Creepypastas

What ax?

It had been a late night of partying, Matthew knew he had drank more at the pub then he should have, but it had been a fun time with his pals, all of who had consumed more than him. They didn't do the smart thing by making sure they all got home safely. However, they weren't all in the right state of mind, naturally.

Matthew found himself to be stumbling around a back alley, no more than half a mile from the pub, but he had no idea in what direction. He realized at this moment that he should ignore his natural instincts of a man, and just ask for directions. Though it was unclear how willing someone might be to help a slurred speech man with nothing more on than a t-shirt and shorts.

The wind was nipping at his skin and nose, not because it was all that cold, but mainly from wind chill factor. A curse for cold blooded people like him. Normally, temperature wasn't the for most thought in his mind, especially not in the situation he was in. The normal cause for discomfort would have been a fear of being mugged, or shanked, raped, kidnapped. Basically everything up to stalked. But no, this time it was all about getting a cold.

He rounded a corner, avoiding as many of the shady looking thugs as he could while making his way through the back ways. This was until he finally found a little alley that had, honestly, not a single person in it. He began walking down this path, and made it half way through, before the completely possible happened. Glass broke from behind him, from the smash, it sounded like a bottle, possibly beer based.

He spun around on his heels, looking to where he had just come from. Standing there, as obvious and cliche as could be, was a hooded figure wearing a mask, surgical in style, with a knife raised in one hand.

In Matthews drunken stupor, it took him longer to actually decipher what was happening at that moment. When primal reflexes kicked in, telling him that there was some form of mortal danger, he took off running. He didn't dare look behind him out of fear of what he might see. He turned a few random corners, losing himself completely. there wasn't much else he could do. He turned another corner, running, or more like stumbling, faster than he had ever stumbled before. There was a crazy surgeon with a knife after him, and now he had to find a way to escape it.

Halfway down that alley, he came to an intersection. The character came out from the side, swinging his ax. It was an ax now, which was worse than a knife. Or at least he thought so. He hadn't ever been attacked by either one so there wasn't much to compare. Either way, he managed to step side the ax as it cam down, without losing any momentum, keeping it all like the greedy person he was.

So again the running began. The crazed man who may, or may not have, been looking for a new liver, was still chasing him, swinging that ax around. It was a brutal alternative to the knife, a choice from a man who looked like he knew what he was doing that confused Matthew. It just wasn't efficient.

He also realized that this was not the kind of thought process he should have been focusing on. The surgeon was making a series of yodeling battle cries that reminded Matthew of an Indian, chasing around some cowboys. It issued forth a chuckle from Matthew. Then a high pitched feminine yell of absolute feat, and then another chuckle.

"Holy Crap I'm wasted!" Matthew shouted while running. If it wasn't for the battle cries, he might have been able to completely forget about the killer behind him. He felt that it was a bit closer in comparison to a jog. At least he wasn't cold anymore.

He finally found himself in an alley way now that happened to lead out to the street, with a car waiting on the other side, and standing in front of it was the surgeon, this time with a knife. Matthew thought this was weird, but was way too intoxicated to actually care. He just kept running, thinking how most drunks would. Fully believing that he was the reincarnated body of Bruce Lee, and could take on anyone in a brawl.

This mentality would have probably gotten him killed, if the circumstances were different. Before he could get within ten feet of the surgeon, the killer pulled the mask off his face. It was Micheal, one of his drinking buddies. "Hey!" He yelled, not slowing down.

"Hey!" Micheal yelled.

They jumped at each other and preformed a Bro hug. Just a Bro hug, nothing more than that, cause Matthew thought that would be weird. Especially when he was drunk.

"That was you?" Matthew asked.

"Yeah of course." He said, holding up his tools.

Matthew looked at the knife and said. "Where did you put the ax?"

"What ax?"

A look of understanding and pure intoxication passed between them. Matthew knew what he was thinking, but he was also sure Micheal was thinking of hot dogs. The yodeling sounded from behind him. "Yeah, let's get out of here."

Micheal nodded. "Yeah I'm hungry."