SFH3 Run #1848: Hashoween
: 10/30/2017
: Lombard Gate, Presidio
: Crabs and Backwash
: Do Her Well

Content warning: Everyone dies.

“I can’t see anything, can you see where trail went?” Do Her Well asked behind the wall of balloons surrounding her face. Being grapes was beginning to sour. “Hey, anyone there?” The trail was almost completely dark, a distant lamppost two hundred yards away the nearest oasis. The wind sent a shiver through her, causing the balloons to squeak slightly.  “Are you?”




“Cacaw!” Crabs sprung out of the bushes, popping one of the balloons with the tip of his parrot club. “Rawk. Trail’s that way. Rawk!” Backwash grinned and waved.




Do Her Well swatted at him in retribution before scurrying off. Her flashlight suddenly came back to life, strobe light causing her to wince as her eyes tried to adjust. Finally, she wrangled it to normal function, casting it around wildly to try to find the next bit of flour.




“Wha…” she had already stopped running after a few steps, bending slightly to look at the smeared and stained mark on the ground. The usual bright white was ground with dirt, as well as something a lot redder and stickier.




“Oof!” Shaft had barreled into her, nearly sending them into the ground. Do Her Well pivoted to avoid stepping on the substance. “Shaft! I think… maybe an animal is hurt?”




Together they scanned around, Shaft nudging her at the sight of a much bigger pool of what could only be blood. They stepped silently towards the undergrowth, starting when a rat ran from beneath the bushes. But the bigger pools of blood forced them to go further off the trail, pushing away overhanging branches and for once not even seeing the poison oak scratching at their ankles.




“It’s probably a deer, right? Coyotes are getting pretty fierce.”  Do Her Well’s voice trembled.




“Yep, dragged it into the trees, I bet.” Shaft cleared his throat. “We probably don’t even need to check it out, the beer’s probably just around the corner.” But they kept stepping forward together, unthinkingly, inevitably.




“Jesus Fucking Christ!”








“Holy shit holy shit holy shit fucking crap my fucking god.”




Behind them, in the bushes, the moonlight shone on a solitary tree stump, upon which the head of Weiner I Am rested.




“Crabs, Crabs, Hand Pump, Backwash, someone, someone.” Do Her Well sobbed. “I don’t have my phone. I don’t… Shaft? Shaft where are you?” She stumbled to a halt, looking around, but Shaft was gone.




“Hey, you dropped this balloon,” Dick Ass Mother Fucker cringed when Do Her Well leapt back. “Are you okay?”




“Weiner I Am! He’s dead!” Do Her Well shrieked suddenly, pointing behind him. “And Shaft!”




“Ha. Scary. Did you hear that on the grapevine?”




“No, look!” she turned him around by force, where they could see the last remains of Shaft on the grass.




“Run!” Dick Ass Mother Fucker took off.




“I tried that, dumbass!” Do Her Well stomped her foot on the ground, before steeling her resolve and following him.




“Bum Sucking Electric Fag! Thank god! And Tonya Hardon!” To think that she had only been a few steps away from the pack the entire time. “Oh god, did they get Just Natalie?”




“You like my costume?” Just Natalie grinned a bloody smile.




“Oh, you’re alive.” Do Her Well cleared her throat. “This is serious. Weiner I Am and Shaft are dead.”




“Trail’s that way!” Just Doesn’t Get It pushed through. “On on!”




“No, please, no, don’t keep going.” Cheese Turd and Circle Jerk ran past her, and she barely missed grabbing Fuck Norris by her cape. “Guys, we have to get help, please, help…”




“This is a really good prank, I have to say,” Tricrapylete patted her on the shoulder. “I thought I was clever by coming up with identity theft as a costume, but scaring the entire hash…”




“I’m fucking serious. I am… just give me your phone… “




“Sorry, didn’t bring it, it’d ruin the lines of the ID badges,” Tricrapylete shrugged and ran off, leaving her alone once again.




In the darkness, someone screamed.




“Help, help!” Do Her Well shook herself. “Get a grip. Get a grip. What now?  Are you?  Are you?” She called out, turning around in circles.




“On on!” Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring came around the corner, bringing the rest of the walkers with her. “A drink? I don’t have any cups though, sorry.”




“Guys, someone killed Weiner I Am and Shaft, and god knows how many more.”




“That makes sense,” Muff Daddy nodded. “We saw Mouth Down South hanging out on the trail… literally!” He snorted a bit, but constrained his outright laughter.




“No, that was Brown Eye,” corrected One Night Only.




“We’re on a hunt for the evildoers!” Reverse Schoolgirl brandished her toy light saber.




“Did you, you know, maybe think of calling the cops?” Do Her Well gritted her teeth.




“We did already, but you know what response times are like,” Backside Banger pointed out.




“Well, shouldn’t we get out of the woods where we can be picked off one by one?” Do Her Well demanded.




“Hey, where’s Sister Fister?” asked Minor 69er as they ignored her, walking deeper into the woods. Tuna on Top shrugged and looked around, brow creased.




“I think you have to call her three times!” 6 Tits a Week pointed out, right before he fell down into a pit.




After that it was a bloodbath, booby traps taking out Jack The Ripper and Cowlick immediately. 9-1/2 Wanks made it to the edge of the trees before a catapult flung her into the distance. Just Get It Over With bravely dived in front of a flying knife that was meant for Dildo Baggins, but it was to no avail, as he dropped to the ground after breathing in a whiff of poison gas.




