London's hands roamed over David's back as they kissed. She was sitting up on the kitchen counter, him standing. One of his hands brushed through her hair, and the other slid down the small of her back.

Suddenly, forcefully, the boy's hand pulled her toward him. She sucked in an excited breath. Now that she on the very edge of the counter, he moved in between her legs.

“You are so hot,” she breathed.

“We shouldn't be doing this, you know,” David replied.

London liked that and took it as an encouragement. This was probably the intent. “Yeah.”

“What about Brooklyn?”

“I don't see her name on you.”

They had just cut the chitchat and resumed their makeout when they were abruptly interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

Wikman staggered drunkenly into the living room, the wind blowing a shotgun blast of snow in with him.

“You guys!” he shouted. “Oh fuck...oh fuck...”

Denver and Brooklyn stopped dancing in shock. Paris and Henry looked up from their seat on the couch. Then, all of them were on their feet and rushing to him.

Brooklyn reached him first. “Wikman?!” She put a supportive arm around his broad shoulders and a comforting hand on his chest. “What happened? What's wrong?”

Wikman was drunk. He mumbled incoherently, started to fall. Brooklyn wasn't strong enough to bear his bulk, so Henry grabbed his other side. “It was...It was...You guys...” Only every fifth or sixth word could be interpreted. He started to sob. “I can't believe it...How did...”

They helped him to the couch and sat him on it. London and David rushed into the room, drawn by the commotion. Denver closed the front door, then turned to him. “Slow down,” she said calmly. “What happened?”

Wikman looked up at her blearily. “Somebody...in the woods...” he said. “You guys...Sydney...” He trailed off into further crying.

“What about Sydney?” encouraged Paris. “Where is she?”

“She...she's...” Wikman put his face in his hands. “She's out there, she's out there in the woods...I left her there...They stabbed her...”

“What?!” exclaimed London, shocked. “Somebody stabbed her?!”

“Who was it? One of the Satanists?!” asked David, raring for a fight. Brooklyn glanced at London and suppressed a laugh. Maybe this wasn't the time for it, but she couldn't help it. It was funny. To Brooklyn, anyway.

Wikman shook his head quickly. “No, not them...well, maybe, I guess...but it was a girl...”

“A girl?” repeated Denver. She thought about this, then nodded, understanding. “Wikman, it was just Venice playing a prank. She left here about a half hour ago saying she was going to go prank you and Sydney.”

Wikman looked up at her. “Not Venice...I saw her face...It was one of the cheerleaders.”

A chilly silence wafted into the room, as though somebody had opened the window and invited the freezing wind. The volleyball girls glanced at each other in silence. A cheerleader?

“You're sure it was one of the cheerleaders?” asked Paris nervously.

“Yeah...”

“Which one?”

“I forget her name...one of the blondes...”

“Dude, why would one of the cheerleaders be out here? You're so wasted you're seeing shit,” said David. He looked at Henry, then back at Wikman. “Venice is pulling a prank and she has Sydney in on it. Me and Henry are gonna go out there and find them. You gonna come, or are you just gonna wait here like a pussy?”

Wikman frowned, then drunkenly stood up from the couch. “I'm going.”

“I'll go too,” said Denver.

“You girls should stay here and wait for us,” said David. “Just in case it's dangerous.”

Denver frowned at that. “Dangerous?” She jerked a thumb at Henry and said, “I bet I could kick this guy's ass. Just saying.”

London intervened. She hugged Denver's arm. “That's why you should stay here with us,” she said. “I think we'll feel safer if you're here...instead of having all the toughest people out there.”

Denver looked at her. London tried to convey with her eyes that she had reason to want her around while the guys were gone so the volleyball girls could discuss the situation as a group. This went over Denver's head, but she said anyway, “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

The four girls watched the boys leave, then turned to each other.

“A cheerleader,” said Brooklyn heavily.

“He...he's pretty drunk...” said Paris. “It really was probably just Venice that he saw, right?”

London crossed her arms. “Ordinarily, I'd say yes. But it's too big a coincidence. We catch one cheerleader sticking her nose in our business, and then Wikman sees another one... No, I think we have to operate under the assumption that Wikman saw what he thought he saw. Just to be on the safe side.”

“How could they find out about this place?” asked Denver, confused. “We covered our tracks so well.”

“Who knows.”

Brooklyn looked concerned. “If we're assuming Wikman really saw what he thought he saw...Then does that mean Sydney's really dead? Maybe Venice too?”

