"Rough Night At Bass Lake"
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dochermes"Rough Night At Bass Lake"
5/2/1990
Amy Lynn Deacon was completely hysterical at this point. In the glare from the headlights of their car, she watched the killer crouching over the body of her poor brother-in-law lying down in the weeds on the edge of Bass Lake. What was he doing with that huge knife? Hadn't he done enough? As she stared, the tall figure straightened up and swung around toward her.
Seneca wore a plain white cotton hood pulled down to cover his entire head. Two thin slits, barely enough to allow vision, had been cut where his eyes were and for some reason he had painted an upward-pointing crescent shaped line over over the bottom half of the mask. It made the hood look grotesquely like a smiley button. The killer wore tattered, stained overalls and decrepit work boots, and in one pale hand was a butcher knife caked with dried blood. He should not have been able to spot her where she crouched in the bushes beyond the car, and the whimpering which she could not stop should not have been audible in the drizzle. But somehow he was heading straight for her.
Letting Tommy's mutilated corpse drop face down into the mud, Seneca came striding with long determined strides in her direction. The smiling mask was getting closer. Amy shrieked without knowing it and took off in the opposite direction faster than she had ever moved before in her life. She only took three frantic steps before someone loomed up unexpectedly in front of her and she was brought to a halt by strong hands that caught her by the arms.
"Let me GO!" she screamed, slapping and struggling to get loose. The stranger was a tall thin man in a black commando suit, wearing a visored helmet, and he seemed not to feel her blows. Amy wriggled and kicked in utter desperation. In another second, that masked murderer would be on top of them.
"Steady, miss," said the stranger in a calm, self-assured voice. "Get behind me." He swung her around so he stood between her and the oncoming killer. Amy dropped to her hands and knees, unable to rise. She had just been through too much this night. The shock of what she had seen was more traumatic than physical injury. Amy was breathing in short rapid gasps and felt like her heart was going to explode.
Seneca rushed up with arm's reach, the long knife swinging up behind his head. The stranger in black faced that attack with no apparent concern, hands down at his sides, seemingly unconcerned. At the last possible split-second, the stranger abruptly blasted out a blurringly fast backfist and left hook combination that snapped the killer's masked head to one side and then the other. Any normal man would have been dropped with a broken neck by those lightning blows, but Seneca merely paused in his charge. Turning sideways, the man in black drove out a high side kick that lifted the maniac up and back so hard that the bottoms of his feet showed. Seneca hit the ground with a thump.
For the first time that night, a thrill of hope shot through Amy Deacon. Someone was standing up to the monster of Bass Lake. The stranger had knocked the killer down, but it was hopeless. How could flesh and blood defy the masked murderer who had taken so many lives for years? This was Seneca, a legend of terror.
She herself had seen Seneca recover from four bullets Jimmy had put into him with his .30-.30. She had seen the monster run over a sixty miles per hour by the Dodge her own sister had been driving. And both times, Seneca had simply gotten back up to seize them and break their necks. How could hands and feet be of any use? The man in black was doomed and she was too exhausted to warn him.
Clumsily, the masked thing rolled over and surged up to its feet again. It fumbled for the butcher knife it had dropped in the mud, seized it in one white paw and then lumbered toward the stranger. The man in the black outfit stood waiting. In a storm of violence, the two met head-on. In that rainy darkness, the only illumination came from the headlights of Amy's car twenty yards behind them, making them black silhouettes as they clashed. Seneca slashed wildly, wide sweeping strokes from left and right, somehow missing his intended victim by an inch each time. The stranger swayed out of the way, stepping one pace to the side, evading that blade each time by less than a palm's breadth. He moved so smoothly and precisely that it seemed the masked killer was deliberately missing him.
Seneca lowered its arms, standing there with chest heaving in frustrated rage. The rain slid down over the grinning mask, and in a blink the stranger had closed in on the monster. In less than a second, a dozen full-power blows had crashed all over Seneca's head and body, hitting so close together they sounded like drumming. The monster swayed just before a whirling reverse kick exploded a heel to its face that spun it completely around and threw him down on its face.
Watching as she slowly got to her feet, Amy again felt hope for surviving this night. Whoever this stranger was, he showed speed and strength enough to meet Seneca on equal terms. She hadn't thought that was possible. Instead of bloodthirsty rage, though, he had skill and discipline.
