Death By Popcorn

Death By Popcorn by Neil Davies

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Death By Popcorn by Neil Davies

DEATH BY POPCORN By Neil Davies

Four girls in two weeks. Tortured. Mutilated. Murdered! Crystal Roberts tore her eyes away from the headline and stuffed the paper into the black trash bag she dragged behind her. The thought of a killer prowling around her neighbourhood was frightening, so she tried her best not to think about it. She reached under the flipped-up cinema seat on her left but couldn’t reach the discarded coca-cola can. She sighed, lay down flat on her stomach and edged under the seat. She reached again, grabbed the can, and banged her head on the underside of the seat as she straightened up. “Shit!” “Language Crystal. It’s just as well there are no customers about.” She looked over her shoulder at the man who stood at the end of the aisle. Rupert Jenkins, the manager of this small, local cinema. He was tall, fat and permanently sweaty, with a lustful leer in his eyes and, according to some of the girls, fast and groping hands. Not that he’d tried anything with her yet, but she was suddenly very aware of how short the skirt of her uniform was, and the fact that, lying on the ground as she had been, he had probably got quite a view. In two weeks she would be 18. She worried that Mr Jenkins would suddenly become more than just a drooling onlooker. He was surprisingly puritan in some ways, disgustingly perverse in others. She shifted her position, drew her legs in under her, pulled the skirt down as far as it would go, which was not far, and checked the zipper that ran the length of the top. She had heard that Mr Jenkins had designed the uniform himself. “Sorry Mr Jenkins.” “Well, we’ll forget it this time Crystal.” His eyes flickered to her breasts, the cleavage prominent above the low V of the uniform top. “Now, the reason I came here was to tell you the others have all left. I’m just about to lock up. Will you be long?” Everyone left? Including Richard from the concessions stand? She had hoped that tonight he would wait for her, tonight he would ask her out. She had hoped that for the past two months or so, ever since he started work there. Richard. Tall, slim, muscular, and four years older than her. Still, she hoped. “No Mr Jenkins. Just one more aisle after this, then I’m done cleaning.” “Good, well…” He took one more look at her breasts, her thighs, her young firm body. “I’ll be in the main foyer when you’re done.” She watched as he walked away, waiting until he was out of the doorway before turning and crawling along the aisle once more, gathering the trash left behind by the evening’s customers, grumbling to herself as she went. “17 years old. Still living at home with my parents. No boyfriend. Got a crush on a guy four years older than me who hardly knows I exist. Working for an old letch in a deadend job… Why do I bother?” She knew why, of course. She needed money to get away from this small town, to go to college in New York, or Los Angeles, or any big place. Anywhere but small town Ravensville, CA. There weren’t many places in town that an unskilled 17 year old could get money. Not legitimately anyway. She stuffed the last of the trash into the black sack and pushed herself to her feet. She reached up to the small band holding her ponytail in place and dragged it out. Black hair,

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Death By Popcorn by Neil Davies

long and straight, fell over her shoulders as she shook it out. It felt good to let it loose. She only wore it in a ponytail for work. There was a dull thump from over by the door, outside in the foyer. It startled her. Her hand flew to her chest as if to calm the beating of her heart. “I’m coming Mr Jenkins,” she called, turning to look towards the exit at the back of the cinema. There was no sign of the manager, but he was obviously getting impatient. Banging things about. I’d better hurry up before he locks me in! She tied a knot in the sack and made to carry it. Too heavy. Instead she dragged it behind her as she trudged up the centre aisle. Another thump. This time with a wet, squashy aftersound. “Ok, ok. I’m coming.” What was he doing out there? Beating up on abandoned half full drink cartons? Whatever he was doing it sounded like he was getting pissed. She quickened her pace, still dragging the sack. The foyer was dark when she pushed her way into it. The only light came from two drinks machines against the far wall and the half open door of the office behind the main desk. She sighed. She knew he was an impatient man but he had never switched the lights off on her before. “Mr Jenkins? I’ve finished now.” There was no answer. “Mr Jenkins?” She left the black sack of trash by the desk and made her way cautiously through the dark towards the office. Is he deaf? Why doesn’t he answer me? “Mr Jenkins?” Her foot slipped from under her, sliding in something wet on the floor. She fell heavily, sharp pain shooting up her spine. She gritted her teeth, didn’t want to cry out. Whatever game Jenkins was playing she didn’t want to give him anything to laugh about. As she waited for the sudden pain to ease she slid her heel back and forth. Something very wet on the floor. Had he spilt something while tidying up? A drink? Maybe that was the noise she heard. She could see little in the partial light but could vaguely make out a darkness around her foot. She lifted her leg and could see strands of whatever it was stretching with her for a moment before snapping back. Something thick and sticky. The black trailed away, snaking towards the office door. As if something was dragged, something wet and oozing. Her stomach turned, twisted. It almost had the look of blood about it, thick and black/red wher e it passed close to the drinks machines and their light. But it couldn’t be blood. How could there be blood on the foyer floor? Jenkins had spilt something, or broken something, dumped it in a sack and then dragged the sack to the office, not realising he was leaving a trail. That made more sense to her, but did little to calm her tumbling stomach or racing heartbeat. She pulled herself to her feet with the help of the desk and, stepping carefully over the dark mess on the floor, approached the office door. Her right foot stuck with each step and made a clicking sound as she pulled it free. “Mr Jenkins? Are you in there?” She reached the half open door and pushed it gently. It swung inwards for a few inches and then abruptly stopped, as if it hit something. “Don’t kid around Mr Jenkins. I’m ready to go home now.” She leaned into the room, peering around the door to see what the obstruction was. And screamed.

