At first, when the four teenagers were murdered out in their cabin in the woods, everyone thought it was just a case of ‘wrong place at the wrong time’. Then the summer camp massacre occurred and some people began to think that the person responsible was purposefully choosing these locations.
It was very unusual, other than in movies, for six young camp counsellors to be murdered in such a brutal fashion. I think it was around this time that the media began to dub this killer as the ‘Clichè Killer’. His legacy was solidified when the three babysitters were murdered on Halloween night.
I know that most people that resided in my small town believed in the idea of a killer that tried to only kill while using iconic movie tropes, but to me, the whole idea sounded ridiculous. I was of the opinion that they were more an oppurtunist killer that happened to find groups of teenagers, in what just happened to be, famous slasher locations.
Most of the time the victims seemed to be youth, who were alone and vulnerable. I honestly didn’t think too much of really and I never thought that I would have to worry about being stalked by the ‘Clichè Killer’, that thought never crossed my mind. I actually thought that if I attended the party at the abandoned farmhouse, I would actually be safe.
By the night of the party, it had already been two months since the ‘Babysitter Murders’, and so they were beginning to take a back seat in people’s minds. Obviously, the pain of losing friends and, in some cases, family, the pain was still raw, but I think people were starting to heal. I guess that’s why there were plans of having a party in the first place. A way to take back our youthful spirit without fear, and without the worry of a killer looming over our heads.
The party itself was only going to be a relativity small shindig, but like most teenage party’s, it had the potential to grow out of control. As far as I knew, about twenty-four of us were expected to attend, but I fully expected more than that to show up. It was obvious before we had even conceived the idea of a party that it would be held at the abandoned farmhouse.
That’s where all underage parties in out town are held. It’s secluded, its quiet and out of eyesight and earshot of all the locals. I’m convinced that the town police are fully aware of what happens out at the farmhouse, but they are either too busy, or just don’t care enough to do anything about it. I guess it’s easier to let us young ones have some fun now and again.
The date was set and the invite list was complete. All that was left to do was wait until the party got started. I think in the lead-up to the gathering, we all pushed the ‘Clichè Killer’ from our minds and we only tried to focus on the positive. Even an hour before it began, the thought of the killer hadn’t even entered my (self admitted) small mind.
It didn’t take long for the night of the party to roll around, and soon enough, I found myself sneaking through the front gate of ‘Rope’s Farm’ and making my way over to the large, empty barn that sat in the middle of the expansive and overgrown field that made up the rest of this once bustling farm.
The party began as you might expected, with the beer flowing, confidence growing and inhibitions lowering. As far as I could tell, no uninvited guests arrived, and so the twenty-four of us spent the night partying and dancing, trying to forget the tradgies of the past few months.
As the night began to quite down, a number of people began to stumble out of the old barn and make their drunken way home. Before long, there were only eight of us left in the rusted, hay-filled shed. We were all standing around in a circle, the music had been turned off, and so we stood in silence for a moment.
Jenny, a young blonde girl who I have known for many years was the first to speak.
“Do you know who this farm belonged to?” she asked the group, a hint of excitement was present in her otherwise husky voice.
“No, who?”, I responded.
I had always wondered who used to own the farm and why it has since been abandoned. So, if Jenny knew, I was thrilled that she could enlighten me.
“It belonged to the Rope family”, she began and then continued on to tell the tragic story of the Rope family.
“The Rope’s were what seemed like to the outside world, a relatively standard family, which they probably were. The two parents had one small son, Terrence, who was only a small child when they bought this farm.
They ran this farm, quite successfully, for a number of years, but when Terence started school, thats when their problems began. You see, Terrence didn’t fit in with the other kids, he was different. He had a strange obsession with animals, which led him to not being able to properly communicate with other people. Some people say that he could speak to cows and to chicken, but not people.
This led to the other children relentlessly bullying him. They would make farm noises at him, and make him walk on all fours, like ‘the animal he was’. This went on for years. The school did nothing about it, of course, but the emotional trauma on young Terence took a toll on him. Soon, he would spend all of his time in this very barn. His parents hardly saw him anymore. He would live in this shed, always milking the cows. The cows that were his only friends.
Of course, this all leads to a tragic conclusion, because one fateful day, his friends turned against him. The cow kicked a hoof swiftly into Terence’s head. More kicks followed and soon enough, he was lying on the floor, dead.
Terence’s parents moved away soon after. Abandoned the farm and moved to another town. No one knows exactly where they went, but people say Terence still lives on the farm. In this very barn, to be precise. In a form that isn’t quite alive, but isn’t quite dead. It is said that anyone who trespasses on his land, though, will meet Terence. He is said to drain his victims of all their blood, with the very milking machine that he used to milk the cows.”
