A hideous white face suddenly appeared where the kitchen exhaust fan had been.
Even in the dim light, Darius Kane instantly recognized the black-and-white makeup, hooked nose, tiny hat, and cold expression staring down through the opening.
It was Art the Clown.
Combined with the cramped vent and the darkness surrounding him, the silent killer looked even more disturbing than usual.
Damn it.
So that was why the restaurant had gone quiet.
Art hadn’t given up at all; he’d gone around the building and tried to find another way into the kitchen.
Fortunately, the exhaust opening was only a little over a foot across, barely large enough for his head and shoulders.
Unless Art suddenly gained the ability to collapse his entire skeleton or turn himself into liquid, there was no chance he could squeeze his whole body through.
Art realized Darius had spotted him.
Instead of retreating, the clown slowly grinned.
Darius immediately raised the shotgun.
“Screw you.” BANG!
At that distance, Art had nowhere to dodge.
The blast struck him directly in the face, snapping his head backward before his body disappeared from the vent.
A heavy thud sounded outside as he hit the ground.
Darius stayed where he was instead of celebrating.
He checked the time and saw that it was around 2:28 A.M., then immediately began counting how long Art remained down.
This mattered more than the shot itself, because Darius needed some idea of how the clown’s resurrection worked inside this Horror Town version of Terrifier.
The original movie never treated Art like an enemy who casually revived every few minutes in the middle of the massacre, so anything happening here had to be considered part of the trial’s supernatural changes.
Outside, Art lay motionless for several minutes.
Then one finger twitched.
Another followed.
Without warning, the clown sat upright.
His ruined face was covered in blood, yet not a single cry of pain escaped him.
That was one of the most unsettling things about Art—whether he was amused, furious, injured, or suffering, he expressed everything through exaggerated gestures and facial expressions while remaining completely silent.
The absence of screams somehow made him far more disturbing.
Art slowly touched his damaged cheek.
His eyes darkened.
He was furious.
For years, Art had been the one tormenting helpless victims, choosing when to attack and how long to play with them before the end.
This time, however, his target had locked himself inside a fortified kitchen, covered the approaches with traps, armed himself, and even shot Art in the face the moment he tried something clever.
Instead of being frightened into making mistakes, Darius kept turning every attack into another inconvenience for the clown.
Art’s anger only grew.
Yet beneath it, there was also amusement.
This was different.
Different meant interesting.
If he couldn’t get inside yet, then he would simply force Darius to come out.
Art crouched beside his black bag and began digging through the collection of tools and weapons inside.
After searching for a short while, he pulled out what he needed and disappeared from the vent area.
A few minutes later, Darius heard movement outside but couldn’t identify what Art was doing.
Then something flew through the opening.
It hit the kitchen floor and shattered.
Flames erupted instantly.
Darius’s eyes widened.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Art had thrown a homemade firebomb through the vent.
Darius barely had time to react before another burning object came through, followed by a third.
Fire spread across the kitchen floor, licking against cabinets and sending the room temperature upward with alarming speed.
If he allowed it to continue, his supposedly safe shelter would turn into an oven long before sunrise.
Fortunately, he’d chosen a commercial kitchen.
Darius immediately grabbed the nearby fire extinguisher and blasted the flames with a thick cloud of suppressant.
Once the largest patches were under control, he used the kitchen’s water supply to deal with what remained.
Within a short time, the fire was reduced to smoke, scorched flooring, and several blackened spots along the lower cabinets.
No more firebombs came through.
Apparently, Art had run out.
Darius lowered the extinguisher slightly and listened.
Nothing.
Outside, Art understood what had happened almost immediately.
He had expected smoke and flames to force Darius out, but the commercial kitchen had provided exactly the tools needed to counter the attack.
Every idea he tried was being neutralized by the same man who should have been terrified and running for his life.
Art’s expression twisted.
He wanted Darius dead now.
Not eventually.
Now.
A rat suddenly darted through the alley near his feet.
Art looked down.
Splat.
His shoe came down on it with unnecessary force.
Even after the animal stopped moving, he ground his heel against the pavement several times before finally lifting his foot.
The pointless act of cruelty did nothing to improve his mood.
Then Art paused.
His head slowly tilted.
A new idea had appeared.
The clown’s grin returned.
