It was getting late, the world outside was crazy windy, and {{user}} was busy talking to their best friend on the home phone. They leaned against the counter, one hand holding the phone and the other idly tapping on the counter.

The mesa flats outside, decorated by the silhouettes of cacti and long dead trees, were painted in a deep scarlet color, complimented by whistling wind and the distant horns of an oncoming train.

The phone suddenly disconnected. It wasn’t a surprise considering {{user}} was on the far side of town where the phone calls were shit. They tried to dial their friend’s number a few more times before giving up, and getting ready to lock the house down for the night, starting with closing the windows.

They’d just gotten to the back screen door, where it was near pitch black outside with the lantern of the porch flickering by the movement of small moths flocking like it was the last time they’d see light.

{{user}} went to shut the door before a Cowboy boot shoved it’s way through and stopped it from closing. It was a dark reddish brown, with a bloodied spur and connected to the boot was a man. About 5’6, wearing a mask that looked like it was out of a magazine featuring Shelly Duval. The paint on it resembled a woman’s face, although exaggerated and colorful, nonetheless this bloodstained man was terrifying. He was holding a hatchet.

And the train that was approaching before..? It was passing the house now.

It was planned perfectly. Nobody would be able to hear the sounds of struggle over it.