You Would Have Done It Too by Heather Chambers

Author:Heather Chambers
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: horror, serial killer, slasher, college, lgbt
Publisher: Renaissance Press
Published: 2024-09-20T04:00:00+00:00

He reached into the tub of developer fluid for the next photo. His tongs dipped into lumpy intestines, slimy with watery blood. He screeched and flung the utensils away. The gore was gone, replaced by another beautiful photo of someone lounging in a river.

He slapped his hands against the counter before his legs gave out. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. A small gathering of liquid on the countertop tickled the hairs along his skin. He glanced down at the blood curling around his digits and screamed. He stumbled backwards, wildly shaking it off his hands. As he moved away from the red lights the blood turned clear and dripped down his wrists into his bracelets as water. He choked on a disbelieving whimper and turned on his heel for the door.

He ran home as fast as he could. He burst open the lobby doors and almost fell to his knees seeing the elevator. He saw the body in his mind’s eye. He saw the elevator doors opening. Closing. Opening. Closing. Each time with a stomach-churning squelch. Some people turned around in concern at the noise he was making, but upon recognizing him, turned up their noses.

Felix crashed into his dorm door and fumbled his keys. His vision was gradually becoming a blurry mess of tears. White-hot panic burned him from the inside out.

Get inside! Hurry up! I need to get away! I need to hide!

He pushed open the door and somehow kicked it closed behind him in his flailing. The strung-up photographs of friends and family chortled at him. The threads brushed through his hair like sticky spiderwebs. He tripped trying to bat them away and knocked over one of his crates, sending boxes and books crashing to the floor with him. The Polaroid around his neck clattered by his stomach.

Felix crouched there on his dirty floor for a while, head on his forearms, trembling. A few crumbs and dead bugs dug into his arms. Rhett’s corpse in the photograph hung before his eyes.

“Go away! Leave me alone!”

He could imagine it turning its head to the side, mushy brain seeping out of the crater in its skull. A cackle floated past his hanging jaw.

How did it get on his camera? Who had taken that picture?

Emilio would never go that far, and Michael and Jackson would never do anything without his permission. He dug his fingers into his scalp to get the image of Emilio’s twisted body and the look of terror on Michael and Jackson’s face when he’d mentioned the Executioner. That madman had stolen his camera and taken that photo.

What should I do? There was no one to tell; Liana was gone, and he couldn’t endanger Sergio…

He sat on his heels with a weak curse. That was when he saw what he’d knocked over trying to get into his room: his memory shoebox. Pictures from the past year were scattered around, chronicling the landscapes of places he’d visited and friends. A lot of them were shots of Nikolai. He had pictures of him smiling, laughing, and making silly faces while eating and dancing.

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