Ann was starting to have second thoughts about starring in David’s indie horror film when she finally arrived at that abandoned barn.

“David, are you sure about this? That chainsaw looks real.”

“Of course, it’s real, but there’s no need to worry, Ann. I wouldn’t let anything happen to my favorite cheerleader, especially the night before the school’s annual homecoming game. Did you follow all my instructions?”

“Yes, no one knows I came out here. My parents think I’m out with my friends having pizza after cheerleader practice, while my friends think I went home to study for tomorrow’s math test.”

“Good, let’s get started.”

Locking the restraints around my wrists, David went over to the wall-mounted hoist and, turning the crank, slowly raised my wrists upward until the toes of my high heels barely reached the barn’s wooden floor.

“I’ll switch on the cameras, change into my costume, and we can begin. Just remember your lines and try to look terrified when I enter the room.”

Dangling helplessly by my wrists, I watched David switch on the cameras, then leave the room to change. When he returned, I stared at him in shocked surprise. Dressed in gray coveralls, rubber boots, and a heavy rubber apron, he looked utterly frightening. Even his face, concealed behind a scary-looking metal hockey mask.

Suddenly realizing I wasn’t saying my lines, “Please don’t hurt me. I’ll do anything you want. Please, I’m just a high school cheerleader.”

Ignoring my desperate pleading, he reached up with latex-gloved hands and roughly groped my breasts, painfully squeezing my already aroused nipples. Blinking back the tears welling up in my eyes, I felt one of his hands sliding across my exposed belly toward the low-cut waist of my miniskirt as I struggled to say my second line.

“Please, don’t rape me. I’m just eighteen and still a virgin.” Well, at least the eighteen part was true.

I felt his hand slipping downward across the front of my skirt. The warm feel of his hand against the inside of my thigh, as he briefly paused before slipping his fingers upward toward my crotch. I watched his eyes widen as he realized I wasn’t wearing panties, a sharp gasp of pleasure escaping my lips as his fingers slipped between the heated, moist outer folds of my sex.

“Why, my little soaking wet whore, I highly doubt your claims of virginity. Not that it matters in this place of unbearable pain and torturous death. Here in this place, the only pleasure will be my amusement at the sound of your desperate screams of unspeakable agony as my chainsaw’s razor-sharp blade brutally rips through your guts as I cut you in half at the waist.”

With that, he removed his hand from between my thighs. Then, going over to the table, started that obscenely deadly-looking chainsaw. I watched in horror as he picked up that chainsaw and gunned its engine several times before turning back toward me.

“Please, No! I don’t want to die like this.”

Ignoring my final desperate plea, he raised the chainsaw and pressed its deadly blade firmly against the side of my waist. I expected him to shut off that dangerous chainsaw when he casually mentioned, “You should probably know, I don’t use special effects or CGI in my productions. My future audiences will come to value the authenticity of my shows where crass simulations are never allowed.

I was still staring into David’s eyes when he gunned the chainsaw’s engine, its spinning blade biting painfully into the side of my waist. I screamed in agony as the chainsaw sliced effortlessly through my guts, the blood and gore going everywhere as the saw bit deeper into my body. I stared helplessly into his cold, unfeeling eyes as the saw sliced me open, my blood spraying across his heavy rubber apron and face-concealing metal mask as it ripped through my guts.

...

I’ll have to admit that Ann put on quite a show, screaming in agony as the chainsaw sliced effortlessly through her slender waist, the lower half of her body dropping to the floor as blood and the upper half of her chainsaw mutilated guts spilled out. Her pain-filled eyes never left mine as she quickly lost consciousness and finished bleeding to death as I watched.

Later that night, I dumped the last of Ann’s dismembered corpse into the swamp behind that farm, the gators quickly erasing the final lingering evidence of her mortal existence.

They say your first time is always the most memorable, even for serial killers. I was just eighteen years old, and Ann was my first victim, my first kill. And, despite all the hundreds of women I’ve murdered since that fateful night, I’ll always fondly remember that delightful look of betrayal and horror in Ann’s eyes as she died.

Anyway, they say the best serial killers are the ones who leave no evidence for the authorities. It’s also how I earned my infamous nickname after my first few victims. Just call me Ghost...