it only a little while ago.
It was a handle.
Of an axe.
Michael sucked in a harsh breath and blood roared in his ears. He thought of the others, helpless back at the cabin.
He had to find his friends, fast.