Private dashed into a hiding place, grasping the knife. The rocking chair was perfect! As he sat down, the door opened. Skipper shut it gently behind him. Anxiety portrayed on Skipper's face. Because he got closer, Skipper's footstep's got louder. Each thump made Private quiver.
Although it seemed Skipper was searching for something, his footseps stopped. Private poked his head out. He saw Skipper's back on his own bed. When Skipper reached for his nightstand, Private gasped. Instead of rummaging through the droor for his knife, he took a corded phone that was set on top. Private sighed in relief.
This mystery felt like it was accelerating to a conclusion, and the young pinguino was holding on to the ride for dear life. "How long had Skipper been planning this? Was he ever really my friend/father figure? o was he an imposter?" Private consoled, as tears streamed down his feverish cheeks.
He heard the beep, beep, beep of the numbers being dialed. His mind raced about, who Skipper could be calling. "Was it his band of murders?" Private contuined. "If it was, then why didn't he just speak to them in person? Maybe Skipper was one step ahead of me, and didn't talk to them to make it less suspicious. After all, wasn't Skipper always one step ahead of us, even back home? He always knew everything."
Before Private thought about anything else, Skipper began talking. His voice was low, and rough. He sounded desprate.
"Hey, it's me." He said, and gulped. There was a voice on the other end, but Private couldn't understand one word. "Are te almost here?" Skipper asked. più of the talking came from the other penguin. "Good. The boys still don't know, da the way. It'll be a suprise." Skipper half-smiled. Private gasped. "They'll be outside waiting." Skipper winked. His voice turned doleful. "I'll be fine. They're my superiore, in alto concern. I just wish I would have thought of this sooner."
"I'm sure te would've." Private grumbled coarsely. Skipper turned his head. Private retreated into hiding. "Yeah, I gotta go." Skipper said. There was a pause. "Don't worry, I'm fine. I just… bye." Skipper hung-up the phone. "Private? te in here, buddy?" He invited.
"This is how it's going to end?" Private reflected. "No, I have this." Private dazed at the glimmering coltello in his sweating flipper. The tears cascaded più and more. "Will I have to use this? Could I be able to, even if I do?" He imagined in his head, lodging the coltello into his gasping Skipper's chest. The notion made him clench his eyes shut, struggling to get that out of my mind. As he was thinking, Skipper was waddling closer. He crept forward, approaching the chair.
Skipper reached out, and clutched the superiore, in alto of the chair. He was tame, yet alert. Nothing and no one was there. Skipper was puzzled. He had sworn he'd heard some one.
From under the bed, Private breathed heavily-inhaling and exhaling. His little cuore was visibly pumping blood, through his chest. Through the thin sheet that slumped over the bed. Private saw a fin coming-reaching-for him.
Skipper tossed the sheet out of his way. He peered underneath the bed. Again, there was no one.
Heavy breathing made Skipper freeze. With his back to the door Private stood. A wave of naesiousness swept over the two of them. "Private?" Skipper said. "Come here, I need to talk to you."
"No, no," Private sputtered shaking his head.
"Private, listen. I know, te heard what I was talking about."
Skipper waddled closer. Private wanted to run, but he couldn't sposta a feather. "You're right. I did." Private gulped.
The suspect pinguino extended his flippers. "We need to talk." Private backed up. "I know, what you're doing Skipper." Private gulped, and tightened the grip on the weapon behind his back.
"Private, I'm sorry. I just have no other option!" Skipper exclaimed.
"How could you?!" Private screamed. Guilt ripped into Skipper's mind. This was killing him. He stepped closer. "It's going to be okay." Skipper comforted. Right then, Private revealed the bloody knife, and pointed it at Skipper.
"Stay back!" Private snarled.
"Private?!" Skipper cried. He paused to get himself together. "Put the coltello down, and take a deep breath, Private. Think about what you're doing." Skipper warned as serenely as he could.
"Why should I?!" Private shouted.
"Please, Private! I can help you! te need help! I won't tell anyone, okay? Will that make te sane again? We can go home, and forget this!" Skipper begged. Private was stunned to see tears pour down Skipper's cheeks for his sanity. But no. It was an act. Private wasn't the murder. o was he?
"You're questioning my sanity?! You're the murder! I know what te did to Rico!" Private screeched.
"Rico?" Skipper gasped, and turned to the clock. "Oh no!" He gasped. Skipper started pacing. "What if I really am the murder? Am I going crazy?!" Skipper cried. He grasped Private's fin. "Let me go!" Private pleaded.