“One of those prissy pom pom shakers couldn't really take one of us out, could they?” asked Denver toughly.

London hesitated. “I don't know about that. Sydney and Venice could still be alive. Maybe just hurt.” But she didn't sound convinced.

Brooklyn nervously took London's hand in both of hers. “If they are dead...” She met London's eyes... “Do you think they're with Satan now? Do you think they did enough to join him in hell?”

London hugged her. “I'm sure he's giving them a hero's welcome.”

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

“That's good,” said Brooklyn into London's shoulder, gently reassured. “If they really are dead...they're where they belong. I wish we could have sacrificed them, given them a proper sendoff...but they're where they belong, that's what counts. And we'll all get to see them again eventually, when we join them there.”

“Hopefully not too soon,” said Paris, personally not thrilled with the idea. Then, she wished she hadn't spoke, wondering if she'd accidentally blasphemed. She glanced at London, anticipating a chastizing.

“I agree,” said London, as Brooklyn eased off her. “We still have too much to do here. We can give so much more to him.”

Brooklyn smiled at that. “I want to give him everything! I want to give him my sister, my parents, everybody and everything! I want the whole world to burn in his loving fires!”

“Well, you'll have to stay alive to do that,” said London. She looked at the others. “That goes for all of us. I don't know what's going on out there or if Sydney and Venice are alive...but I can promise at the very least that whatever is happening, the four of us are going to make it through it. I am not going to let some cheerleader get the best of me.” She glanced toward the kitchen, and the pantry within it. “Now, why don't we tell our guest her friend has arrived?”

…...........

Three flashlight beams cut a path through the woods and swirling snow, throwing fleeting, fragmented spotlights on bushes and tree trunks.

The boys walked through the snow, speaking little, listening intently to their surroundings. It was pointless in the wind, with the noise the forest was making. Somebody could have been walking right behind them and they wouldn't have heard.

Wikman was sobering up quickly as they walked, as they neared the place where Sydney had died. He began to feel numb, and not due to the cold.

They were right. It was just a prank of some kind. He'd been too drunk to recognize Venice in the dark. He told himself that...but the fear was still with him. The numbness, the sense of loss still crept in. Maybe that meant he didn't really believe it.

“Where was she?” asked Henry.

“Just a little further. Near the campfire,” said Wikman.

“That Venice chick has too much time on her hands, pulling stupid stunts like this all the time,” said David. “Probably needs to get laid.”

The other two said nothing. His light caught some jackrabbit tracks. With the white halo, he traced them lazily across the snow. “I'd help her out with that. I like that bookish look.”

“David, can you shut up?” requested Henry.

“I can't believe you'd just run away,” David told Wikman. “For all the bluster about wanting to beat up a Satanist you really chickened out.”

Then, some of the thick, heavy emotions that had clogged somewhere within Wikman were released. He grabbed David's shoulder and turned him around. “Fuck you, dude,” he said angrily. “Who's a chicken? You wanna say that again?”

“Get off me, asshole!”

Henry decided to intervene. “Guys, seriously,” he said, coming between them, “You wanna argue like kids, do it later. Right now, we're out here to make sure the girls are okay.”

David glared at him. Wikman gave an angry snort and shoved David away.

They came upon the campfire not long after. Once there, Wikman got his bearings, and led the other two to the place where he'd left Sydney.

There was an impression in the snow where Wikman had seen Sydney's body come to its final rest. There was blood. A lot of it. But no Sydney. “She was here. Right here.”

“So once she was done scaring you, she got up, had a good laugh about it with Venice, and left,” deduced David. “They're probably hiding in the tent.”

“I don't think so,” said Henry. His flashlight beam was fixed on the impression in the snow. “Look closer.”

There was a wide groove in the snow, leading from Sydney's bodyprint into the woods. Like she had been dragged away. Striations of blood on the trail further encouraged that conclusion.

…...

Paris held the match too long. “Ow!” she whispered as the fire licked her fingertips, trying to keep her voice low even as she expressed her pain. Instinctively, she dropped the match. The concrete floor of the basement was a harmless place for it to land, and she was able to stamp it out without trouble.

She'd gotten most of the candles relit, anyway. And only a few had gone out in their absence to begin with. There was enough light to...work by.

“I'm really sorry you can't join us, Caitlin,” Brooklyn told the bound cheerleader. “It's a great party. Food, music, enough alcohol for everybody here to get shithammered...”