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Death By Popcorn by Neil Davies

Mr Jenkins lay on the floor, the door against his shoulder, his face obscured by a mask of blood and tissue that had oozed from his skull, a skull that was crushed, little more than a hole filled with broken bone and matted hair. Crystal turned away from the office, doubled over, gagging and spluttering. She fought down the urge to vomit but could do nothing about the tears that stung her eyes or the shaking that convulsed her body. That was the noise, she realised. The noise she had heard. Mr Jenkins’ head being crushed. And then the second revelation, one so obvious she was disgusted with herself for not realising it immediately. Jenkins couldn’t have done this to himself and then dragged himself to the office. Somebody else was involved. Someone had murdered Mr Jenkins. Someone who was probably still in the cinema! A noise from inside the office. A shuffling. She straightened up, stepped back further into the foyer just as the man appeared in the office doorway. He was dressed in black and wore some kind of Halloween mask, a clown she thought. She didn’t wait to take a closer look but turned, slipping slightly on the blood streaked floor, and ran for the front doors. She knew they were closed, but perhaps they weren’t locked! She could hear the man behind her, heavy footsteps, running, getting louder, closer. Who was he? What was happening? She remembered the newspaper headline. Four girls in two weeks. Oh my God! It’s him. It’s the killer! She ran harder, pumping her arms back and forth, forcing her legs, her aching unfit muscles, to work faster. She could hear his breathing now, snorting, animal-like breathing. He must be almost upon her. She cried out in fear, in anger. How dare this happen to her! She wasn’t even 18 yet. She was too young to die! She didn’t have time to stop. She ran into the door, slamming into it with her forearms, her knees. She felt it give, push outwards, as her momentum smashed her against the thick wood panelling. She almost laughed. It was going to open. She was going to escape. The door stuck with only the slightest of gaps showing. Surprised, she could not stop herself as her head collided, a sickening crack seeming to echo through the dark foyer. She staggered backwards, dizzy, puzzled, disoriented. The door was indeed unlocked, but she saw the top bolt drawn closed. The force of her impact had loosened it, pulled some screws from the fitting, but it had held. The bastard had held! She turned, staggering, the darkness before her eyes flashing with pain, and he was on her. His weight, the strangely soft feel of his black clothes, the manic grinning of the mask. She saw a gloved fist raised, arcing in. Then nothing. The pounding in her head was her first indication that she was still alive. If I’d died then surely the pain would have stopped? It seemed a strange, almost flippant thought given the circumstances, but nothing seemed very rational at the moment. And what exactly were her circumstances? She struggled to open her eyes, slowly. For a moment she thought she was blind and a tight knot of panic seemed to settle in her chest. Then she recognised her surroundings. The