"No, I can't be the murder!" Skipper shook his head. Skipper's snug grip didn't budge, so Private resorted to an agonizing self-defense move. He aimed a sucessful veloce, swift kick, where no one ever wishes-had wished-and will wish to be kicked: 'below the belt'. Skipper groaned in pain, but didn't let go.
This was his last chance. Private lunged at Skipper's fin. His beak hooked into his leader's flesh and feathers. Skipper squealed. The taste wasn't pleasant, but Private didn't let go. That is until Skipper's blood trickled onto Private's tongue, and down his throat.
In the other team's room, the window was open. The curtains blew rapidly. A strange light reflected of the superiore, in alto of the window. It was an arancia, arancio colored light. All over the floor were bodies. They all wriggled around, tied up. It was the whole staff and others. Two figures in all black, including black masks stood contentfully admiring their work. One had an ax, and the other one had a hammer.
"Fantastic work!" The one said.
"Thanks, I think this will be a fitting way to exterminate our problem." The other said.
"Do whatever it takes. te know what to do." The one smiled.
"Of course, anything for you." It said, and leaped through the window. The ax-carrying villain made its way out avoiding the fuoco that engulfed half the room, and was turning some of the penguins into ash. The smell was almost unbearable. The culprit looked down at the ashes and chuckled.
"Mm, kinda smells like roast duck." It detto as it took a whiff.
"Wait!" A voice called. It was Ivory.
"You can't leave us here!" oliva chimed in.
"You said: 'as long as te don't get in my way, I'll spare you.'" Ivory quoted.
"You're right! I did say that! Bravo! But te see, I can't have any loose ends. Bye-bye!" The murder remarked, and headed on his-or-her way.
Private bolted out the door. Skipper was right on his tailfeathers. They both stopped dead in their tracks, once they reached the stairs. A fuoco was blazing, destroying half the hallway and most of the living room downstairs. But that wasn't the only thing. A dark figure sat at the piano. It was playing a song. The fuoco surrounded the penguin. In a flash, it was gone.
Skipper stood watching. Private took this to his advantage. He dashed down the stairs. He used his stealth techniques to keep his tailfeathers from roasting as he made his way through the main room and downstairs hallway.
"Private!" Skipper cried. The leader bounded down the stairs after his private.
When he reached the second-to-last step, a scene from what would be a nightmare, came true. The whole spiral staircase was collapsing in an avalanche. It all was crumbling down.
Right before the flammable staircase combusted and fell on superiore, in alto of him. Skipper colomba clear out of its path. He soared great duration, landing on his belly right in front of the fire. His lungs rejected the toxic fumes da trying to cough and almost gag. Pushing up with his fins, Skipper got to his feet.
Walls of fuoco all around him inflicted hostile heat. Skipper disheartened himself of ever getting out-that is-not burnt to a crisp.
The crackling floorboards creaked behind him. Skipper paused. "Let me guess. You're here to finish me off." Skipper remarked. A malignant figure behind him stopped. Like the others, it was masked. The pinguino was plump with a butcher coltello in one flipper.
Private scurried to the back of the mansion. "Skippah?!" He cried. There was no response. Even though Skipper was trying to kill him, Private still cared. After all, he was sort of a father figure to him. Plus, Skipper seemed to not know what he was doing. What if Skipper was actually going insane?
Private couldn't take thinking about it any longer. He dashed through the garden. "Kowalski, Rico, help me, please!" Private screamed out to his deceased comrades. Of course, there was no answer, but a friendly voice called his name.
He turned around. Ellie stood before him. "Private!" She raced up, and hugged him. "Ellie? But how are te alive?!" Private cried. She just smiled. "Follow me, Private." She cheered.
The two rushed through the garden. Private was too foolishly happy to notice the fuoco blazing around them. At times he got close enough to touch the flames, but he was too naïve in his own world to feeling the singes and fear.
Then she stopped in front of the manor. With her left flipper she reached into the fire. Private now realized what he had done. He had just subconcuissly surrounding himself in fire. He was trapped, and that's just what Ellie wanted.
She looked over her shoulder. "Come on, Private. Let's go." Ellie motioned her fin. "No, I can't, Ellie! I can't go with you! I'm not a ghost! If I go in that fire…" Private trailed off. She frowned. Tears stained her eyes. "You promised!" She screeched. Without farther hesitation she stepped back into the fire.
Flames engulfed her body. "You promised!" Her voice was like one of a demon. And with that she was gone.
On the ground was a statue of a snake. A slithering sound caught Private's attention. It was alive! The serpent slid after him. He leaped through the flames to get away, but it still was right behind him.
