The Scourges 2 Who Will Be The Toy?

With a rusty axe in his hand, he gets up a moment before Terence and although he doesn't know why, he has the feeling that something is wrong.

"Where is our lovely little Anna?"

As usual, Terence doesn't panic for a second when he notices the girl is missing. More annoyed that he didn't see which way she was running away, than worried, he puts his hand in front of his mouth and yawns.

Ready for start the game, after an annoying realization of what he already knew, Troy takes his last cigarette out of his pocket.

"I'm heading towards this building after lighting up my last cigarette. You, Jamal, are doing what you were born to do. You're galloping down the vacant lot."

"But I..."

"You keep your mouth shut and you obey."

Jamal's feeling a little frustrated, but hasn't their relationship always been like this? If his parents are as rich as Troy's, as influential as Terence's, he knows his friend will never consider him his equal. Watching his two whiter friends than him leave happily for the tallest building, sullen, Jamal takes the other direction and sinks into the darkness alone.

...

"Your flashlight, Terence. I'm going this way. If you find the toy, do not hesitate to call me."

"If I find the toy, I don't think I'm going to need you to play around with. Hahaha, in advance, no hard feelings, buddy."

Terence disappeared, Troy loses his manhood that characterizes him in the eyes of all. His face turns white, his body posture no longer expresses that superiority as when he was talking to Jamal, while his body trembles so much that he can hardly move in a straight line.

The light that keeps moving from side to side to long corridor of the factory closed in the early fifties, testifies to the young man's state of panic. Breaking the heavy silence that reigns in this almost unhealthy place, his rapid breathing seems to him to bounce against every obstacle until it reasoned in the distant rooms of this old building whose ceilings are collapsing a little more each year.

His trembling hand struggles to maintain its only source of light. At this moment, much more than finding this little girl, his only thought is directed towards his flashlight. Praying that it doesn't go out, he continues to move forward until he reaches a small hall whose floor is strewn with liquor bottles left behind by teenagers who have come here to party.

[ "I'm here." ]

Already very stressed, Troy immediately turns around, yet, aside from a few cigarette b.u.t.ts and an old mattress probably left behind by a squatter, he can't see anyone. Yet, he is certain, the voice was coming from his back and it was very close. Increasingly anxious, Troy wipes the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

["Tell me! According to you, who will be the toy?"]

This time, his fear isn't enough to make Troy turn around. Terrorized by the teeth that sink deep into his right earlobe, the young man runs straight ahead.

After a ripping sound joins the sound of her running away, he clenches his teeth so as not to scream, so much the pain he feels is indescribable.

Again, he hasn't seen anyone, yet accompanying his ear that makes him suffer terribly, he can feel a warm liquid run down his neck.

Corridor after corridor, Troy hopes that as he pa.s.ses the next one, an exit will present itself in front of him. In this never-ending race, someone, or rather something, is playing with him. Between deep bites to the cheek, taking part of his face with it or violent scratches to the hand, depriving him of his little finger, the thing he doesn't see whose mocking laughter seems to come from inside his head, hara.s.ses him constantly.

We've killed too many of these girls and now one of them has come back for revenge. [A poltergeist]

Exhausted after that endless sprint. Weak after excessive blood loss due to his many lacerations and the amputation of his finger and knowing that even if he wanted to, he could never escape a ghost, the slightly blurry vision, Troy, falls to his knees.

"I don't know which one of these toys you are, but I apologize for what we did to you. If it will minimize my mistakes, Terence and Jamal have killed more girls than I have. Yes, instead of attacking me, it's them you should be hara.s.sing. It's true, I'm not as guilty as those two."

Troy is hoping for a positive response to his request, but aside from the faint sound of wind blowing through the deteriorating roof, nothing reaches his ears devoid their lobes. His body threatens to give way at any moment, yet his brain manages to relax. The ghost must have got tired of chasing him. His panic-stricken heart gradually slows down, but when he uses what little strength he has left to try to stand up, a powerful hand crushes his head against the ground.

"Hahaha, sorry but I'm not a ghost. As for your apology, you'll be able to present them yourself to the souls concerned in a very short time. Say Troy, do you like puppets?"

02:25am

"If we see Troy come back without blood stains on his shirt and pants, it will be time to worry a little bit."

"Maybe one of us should go tell your father to send some men to help us flush him out, Anna."

"Jamal, a toy doesn't have a name. If we don't want to feel remorse, we must consider every detail carefully, or soon their horrified faces will come to haunt us. Catch! Instead of worrying unnecessarily, enjoy watching the new Playboy and Miss June's huge t.i.ts."

Jamal's never been so worried. Usually it only takes an hour to finish their game. Over the past three years, they've had time to refine their methods, but tonight, he's convinced something's about to happen.

Usually, during their little private games, with their tools in hand, they let the toy run away and then wait a little while discussing various subjects. Sometimes the toy is so frightened that they even have to run in it direction to get it to agree to start the game.

Although this is a bit of cheating, they have a habit of looking at the direction the toy is going. In addition to saving them some time, fighting their curiosity is often very difficult.

With the toy hidden in a position they don't know about, they set out to find it. For Jamal, who doesn't consider killing to be a pleasant act, the game of hide-and-seek, on the other hand, is very exciting. As the son of a hunter and a hunter himself, he has learned to remain calm and patient.

Hunting game is an art, it requires great self-control and keen senses. To know how to sniff the air to detect possible scents of perfume. Being able to observe the ground in order to detect a tiny trace of footsteps corresponding to the sole of the toy or even detect traces of blood present along the route.

This part of the game is an opportunity for Jamal, who sometimes feels inferior to his two friends, to put himself forward. Perhaps he is not as popular and handsome as them, but when it comes to toy hunting, he knows that neither Troy nor Terence can compare to him.

"Oh, Troy, what's that primal approach? Did you get spanked by a little girl or did you run into drug addicts who stuck their needle in a painful place?"

Tonight, Jamal's bad feeling only grew stronger as the minutes, so, when Troy's image slowly takes shape in the dark, his staggering gait only confirms this deep, irrational fear.

"Terence, something is wrong. Look at his gait! Troy is an extremely proud person. He would never risk damaging his image by adopting this primate att.i.tude."

Lying on the hood of the luxury sedan, his friend slowly scrolls through the few men's magazines he carries always with him. Disturbed by Jamal, who has just perturbed his concentration, he contracts his abdominals and jumps to the ground.

"It's an optical effect due to the darkness. Since you won't allow me to read these modern masterpieces in peace until you won't have proof to the contrary, I'm going to rea.s.sure you by joining Troy. Hey Troy, buddy, you brought a part of toy or do we need to contact a lawyer?"

As Terence prepares to join Troy, Jamal is overcome with an irrepressible anxiety. He wants toward scream at his friend who, in order to play cute, like he wanted to hug him, reaches out to Troy, but no sooner does his mouth open than Troy's axe falls down.

The darkness only allows him to distinguish the shadow of an arm flying to the right, accompanied by a powerful flow of liquid that escapes from the amputated shoulder of the limb of his friend. Terence's cry is unbearable. To avoid hearing the deep voice mixed with a strident complaint that tears the night, Jamal should cover his ears, but too shocked, tetanized by the horror playing out a few meters in front of him, he can no longer act rationally.

For any help, Jamal only stirs his lips. Now unable to speak, his right arm reacts for him by stretching towards Terence. This gesture, which was at first only an unwanted bodily reaction, reveals all its futility when without a word, like an automaton devoid of all feeling, in a gesture as quick as it is decisive, Troy propels the edge of his axe down again.