"Dude, did you see how far the cue ball flew? I totally took out that cabinet!" Todd took a swig of single malt- now thoroughly adulterated with cola- and grinned at the damage his screwed up shot had caused.

"I'm sure that counts as a foul." Loomis declared, scraping chalk onto the tip of his cue and then blowing most of it off. "Go get the ball then."

"It's your shot."

"Yeah, but you broke the glass, you go put your hand into it."

Crystal looked up from her physics textbook as Todd slouched past her toward the broken glass. She turned a smirk toward Loomis, who grinned and shrugged, then went back to her studying.

Todd knelt before the cabinet and started gingerly moving the shards as he cleared a path to the cue ball. At the far opposite end of the room Tiffany and Sam watched his dig, pausing their game of backgammon. "Boy can't hold his drink." Tiffany commented.

"But he did catch our slasher. Sort of. Well, with Terri's help. Though he did screw up Crystal's kill...." Sam trailed off, then decided to rush on to his point, "He deserves a chance to get drunk."

Tiffany examined the state of the board. "You know, we play this game, and you always win. We need to find a different game. One where I get to win some of the time."

"Do you have a game in mind?"

Tiffany leaned over the board so she could whisper to Sam, and so that he could look down the front of her corset. "A game where I can be on top. Some of the time."

"Really?"

"I spotted a small graveyard, with a crypt, in the trees near the drive. Want to play in there?"

"Staying in character I see."

"You don't like my character?"

Sam liked the corset, the stockings and the short skirt of multiple layers of black gauze that Tiffany wore. He wasn't so sure about the knee high boots covered in buckles, even if the chunky soles did give her nearly an extra two inches so she was almost his height. "Of course I do."

Crystal was engrossed in her textbook, Todd and Loomis were arguing over the rules of pool, Freddy was still upstairs and Terri and Prescott had disappeared. Not that it really mattered what any of them would have said when Tiffany and Sam sneaked off. They stood and headed out as if they might be off to the kitchen for more snacks, but when they were in the foyer they sneak-ran to the door. They didn't even close the main door as they started walking briskly down the driveway.

* * *

They were only a short way into the trees when Prescott's goggles died. "Shit. The battery life on these things sucks." he moaned as he tried to coax some last green vision from them.

"At least I brought a torch." Terri told him, illuminating her face from below.

"Maybe we can find your goggles while we're out here." Prescott produced a torch of his own. "What are we looking for?" he asked as they climbed the path toward the T-junction.

"I don't know. Anything to prove the guy we got is, or isn't, the slasher we came here to kill. Or that there's someone here other than us and him."

"That's not vague at all."

"Tell me about it. Did you see any foot prints when we came up here the first time?"

"No. But he might have gone another way to the boathouse."

"Maybe, but we'd have seen that he ran up the grass to the tree line if he'd gone that way. And that's really the only other way to the boathouse."

"Okay, we need to take a closer look. I'll check from the left side to the middle of the track, you work from the right."

Their progress up the path was slow, but they were thorough enough to find no tracks other than the ones they had left earlier. When they reached the junction they stopped to assess the situation. "So if he didn't come up this path, and he didn't cross the meadow to the ridge line, then he probably didn't come from the house. Unless there's a secret tunnel between the two buildings." Prescott decided.

Terri was about to nay say the suggestion, but in her time hunting slashers she had found stranger things. "It's unlikely." she finally announced. They both stared down the hill at the boathouse, still glowing dark red on the lake shore and occasionally spitting out sparks.

"We could go and have a look." Prescott suggested, "Maybe the fire will have collapsed through the trap door. If there is a trap door."

As they headed down the path they kept playing their torches across the ground, searching for footprints. Behind Terri, Prescott's beam danced around her feet every time he swept it back into the middle of the path. "Where did you leave your goggles?" he asked after a while.

"On one of those trees over there." Terri told him, shining her torch across several trees.

"We should have a quick look for them."

"Okay."

They carried on, and were half way down the wrecked steps when a branch snapped uphill, off to their left. They both wheeled and pointed their torches into the forest, pistols drawn. When nothing moved for a whole minute Prescott suggested, "Deer?"

"Probably. Let's get on."

Terri had stepped down another two steps when Prescott's torch beam stopped dancing around her feet and whirled around in front of her. Then, with a small smash, it went out. Terri wheeled and levelled her torch at where Prescott should have been. The step was empty. Her pistol came up to follow the beam as she panned it down to see the smashed torch, with his dropped gun beside it.

There was a rustling in the branches above her. She raised her torch and found Prescott. His legs were flailing against air as he grasped at the noose around his neck. Too late he remembered the Leatherman tool on his belt. He managed to get it out of its pouch and started to unfold it. But his movements were becoming slower and less coordinated. He managed to get the blade out before he finally stopped struggling. The tool slipped from his hand and landed, blade first, beside his gun and torch.