Lightning blazed nearby and the crack of lightning was sharp. Lunging again, the killer sliced open the front of the stranger's suit and there was the rasp of metal on metal. Unhurt, the man in black launched a one-two kick with the same leg that snapped Seneca's head back. Moving to one side, the man slammed his heel down to the back of the killer's knee, forcing him off-balance and making him catch himself on his fingertips. In that instant, the stranger wrested the butcher knife away, yanked the masked head back sharply and drew the blade deeply across the exposed throat. The windpipe was cut in half and black blood spurted out into the rain. In the same movement, the man in black jammed the point of the knife into the nape of Seneca's neck up to the wooden hilt, severing the spinal chord.
As the ragged hulk sagged loosely to the ground, the man in black stepped back. "And STAY down!" he barked. Turning away from the body, the stranger walked quickly over to where Amy was swaying unsteadily and began to push her gently toward her still-idling car.
"Your name Amy Lynn Deacon?" he asked gently.
"Yes.. Yes!" she managed to get through chattering teeth, before the words began spilling out in a torrent. "He killed everyone, all my friends, he killed them all.. Jimmy and Kaitlyn and Jen. And Tom. He killed them, he's been chasing us all night and we couldn't get away, picking us off one by one. I can't believe it, why does God let this happen?"
The man turned her around and examined her quickly in the headlights' glare. "You don't seem to be hurt."
"No. No, he didn't get me. Who are you? What are you doing here?"
"My name is Jeremy Bane," he answered as he steered her to get into the passenger seat. "I investigate this sort of thing and the authorities called me in when the killings began again." Unfastening his helmet, he drew it off to reveal a narrow face with short black hair and cold grey eyes. He let her get a good look to try to help her calm down.
The tears were starting to pour as Amy felt she was not in imminent danger and her body tried to relieve the stress. "But that man? With the mask. Why was he killing everyone. We didn't do anything to him, we never saw him before."
Bane exhaled sharply. "That is Seneca. No one knows his true name. He is the victim of a life-drinking spell someone cursed him with decades ago. Every time he kills someone, he siphons some of their vitality into his body and he gets stronger. He heals so fast he's difficult to stop, let alone destroy."
"WHAT? What are you talking about?" Amy demanded.
Standing up, the Dire Wolf said, "It doesn't matter if you believe it or not. What's important now-" His voice was cut off as a huge wet hand down brutally over his face. Its skin was cold and rubbery. An arm tightened around his chest and yanked him backward off his feet. Even taken by surprise, Bane reacted instantly, his elbow whipping up and back to explode into the killer's face with a force that shattered the nose under that mask. The monster loosened his grip, and Bane broke free, wheeling around to smash a tight left hook that audibly broke the killer's jaw.
As Seneca faltered, the Dire Wolf reached up his right sleeve and slid out a slim throwing dagger that gleamed in the dim light. He dropped into a crouch, deflecting the grasping hand with his other arm and ran the razor-edged blade up Seneca's torso from belt to throat. A hideous mass of intestines spilled out, steaming in the cold rain. Still alive somehow, still blindly trying to catch hold of his opponent, Seneca finally dropped to his knees. Bane came around behind the monster, pinning him down with a knee to the shoulder blades and got to work. It took a few minutes and was not pretty, but even as Amy Deacon watched, the Dire Wolf severed the fiend's head completely and threw it far to one side.
Seneca's body flopped aimlessly for a few minutes, finally becoming still.
Bane went to splash his dagger in a puddle, then carefully cleaned the blade on Seneca's mildewed coveralls before sheathing it again. He stood watchfully over the body for a few more minutes before going back to the car. "It's over at last," he said with assurance.
"How can you be sure? He got up before with four bullets in him."
"I've handled something like him before," Bane said. He unclipped a device from his belt. "Listen. I'm going to call for an ambulance. You're in shock. And I will get a special FBI unit here. They're called 21 Black, they will dispose of Seneca so nothing is left." He left over at the body of the monster's victim, not far away. "And I'll cover that poor guy until they get here. If I had been called in earlier, I could have prevented those deaths."
"But are you SURE he's dead?!" Amy screamed. "He keeps coming back."
"Oh, Seneca is finished," Bane told her reassuringly. "Lots of things in life will let you down, but you can always count on a silver dagger."
