Silver Crowbar Creepypasta Book

Chapter 12- Fearing Horrible Crimes

A menacing, slightly raspy voice growled a demand that made Mathis freeze. In an instant, his optimistic thoughts were gone, replaced by something sharp and dangerously close to his neck. Mathis' eyes went wide as a sinking feeling of despair went through his stomach, and his hands clutched the controls of the helicopter. As directed, he didn't move, not even a muscle. "Wh-what do you want?" He asked, as calmly as he could, though his voice still shook. He wasn't stupid; he knew what kind of situation he was in.

Even though he had read of this happening many times and was educated on a hostage situation, he never thought it would happen to him. He tried to calm his heart as his hands began to shake, overly aware of the knife at his throat. "I just want you to make a little detour is all. To Arcos." The voice replied, seeming a bit closer now. The voice, though a bit raspy like that of a smoker, was obviously a younger man's voice. "T-to Arcos?!" Mathis replied with disbelief. Did this high-jacker have any idea how long of a 'detour' that would be?

"Did I fu**ing stutter? Take us to Arcos!" The voice replied in a louder, aggravated tone. This sent chills down Mathis' spine, and a lump in his throat formed as his heart-rate increased once again. He slowly shifted the helicopter to the right, now on a course for Arcos. 'Wait, 'take us to Arcos'? Is there more than one person here?' He thought. He tried to listen out for any sign that there was another high-jacker on board, listening so intently that he could hear his own rapidly beating heartbeat.

"Good. Don't try anything, or this knife goes into your neck! I know the route to Arcos myself, which means I don't need you. You're lucky I don't kill you now." The voice commented, and the weapon at Mathis' throat was adjusted so that it would only take one small, swift move to slit his throat. He heard the high-jacker step around the chair to the side, just enough to make himself visible in the corner of Mathis' eye. The pilot slowly turned his head, cautious of the tool at his neck, to see his captor clearly. His eyes widened.

The boy's hair was a raven black mess, his white hoodie was noticeably stained, and his skin was a sickly pale. His eyelids were nonexistent, causing his eyes to be bloodshot and dry. A wide smile was carved into his face. "You-you are from t-the papers..." Mathis whispered, as the lump in his throat prevented him from speaking any louder. A fresh jolt of fear ran through him, and he lost his grip on the helicopter steering wheel. "Yeah. What do you want, an autograph? Don't crash the helicopter." Jeffery replied, noticing the pilot's hand slipping from the controls out of shock.

In an instant, the german man was more aware of his surroundings, correcting his hands back to holding the steering wheel. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead, and his eyes were wide as he slowly turned back to the windshield. Jeffery noticed the name-tag on the pilot's shirt as he turned his attention back to flying the vehicle. 'Mathis Lyke' it read. 'What are you, foreign?' Jeff thought sarcastically. What he saw plastered on the pilot's face when he looked back up made him pull a smile that he couldn't keep down. That reaction, the look of fear that all of his victims had before their demise. It would never get old!

Jeff turned his head slightly, keeping his eyes on Mathis while directing his speech away from him. "Hey, Laureen! You can come on out." He said. The pilot's eyes traveled over to his captor as he heard this, though he could only see Jeff's left side. 'So I was right. There is someone else.' He thought. He heard a bit of shuffling a few moments after Jeff spoke, and then light footsteps that stopped a foot or so behind him. They seemed a little slow, almost resistant. "Hey, I got us on the right track. What's with that look?" Jeff said.

"It's...nothing..." A female voice replied, tone hesitant and barely expressing any emotion. Jeff frowned (as much as his permanent smile would allow), looking towards the other person. "How 'bout a 'thank you'? You wouldn't even be going if I wasn't doing all the work." He said. "You're right. But I didn't want to go anyway." The girl, 'Laureen', replied. Her voice was smooth, undistorted and perfectly normal. It was a nice voice, almost a sweet voice, and a huge contrast to the serial killer who currently held a knife to Mathis' neck.