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Death By Popcorn by Neil Davies

cinema. The auditorium. The almost pitch blackness broken by the vague shapes of the seats, the aisles. And she was on the small stage in front of the screen. She seemed unharmed. Her uniform was ruffled but otherwise intact and in place. Other than the pain in her head and some scrapes and bruises from the front door she was not hurt. Whoever had attacked her had done nothing else to her… yet! She remembered the body of Mr Jackson, lying in his office. She knew what this man was capable of. If she was still alive it was because he had plans for her. She began to cry, deep sobs sending shudders through her body. “Ah, don’t cry Crystal.” The voice was deep, strange somehow. “Not yet. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. I haven’t even started yet.” Trying to ignore the pain, she lifted her head towards the source of the voice. She could see no one in the dark but the voice had seemed to come from the back of the auditorium. “Nice to have you back with us Crystal.” “How do you know my name?” Her voice sounded harsh, croaky. She coughed, trying to clear it a little. “I know a lot about you Crystal, including the kind of boys you like. That’s why I brought someone to keep you company.” Up in the projection booth the projector whirred into action, shooting blinding light down onto the screen, into Crystal’s eyes. She turned her head aside, not wanting to completely shut her eyes, not wanting to be that helpless, and saw the ‘company’ the voice had spoken of. “Richard!” she gasped. Richard from the concessions stand. Tall, handsome Richard. Bound and gagged and barely conscious on the stage floor less than four feet from her. “Go to him Crystal. Untie him by all means. But be sure to tell him about Mr Jackson. Be sure to tell him I’m serious when I say I will kill you if he tries anything.” She believed him. There was a harsh matter-of-factness in the voice that convinced her. She scrambled across the stage, not daring to stand up. Her legs felt too insubstantial for that. Too shaky. Richard raised his head slightly as she reached him. She was relieved to see no blood, no signs of major injuries. “Richard, did you hear him?” He nodded slightly. “He means it Richard. Please, don’t try anything. Don’t run. If you do he’ll kill me, and then he’ll kill you.” She pulled at his ropes, trying to untie them. Her voice trembled slightly. Her fingers fumbled. “We’ll have to do as he says, at least for now.” She dropped her voice to a whisper as she finally got the knot at his wrists undone. “If we just play this cool we might get a chance to escape later.” Richard nodded again. She wondered why he didn’t speak, but then she saw the strange look in his eyes. Fear? Panic? Shock? She didn’t know what it was, only that it was unlike anything she had seen before, and it was unnerving. “Well done Crystal.” She jumped slightly as the voice spoke again. She had been drawn into that intense look in Richard’s eyes, almost mesmerised, and for a moment she had forgotten about the killer in the projection booth. If he was still there! She looked round. She felt the voice sounded closer, clearer somehow. As if he had moved down into the main auditorium. The light from the projector still blinded her if she looked up too far, but he had loaded no film. Nothing but white light shone on the screen.

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Death By Popcorn by Neil Davies

It was as if he read her mind. “Sorry there’s no film showing tonight Crystal. But you see, you two will provide all the entertainment I need.” She shuddered at that. She was not sure exactly what he meant, but she suspected it would not be good for her. Before Mr Jackson, all this killer’s victims had been young women. She had no doubt, now, that this was the same killer. How many killers could one small town have? She was uncomfortably aware that she fit the profile for his next victim. “Richard!” As the disembodied voice shouted his name, Richard looked around, into the dark of the auditorium. Crystal could not see his eyes, but she felt certain they still had that same creepy look in them. What must he have gone through before she woke up to get that look? What had this madman done to Richard before tying him up? Maybe after tying him up? She wanted to cry. Not for her, but for Richard. How could anyone hurt someone as sweet as Richard? “You, Richard, will play the part of the brutal interrogator. Think Spanish Inquisition. Think Nazi. Think Witchfinder General!” This guy is nuts! “Crystal.” She resolutely did not turn to look, but kept staring straight ahead, at the unmoving Richard. Whatever happens, Richard is here. He’ll find a way for us to get out of here. Just got to be patient. “You are the fragile, beautiful and innocent prisoner. You are the heretic, the resistance fighter. The witch!” She jumped as an enormous bang and clatter echoed around the dark. A snake-like coil of chains tumbled onto the stage, thrown from the darkness. They looked heavy. He must be close. “Your props. I’m a great believer in imagination, but a few props can so help the presentation don’t you think?” There was the briefest of laughs before he continued. “Richard, be so good as to use those chains to tie Crystal’s hands behind her back would you? It’s quite easy to do. Believe me, I’ve done it before.” Hesitantly Richard stepped towards the chains. “Go on now. And make it nice and tight. If I don’t think they’re tight enough I’ll get angry. Neither of you want that!” Crystal felt as if she would be sick, her stomach churning, her whole body trembling. But she did not move as Richard slowly picked up the chains and walked towards her. She fought back burning tears as she straightened up onto her knees, sitting back on her heels, placing her hands behind her back, trying to make it easy for Richard. Poor Richard, forced to do this terrible thing. She felt the chains wrap around her wrists, pull tight. Wrap again. Pull again. She gasped and bit her lower lip as her skin was pinched between metal links. She didn’t want to cry out. That wouldn’t be fair on Richard. He was doing what he had to do. We’re both victims in this. “That’s good Richard.” That voice again. Deep, oily, somehow oozing perversion in a way a mere sound should not be able to do. It made her stomach spasm. It was all she could do not to vomit. “Now she’s all yours. She’s your prisoner. You can do anything you want.” There was that sick, frightening laughter in the voice again. He’s enjoying this! Trying to make Richard behave as he would. Poor Richard. I wish I could help.