[6/20/1985 - Rev 5/30/2014]
5/2/1990
Amy Lynn Deacon was completely hysterical at this point. In the glare from the headlights of their car, she watched the killer crouching over the body of her poor brother-in-law lying down in the weeds on the edge of Bass Lake. What was he doing with that huge knife? Hadn't he done enough? As she stared, the tall figure straightened up and swung around toward her.
Seneca wore a plain white cotton hood pulled down to cover his entire head. Two thin slits, barely enough to allow vision, had been cut where his eyes were and for some reason he had painted an upward-pointing crescent shaped line over over the bottom half of the mask. It made the hood look grotesquely like a smiley button. The killer wore tattered, stained overalls and decrepit work boots, and in one pale hand was a butcher knife caked with dried blood. He should not have been able to spot her where she crouched in the bushes beyond the car, and the whimpering which she could not stop should not have been audible in the drizzle. But somehow he was heading straight for her.
Letting Tommy's mutilated corpse drop face down into the mud, Seneca came striding with long determined strides in her direction. The smiling mask was getting closer. Amy shrieked without knowing it and took off in the opposite direction faster than she had ever moved before in her life. She only took three frantic steps before someone loomed up unexpectedly in front of her and she was brought to a halt by strong hands that caught her by the arms.
"Let me GO!" she screamed, slapping and struggling to get loose. The stranger was a tall thin man in a black commando suit, wearing a visored helmet, and he seemed not to feel her blows. Amy wriggled and kicked in utter desperation. In another second, that masked murderer would be on top of them.
"Steady, miss," said the stranger in a calm, self-assured voice. "Get behind me." He swung her around so he stood between her and the oncoming killer. Amy dropped to her hands and knees, unable to rise. She had just been through too much this night. The shock of what she had seen was more traumatic than physical injury. Amy was breathing in short rapid gasps and felt like her heart was going to explode.
Seneca rushed up with arm's reach, the long knife swinging up behind his head. The stranger in black faced that attack with no apparent concern, hands down at his sides, seemingly unconcerned. At the last possible split-second, the stranger abruptly blasted out a blurringly fast backfist and left hook combination that snapped the killer's masked head to one side and then the other. Any normal man would have been dropped with a broken neck by those lightning blows, but Seneca merely paused in his charge. Turning sideways, the man in black drove out a high side kick that lifted the maniac up and back so hard that the bottoms of his feet showed. Seneca hit the ground with a thump.
For the first time that night, a thrill of hope shot through Amy Deacon. Someone was standing up to the monster of Bass Lake. The stranger had knocked the killer down, but it was hopeless. How could flesh and blood defy the masked murderer who had taken so many lives for years? This was Seneca, a legend of terror.
She herself had seen Seneca recover from four bullets Jimmy had put into him with his .30-.30. She had seen the monster run over a sixty miles per hour by the Dodge her own sister had been driving. And both times, Seneca had simply gotten back up to seize them and break their necks. How could hands and feet be of any use? The man in black was doomed and she was too exhausted to warn him.
Clumsily, the masked thing rolled over and surged up to its feet again. It fumbled for the butcher knife it had dropped in the mud, seized it in one white paw and then lumbered toward the stranger. The man in the black outfit stood waiting. In a storm of violence, the two met head-on. In that rainy darkness, the only illumination came from the headlights of Amy's car twenty yards behind them, making them black silhouettes as they clashed. Seneca slashed wildly, wide sweeping strokes from left and right, somehow missing his intended victim by an inch each time. The stranger swayed out of the way, stepping one pace to the side, evading that blade each time by less than a palm's breadth. He moved so smoothly and precisely that it seemed the masked killer was deliberately missing him.
Seneca lowered its arms, standing there with chest heaving in frustrated rage. The rain slid down over the grinning mask, and in a blink the stranger had closed in on the monster. In less than a second, a dozen full-power blows had crashed all over Seneca's head and body, hitting so close together they sounded like drumming. The monster swayed just before a whirling reverse kick exploded a heel to its face that spun it completely around and threw him down on its face.
Watching as she slowly got to her feet, Amy again felt hope for surviving this night. Whoever this stranger was, he showed speed and strength enough to meet Seneca on equal terms. She hadn't thought that was possible. Instead of bloodthirsty rage, though, he had skill and discipline.
