Who: Chloe, Christopher and Leatherface Where: Wilderness When: today What: Everything is bigger in Texas, including psychos. Warnings: You betcha
Chloe had a routine that she tended to stick with. Part of the day she did training with Fiona, Michael and Eve, part of the day she went to the prison to train with slayers, and the rest of the day she tried to live life has normal as any girl who came back from the dead as an activated slayer in a zombie apocalypse could. It was the latter that had her out in the wilderness, an ipod blaring music that Derek had secured for her, as she danced as if she didn't have a care in the world. It wasn't night time, and she didn't feel like she was in danger. Chloe was a slayer and she wasn't the same scared little girl who had caved to fear and ended her life. No, she was living life to the fullest now.
Of course she shouldn't be in the woods by herself. No one would approve of that. Chloe didn't realize though that she wasn't by herself. Something or someone was currently watching her. She was younger than his preferred type, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Not that you had to do a lot of begging when you were a serial killer with a chainsaw.
Chloe lost herself in the music, dancing and singing, body alert for any sign of demon, but not all evil things that preyed on girls was demonic. Sometimes the scariest most evil things were those that possessed humanity, or those that should but didn't. The sun was beginning to set, which was her cue to head back to the cabin. It wasn't until her back was turned that the predator made it's move. She was a slight girl, petite and young, innocent really, and she was bound to be a screamer. He grabbed a fistful of hair and slammed her face first into a tree cutting off the scream that escaped to send a warning to anyone who might be nearby that there was a damsel in distress. The sound cut off as the girl went limp from the impact of the tree. She was dragged away to his favorite play area, a basement in an abandoned house that was littered with his previous broken toys.
She would bleed and do a different sort of dancing for him now. The kind of dancing the body did as it tried to avoid sharp things that peeled away skin. She would sing the song of the tormented and tortured and he would savor it until he savored her flesh as dinner. It didn't occur to him that someone might have heard that original scream and was enroute to play hero. Not when he was so focused on the girl in chains in the center of his room who was gagged with her own shirt, screaming frantically as she watched what she surely considered a monster, sharpen his blades as he prepared to take a pound or two of her flesh.