The Splatterer Returns (Patreon)

This story is based off an idea by patron Luke DeAn - thanks for submitting it, and I hope you enjoy this dark, twisted read!

Police Chief Jonathan Lumis had done everything in his power to make sure that Fairtown was kept safe during the Halloween season but that was much easier said than done, especially thanks to the presence of one Wilhelm “Splatterer” Offeridge. The Splatterer was a grizzly spot on Fairtown’s otherwise peasant history: thirty years ago he had committed a series of gruesome murders around the town in the month of October and then, in the waning hours of All Hallow’s Night, escaped into the night after creating a bloody display out of the town mayor and his wife, never to be seen again. That was, at least, what the townsfolk and Lumis himself had presumed, thanks to the decades of relative silence since that fateful Halloween night.

Unfortunately all that was about to change. Since the start of October, Lumis and his police department had reported to several that were awash with red, the walls of each location being used as a canvas for a most macabre artist to decorate with blood. At thirty-six, Lumis himself was far too young to have any personal experience of the crime scenes from Offeridge’s heyday, but he had heard plenty about them from his father, the Police Chief before him. His father had recounted how his stomach had turned and lurched at such displays of cruelty and twisted artistry. While he hadn’t doubted his father one bit, upon assuming the position at the head of the department Lumis had inspected photos from the records and experienced much the same reaction as his father before him.

Now, presented with scenes that may as well have leapt straight from those photo records, it seemed impossible not to jump to the obvious conclusion. While older members of the department were certain that the Splatterer had returned to tear Fairtown apart once again, Lumis and some of the younger officers were more dubious. “Offeridge would be… what, sixty-six by now?” he put forth to Officer Branston, one of the oldest serving members of the department, as they were speeding towards a farm on the edge of Fairtown. Supposedly the couple that lived there had spied a figure lurking around near their barn who had been wearing the infamous pumpkin mask that the Splatterer had donned all those years ago.  “I dunno, I just can’t see an old guy pulling off some of the stuff we’ve seen at these scenes. Forgive me for being a little doubtful that a geriatric could overpower and hack up a high school star athlete in his prime.”

Officer Branston let out a huff from the passenger seat of the vehicle. He was only fifty-three but carried himself with the air of someone much older. His mere presence commanded respect from everyone around him and although Lumis was technically the other man’s superior, he still sought the older man’s counsel frequently. “I wish I could have your faith, boy,” Branston grumbled. “Offeridge… he weren’t like any regular criminal you or I have seen before. He weren’t even like your average serial killer. He was… beyond that. Pure evil bottled up in a human body. Even before he put that darn mask on folks knew he was different. Dangerous. He just went and proved ‘em right.”

“Well, there’s no denying that he left a legacy behind,” the Police Chief agreed, before taking a moment to listen to his officers radioing in. From the sound of it he and Branston would be the first on the scene by some ten minutes, but the rest of the department - even the off-duty officers - had orders to get to the farm as soon as possible to provide backup. They weren’t taking any chance when it came to the Splatterer. “My money’s still on a copycat killer,” Lumis restarted. “Somebody piggybacking on that legacy. Could even be a son. The original Splatterer though? I’d like to think he’s six foot under by now.”

Branston laughed in response, but it was a hollow sound. “I’ll only believe he’s dead and gone when I see it with my own eyes,” he replied bitterly. Officer Branston had a better reason than most to fear the Splatterer: he had been a rookie in the police department during Offeridge’s original reign of terror and Branston’s mentor had been one of the unfortunate victims and it had been the young trainee who had found the body. Lumis’ father had once remarked to him that he was surprised Branston had stayed on after that, but that he did was a testament to his character. It was perhaps the main reason he was one of the most respected men in town.

“Don’t be going all superstitious on me now, old man,” Lumis joked as they turned the corner onto the farm and began to slow their approach towards the barn in question. “You’re making him sound like the goddamn Bogeyman.” The comment was meant with some jest but as he finally placed the police car into park, a shiver travelled down his spine. The Splatterer’s mystique was undisputed and to think he might be no more than fifty feet away… there was always going to be a certain amount of terror to that notion. “Well, we’re here. Let’s check it out.”

Beside him, Branston jolted and cast his eyes wide. “Sir, would it not be more beneficial to--”

“Wait until backup arrives? Probably, but then we also risk Offeridge - or whoever is underneath that mask - getting away,” Lumis interrupted, already beginning to get out of the vehicle. “The call came in almost fifteen minutes ago, for all we know he’s already gone.” His gun was out of its holster immediately and, much to his silent relief, Branston soon joined him out of the vehicle. “I want you to search the perimeter. I’ll go into the barn,” the Police Chief instructed, ignoring the look of concern flashing across the older man’s face and proceeding towards the slightly ajar doors of the large wooden barn.