Lightning blazed nearby and the crack of lightning was sharp. Lunging again, the killer sliced open the front of the stranger's suit and there was the rasp of metal on metal. Unhurt, the man in black launched a one-two kick with the same leg that snapped Seneca's head back. Moving to one side, the man slammed his heel down to the back of the killer's knee, forcing him off-balance and making him catch himself on his fingertips. In that instant, the stranger wrested the butcher knife away, yanked the masked head back sharply and drew the blade deeply across the exposed throat. The windpipe was cut in half and black blood spurted out into the rain. In the same movement, the man in black jammed the point of the knife into the nape of Seneca's neck up to the wooden hilt, severing the spinal chord.
As the ragged hulk sagged loosely to the ground, the man in black stepped back. "And STAY down!" he barked. Turning away from the body, the stranger walked quickly over to where Amy was swaying unsteadily and began to push her gently toward her still-idling car.
"Your name Amy Lynn Deacon?" he asked gently.
"Yes.. Yes!" she managed to get through chattering teeth, before the words began spilling out in a torrent. "He killed everyone, all my friends, he killed them all.. Jimmy and Kaitlyn and Jen. And Tom. He killed them, he's been chasing us all night and we couldn't get away, picking us off one by one. I can't believe it, why does God let this happen?"
The man turned her around and examined her quickly in the headlights' glare. "You don't seem to be hurt."
"No. No, he didn't get me. Who are you? What are you doing here?"
"My name is Jeremy Bane," he answered as he steered her to get into the passenger seat. "I investigate this sort of thing and the authorities called me in when the killings began again." Unfastening his helmet, he drew it off to reveal a narrow face with short black hair and cold grey eyes. He let her get a good look to try to help her calm down.
The tears were starting to pour as Amy felt she was not in imminent danger and her body tried to relieve the stress. "But that man? With the mask. Why was he killing everyone. We didn't do anything to him, we never saw him before."
Bane exhaled sharply. "That is Seneca. No one knows his true name. He is the victim of a life-drinking spell someone cursed him with decades ago. Every time he kills someone, he siphons some of their vitality into his body and he gets stronger. He heals so fast he's difficult to stop, let alone destroy."
"WHAT? What are you talking about?" Amy demanded.
Standing up, the Dire Wolf said, "It doesn't matter if you believe it or not. What's important now-" His voice was cut off as a huge wet hand down brutally over his face. Its skin was cold and rubbery. An arm tightened around his chest and yanked him backward off his feet. Even taken by surprise, Bane reacted instantly, his elbow whipping up and back to explode into the killer's face with a force that shattered the nose under that mask. The monster loosened his grip, and Bane broke free, wheeling around to smash a tight left hook that audibly broke the killer's jaw.
As Seneca faltered, the Dire Wolf reached up his right sleeve and slid out a slim throwing dagger that gleamed in the dim light. He dropped into a crouch, deflecting the grasping hand with his other arm and ran the razor-edged blade up Seneca's torso from belt to throat. A hideous mass of intestines spilled out, steaming in the cold rain. Still alive somehow, still blindly trying to catch hold of his opponent, Seneca finally dropped to his knees. Bane came around behind the monster, pinning him down with a knee to the shoulder blades and got to work. It took a few minutes and was not pretty, but even as Amy Deacon watched, the Dire Wolf severed the fiend's head completely and threw it far to one side.
Seneca's body flopped aimlessly for a few minutes, finally becoming still.
Bane went to splash his dagger in a puddle, then carefully cleaned the blade on Seneca's mildewed coveralls before sheathing it again. He stood watchfully over the body for a few more minutes before going back to the car. "It's over at last," he said with assurance.
"How can you be sure? He got up before with four bullets in him."
"I've handled something like him before," Bane said. He unclipped a device from his belt. "Listen. I'm going to call for an ambulance. You're in shock. And I will get a special FBI unit here. They're called 21 Black, they will dispose of Seneca so nothing is left." He left over at the body of the monster's victim, not far away. "And I'll cover that poor guy until they get here. If I had been called in earlier, I could have prevented those deaths."
"But are you SURE he's dead?!" Amy screamed. "He keeps coming back."
"Oh, Seneca is finished," Bane told her reassuringly. "Lots of things in life will let you down, but you can always count on a silver dagger."
[6/20/1985 - Rev 5/30/2014]