Somehow in all of the calamity Do Her Well had managed to emerge from the deadly grove unscathed, mostly by tumbling randomly through the patches of thick blackberries, finally coming out onto the golf club parking lot, where half of the pack were waiting impatiently.




“Where’s the key to the van?” demanded Just Melanie. “I wanna get frat boy drunk.”




“A noble goal,” noted Cockamole. “Maybe we should ask Backwash.”




“Guys, think. Where is the rest of the pack? Where’s Just Doesn’t Get It?!” Do Her Well grabbed Blowqueen by his penguin arms and shook him. “Aren’t you missing Tears of Semen?”




“Well, I always miss her, but she’s a grown woman, and she can go where she pleases.”




“And Douchicorn. Isn’t it weird that he’s not here?”




“Oh, he’s dead.” Chicken Bone Her explained.




“Wait, what?” Do Her Well gaped. “Him too?”




“Just Oso mauled him because of the costume,” Weekend at Abba’s admitted. “It seemed justified.”




“This isn’t a joke!” Do Her Well’s voice squeaked along with her balloons. “This is serious fucking business. There is a killer nearby, and I am calling the police right now and going to a very brightly lit area and waiting until someone finds me a psychiatrist and I am starting by prying away one of the phones from your bodies, alive or dead, I really don’t care because if we wait any longer it won’t make a difference.” She ripped the phone off I Cunt Hear You’s armband, ignoring his complaints about his Strava goals, and tried to dial.




“How can there be no reception?” she muttered, throwing the phone back in frustration.

“I don’t have any either,” Just Tony had whipped his out as well.




“Boner Malfunction and I couldn’t post on Snapchat earlier,” Cum Sail Away confirmed. “Our costumes were so good this year too!”




“I know what to do!” All eyes turned to Vagina Dentata. “Uh, go to a bar?”




“Exactly! They’ll have a landline.”




As one they turned to go, Resting Slut Face looking forlornly at the still locked-up alcohol. The sounds of hoofbeats caused Buck Fucka to pause, and he had just enough time to push Pole Her Bare away from the downwards swing of an axe.




The cloaked figure gathered the reins up and came in for another blow. Just Colleen and Liverdance split up, but the figure sheathed its axe and went for a bow and arrows, picking off hashers rapidly.




“What a shitty trail to bring virgins to,” Fuck Buddy complained, before she too was felled.




John Handcock bravely grabbed the reins, throwing the rider off balance, but he quickly discovered their antagonist was skilled at knifeplay. Just James went into the bushes, followed by Weekend At Abba’s, but both were taken out by a vicious trained coyote.




“I think this has all been a misunderstanding,” Udder Moron bluffed at negotiating, feeling for a metal pipe he had seen in the underbrush. Unfortunately for him said pipe had been craftily connected to the power grid of the golf club.




“Go! Go!” Cuming Mutha had run onto the golf course with Do Her Well and Whorifist. He pushed them into the shadows of the trees, and they could only watch as he faked a limp long enough to catch the attention of the dark figure. They turned away as the final blow was struck.




“I’m stuck,” Whorifist muttered.




“Are you fucking kidding?” Do Her Well squinted her eyes in the darkness and tried to dig at the metal fence that was wrapped around Whorifist’s ankle.




“You should go, I might be okay here.” Whorifist’s eyes could not hide his doubts. He continued, “But someone needs to get help. The others could be out there… waiting. Someone needs to let people know what happened.”




“Shit. Okay. There are houses right over there. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She slunk backwards slowly until she was out of sight.




“Careful, careful,” Do Her Well’s lips formed the words but she made no sound. She walked slowly, deliberately into the light. She could see someone moving in the kitchen, it was as sure a shot as she’d had all night. The doorbell sounded loud to her ears even through the thick door. Her world at this moment existed solely on that stoop, waiting, hoping.




“Oh, oh dear. Whatever is the matter?” The woman who opened the door could not seem to make sense of what she was seeing. “Are you okay? Come in, come in.”




“I… I.” Now that help was so close at hand the words did not want to come out. “I need the police.” 




The woman nodded, lips pressed tightly together. She pulled Do Her Well into the hallway, locking the door firmly behind them and setting the chain. “You come right here, I have the tea on and they’ll be around in a jiffy, don’t you worry.” She pulled a chair out, seamlessly pouring a cup for Do Her Well as she cradled the phone by her ear. “Hello. I’d like to report an emergency.”




Do Her Well finally realized how cold she was just as the warmth started to seep in her bones, the tea not quite burning her throat as she gulped it down. The buzz of the woman’s voice coalesced into words as she began to take in her surroundings.




“Yes, it’s horrible, there’s a young woman here who collapsed on my doorstep, I brought her into the kitchen, but she doesn’t seem to be conscious.”




Do Her Well felt the teacup fall as her hands grew numb, and the tremors that had started from the chill began to wrack her entire body.




“CPR? Oh, I can try… just give me a second.” The woman put the phone down and stared at the prone form of Do Her Well. “She has all of this white powder on her, though…” she said, picking up the phone again. “I don’t believe I can risk it. Five minutes? Good, please hurry. You know, I saw a weird powder on the ground outside earlier, I even put a call in about it.” She listened and nodded to herself.  “Hmm. I’m glad you’ll look into it now. It’s funny—at the time, no one seemed to take me seriously.”




The End