Suddenly a pinguino came out of nowhere, and grasping the snake da its throat. The pinguino slammed a hammer into its head. The statue fell to pieces. "Skipper!" Private cheered. But his rejoicing turned to being too terrified to speak. The penguin's head turned revealing a black mask over its face. The pinguino gradually pulled at his mask.
He finally took it off, mostrare himself to Private. The young pinguino winced, and. cowered as the murder made himself known. "Betcha didn't see this coming!" Timothy chuckled.
Private extended his knife. Like it was no sweat-Timothy tugged the coltello away from Private. "Now, here's the freakiest part." Timothy laughed. He slammed the coltello into the side of his head. He cocked his back in a laugh, and thrust the coltello out. There was no trace of the coltello ever being in his head. There wasn't even any blood. "Y-you're a-a-a-" Private stuttered.
"Ghost!" Timothy exclaimed leaning in to scare Private. The round little pinguino wailed, as he took off for his life.
Skipper turned all the way around. The foe pointed a butcher coltello at him, shaking. To the villain's suprise, Skipper got down to his knees, raising his flippers above his head. "Fine, kill me. Do it, if te have the guts." Skipper tested. It came closer.
"No funny business, fat boy. Remember I'm the one with the knife." It warned as he held one of Skipper's shoulders down.
"Certainly not. I'm going to die bravely…unlike you." Skipper plotted.
"What are te talking about? Is this some kind of trick?!"
"Again, with the tricks. All I'm saying is that fire's spreading awful fast. te can go ahead, and kill me. But that will be the last you'll ever do." Skipper snarled. The murder took a step back. He contemplated.
"Face it. te were left in here with me to die." Skipper assumed.
"No... it can't be... but it can." He gasped. He took off.
That's when Skipper extended his leg. The monster flailed down straight into the fire. He screeched in pain as he burned to death. In tripping over Skipper's leg, he dropped his butcher knife.
Skipper feebly got to his feet. He sluggishly seized the coltello from the ground, and approached his dying victim. "Oh, please, no! I'm going to die anyway! Have mercy!" The pinguino yelled.
"I want te to feel the pain that te made my boys suffer." Skipper growled, murder in his eyes. This was no longer Skipper-it was a pinguino filled with hate and deep grudges.
The creature flinched as Skipper brought the butcher coltello to his face. "No! No!" He screamed. "Shh," Skipper hushed. With the blade of the butcher coltello Skipper flipped off the mask. Laying there was one of the murders.
The chef spit on Skipper. Skipper breathed, trying to calm himself, and looked away.
His eyes shifted back. To the killer-the one who killed Kowalski-and possibly Rico. His fist balled up, and he slammed the utensil onto the ground.
Skipper lunged at the blazing demon-his flippers wrapped around his neck. "You son of a leparod foca, guarnizione (penguin equivalent to the "bi…" word.) Skipper cursed, as he strangled the foe. Once he was motionless, Skipper picked up the coltello again.
Blood spurted onto Skipper's face, when he began chopping up the chef. Thoughts of revenge shifted into bitter-sweet memories of his friends. Now, they were dead, and Private hated him. Tears streamed down Skipper's face. When he started crying hysterically, he knew he couldn't contuine.
He would soon end up like his friends, o would he? There was a window. His chances of making the fall were slim, but he had to try.
Finally his mental health detearerated, as he began cackling like a maniac. He couldn't control himself. He was laughing yet crying. Clearly he had drawn himself to the edge of his sanity-and over. His poor mind couldn't withstand anymore.
When Skipper reached the window, he was too-almost drunk-from trauma to notice the danger he was in. Without hesitation, Skipper leaped through the glass.
Private raced into the woods. His legs and ribs cramped. His cuore felt like it was about to burst. How could he out run a ghost? Was it even possible? He'd never met a ghost before-let alone really believed they exsisted-until he came here. All he knew was that one was behind him. He looked back, and found a black object on the ground. A silver coltello stuck out of its head. It was absolutely pungeant.
The successivo thing Skipper knew, he was on the ground. His body felt broken, but at least he could think clearly-all but too clearly. He still remembered killing the chef.
A wail pounded his eardrums. It was Private. "Private?!" Skipper cried. There was no reply. Then he found the fonte of the horror. Private dashed through the flames of the garden, right in front of him. Some one was after him. Skipper recongized the familiar face from the woods that night.
Skipper had to get up. With his remaining strength, Skipper managed to get up. He couldn't run, but at least he could walk. Maybe walking was all he needed.
The bloody coltello Private had pulled on him sat right in front of the garden. Skipper leaned over to take it. A grin crossed his face.
