UNKNOWN CALLER

Dead Is Better🔪

6. Dead Is Better.

Tatum Collins.

It wasn't every day that I was terrified of pressing my livestream button but today was definitely the fucking day. My principal had been murdered, classes were canceled, and I was pretty sure I'd put a bullseye on my back to whoever was butchering the town.

"Welcome back dedicated listeners in WillBerry," I said, finally giving in. "I am the best podcast host in town because I keep shit real. Today we've got a new, or maybe old listener joining us in the aftermath of, SURPRISE, yet another brutal murder right under our noses. You know listeners, this is typically the part in a horror movie where the killer has the cast running around like fools while slicing half of them up before Act 3. If you've survived this far, chances are you're a suspect or the killer and what you do next could determine if you make it to the credits."

My cellphone chimed, a text I was expecting from Nato no doubt.

"Until next time my listeners. Remember to lock your door, don't go out to a lake to hookup alone, check that backseat and if you have a feeling you're about to get gutted chance are, you're probably right. XOXO, your NC-17 Gossip Girl."

With that, I ended the livestream and grabbed my phone. Just because there was a chance the killer was listening in didn't mean I couldn't call them out and keep being the hilariously nerdy bitch I knew I was.

Nato:
Hey Bestie XOXO, you got some free time today? R.I.P. to Cox, but Roy finally got me on his list and I figured you'd want to tag along as my plus one? Pleaseeeee.

I laughed, before taking a moment to think. If the killer was starting to get gutsier I needed to be a bit more careful about who I trusted and what situations I put myself in. Was the hospital truly safe? Sure, it was supposed to be, but anyone who's seen Halloween 2 (which was a better sequel than its given credit for) would know that hospitals can also be the target of a murder spree. I mean, what better way to kick off act two than butchering a handful of nurses, doctors and teenagers?

"You're going off the deep end Tay," I said to myself, before typing up my reply. Besides, I still needed to tell Nato about my "nice" chat with the person targeting our friends.

Me:
Sounds great Nay. Need to tell you about some WILD SHIT TOO. Meet you there in 15?



Nato:
I think we're going to have to change the definition of wild shit when this town's bloodbath wraps up.

That was more like if it wrapped up.

Mason Connery.

"Cox's death got to you, didn't it?" The "ghost" of Wilma asked as she walked past me along the cobblestoned path.

"You're the reason it has to get to me in the first-place, dead ass bitch," I said back, not even caring if I sounded crazy at this point.

Besides, I was alone, in the middle of the woods. I knew how stupid it was to drive out to my parent's cabin in the middle of a killing spree; but I had to make sure this thing with Wilma didn't get out of hand.

"It was out of hand the second that creep broke in to my house and cut me up Mason," she said, her voice echoing among the sounds of birds and insects, "But I don't have to remind you of that now do I?"

I raised my eyebrow as I continued the path towards the cabin, doing my best to keep an eye on my surroundings.

"I have no idea what your crazy bitch ass is talking about," I said.

"Oh, I think you do," she said, her bloody ghost keeping up with ease as I began speed-walking, "I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. In fact, I think your ass is closer to the truth than you're willing to admit out loud."

"Would you just shut the fuck up?" I yelled, turning to face her, but she was gone.

The silence was deafening, only eclipsed by the sight of what I had headed so far out to find.

"It looks exactly the same as that last trip," I said.

The cabin was a little bit bougier than most, in fact, it was almost hard to call a cabin at all. It was more like a guest house with great A.C. an elaborate security system, an electric fence and even a Jacuzzi. It was weird being back since that summer, but it was also the last place any proof of what happened with Wilma existed. I certainly wasn't going to let my ass look like a prime suspect in this case.

Just as I strolled up to the gate and typed in the code my phone rang. I took a deep breath, after hearing about Roy's attack and looked at the caller I.D.
"Ali," I said out loud, relieved and guilty at the same time.

I answered the phone as quickly as I could, my fingers practically dripping with sweat.

"Hey babe," I said, trying to come off as if everything was fine.

"Hey, I'm supposed to get my Julliard results today, where are you?" She asked.

I immediately scolded myself, but then tilted my head when I realized her voice sounded a little strange.

"Look, I'm sorry I had an errand to run and should be back soon," I said. "But are you feeling ok, you sound sick?"

