All For Fun | Jenna Ortega Imagines

Release (l.d)

Pearl let out a groan, all the gravel poking her dated body, she spoke as you towered over her, "Let it all out, on me, right here."

You were disgusted but you did as she said. You straddled her body, slashing and cutting into the woman relentlessly. You poked into her with the sharp edge so many times, with so much speed, the headlights of the van were painted red. Your flannel and hands, dyed with fleshy red stains as well. You sat atop the corpse, catching your breath.

"Ahhhhhhhh," you screamed into what was left of Pearl's face. You panted as you examined your hands, and the woman's current disposition. You felt some sort of peace from the whole ordeal. The woman was right, you just needed to release your tension. You turned your gaze to the guesthouse. You had already decided your next stop.

A gun is cocked.

You immediately face the direction of the noise to see Pearl's husband pointing a shotgun at you. His eyes are wide with shock as he breaths unnaturally, "What have you done?"

You stood up, slowly, clenching the knife. His gun following your movements, you growled through a Kubrick stare, "I gave her what she wanted."

The man's eyes filled with tears, as the gun seemingly became too heavy for him to hold any longer; he was shaking. His glare flashed between you and his deceased wife. The man's difficult breathing morphed into chuckles. You raised an eyebrow as he burst into full on laughter.

The man lowered his gun, quickly walking over to the corpse. You swiftly moved out of the way as he did. The old man spit and kicked at Pearl before returning his attention to you, "Thank you."

You nodded, not having a clue what he meant by that. The man examined the scene, specifically the van, "Where are your friends?"

"Those aren't my friends." You spoke, looking at the guesthouse.

The man nodded, "I reckon something bad happened. You were going to leave em?"

You only stared at him. Initially, you wanted to leave, put this whole mess behind you. However, the thrill of murder was calling your name. Releasing that tension was all you could think of. You shifted your eyes to the knife in hand and at the guesthouse. The man nodded, silently understanding as he looked at the guesthouse. A light from the house had come on, "Won't be long before somebody comes looking for ya."

The man stated, "You helped me, I'll help you. Name's Howard."

A smile tugged at your lips, "Y/N."

* * *

You went around the farm and guesthouse making quick work of your coworkers while Howard rid the scene of the van and Pearl. Bobby-Lynn, whom you shoved in a lake, coincidentally for her to be consumed by gators. Wayne, whom you stabbed in the barn with a pitchfork, was officially on the pedestal he desperately wanted. Maxine, whom was shot by Howard, had become a star — in hell. Jackson, whom you happily sliced the "wood" off in the basement as he was hung. Now, only one person remained, the main culprit: your soon-to-be-dead, ex-girlfriend, Lorraine.

Lorraine anxiously walked around the farm. She couldn't spot the van nor you nor anyone else for that matter. The farm had given her the creeps since y'all arrived. Despite how she felt about everyone and what she had done to you, she would die to ensure that all is well. As a good Christian woman should.

As Lorraine trekked the farm, the main house screen door opened, revealing Howard, whom stood ominously on the porch.

"Oh no," Lorraine whispered to herself, nervously clutching her oversized t-shirt.