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Death By Popcorn by Neil Davies

She tried to smile as Richard stepped back in front of her. It was shaky, unsure, but she wanted to show him that she understood how terrible this was for him. That she didn’t blame him for what he was having to do. He looked back at her with those same dead eyes she had seen earlier. Again, she wondered what was going through his mind. He must be as frightened as she was. He reached forward and began to tug down the front zipper of her uniform. “No!” The word escaped before she could control it, as automatic as the twist of her body that pulled his fingers from the metal tab. She trembled, frightened at her defiance, worried at the response it might bring from the killer. She looked back to Richard and mouthed the word sorry . His hand swept up, catching her hard across the cheek, snapping her head to the side. A loud crack echoed around the auditorium. The pain was stinging, sharp in her cheek, and then a dull ache in her head from the sudden movement. But nothing hurt as much as the shock. For a moment she could not understand what had happened, did not want to believe it. She turned to look at Richard, her eyes wide, questioning. His eyes were no longer lifeless. There was a spark in them now, but not of fear, not of sadness. Of laughter, excitement, pleasure! He gripped the top of her uniform in one fist, grabbed the metal tab of the zip and tugged it down with the other. Now he was smiling, baring his teeth in an almost animal snarl. She stared at him, stunned. What was happening? Had he gone mad? Why was he doing this? He tugged her uniform apart, shoving it back over her shoulders, forcing her to involuntarily thrust her breasts forward. His hands were on her, squeezing, clutching, pushing up under her bra, forcing the tight white elastic over her breasts. His fingers found her nipples like vicious, sweaty pincers and she cried out, began to sob. It was not so much the pain as the shock, the total incomprehension at what was happening and why. As her eyes flickered about in near panic, not knowing where to look, not wanting to stare into that once attract ive face in front of her, they glanced down, past her breasts and his groping hands, and she saw the clear evidence of his sexual arousal, his excitement. My God, he’s enjoying this! “Go on Richie!” shouted the voice from the auditorium, laughing, jeering. “Give it to the prick teasing bitch.” Only it wasn’t the same voice. It had the same foul quality she had come to fear and hate but it was no longer deep and oily. It was higher, younger, the voice of a teenage boy. You can buy cheap microphones that’ll change the sound of your voice from the mall. Her stomach flinched, contracted as Richard’s fingers slipped over it. Her muscles tensed. Her eyes narrowed. She looked at the laughing, eager face in front of her and knew. You planned this, you bastard! She thrust her head towards him, her forehead ploughing into his nose. She heard a crunch, felt hot blood spurt onto her skin. He cried out, fell backwards. There was a shout of surprise from the auditorium. The back of her neck stabbed pain up into her head at the sudden movement and even more sudden stop, but she didn’t care. She rolled away from Richard who now had his hands pressed to his nose, blood oozing between his fingers. She scrambled to her feet, unconcerned as her uniform flapped open, her right breast still barely covered by her bra, her left bare, the nipple puckered by the sudden cold that scythed through her.

