He turned, enjoying the wild look in Arabelle’s eyes. As he approached she whimpered softly and began breathing in and out very rapidly. He knelt by her and brushed a lock of hair from her face. “It will be over very quickly,” he cooed. She just looked at him, her eyes going blank from shock. He sighed and stood, disappointed. He knew he would get no more reaction from her; once their fear reached a certain point the doomed shut down completely. He raised his axe, took a quick look back at Samantha. He smiled at her, and with a smooth practiced motion brought the axe down. It thumped loudly in the quiet morning air, and Arabelle’s body jumped and immediately fell away from her head.
‘A clean stroke,’ he thought with pride.
“Bastard!” Samantha yelled behind him. He turned, still smiling, and pointed to himself in surprise.
“Your turn is coming soon enough,” he replied, and pulled the headless body of Arabelle over and dropped her next to her younger sister, blood still flowing lightly from the severed neck. Next, he bent and began to arrange the body to his liking. He turned Arabelle on her back, then removed the thong at her ankles and spread her legs slightly. He then returned to the block and removed her head. He purposefully carried it by the hair letting the stump of the neck drag in the dirt just a bit and then he placed Arabelle’s head in the crotch of her legs so that her dead, blank face pointed past her feet and directly at the remaining two victims. He again brushed the hair out of the dead girl’s face, almost lovingly, then stood and turned.
Samantha said nothing, did not even look at him, rather her eyes remained fixed on the face of her dead sister, fascinated. Arabelle’s eyes seemed to stare right through her. She groaned and sucked up a bit of snot, only then realizing that she was crying.
The Executioner walked toward his two remaining victims and Samantha felt a wave of terror course through her body. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before and she felt as if she might faint. Instead, when the man was close enough she spat at him, hitting his pants. He ignored her, however, and with one hand grabbed her father by the hair and placed the other hand under his left shoulder and then pulled him to the block. Samantha watched stunned, as her father did nothing to try to stop the killer. He made no move to escape until his head was secured and then he strained at his bonds as if suddenly coming out of a dream, but by then it was too late. The Executioner tied his feet, and then moved to pick up the axe.
Tears flowed from Samantha’s eyes, blurring the scene. She blinked quickly, desperate to clear her vision, though why she could not have said.
“Please!” she shouted as loudly as she could when the Executioner picked up the huge, deadly looking axe. He turned, smiled at her again, and then with an effortless stroke, he cut her father’s head from his body. Samantha’s eyes were open, but she did not see the blood, did not see as the Executioner pulled her father’s body until it lay next to Arabelle’s, nor did she noticed as he placed the head so that her father too, was staring at her.
Samantha was no longer crying when she felt the Executioner grab her by the hair and begin to pull her to the block. He jerked her roughly from her knees and her body dropped violently down and she blinked from the pain in her scalp. Her face was just inches from the ground so that when she began screaming her breath blew up small puffs of dirt. She began to fight and squirm but no matter which way she turned the pain continued to grow. She felt certain her scalp would give away, but as suddenly as it had started the pain was gone. A strong hand gripped her by the neck and lifted her head and torso. When she saw the block beneath her she panicked again and kicked out, fighting now in earnest, but with her hands tied it was futile. As her head was forced down, Samantha screamed again, rage suddenly filling her. She could see and smell the blood left by her father and sister, but nothing she did seemed to matter and her head was soon in place. The dark wood of the block was cooler than she expected and actually felt good against the heat of her skin. She dimly felt the Executioner place a knee in the center of her back, holding her still as he tied the leather thong about her head, securing her in place. Once in position, Samantha felt truly helpless. Her head was held tightly, and she found herself focusing on the feel of the wet, warm blood of her family on her cheek. Her breathing was coming in rapid little gasps, which made her think of Arabelle. She could not turn her head and could only look one way. Unable to move, she stared at Murl’s dangling feet. The cook’s left foot was bare. Somewhere along the line she must have lost a shoe, and Samantha found her attention riveted by the toes of her former friend.
A noise behind her suddenly grabbed her attention. She strained against the leather thong but her head was fixed in place, her eyes darted down, but she still could not see the Executioner. He would have to come to the side to kill her and fear swelled in her that he was already in position on the opposite side. She closed her eyes waiting for the blow, but then she felt his hands on her legs, felt her skirts being lifted up.
“No!” she yelled and tried to kick out, but he was already positioned safely between her legs where she could not get at him. Her skirts came all the way up, and he piled the heavy fabric up on her back and atop of her tied hands, then she felt him ripping at her undergarments. They pulled away very easily, and suddenly she could feel the cool air of the day on her upper thighs and buttocks.
“No!” she yelled again as his hands ran over her bare legs, touching her everywhere at will. She squirmed and felt the skirts fall back down, but they were quickly yanked up once more, and with a shock as great as any she felt that day, one of his fingers entered her.
Samantha gasped as the Executioner leaned his face very close to her ear and laughed quietly. “You are ready,” he said as he moved his finger in and out of her painfully. “I knew you were like me.”
“Stop,” she pleaded, her voice hoarse, and she began squirming once more.
“Yes, I like it when you move,” he whispered and then his finger was out of her. She could hear him fumbling with his clothes, and she panicked once more.
“Please,” she begged, but he just chuckled. She bucked as hard as she could and felt her skirts fall back down, but they were hoisted up and then she felt him trying to enter her. It was all so quick she didn’t have time to register what was happening. She felt him thrust against her…close, and then with a sharp pain he was deep inside her.
She screamed, but he ignored her and began the rhythmic pumping of rape. She began to cry, but he did not stop until her skirts fell back once more. She heard him curse and withdraw, tugging at her clothes. They came up quickly enough and once more he was in her. She stopped fighting, and just cried her sobs keeping time with the incessant pounding and then her skirts fell again. He growled in frustration, and to Samantha’s surprise she felt the bonds at her wrists cut. Her hands instantly fell to her side and began to tingle as blood rushed back into them. She moved them to the block, using her arms to take some weight from her neck and shoulders. Once again her skirts were lifted, this time farther up nearly over her head, and then he was in her again, moving frantically now. He continued for a few minutes more, though for both of them it felt like much longer and then she felt his hot seed as it was released deep inside her. He collapsed down on her back, his weight hurting her neck, but she forced herself to make no sound. He remained where he was for several long moments, breathing heavily into her ear.