Thursday, September 26, 2019
By Randy Romero
…Reports of a grisly murder, as a woman’s body was discovered just outside of Ravensville, Pennsylvania earlier this morning. We have learned that the victim is a young female between the ages of 25 and 30, though the police are refusing to release her name until they notify her next of kin. This comes just after the bodies of several other young women were discovered in an abandoned steel mill–
Jane clicked the radio off in a hurry. She couldn’t stand to listen to another word. It was nauseating. The papers and the news channels were calling the killer the Ravensville Slasher. The killer sliced and diced his victims, carved their bodies up like Thanksgiving turkeys.
Ravensville used to be a save place. Used to be.
The phone rang in the kitchen. Jane was one of the few people who still had a landline. She put her coffee mug down on the kitchen counter and walked over to the phone, picked it up from its cradle and twirled the cord around one finger.
“Hello?” Jane answered.
A familiar voice was on the other end of the phone, panicked and breathless.
“Listen very carefully, Jane. We don’t have much time. There’s a man after you. He’s already killed four people. And he’ll kill you too if you don’t stop him.”
“Who are you? What is going on? How do you know my name?”
“Because, Jane…I am you. The future version of you. But if you don’t stop this lunatic, both versions of us will cease to exist. Your present and future self will be erased.”
There was a sudden knock at the door that made Jane’s blood run cold.
“That’s him, isn’t it?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Jane’s twin said. “Hang up and call the police. Then go to the kitchen drawer and get yourself a knife. The one with the white handle.”
The knocking at Jane’s door turned to pounding.
She hung up and frantically phoned the police. Then Jane did as she was advised and retrieved a large kitchen knife from the top drawer, the one with the white handle.
The pounding continued as the crazed Ravensville Slasher rammed the door repeatedly with his shoulder. The lock could no longer endure the stress and the door splintered around the knob and swung open.
He was a tall, husky man, dressed all in black. His face was shrouded by a black ski mask with no mouth hole, only two holes for his piercing gray eyes. He clutched a sickle in his left hand. Jane was terrified, but she managed to stand her ground. She gripped the white handle of the knife tightly and dared him to make a move.
“Come and get me you son of a bitch.”
He charged across the living room, swinging wildly with the curved blade of the sickle. She moved out of the way just in time and ran circles around the couch, the killer giving chase. She ran around the whole living room, attempting to tire him out, but the man showed no signs of relenting. So she bolted for the front door, but he sprang towards her, the sickle slicing down her back, cutting deep.
She spun around as he raised the sickle again. She grabbed his hand as he tried to drive the sickle down, the blade mere inches from her face. She struggled to force the curved blade away, and managed to get one knee up, striking him between the legs. The sickle dropped from his hand as he crumbled to his knees.
She summoned all her strength to ram the kitchen knife into his chest, retracted it, then stabbed him again. And again. And again. She didn’t stop until his body was riddled with stab wounds and the beige living room carpet was drenched in blood.
She dropped the knife with a heavy sigh of relief. Jane heard the sirens in the distance. The police were close. The phone rang in the kitchen and she ran to answer it.
“Is it over?” a familiar voice asked.
“It’s over,” Jane sighed. She winced in pain from the deep gash running down her back. She let the phone slip from her and dangle from its cord.
The police were at her front door, staring inside at the body of the Ravensville Slasher. His reign of terror over. Ravensville was safe once again.
The police radioed for an ambulance and tended to a wounded Jane. The police had questions, but those would have to wait. And Jane had questions of her own, like the phone call that had warned her of the attack. Was she really speaking to her future self? How was it even possible? But those questions would have to wait, too…