He picked up his black bag and casually walked away from the alley.
The empty street stretched ahead under the cold Halloween night.
Dry leaves scraped across the pavement in the wind while plastic decorations shifted on nearby porches.
Against that backdrop, Art’s black-and-white costume and bloodstained face made him look less like a man in Halloween makeup and more like something that actually belonged to the darkness.
Back inside the kitchen, Darius wasn’t relaxing either.
The vent had become a serious weakness.
If Art could throw fire through it, then there was no telling what he might try next.
Smoke, chemicals, another weapon, or something completely unexpected could turn the opening into a direct path past Darius’s strongest defense.
Leaving it exposed would be stupid.
Darius grabbed a thick wooden cutting board, a hammer, and several nails from the kitchen storage area.
He climbed onto the nearest cabinet but deliberately stayed off to the side rather than placing his face directly in front of the opening.
For all he knew, Art could still be outside waiting with a gun.
Keeping his body pressed close to the wall, Darius raised the board over the vent opening and secured it as firmly as he could.
The handles on either side gave him useful anchoring points, allowing him to cover the opening without needing to expose himself for long.
Once it was in place, he tugged on the board several times to make sure it wouldn’t fall away easily.
“Good.” Darius jumped back down.
He returned to his barricaded position, picked up the shotgun, and waited.
Ten minutes passed.
Nothing happened.
Darius frowned but didn’t move.
Did he actually leave?
He immediately rejected the thought.
Art had already returned once after leaving the pizzeria, tried the front entrance, attacked the metal door, climbed around to the vent, died, revived, and then attempted to burn Darius out.
A killer that persistent wasn’t suddenly going to shrug and decide the night had become too inconvenient.
Whatever Art was doing, it was probably worse than the previous attempts.
Darius stayed where he was.
Curiosity wasn’t worth dying for.
He had seen enough horror movies where characters survived only to ruin everything by making one idiotic decision.
Someone heard a strange noise and went to investigate alone.
Someone found a loaded gun, fired once, then dropped it and ran.
Someone finally reached a secure room and immediately opened the door because things had become suspiciously quiet.
Darius had no intention of joining that club.
If Art wanted to disappear for an hour, great.
If he wanted to stay gone until sunrise, even better.
The longer nothing happened, the closer Darius came to completing the main mission.
Several more minutes passed.
Then a distant engine broke the silence.
Darius slowly lifted his head.
At first, the sound was faint.
RUMBLE…
RUMBLE…
RUMBLE…
It grew louder.
Outside, a heavy construction vehicle rolled down the empty street.
Art the Clown sat behind the controls.
After the earlier failures, he’d finally understood that small tools weren’t going to solve the problem.
The front door was trapped, the kitchen door was metal, the vent had been turned against him, and burning the room hadn’t worked.
If he couldn’t get through the defenses, then he would simply destroy the structure holding them together.
The derelict building where the night’s massacre had continued was surrounded by equipment connected to the ongoing construction and demolition work nearby.
Art had found one of the heavier machines and decided that subtlety was no longer necessary.
His painted face stretched into a delighted grin as he drove toward the rear alley behind the pizzeria.
He lined up the vehicle with the wall.
Then he accelerated.
BOOM!
The entire kitchen shook.
Metal equipment rattled across the counters, and Darius nearly lost his balance behind the barricade.
Dust drifted down from the ceiling while several hanging utensils clattered violently against one another.
He stared around in confusion, trying to understand what could possibly have caused an impact that strong.
Outside, Art reversed.
The wall was still standing.
His grin widened.
He backed up farther.
Then accelerated again.
BOOM!!
This time the impact was stronger.
The whole rear section of the restaurant trembled.
Darius grabbed the cabinet beside him to steady himself as realization finally struck.
His eyes widened.
“No way.” Another engine roar sounded from outside.
Darius understood.
Art hadn’t found a new door.
He had decided he didn’t need one.
The bastard was trying to bring down the wall.
For several seconds, Darius could only stare toward the rear of the kitchen in disbelief.
Then, despite everything, a strange sense of admiration mixed with his alarm.
You’ve really got some tricks, don’t you?
Outside, the engine roared again.
Art backed the machine into position for another charge.
Darius tightened his grip on the shotgun.
The battle of offense and defense had just entered a completely different stage.
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