“Sounds great,” said Caitlin. Her cheeks still stung a little from the removal of the tape.

“But, you know how it is,” continued Brooklyn, “If we let you run around free, you might try to escape, and you know a lot about us now and everything...And we already PROMISED Satan he could have you...Sorry!”

Caitlin clenched her teeth. “You...you guys are going to get caught eventually. This won't go on forever. If I could figure out it was you, somebody else can.”

London stepped forward, a candle in her hand. “Funny you should say that,” she smiled. “You figured us out, sure, but you weren't working alone, were you?”

Caitlin tensed. This was what she feared the most. But she had time to mentally prepare herself, build her resolve. No matter what they did to her, she wouldn't expose Alicia, Lindsey and Chase.

She thought of the time she broke her ankle in practice, recalled that pain. Let the memory of it reenter her, become real. If she just focused on that...maybe it would lessen the impact of the new pains the volleyball girls would inflict on her.

“What do you mean?” she asked, keeping her voice steady.

“I mean your buddies, the other cheerleaders,” said London. “How many more of them know about this cabin?”

“None,” said Caitlin. “I looked into this alone...I didn't trust anyone enough to let them in on it, at least not until I had more information.”

Brooklyn smiled. She leaned on the slab with her elbows, and ran her fingers through Caitlin's black hair. “Your hair's so pretty...you should have grown it out,” she said softly. “Well, I guess it's not too late. Did you know your hair keeps growing after you die?”

“Look,” Denver told Caitlin. “We know that isn't true. One of our guys saw a cheerleader out in the woods. We think she caught two of us.”

Caitlin looked around at the four faces which were present. “Venice and Sydney?” The cut Sydney inflicted on her neck had mostly stopped hurting by that point. She felt it again at that moment, just faintly.

“Now, do you know anything about that?” asked London. “Any of your friends have instructions on what to do if you went missing?”

“No...” said Caitlin. Suddenly, she felt sick. Why? She didn't know. “Nothing like that.”

Nothing like that? The volleyball girls heard an admission of knowledge in her choice of words. “Then what?” asked Paris fearfully. “What's going on? Who's out there?”

Caitlin wavered for a moment, unsure if she should talk. Then...she realized it didn't matter anymore. “You know Chase, right?” she asked in a defeated voice.

“Chase,” echoed Denver. “She's the girl who was fighting at the dance and stopped that shooter and all that, right?”

Caitlin said nothing.

“She's out there? She's doing this?” asked Denver.

Silence was her confirmation.

“That's it? One girl?” asked Brooklyn. “Nobody else?”

“Nobody else,” said Caitlin. “She's the one who found out about this place. She's probably been watching this cabin since last night.”

“And she's after us? Just like you?” asked Brooklyn.

Caitlin met her eyes. “Not like me. I just wanted to get my mom out here. Have you arrested. Chase...” She took a breath. “Venice and Sydney are probably both dead.”

The volleyball girls were silent a moment. “Dead.”

“I don't believe it,” said London skeptically. “This Chase girl...Sure, she knows how to fight, but is she capable of killing?”

Caitlin almost laughed. “Yeah. She is,” she replied. “She's really angry about Rebecca's death. She's been doing better lately, but the way she's feeling now, the way she was acting the last time I saw her...I believe she...would have no reservations about killing all of you.”

“Better lately? What...what are you talking about? About...about killing?” asked Paris.

“Yeah, well, it's one thing to want it, it's another thing to do it,” said London. “There's still four of us and one of her, plus three boys.”

Denver looked at her teammates. “We were all there at the dance when she was fighting...I didn't see much of it because I was too busy getting the hell out of there, but I saw enough. If she really is out to kill us...”

Caitlin closed her eyes, unable to look at them. “Sorry. I should have just gone to my mom right away. I could have talked her into arresting you somehow, holding you until we had more evidence. I hate you all for what you did, I loathe you...but I wanted you in jail. I wanted you to be exposed, to pay for your crimes. I didn't want you dead.”

Paris stepped forward. “N-now hold on...” she said. “You're just trying to scare us.”

“Send your boyfriends home. Make up an excuse. They don't need to be involved in this.”

“They're already involved. They're out looking for Chase.”

“...I'm sorry.”

London looked annoyed. “If you think this act is going to convince us to let you go so you can call her off, you're wrong.”

Caitlin gave her a sad look. And then Caitlin realized why she felt sick. She was talking to four dead girls. “No, I don't think that would make any difference.”