Summer Co-Ed Camp

Chapter One-Killer-Louisiana; 2013

PART ONE

LOUISIANA MENTAL HEALTH PRISON

SATURDAY, 6.29.13

8:00 PM

"Come on John, I know you're pissing in the restroom".

     "Can I have some peace?". John Pearson, 39, closed on the door. He made sure the lights illumed his scarred face; he stared at the fractured mirror.

      "Bloody mirror. I hate this place".

      "HURRY UP, WE NEED TO HAVE PRISONERS GO AS WELL!". Louisiana Mental Health Prison Guard Frank Roach, 40, smoked a cigarette.

     Minutes' passed.

"Hey, Frank, John's in their with a razor". Tim Richardson, 34, told him.

     And then he rushed towards the MEN'S RESTROOM. As he burst inside, a man was lying on the cold, dirty ground, dead.

     His throat was slit.

    And, as his body went into a violent spasm in the next stall, John Pearson opened the window. And, holding a razor in his blood soaked right hand, headed down the pole.

    And, once he was on the ground, he ran away as fast as he could, as sirens blared all across the Prison's ground, and one of Louisiana's worst killers, was now on the run.

~~~

The man was scared.

    "What the hell...". Mark Ullson, 30, saw the killer. He was about to scream, when the razor slashed into his throat.

     More blood gushed, and he died instantly.

~~~

John didn't have time to feel anything.

     All he cared about was survival.

   Move your legs; move your legs; move your legs; move your legs; move your...

John moved.

    He had long, black colored hair, brown colored eyes, and tall. He wore a orange colored jumpsuit. His brown colored boots thudded onto the hard ground.

    And, as he headed towards the crossroads, he smiled for that first time since his daring escape.

~~~

"And where's the remote?".

     "Over there".

     "Good".

     "Darla, are you on the Internet?".

     "Yes".

     "Get off it! It's 8:30 pm".

      "But Dad, I need to do my history homework. It's due tomorrow".

      "Fine, make sure it's finished by 9:00 pm".

       "Will do, thanks".

       "Now, I will watch 'Die Hard' on TV".

       "Seen it". Darla smiled.

~~~

Darla was writing.

      She was in her blue colored pyjamas. Her long, black colored hair glistened in the darkness.The moon was creating an eerie figure in the sky.

      The small TV was off.

The laptop computer's glow made Darla smile.

       She wrote fast. The coffee hit her stomach, as she struggled to stay awake. Soon...soon...soon...soon...

       ...And then she finished...

       ...And she saved her work...

        ...And printed her 8 page report on President Truman out...

        ...And, once she placed it safely into her pink colored school folder, she was glad that it was over.

       Now to shut down the laptop, Darla thought, and smiled.

~~~

John saw the house.

       He saw the light on in Darla's bedroom. A woman was taking out her trash bins. She wore a red colored robe on, and walked down the stone pathway that led to the curb of 1246 Short Street, Louisiana.

       And he smiled at her.

       "HARRY! COME HERE!", the woman yelled.

        "I'm watching a movie, Sharon!".

       "There's...", Sharon moved away. And she saw John slash her throat. More blood gushed as he ignored the loud thud of her body land on the steps.

Darla heard the noise.

      She looked out of the window.

      And, to her horror, she saw the dead body of her neighbor.

      And screamed.

~~~

"DARLA!".

       Dad stopped watching TV. He walked down the long hallway. The light was still on. Since Mary had had passed away from cancer last year, he was now a single Dad taking care of his only teenage daughter.

       And it was hard.

      Very hard.

And he saw a man's face in the lounge room window.

      He was gripping a blood soaked razor in his right hand. And he smashed through the glass. And slashed Dad's throat.

     And, despite the cuts that appeared all over his face and body, John went after the family with brutal efficiency.

~~~

Darla knew something evil was in her house.

      A man. A killer.

     And he murdered people.

And she wondered why she was targeted. And her family. And other families in the street. Was it because they pissed off some of Louisiana's criminals in the Mental Health Prison? Was the Sorority Camp murders of a year or two ago still on her brain?

       She knew that the horror of camp was coming. She was booked to go to Summer Co-Ed Camp. The camp would open on Monday.

        It was Sunday night.

Darla ran to the kitchen.

     She opened the cream colored drawers. And extracted a large, butcher knife. Once she was holding the sharp weapon in her right hand, she saw John.

       "WHO ARE YOU?", Darla yelled.

       "John".

       "GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE".

       "I'M SORRY LOVE, BUT YOU'RE MINE!".

       "Touch me, and you're dead!".

        "I've killed before girly! And you're gonna die like the others".

        "I'm not a girly". And Darla threw the butcher knife into John's chest. And, as it thudded into his bloody body, she kicked his razor out of his right hand.

        And cut the killer's own throat.

        And, when blood gushed everywhere, he died instantly.

      And, for Darla, she had survived the attack. She dialled 911 on her I-phone. And asked for the Police.

       And waited for help to arrive.

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