Hey hey kids, so I know I said a little while ago that I probably wouldn't be finishing this story, or even continue writing. But I guess a little inspiration hit me and then this happened.

You guys deserved an ending for at least this one.



Several weeks later.

It was dark.

Incredibly dark.

And cold.

So cold.

A figure of a man ran between dozens and dozens of trees, the outline barely visible in the scarce light of the moon above. The figure stumbled, but caught himself on a low hanging branch from one of the trees, scraping his hands on the rough bark. The man winced and clenched his fists before carrying on once again. Sweat poured from his brow and into his eyes, forcing him to keep wiping it with the back of his hand every few minutes.

The man halted in his path as he strained his eyes to look ahead into the distance. He frowned in disbelief, blinking hard to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. But no, there in the distance was finally an opening from the heavy woods, a small barely-there light illuminating it. The man smiled to himself and once again began running, finally having something to run towards, finally having a goal.

Several minutes later, he emerged from the woods, his eyes lighting up as he looked around at his surroundings, unable to believe that he had finally made it. After so many days and hours spent running, he was finally here. He wiped the sweat from his brow once more before walking forward.

In front of him, stood a small house. Abandoned by the look of it. Only, the man didn't just assume that it was abandoned. He knew. He walked slowly up to the front door and pushed it open, wincing at the deafening creak which came from it.

The inside of the house was dark and silent, two simple factors which were enough for the house to qualify as creepy. The man reached out and flicked the light switch which he knew was right by the door. Immediately, the room flooded with light.

It hadn't changed much since he last saw it. Although it did look a little more dusty and dirty than it had done before. The man's eyes scanned the room, finally settling on a dark stain in the middle of the floor. His heart jumped into his throat as he made his way over to it. He kneeled down beside it and bowed his head, knowing exactly what this stain was.

The old, dried blood of Mr Stanley Caldwell.

It had seeped into the wooden floor over time, and had become a part of it. A part of the house. The man reached out and lightly ran his fingers over the stain, his heart heavy. He swallowed hard and lightly tapped the wooded floor before standing up straight again.

Turning away from the stain, his eyes found a door opposite him. A familiar door. He walked over to it and pulled it open before walking through it - a familiar path. A set of stairs met him, and he descended them, his footsteps echoing loudly. As he hit the bottom of the stairs, he reached out and flicked another light switch - turning on the lone lightbulb swinging from the ceiling above and illuminating the room.

It was just how they left it. Like it hadn't been touched since. Even the cuffs were still in the middle of the room. The man swallowed hard before making his way over to them, his eyes scanning every one of them as the rage began to build back up inside of him. His eyes caught sight of something tiny shining beside one of the cuffs and he mad his way over to it.

It was an earring. A tiny pearl earring to be exact. There was no back to it, just the front of the earring. He kneeled down and picked it up to examine it and noticed one strand of hair had come with it. A single strand of bright red hair.

The rage bubbled up inside of the man as it all came back to him. Every single feeling from before. Every single particle of the uncontrollable anger he had felt only a few weeks ago. He closed his eyes and squeezed his fist around the earring tightly.

Cat Valentine

Jade West

Tori Vega

And their boyfriends, too.

The man sighed heavily and threw the earring to the ground before turning and marching back up the stairs and out of the basement. Taking one last look at the blood stain on the floor before leaving the house.

He would find them.

He would find them and finish the job Stanley had set out to do so long ago.

He would find them.

And he would kill them.