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Death By Popcorn by Neil Davies

She ran for the far end of the stage, towards the darkness beyond the light from the projection booth. The chains that still bound her hands behind her back trailed on the floor, clattering and crashing, like some wild mechanical animal in pursuit. She didn’t need that image, particularly as there was a real live animal behind her and, for all she knew, racing towards her. She didn’t look back. She didn’t have time. As she reached the edge she saw a piece of the darkness move and realised that the owner of the voice in the auditorium had cut her off. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t give herself time to think. She kicked, her heel hitting something solid, something that snapped backwards as she drove her foot through it. She heard a shout of surprise, a grunt of pain, the sound of something heavy falling to the floor. She leapt off the stage into the darkness of the auditorium and ran between the seats, straight up the aisle towards the door to the foyer. She’d been here before, but this time she had to escape! Crashing through the door into the foyer she stumbled, falling, rolling, her shoulder jarring painfully. She cried out as the chain snapped towards her, barely missing her head. In the light of the drinks machines she struggled to her feet, her trembling legs aching with the effort. Sweat glistened on her breasts, her bare stomach, her thighs and yet she felt cold. A cold sweat. She had only ever read about them before. She didn’t like the feel of it. For a moment she glanced towards the office door and thought about the phone inside. But then the memory of the trail of blood, of Mr Jenkins’ body, returned. There had to be another way to escape. She heard footsteps, running, scrambling towards the door she had just come through. Any second they would be here, be on her. She would be dead! Her heart racing, she twisted one way then the other. There had to be somewhere to hide, somewhere to run. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. Why Richard? Why the one person she had feelings for? She thought of all the times she had stood in the foyer, casting furtive and eager glances towards his counter. The counter! She ran for it, driving her legs hard, pounding her feet into the carpet. Pushing, almost falling. They were just the other side of the door. She expected to hear it crashing open at any moment. She flung herself behind the counter, her knee jamming into the ground first, her body following, shoulder first, the same shoulder she had jarred before. She clenched her teeth to stop herself crying out as she struggled into a squat behind the popcorn machine, ready to spring up and run if she had to. The door from the auditorium opened surprisingly quietly, gently. No one rushed in. Instead, after a short pause, two figures stepped cautiously through into the foyer, walking slowly, almost strolling. In a strange way it was more frightening. They’re not worried about me running away and escaping. They know I can’t. They know I’m trapped! She tried to slow her breathing. It sounded far too loud in her ears. Surely they would hear her? Her head pounded. She could hear the blood rushing through her veins. She felt certain her heartbeat alone would give her away. Where were they? She could not hear any movement now. She dare not move, not even to turn her head. Where had they gone? She shivered, more from fear than the cold she felt. It couldn’t be long before they found her. “Richie! Here!” The voice shattered the silence. Behind her!

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Death By Popcorn by Neil Davies

She turned with wide, frightened eyes, to stare at the man who stood almost within reach of her. He was young, perhaps in his late teens. Probably not much older than she was. But the face, the smile, the leer, they were so much older. Older and cruel. She shifted, ready to run, and felt the tug of the chains on her wrists. The trailing end was looped around his ankle, the last link beneath his foot. She remembered how it had whipped towards her when she fell, how it had almost hit her. It was a slight hope, but hope nonetheless. With a scream of desperation and anger she pushed her feet down into the floor with every bit of strength she could find. Her legs straightened, her body lurched away from the man in a graceless but powerful dive. She landed hard on her stomach, her chin thumping into the ground, her jaw clamping shut, biting her tongue. She tasted blood in her mouth. She rolled and twisted, never stopping the movement. The chain snapped taut, tugged at her wrists, bit into her flesh, and for a moment she thought she had not been strong enough or fast enough. Then it gave, it slackened as the trailing chain whipped after her, tightening around the man’s ankle, pulling his foot from the floor. He staggered, cried out in surprise, lost his balance and fell. His head hit the glass of the old fashioned popcorn machine, shattering it. Some part of his falling body hit the ‘on’ switch and the popcorn began to pop. She closed her eyes as shards of glass flew for a moment, before tinkling to an almost musical stop. When she opened them the only sound was the pop pop pop of the popcorn, tumbling out of the broken machine. The body slumped at a strange angle, the head and shoulders inside the machine. A sharp, jagged piece of glass jutted from his throat, blood pumping and mingling with the popcorn. The legs still twitched. She barely caught her breath before she was lifted to her feet by a fist wrapped in her hair. It felt as though it was being torn from its roots as she struggled to get to her feet fast enough. Richard pushed her back against the wall, growling and spitting at her like a wild animal. “Your kind always think you’re too good for someone like me. Yet you parade around in your little uniform, teasing me, tempting me. Bitches like you are all the same.” She tried to shake her head, tried to find a voice in her fear to tell him he was wrong, that she had dreamed of him asking her out. That she had wanted him for Christ’s sake! “Richard…” Her voice broke. She coughed, trying to clear it. “Richard I…” His fist thumped into the bare flesh of her stomach and the breath exploded from her. She doubled over, gasping for air, feeling as though she would never be able to get enough into her lungs. He grabbed her shoulders, pushed her up and back, slamming her into the wall again. The back of her head cracked against the light switch. All through the foyer, overhead fluorescent lights hummed and buzzed into life. Flickering, stuttering into a bright, even glow. And she saw the stranger. He stood in the middle of the open floor, his long black raincoat almost reaching the floor, his long black hair tumbling messily down to his shoulders. He stood with his feet apart, his hands in his coat pockets. His face was lean, gaunt almost, his mouth thin and unsmiling, his nose long and sharp, his eyes…. his eyes held hatred and anger and evil! She opened her mouth to scream, to shout, to say something, anything to warn Richard about this stranger, but he slapped a hand over her mouth and pushed her head back into the wall again.