Terri realised she had been frozen with terror, all her training suddenly deserting her. The whole point of being on a slasher killing team was that they had the upper hand, they surprised the slasher and took them out before there was time to fight back. This wasn't how it was supposed to work. She calmed herself and raised the torch beam from Prescott's limp body to the rope it hang from. She followed the rope to the branch it looped over then down into the trees again. Her target had to be somewhere over there.

There was a rustling to Terri's right and she turned the torch just in time to see a dark figure leaping out at her, knife raised.

* * *

Down the drive from the house, just after it crossed the stream, was a half acre of land surrounded by a wrought iron fence. Trees had pushed the fence over on the downhill side and were preparing to do their work on the gravestones. Tiffany had dragged Sam to the graveyard and now they stood by one of the fence sections which had yet to topple. Rust had flaked off the metalwork in layers, leaving little islands of the original blue paint. "You know, there are bedrooms in the house." Sam pointed out.

"Hey, let's live the role. Don't tell me that since we started playing the creepy Goth couple you haven't fantasised about doing it in a graveyard." Tiffany stared over the fence, "There, that one. I want to lie you back on that one and ride you." She pointed at the large rectangular plinth that stood a few feet away from the fence.

"Well, when you put it like that...." Sam worked his way along the railings, checking the pitted surface and sharp rusted edges. "Have you had your tetanus shot? How are we gonna get in there?"

"Gate." Tiffany said, pointing around the corner to it, half open and nearly off its hinges. She rushed for it and Sam followed eagerly.

They stepped over roots and around gravestones until they were at the plinth, where Tiffany grabbed Sam's shirt and used it to steer him until he was backed up against the stone. He sat back and she guided his hands to the hooks on the front of her corset, then held it together as he undid them one by one. When the hooks were all released Tiffany teased the corset open to reveal the prize.

Her skin was so pale it seemed to glow in the moonlight. She had small firm breasts. Sam ran his hands up her sides and circled the nipples, teasing them up to stiff points. They kissed. Tiffany grappled with Sam's belt and the buttons on his jeans until she could reach inside. "Commando?" she giggled.

"Of course."

Tiffany stopped playing with Sam's half freed erection and guided his hands from her breasts down under the ruffles of her skirt, "I'm not. Help me with that."

* * *

Todd didn't like that he'd lost the pool game, and he wasn't ready to have a rematch with Loomis. "You play me." he demanded of Crystal.

"Nope. Not me."

"Fine. Then how about.... Hey, where'd everyone go?"

Crystal looked around the room, "Tiffany and Sam went out a while ago. I bet they're finally fucking. Terri and Prescott were in the library, but I think they've gone somewhere as well."

"To fuck?"

"Who knows."

"Where's Freddy? Freddy'll give me a game. He doesn't cheat."

"Being ambidextrous isn't cheating." Crystal pointed out. "You're just a bad loser."

"I guess Freddy's still upstairs." Loomis offered. "I'll go get him."

"Yeah, do that." Todd slumped into the wing backed chair.

Loomis jogged up the stairs to the attic room. He swept the dark wooden door open and announced as he strode in, "Stop wanking and come join us downstairs."

Freddy was still at the window, sat in front of the monitor with his shoulders slouched. Loomis was halfway across the darkened room before he realised what was wrong. There was no head on the slumped shoulders. He slowed his pace and looked around the room and then down at the floor. He was one step away from kicking Freddy's head, which stared up at him, mirroring his shock, from a slick pool of blood.

Loomis reached for his gun, then realised he'd left it on a table downstairs. Movement on the screen caught his attention and he carefully walked over to Freddy's body. The screen showed mostly shades of blue, with the yellow of the still hot smoke from the boathouse on the right hand side and three small red shapes toward the left. One of the shapes was hovering above the ground and the other two appeared to be fighting.

Loomis didn't need to know exactly what was going on to figure out it was bad. He had to tell the others and arm up again. Turning quickly to leave the room he came face to mask with the black clad figure who had sneaked up on him.

* * *

They had struggled, contorted and giggled, but finally Tiffany's black lace thong had come off and been cast into the trees and Sam's jeans were around his ankles. Tiffany had pushed Sam back on the plinth and clambered up onto him. She had sunk back on Sam's cock and now, good as her word, was riding him hard.

Tiffany ground her hips back and forth, bounced up and down and moved from side to side, whatever she thought would make Sam come. Under her, he grasped at her breasts whenever they were close enough and clasped at her thighs and buttocks when they weren't. He knew he was going to climax soon but he wanted to draw it out, to give Tiffany as much pleasure as possible. It was a losing battle, his butt cheeks were clenched as tight as they'd ever been and his balls were right up inside his body.

Sam stared up into the night sky, thinking he could count stars to keep his mind off orgasm. It didn't work. A human shape eclipsed his view of the heavens. It held a large blade over its head, ready to bring it down. As the reality of the situation dawned on him, and the machete began to fall, Sam had the final- and most intense- orgasm of his life.