"Where are you?" Her voice asked. "Where are you? Where are you? Where are you?"

There were a few seconds of distorted static before the sounds of a new, unfamiliar voice filled my ears.

"Hello Mason," the voice said. "I'd like to play a game."

"Who the fuck is this?" I asked. "I swear to God whichever sick son of a bitch is playing with me-"

"I can assure you Mason," the voice said, cutting me off. "I have no intention of playing your games, but I can promise you that when you hear what I'm about to tell you you'll wish what you have in that cabin was the biggest of your problems."

"What the fuck do you want?" I asked.

"I want you to do exactly what I'm about to say, or my dear Ali here I'm afraid, won't be making the cut for Julliard."


Nikita Grey.

"Get in P.A. I'm driving," I said, while Pete stood mouth open outside of his house. It looked like he had been playing basketball before I showed up, his basketball shorts and half-sleeved shirt snug against his sexy ass body. In another world, I'd go back to him, but I didn't think I was in a position right now to be with anybody.

"How are you just going to pull up to my house unannounced with a killer on the loose and tell me to hop in your whip?" He asked.

"Well do you think I'm the killer?" I asked.

"No," he said immediately.

"Then get in my whip and shut the fuck up, we have top secret super-sleuthing to do."

He laughed, setting the ball down, and climbing his tall ass into the car.

"Alright Velma, is this going to become a regular thing?" He asked, looking at me with that dopey ass smile.

"God, I hope not Fred," I said, before chuckling and throwing the car in drive.

"Alright, you got me in the Mystery Machine, now where are we heading detective?" He asked.

I took a breath, biting my lip while trying to weigh the best way to tell him what was on my mind. There was the long version, and then the short version that I'd come up with in the past 24 hours. Considering our principal had just been murdered and time was clearly of the essence, I figured I'd give him the short version.

"Ok, I'm going to be blunt with you," I said. "I think Mason knows more than he's letting on; and I think this Becca girl is the key. I've been asking around, and I think I found the house she's staying at."

Pete stared at me, still stunned while the wheels turned in his head. He obviously wasn't the smartest guy, but surely, he had to know there was more to Mason's story.

"So, you don't trust Mas?" He asked. "Do you think he's the killer?"

"Honestly," I said, taking another deep breath, "I don't know. But I think Becca's shady ass has the answers."

We were getting closer to the address I had stumbled on as Pete took it all in, if there was one thing I could trust Pete with, it was the secrets in my head.

"If anyone in this town does, it has to be that girl so I guess our wacky asses are about to find out."

I smiled, thankful that this boy had my back in even the sketchiest moments as we pulled up to the house.

"Well here we go P.A.," I said. "Let's hope the bitch's lips are loose."

"I've got no appropriate comments to make on that one so let's do this," he replied as I rolled my eyes.

This boy was unbelievable, as soon as he redeemed himself I was always reminded right after about why it wouldn't work. We both stepped out of the car and I locked the doors as we made our way up to the seemingly normal home. It was pretty plain, a two-story blue home with a big tree out front. By WillBerry's standards it was pretty basic, but for the average person it would be a castle.

"So how does this go?" Pete asked. "We just walk up and go, hey do you know who the killer is? And do you think it's the guy her best friend fucked secretly for months?"

"Something like that," I said.

As we made our way up to the door, something weird stood out, it looked like the door was cracked open, kind of unusual when a killer was on the loose.

"P.A.," I said, "I have a bad feeling."

"Yeah," he said. "Me too."

As we finally reached the door, my hands trembled as I knocked once, twice and then finally pushed it open; the crushing weight of reality sinking in as soon as I did. A trail of blood, starting at what appeared to be the living room; and continued towards the kitchen. We took a few steps forward, peering around the corner.

The first thing that was obvious, there had been some sort of struggle. Dishes were smashed and pots and pans were everywhere. Then my eyes landed on what wasn't as obvious, the knife rack, empty as a second trail of blood stretched across a kitchen counter with an all too familiar but terrifying sight.

"Oh my God," Pete said.

Becca's body was sprawled out across the floor, her red hair matted to her head, but what was even more terrifying was the message painted in her own blood across the kitchen wall.

I TOLD YOU, I LIKE MESSY.