Killer Instinct: Carrie Unleashed

Chapter 7: Protecting A Cursed Grave

Pale moonlight sliced through the ancient oaks as a thick, cold fog clung to Memorial Park. Owls screeched, and crickets sawed through the gloom. Three teenagers, their faces washed in the cones of their flickering flashlights, hurried along the trail, backpacks heavy on their shoulders. Scrabbling through the haphazard rows of stone, they found the low, broken slab. They paused, the light beams trembling on the marker, defaced with the words: "CARRIE WHITE BURNS IN HELL" painted in bright, desperate red.

Sam, his curly brown hair damp with mist, scratched his head. "Does it need more, Phil?"

Phil belched, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his red-and-gray jacket before setting his beer can on the stone. He extracted a mallet from his knapsack. "Trust me, Sam. Everyone will talk about it! Is the camera with you, Tim?"

"Yeah, yeah." Tim, wearing a black leather jacket and earrings, dropped his backpack. He powered on the camera and glanced around, a nervous tremor running through him. "Is it me, or is the fog making everything here creepier?"

"You should stop watching those horror movies, dude," Sam scoffed.

"I can't help it! Plus, another Ring movie is coming out soon."

"No one cares, and if you're leaving-"

"Save your debates for later, guys," Phil cut in, picking up the mallet. "Mr. Hargensen paid us for this job. We'll upload it to YouTube after recording."

Tim slapped the record button as Sam and Phil pulled knit masks down over their faces near the slab. "Three. Two. One." He gave a thumbs-up.

"Hi, everyone! Fucktastic Phil here!"

"And I'm Virginspoiler!" Sam added, voice muffled.

"Welcome to another episode of 'Wrecked'!" Phil spoke to the lens. "Tonight is a treat! We're standing before the grave of that Black Prom murderous bitch, Carrie White. This episode is for Mr. Hargensen-thank you for the pledge! Remember to subscribe as we demolish this frightening sight."

Phil clutched the mallet and hoisted it high. Before he slammed it down, a sudden, sickly white vapor swept through the cemetery, muffling the moonlight. "What the hell? Didn't the news promise fair skies?"

"They must have messed up." Tim scanned the tombstones, frozen in place. "Uh, guys... what is that?"

"What?"

"That!"

The boys snapped their heads toward Tim's horrified stare and locked solid.

Beside a fresh grave loomed a woman. Long, wet-looking black hair shrouded her face like a curtain. Faded flowers decorated a tattered, rose-pink kimono that draped her petite frame. She held a long wooden pole tipped with a crude, deadly blade wrapped in shredded red cloth.

"What the hell...?" Sam uttered, leaning in. "Guys, are you seeing this?"

"Yep." Phil waved at her, malice dripping from his voice. "Hey, Sweet Cheeks, how would you like to give me a blowjob?"

Tim and Sam erupted in laughter.

"Me give you five dollars, me love you long time!" Phil called in an offensive mock imitation of a Japanese accent, pointing at his groin. He followed up the catcalls with a grotesque, exaggerated series of slurping noises and humping the air while grabbing his crotch.

Sam wiped his eyes. "Man, you're hilarious!" The woman never reacted or moved; she stared. "What is that bitch's problem? Hey, Tim, ask her why she's here."

"Are you crazy? She's emitting total Ring/Grudge vibes."

"Sounds like your kind of girl!" Sam smirked, nudging him hard. "Stop being a pussy and ask!"