Jenny stopped speaking, and when I looked around at the group of us standing in a circle, I saw everyone’s blank expressions. I couldn’t hold it in once I had finished processing what she had just told us. I burst out laughing, and once I let out a chuckle, everyone else followed suit.
“That’s the biggest load of shit I’ve ever heard”, I managed to say to Jenny, through my laughter.
“No, it’s not! It’s true. Why do you think it’s called ‘Rope Farm’?”, she retorted angrily.
“I don’t know why it’s call that, but everyone knows that Terence Rope was killed at summer camp. He was set alight by the camp counsellors, and now he stalks the camp grounds, preying on other counsellors. Apparently he turns them into human smore’s. Thats what I heard anyway”, Ethan said.
Ethan is one of my best friends, but he isn’t exactly known for being the smartest person in the room. He definitely isn’t the smartest person that has been inside this barn, and that includes the cows.
“You’re an idiot, Ethan. I thought everyone knew that Terence was killed in the woods. Abandoned by the other kids in his scout group, he was forced to try and survive alone in the woods”, Gerry, another person present in the group, said.
“Well, I heard that he hunts babysitters, because he was murdered by a young child that he was babysitting. He wouldn’t let them stay up late, so they killed him. Well, that’s what I’ve heard anyway.”, another voice from within the circle said.
I had heard enough at this point. I thought we had come here to take our minds off of all this killing and murder, yet here we were, telling stories of a local urban myth all about murder and killing. This conversation didn’t sit well with me, especially after the recent events that had transpired, so I decided to voice my concerns.
“Are you sure we should be discussing this subject matter right now? After everything that has happened, I don’t think it is really that appropriate”, I said to the group, hoping we could move past this topic of conversation.
“Of course now is the time to discuss it”, Jenny responded, “It’s the perfect time to talk about it. It makes it scarier knowing someone is really out there, doing that to kids like us. It helps set the mood”.
“Well, it just seems insensitive”, I reply, knowing it will fall on deaf ears, “And besides, who would actually believe someone gets their blood sucked out by a cow milker?”
“It’s perfectly believeable, it could hap-ugggh”, Jenny stopped mid-sentence and let out a loud grunt of air.
At first I was confused as to what was happening and I watched as her face began to slowly contort and wrinkle. I watched as deep wrinkles in her skin began to grow even deeper, and the coloured drained out of her face. I soon came to realise that it was only colour that was draining from her face. I noticed that her face was beginning to shrivel and shrink, and it was at that moment that I knew blood was being sucked straight out of her.
I think everyone realised this at the same time because everyone began to scatter, like mice who had just lost a game of hide and seek. We all ran in different directions, not by design, but because it was natural instinct to just run in any direction that wasn’t towards Jenny. As I turned my back to run, I heard a soft thud, and so glanced back over my shoulder to see what it could be.
I looked back and saw the shrivelled and lifeless body of Jenny, drained of all blood and looking a bit like a sultana. Standing behind her corpse was a tall man, holding some sort of contraption that looked like a large needle attached to a long, coiled hose. This must have been what was used to kill Jenny. This must be Terence Rope.
I ran quickly out of the barn, not turning back again to look if I was being followed. I kept my legs moving and tried my best to run quickly and in a straight line (which, still being slightly drunk, didn’t make it easy). I pushed on, slightly staggering, but still managing to put distance in between me and the barn. I could feel my chest begin to tighten because of the physical exercise, but I had to push trough it; it was better to be puffed out than dead. I took one more step and, the next thing I knew, the ground was rapidly approaching my face.
I hit the ground hard and felt a sharp stab of pain run up my arm as I put it forward to help stop my fall. I looked around the area to see what I possibly had fallen over, but saw nothing but flat, grassy earth. Somehow, I had just fallen without any warning or without anything there to trip me up. One thing I did notice while I had my quick visit to the floor, was a large man slowly walking towards me.
He looked calm as he approached me, each step a slow but large stride. The man was dressed in blue overalls but underneath was only bareskin. In one hand he held the strange needle and hose device, and in the other he was holding some sort of pump. I figured that this is what made it possible for the hose and needle to drain Jenny’s blood. Covering his face was a strange mask. It appeared to be made out of a cheap, thin wood and was covered in slodges of black and white paint.
I speedily tried to stand up again and begin to run away before this man had caught up to me. I found my footing quite easily, and began to run away again. I took only three or four steps before I had already stumbled and fallen back down onto the dusty ground. I picked myself up again, unsure of how I had managed to fall over again. I glanced back over my shoulder one more time and saw that Terence was now only a few metres behind me, his arm extending out the needle towards me.
