JSchlatt murders you and your 4 friends with a baseball bat in 1999

Nineteen Ninety-Nine

1999.

The day it happened was a cool September evening. The crisp air held scents of pumpkin and cinnamon and chocolate as pedestrians here and there consumed their autumn-themed snacks. Red, orange, and yellow leaves fluttered across the ground, an occasional crunch coming along with their presence as a nearby kid playfully stepped on them, laughing. A slightly chilly but slow breeze passed through the air. People talked and laughed and smiled. No one would have ever thought that this day would be a day of murder.

I'd always been a bit of an introvert. I only ever really had four friends at any given time. But I liked it that way; it allowed me to get to know each of them better. My friends were named Bertha, David, Steve, and Martha.

The day it happened was Steve's 21st birthday. So as any other friend group would do, we decided to get our newly-21 friend into a bar. The five of us walked—it was a relatively short distance—to the nearest bar: Jim's and Kim's. Who owns the bar? Not Jim and not Kim, but rather Neil. Neil is pretty chill.

We all enjoyed our time at the bar and got drunk off our asses. Then it was time to stumble back home; Steve led the way (and by "the way" I mean he decided to take us on a new, "faster" route). As we passed by alleyway after shaded alleyway, Bertha threw her arm around me and tried leaning on me, but I was already off balance, so we both went tumbling down to the pavement. David laughed at us so uncontrollably hard. Steve stared blankly and tried to get a sense for what was going on. Martha giggled and reached down in an attempt to help Bertha get back up.

But Bertha wasn't there anymore.

I stared at the spot where Bertha was just a second ago. Then I slowly tilted my head upward. I looked into the sinister shadows of the alley. The others looked too.

"Bertha? Beeeeerthaaaaaa? Where did you go?" Martha called into the darkness.

"Yeah, Bertha! Don't abandon the birthday boy!" David yelled towards the blackness.

"Bertha, Bertha you better... you better... yeah you better get... get back..." Steve declared to the dimness.

I stood up. My best guess was that Bertha had vanished into the alley. So I suggested that's where we go to search for her.

Immediately the shadows swallowed me whole. The alley became an endless, lightless cage filled with a deafening silence. Not even the light of the full moon could penetrate the sea of darkness. I could feel sweat gathering on my palms and brow as I cautiously advanced into the unknown. We went farther... and farther...

... until we heard a scream.

A chill scurried down my spine. I shivered. I cringed away from the sound of the scream. I instinctively balled my hands into fists, my nails digging into my own flesh.

"Th-that wasn't Bertha, right, guys?" David asked. But he knew. We all knew.

"We should head back. The police could probably find her easier than we could," Martha suggested before David disappeared.

"David!" Martha shrieked. A bloodcurdling scream rang out in response. She turned to her left. "You see, Steve, we've gotta get out of here. We've gotta-"

Steve was gone too.

I turned around and bolted back the way I came. My heart pounded louder and louder with each beat, faster and faster with each step. My feet hurt due to collision after collision with the unforgiving concrete. My breathing was quick, harsh, shallow. I ran with adrenaline. I glanced backwards.

Martha was gone.

I was the last one left.

"Oh my god, oh god, oh god, oh god," I thought, "Oh god, please spare me, please for the love of god let me go! Let me go! Oh god, oh god...!"

I fell forward. My foot had gotten trapped in some unidentifiable object. I tried to wiggle my foot out. No use. I tried to wrestle it free. No use. I clawed in the direction of whatever trapped me. No use.

I heard quiet footsteps. They grew louder. And louder. And louder. A thunderous crescendo. I kept trying and trying and trying to get out of the trap, all to no avail.

"You thought you could get away, huh?"

Tears started to form in my eyes. "Fuck off, you monster," I softly cried to the mysterious voice.

"Monster? I'm no monster," the voice replied, "I'm just doing what God put me on this earth to do."

In a split second, I saw him. The moon had risen to the perfect angle so I could see him at last. He was a tall, pale man looming over me. He was dressed in a nice, black business suit with fresh, crimson stains. He wore big, brown, brand new-looking boots with their own splatters of liquid red. His young face maliciously grinned down at me, the corners of his mouth pulled up in a nightmarish smile, his brown eyes shining with crazed bloodthirst. Above his head, he held a blood-soaked baseball bat high into the air.

"So long, fucker."

BONK! Right on da head!

And that's the story of how I died.