Skipper caught up to the two slyly. He stalked Timothy like a predator hunting prey. He remained camoflauged da bushes and trees, until he made his move. The leader shot-put the weapon into Timothy's head. The brute tumbled to the ground. Skipper smirked. "One more..." Skipper thought to himself.
Out of the corner of his eye, Skipper spotted something. It was large, white, and covered in mud. Skipper turned, and approached the object.
When he realized what-or who- it was, he fell to his knees and bawled. Skipper held Rico's corpse in his flippers. "I'm so sorry!" He blubbered. "It's my fault! It's all my fault!" From a distance, Private stared in terror. Skipper was holding Rico's dead body. He took off. "Private?!" Skipper called.
Private rushed through the dark murderous forest for his life. Leaping over dead albero roots, croutching under branches, and yelping for some one's, anyone's help, he raced farther and farther away from the inferno mansion. For all he knew, the maniac that killed his Friends was on his trail. No time, did he waste, to glance back to find where his attacker was.
Soon he was almost at the threshold, where they had almost wrecked coming. Just then, in front of him Skipper's shadowy figure jumped from a albero with an ax in one flipper, blocking the trembling Private from escaping. "Sorry, I have to do this to you, kid, but I can't have any loose ends." He detto in a harsh voice, Private didn't recognize. "Please, let me go! I won't tell anyone, I promise!" Private wept. A psychotic laugh eminated from the killer as Private watched his breath in the winter air and sobbed. The culprit was about to swing the ax, when a voice called out in hysteria, distracting them both. "Private!"
Some one came up from behind them. It was Skipper behind him! Then if Skipper was behind him…who had the ax. The ax murder and leader of the thugs stepped into the moonlit area. Skipper gasped. It was Ramona!
"Hey there, Skipper!" She smirked. Private rushed behind Skipper. "Ramona! How could you?!" Skipper exclaimed.
"Don't play coy Skipper." She taunted. "You know."
"No, I don't!"
"It's the same reason te killed the chef in there. Revenge."
Private gasped. "What did te do, Skippah?!"
"I didn't do anything." Ramona came closer to Skipper. She rubbed his cheek with her flipper. "Maybe this will refresh your memory." She whispered. Her beak slowly touched his, and she retreated. "Oh my gosh." Skipper gasped. "You see, Timothy had a reason for murdering his father. That hunting 'accident' wasn't really an accident. He just killed his own son, so Timothy came back to kill him. Just like how te broke my heart-now I'm here to break your neck!" She lunged at Skipper. One cold flipper rested his face and the other on his neck. "Run, Private!" Skipper detto firmly. Private did as his leader said. She glanced after him, but looked back. "Ha, te think I'm going to waste my time searching for the little brat? Well, you're wrong."
"I wasn't counting on that. I know that I'm the one te want."
"Good. The funny thing is, if I hadn't trapped te here, te would have never found out it was me. Private would have escaped thinking it was you, get te locked up, and you'd-of course-be none the wiser. And I couldn't stand letting te live, so I would just kill te any way." She stared into his eyes, and smiled. "It's too bad that such a handsome face is going to be savagely murdered." She traced the feathers on his chest, as he stood enduring her torture. "It doesn't have to be this way. We can kill that brat, and get back together." Ramona offered. Skipper's blood boiled. "No!"
"Fine," She detto shrewdly, and pursed her beak together. Suddenly she flicked the ax into his stomach. Skipper screamed, as blood poured from his mouth. With the weapon still intact he fell to the bloody forest floor.
Private wept as he ran for his life. The tears built up so much it blurred his vision. He was unaware of the albero root ahead of him. He was sent tumbling down.
He laid down letting everything shatter around him. All of the puzzle pieces fit together perfectly. His memory was replayed in what looked like the hint of green view from a night vision camera with clearer pictures.
They drove down the ominous road in their car passing the sign that had once detto TURN LEFT. When Rico and Kowalski began fighting, she had been there.
When Skipper stumbled into that hunting trap, Timothy was there. He was the one who had been following them.
When Ellie had been murdered, she had called her.
The words: "BEWARE THE DEMONS DISGUISED AS ANGELS" crept into his head again.
How could he have believed that meant Skipper? Skipper had always been there for him. He remembered the faces of his frends, and Skipper rocking him to sleep, when was little.
He remembered Ramona coming into his room with the sack, and the medicine. She most have drugged him, and while he was unconcuiss, snuck all those disturbing objects into Skipper's droor.
Private soon snapped out of his daydream, when two blinding headlights approached him. He got to his feet, shaking. He peered into the windsheild to see who was in the car. "Help!" Private shouted to the familiar pinguino driving.