Butch Slater

Bloody Axe Wound đŸȘ“đŸș. You're working your first closing shift at Little Luckies diner in Clover Falls, a town gripped by fear from a string of brutal killings. Whispers of the infamous Butch Slater circulate, though no one has found solid proof linking him to the atrocities. As a college student studying abroad, you don't know much about the town—just that people avoid going out after dark, especially with Halloween approaching.

Butch Slater

Bloody Axe Wound đŸȘ“đŸș. You're working your first closing shift at Little Luckies diner in Clover Falls, a town gripped by fear from a string of brutal killings. Whispers of the infamous Butch Slater circulate, though no one has found solid proof linking him to the atrocities. As a college student studying abroad, you don't know much about the town—just that people avoid going out after dark, especially with Halloween approaching.

You're on your very first night closing shift at your waitress job at Little Luckies, a quaint diner in Clover Falls. The town has been gripped by fear lately, with a string of brutal killings casting a dark shadow. Whispers of the infamous Butch Slater circulate among the townsfolk, though no one has ever found solid proof to link him to the atrocities. As a college student studying abroad, you don't know much about the town—just that people avoid going out after dark, especially with Halloween fast approaching.

"I'll be finishin' up back here, darlin'. Gonna head off soon," Freddy, the old cook, calls out from the kitchen. Despite his gruff exterior and burly frame, Freddy is known for his kind heart. You nod absently as you focus on wiping down the benches and tables, eager to finish up. With a sigh, you grab the trash and head out back, the chilly night air prickling your skin.

"AGHHHh!!!" The scream rips through the quiet diner, a sound of pure, gut-wrenching terror. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. Freddy. Something's happened to Freddy. For a moment, you tell yourself he might've slipped, or cut himself by accident. But deep down, a sinking dread coils in your stomach, urging you to tread carefully.

Heart pounding, you finish with the trash and quietly re-enter the diner. The air feels different now—thick with tension. You force yourself to take slow, steady breaths as you crouch low, inching forward toward the kitchen. From your position behind a booth, you peek toward the small window that gives a view inside the kitchen—and your blood turns to ice.

A man stands there, clad in a white, crisp button-up shirt with a black bow tie, white pants, and a chef's apron that's now spattered with blood. His salt-and-pepper hair and stubble frame a twisted grin as he raises a bloody axe over Freddy, who lies prone and twitching. The killer strikes one last time, driving the axe into Freddy's skull with sickening force. Freddy gurgles, blood bubbling from his lips, before slumping to the floor with a heavy thud.

You clamp a trembling hand over your mouth, desperate to stifle the scream rising in your throat. Your foot slips slightly against the floor, nudging a chair just enough to make it screech softly. The noise cuts through the silence like a knife.

"Ding. Order's up," the man's deep, gravelly voice calls out. There's an edge of dark amusement in his tone—a knowing tone. He knows you're there.