“Be careful, Chief,” Branston whispered after him, before disappearing into the shadows to begin a sweep around the area. Accompanied by only his gun and his flashlight, Lumis felt like a little kid approaching a haunted house; sweat had begun to build across his forehead and he was hyper aware of the sound of his feet on the grass and the whine of the barn door as he opened it wider in order to gain access into the entombed darkness.

The thin beam of his flashlight did little to illuminate the blackness as he took his first steps into the barn. Straw crunched beneath his feet with each slow and steady step. His grip on his gun tightened. “This is the police. If anybody’s here, it’s better to show yourself now,” he declared, doing another sweep of the shadowy barn with his flashlight. There was, as expected, no reply.

Instead, the most peculiar thing happened as Lumis reached the very centre of the barn: he found himself completely unable to move, frozen on the spot with his gun and torched outstretched in front of him, gaze fixed firmly ahead and his face fixed into an expression of grim determination. Despite his statuesque appearance, Lumis remained totally conscious and a fear unlike which he had ever known trickled through every fibre of his being. He didn’t know what had happened to him, but he knew it was very, very bad.

The barn door squeaked as it closed behind him. Next, the single bulb hanging from the roof of the barn flickered to life, allowing the police chief to see a figure enter at the edge of his vision and then circle around to stop some six feet in front of him. He had already anticipated the grotesque pumpkin mask of the Splatterer but anticipation didn’t stop his fear from rapidly accelerating. He did everything in his power in a desperate attempt to move, even just to pull the trigger on his gun, but his attempts bore no fruit.

“I’ve waited a long time to meet you, Chief Lumis,” the masked man croaked. “You’re much more handsome than your father. Bigger and stronger, too. Alas for you, physical strength can hardly compare to occult power.” With that, the new arrival reached up to remove his mask and exposed the heavily-lined face of a man in his sixties and a look in his cold grey eyes that could only be described as devilish. It was a face Lumis had seen many times before, but only ever in photographs, and now with another thirty years of age added to it. As a child Jonathan Lumis had regular nightmares about coming face-to-face with Wilhelm Offeridge; as an adult, that had become a terrifying reality.

“You probably have so many questions for me,” Offeridge sighed, an eerily sympathetic smile spreading across his thin lips. “I’m afraid we don’t have time for them right now, nor will we ever. I can illuminate you to a few things though. If you were to look down, you’d find that you unwittingly stepped into a devil’s pentagram that has trapped you there and left you susceptible to further magical intervention. As for what I plan to do with you… well, this body’s getting tired. I needed a fix-me-up; a new face to help me find new subjects for my art, and how better to get their trust than from inside Fairtown’s beloved police chief?”

Were it not for the fact that he was being held down by some invisible force, Lumis would have dismissed everything he’d just heard as the ravings of an insane old man. Unfortunately, trapped in the state that he was, it no longer seemed so ludicrous. He raged as hard as he could against the grasp of the supernatural power but it continued to be for no good. He was utterly helpless as Offeridge took several steps closer, then reached a hand across the edges of the pentagram and then outstretched his hand to place his palm against the police chief’s forehead. The elderly man’s flesh was icy cold against his own, but Lumis was more perturbed by the murmured latin chanting that departed the infamous killer’s lips. With each word Lumis was beginning to feel weaker and weaker. What’s happening to--

His thought was interrupted by a blistering pain that started in his skull and spread through every inch of his body. It was as if a thousand rats gnawed away at his insides and rearranged his guts; his very sense of being had been invaded. The pain intensified and shifted with each passing moment: burning, slicing, poisoning. Various forms of pain fought for dominance within him, but the worst part of it all was that in his frozen state Lumis couldn’t even scream, no matter how badly he wanted to. He was stuck staring into the endless evil of Offeridge’s eyes and that sick twisted smirk of his.

Then, with a sudden lurch, all the pain stopped and Lumis was instead left with an almighty weariness and a swimming vision. When his vision finally recovered though he was in for another front, as he was now looking down the barrel of a gun! As impossible as it sounded, it was what greeted him behind the gun that terrified him even more. He was no longer in the company of Wilhelm Offeridge, the infamous Splatterer, but rather Jonathan Lumis, Fairtown’s popular and respected police chief! He stood there in full uniform, with the gun and flashlight that had been in the real Lumis’ grasp just moments before, looking perfect for the part he planned to play - perfect except for the darkness in his eyes and the devilish smirk that played across his handsome face.

Lumis desperately wanted to scream, to call out for Branston and explain how terrifyingly wrong things had gone, but he was still trapped under the pentagram’s curse, unable to cry for help or make any move to defend himself. Across from him, the new police chief tilted his head from side to side, letting out an audible crack, and rolled his broad shoulders. “I guess there’s nothing left to say,” the other remarked, visibly delighted with the more youthful tones that left his throat rather than that broken croak of his original older body, “Other than thank you for your service, Happy Halloween and… oh yeah, got ‘em!”

The gun discharged, and Police Chief Jonathan Lumis was no more.