Mr Static

Natalie's body trembled as she sat in the motel's small office, a blanket draped over her shoulders. Her clothes were soaked in blood—some her own, some not. Her eyes darted nervously around the room, her hands still shaking uncontrollably. The motel manager, a middle-aged man with a graying beard and a kind voice, crouched in front of her, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Miss, you need to tell us what happened," he said softly, his voice steady and gentle as he tried to calm her. "We need to know where your friends are."

Natalie swallowed hard, her throat dry and voice barely a whisper. "They… they were here. I tried to find them. I heard screaming, and… and…" Her words faltered as her mind replayed the chaotic moments in flashes of horror.

The manager's face tightened, and he hesitated before speaking again. "Miss, I… I'm sorry, but… your friends…" He took a breath, as if weighing each word carefully. "We found them. All of them."

Natalie's eyes widened, her breath hitching. "What do you mean? Where are they? Are they hurt?!" Her voice cracked as desperation laced her tone.

The manager's gaze dropped to the floor, his voice lowering. "They didn't make it. They're… gone."

For a moment, it was as if the world stopped. Natalie's mind went blank, the weight of his words crashing down on her like a tidal wave. She shook her head slowly, disbelief and panic rising within her. "No… no, that can't be true… I just… I just saw them…"

"I'm so sorry," the manager said, his voice breaking with sympathy. "You were the only one who made it out."

Tears streamed down Natalie's face as the truth sank in, and she let out a choked sob, her hands gripping the blanket tightly. The room seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing in as a suffocating sense of dread and loss filled her chest.

The next morning, the sun rose slowly over the lake, casting a grim light over the deserted motel grounds. Police cars lined the dirt road leading to the motel, their blue and red lights flashing silently. Officers combed the area, marking off sections with yellow tape as they conducted their investigation.

Inside the motel office, Natalie sat on a chair facing a tall, lean man in his late forties, his hair streaked with gray and his face lined with years of experience. Detective Harper was one of the town's best—his sharp eyes always scanning for clues, his mind constantly piecing together the puzzle.

He pulled up a chair and sat across from her, his gaze steady but not unkind. "Natalie, I'm Detective Harper. I understand you've been through a lot. I'm here to help, okay? But I need you to tell me everything you remember. Every detail, no matter how small."

Natalie took a deep breath, her hands trembling in her lap. "I… I already told them. We were just here to have fun, you know, go to the lake, hang out… And then everything went wrong. I heard screams, saw… saw someone. There was this… this man, or whatever he was. He… he attacked us."

She paused, her voice trembling as she fought back tears. "I barely made it out. I thought… I thought I was going to die too…"

Detective Harper's expression softened as he leaned forward slightly. "You did good, Natalie. You survived. But we need to find out who did this and why. Can you remember anything about the killer? What he looked like, or what he was wearing?"

Natalie shook her head, tears spilling over. "It was too dark. I could barely see him. But… he had a hammer. There was blood everywhere…"

The detective handed her a tissue, his tone calm and reassuring. "You're doing great. Just take your time."

Natalie wiped her eyes, her voice breaking. "I don't know… I don't know how he disappeared. It was like… one moment he was there, and the next he was gone. There was only one door in that boathouse, and he wasn't anywhere near it when I escaped…"

Detective Harper nodded thoughtfully, his mind racing. "You're saying he just vanished?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Like a ghost."

Detective Harper stood outside the boathouse, squinting against the bright morning sun. The structure was small and old, its wooden walls weathered by time and the elements. Officers searched the surrounding area, combing the ground for any sign of the killer.

"All right, let's check every inch of this place," Harper said to one of the officers. "If there's a trapdoor or hidden passage, I want it found."

Inside the boathouse, the air was still and cold. Detective Harper's gaze swept over the dusty floor, the cracked wooden beams, and the cobweb-covered corners. There was no sign of any hidden exits or trapdoors—just a single, narrow door that led back outside.

One of the officers, a young man with a serious look on his face, approached Harper. "Sir, we found this." He held up a hammer, the handle stained dark with dried blood. The head of the hammer was heavy and coated with rust, and along the metal shaft, there were crudely carved letters.

Detective Harper squinted at the writing. "Mr. Static," he read aloud, his voice echoing softly in the boathouse. He glanced up at the officer, his brow furrowing. "What kind of name is that?"

The officer shrugged. "Who knows, sir? Could be a nickname, or maybe he's trying to mess with us."

Detective Harper turned the hammer over in his hands, his thoughts racing. "And you're sure there's no other way out of here? No hidden doors, no tunnels?"

The officer shook his head. "None that we can find. It's like he just vanished into thin air."

Harper looked back at the blood-streaked hammer, a chill running down his spine. The thought of the killer slipping away so easily didn't sit right with him. It was almost as if the boathouse itself had swallowed him up, leaving nothing behind but blood and whispers of a name: Mr. Static.

News of the brutal murders spread quickly, and within days, the motel had been shut down. Yellow tape and wooden boards barred the entrance, and the once-bustling grounds became a desolate reminder of the horror that had unfolded. Locals spoke in hushed tones about the cursed lake, sharing whispered tales of shadows in the water and an evil that lurked just beyond the trees.

Warnings went out to tourists and residents alike, advising them to avoid the lake. Though the investigation continued, and the police presence remained, there were no more leads, no more answers.

Just silence.