I don’t know what came over me, but I suddenly had the idea to head back inside of the barn and hide from him, rather than run away. Maybe if I hid, he would soon lose interest in me and go after someone else. I know I could’ve tried to keep running, but it felt like one of those dreams where you are being chased, but your legs don’t want to work.
I ran forwards, towards Terence, but I stepped to one side at the last second and avoided a needle getting stuck into me. I kept running, trying to place as much distance between him and me as I could. It would mean more time to hide once I reached the barn.
My feet must have tried a bit harder to stay on the grassy dirt this time because I made it to the barn door without another trip to the ground. It was still open (I guess no-one stopped to close it on their, panic filled, way out), and the first thing I saw when I entered was Jenny’s life-less, prune-like body on the barn floor.
I tried to avert my eyes from the disturbing sight, but I couldn’t help but look over. That could be me if I don’t find a good hiding spot quickly. My eyes darted around the barn, hoping to find a large hay bale, or a trapdoor I could hide it. I didn’t see either of those, but what I did see, was even better.
The gun was sitting atop an old bench that was tucked away nicely in the corner of the barn. I hadn’t even seen this bench the entire night, but luckily I had seen it when I really needed to. The gun was just laying on top of the wooden benchtop, and it was probably my only hope of survival.
I ran over to the bench and picked up the small handgun that was resting there. It felt heavy in my hands, but it felt powerful too. Powerful enough to stop the psycho that was about to walk through the barn door. I quickly checked the gun, so I could be sure that it contained ammunition. I discovered that there were three bullets loaded into the handgun. Three chances to kill him.
I crouched down just in front of the bench, trying my best to camouflage myself into the dark corner that the bench was located in. I hadn’t seen this corner of the barn for the few hours that I had been here, so I hoped that he would forget to check here too. Unlikely considering, if this was Terence, he spent most of his life in this very barn. Nevertheless, I was going to try my luck by hiding here, using the gun if I needed to.
I heard footsteps entering the barn. They were slow, but produced a heavy thud with each step. He was here. He stopped walking once he was just past the entryway into the barn. He turned his head from side to side, looking for me. Through the wooden mask, I could see two dark eyes piercing through. The eyes scanned across the large open area, but they never looked directly into my hiding spot. He then took another step forward and continued searching.
He must’ve not been able to see because he kept walking across the barn, looking for me. He held the large needle and hose in his hand, waiting for someone to use it on. He paced back and forth across the barn, hoping to find someone’s blood he could drain. I tried my best to stay quiet, but my fear made my breathes loud and a little bit raspy. I don’t think he was able to hear it though, cause he never once looked in the direction of the bench in the dark corner.
After what felt like an hour of him searching, he turned around and walked back out of the barn. I didn’t dare move even once he was gone. I stayed exactly where I was. My legs were beginning to cramp from squatting in the same position for too long, but that was better than the alternative.
I waited for five minutes, then another five just to be sure. I then slowly stood up, knees cracking as I did, and slowly began to creep to the barn entrance, ready to make my escape. That’s when I felt the sharp stab of pain in neck.
The next few moments flashed by so quickly, I’m not entirely sure exactly what happened. I don’t know how he appeared behind me in the first place, it defied all logic and reasoning, but he somehow did, and he had stabbed me with his large needle. I turned around sharply and saw him, needle in hand and also, needle in neck.
I raised the gun and pulled the trigger twice. Two bullets flew out of the gun and an insane speed. They lodged themselves directly into his chest. Terence let out a soft grunting sound and then began to fall towards the floor. He hit the floor with a heavy thud. I felt for the long needle that was pierced into my neck. I found it easily and yanked it out of my flesh. I felt a sharp jab of pain but that was all.
I looked down at the body of Terence on the ground. It was still and unmoving. I had killed him. There was only one thing left to do now. I raised the gun up and pointed it towards him. I then dropped it to the floor right beside him and turned around and ran.
By the time police arrived, I had managed to find another three of my friends, terrified and hiding up trees. We had all huddled together and rung the police. They sent out a car and surprisingly, it only took a few minutes before it arrived.
The police managed to find the rest of my friends, alive and unharmed. The only casualty that night was Jenny. Police searched the barn and found her corpse, still lying on the ground, exactly where Terence had left it. The only thing was, Terence’s body wasn’t where I left it. Police searched the entire barn and the surrounding area but saw no sign of his body anywhere.
I know I had shot him. I know I had killed him, so where was he? Where is he now? I don’t know the answers to those questions, and I definitely don’t know if he will ever reappear. What I do know, is that the media was right. The ‘Clichè Killer’ is definitely real.