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Death By Popcorn by Neil Davies

“No more Crystal. Bitch Crystal. Your time has come.” She barely heard his words for the stranger had begun to move, striding purposefully and silently towards Richard, towards her. His right hand slid out of his pocket and the fluorescent lights glinted off the long, serrated blade he clutched in his gloved fist. There was a moment of surprise, of stunned horror in Richard’s eyes as the blade flashed in front of his eyes before it was drawn quickly and sharply across his throat. Crystal screamed as the blood spurted into her face. She spat it from her mouth as Richard staggered backwards, fingers trying to stem the unstoppable flow. He turned and faced the stranger, puzzlement replacing the fear in his eyes. The stranger plunged the blade deep into Richard’s stomach and twisted. He pushed the younger man away and laughed as he fell to the floor, the blade still protruding from his body. The stranger raised his head and stared at Crystal, and at that moment she knew she was looking into the eyes of true evil. The real killer from the papers. She tried to run, but without any apparent effort he was on her, turning her around, pushing her face against the wall. This is not fair! Not fair! How many killers can there be in one small town? She began to cry, knowing this was the end. That this time there was no escape. She waited for the feel of cold steel sliding into her body. Waited for the pain. It never came. She felt the man’s gloved hands at her wrists, was surprised when the chains fell away from her, freeing her. She was turned around and shoved, not too harshly, out into the foyer. She stumbled slightly, regained her balance. She rubbed at her wrists, at the broken skin, the rawness. She looked at the stranger, down at Richard almost at her feet, back to the stranger. She knew he was going to kill her, just like he’d killed the others. It was impossible not to see the madness, the cruelty in those eyes. So why didn’t he just get it over with? She trembled, feeling her legs grow weak beneath her. This was worse than running, worse than hiding. Facing her killer. Waiting and wondering. Knowing it was coming. Not knowing exactly when or how. “They would have blamed this on me.” His voice was deep but not booming. Surprisingly soft. Nevertheless it made Crystal jump, a small scream escaping before she clamped a shaking hand over her mouth. “The police would have added your name to my list of victims. That wouldn’t be right.” “I don’t understand.” Her voice wavered and cracked as she spoke, her throat dry, her tongue feeling large and alien in her mouth. “You’re letting me go? Because someone else was trying to kill me? Someone who isn’t you?” She adjusted her bra and zipped her uniform back up. It was difficult, her fingers felt clumsy, uncoordinated, but that one act made her feel less vulnerable. Stronger. Safer. “I’m letting you go. You will be my victim when I choose, not when trash like this choose.” This guy is mad. But he’s letting me go. Get out before he changes his mind. She flinched at the pain in her stomach as she turned, pain from Richard’s fist. Her whole body ached and trembled and yet she felt more alive than she had ever felt. But what’s to stop this maniac from choosing me as his victim tomorrow night, or the night after? And what about all those other girls out there? Any one of them could be next. Can I just walk away from that?

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Death By Popcorn by Neil Davies

She stopped. She closed her eyes, no longer holding back the tears that ran down her cheeks. Damn it! She turned. She reached down and pulled the knife from Richard’s stomach, closing her ears to the sliding of metal on skin, her eyes to the fresh well of blood that followed the blade. She lunged forward with a scream of terror and rage, her eyes wide, her lips drawn back from her teeth in a feral snarl. Full of the joy of being alive and the determination to stay alive, she plunged the serrated blade deep into the startled killer’s throat.

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