The Social Media Murders

  The Social Media Murders

  Jon Athan

  Copyright © 2017 Jon Athan

  All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For more information on this book or the author, please visit www.jon-athan.com. General inquiries are welcome.

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJonAthan

  Twitter: @Jonny_Athan

  Email: info@jon-athan.com

  Book cover by Sean Lowery: http://highimpactcovers.com/

  Thank you for the support!

  First Edition.

  WARNING

  This book contains scenes of intense violence and some disturbing themes. Some parts of this book may be considered violent, cruel, disturbing, or unusual. Many of these scenes feature violence towards high school teenagers. Certain implications may trigger strong emotional responses. This book is not intended for those easily offended or appalled. Please enjoy at your own discretion.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter One

  A Chat

  Tiffany Anderson stared at her reflection on the full-length mirror in her bedroom, practically leering at herself like a pretentious pervert. Her red flannel shirt was open, revealing her matching bra and flat stomach. She didn't wear any pants, but the bottom of the shirt covered her underwear. Her blonde hair was tied in a tousled bun, strands protruding every which way.

  The room was lit up like a Dario Argento movie. Her bedroom was mainly illuminated by a red neon sign over her dresser. The sign read: Babe. On the parallel wall, blue moonlight poured into the room through the window above her bed. The red and blue tones illuminated her figure.

  Stroking her ego, the teenager whispered, “You're hot, Tiffany. Damn, you are just gorgeous. How do they resist you? How–”

  She stopped upon hearing crackling and snickering sounds. She glanced over at her laptop, which sat on her bed. There were three familiar faces on her screen—her closest friends. She was in the middle of a Skype video chat. Her friends—Melanie Myers, Kyle Webb, and Hailey Washington—chatted and laughed. Their chatter could be heard through her earbuds.

  Tiffany huffed, then she shouted, “I'm coming, I'm coming! I'll be right there, idiots!”

  She sat on her bed and placed the computer on her lap. As she inserted the earbuds into her ears, she heard her friends and joined the conversation.

  She asked, “What are you guys laughing at?”

  Kyle, a wavy-haired teenager, responded, “You, Tiff. We're laughing at you. We're trying to have a conversation over here and you just walk away to check yourself out. Shit, how conceited can you be?”

  “Oh, please. I was just checking my hair. You said you were going to get a snack and Hailey had to go check on her grandma. What did you expect me to do? Talk to Melanie?”

  Melanie, a baby-faced brunette teenager, said, “Hey! If you're insinuating that I have nothing interesting to say, you're wrong. I'm interesting, okay?”

  In a croaky tone, blatantly mocking her, Tiffany grimaced and repeated, “If you're insinuating that I have nothing interesting to say...”

  “Bitch...”

  The group shared a laugh. Insults were hurled at one another, but the teenagers didn't mind. The bickering was playful.

  As she recomposed herself, Hailey, a dark-haired slacker, said, “Okay, let's drop all of that shit-talking for a minute. Seriously, we don't have time for that. We have to talk about the test in Wilson's class. If I fail another one, I fail the entire class. I can't fail his class, guys.”

  “Well, why don't we cheat?” Tiffany suggested, a devilish smirk on her face.

  “Okay, how? I need the answers, you need the answers, we all need those damn answers. How are we going to cheat?”

  Chiming-in, Michael said, “Well, I don't need the answers 'cause I don't have that class with you, but I'll tell you what you have to do. Trust me, it's easy, Hailey. You just have to show a little skin. Okay, it might not be easy for you since you have the skin of Freddy Krueger, but if someone else showed him something, he'd be blind for days.”

  Again, the group laughed. Insulting someone's appearance was easy, surviving the verbal attack was difficult. The high school social life required thick skin, especially when your so-called friends were willing to throw you under the bus for a cheap laugh.

  Hailey rolled her eyes and said, “Whatever. I'm being serious here. If I don't pass his class, I don't graduate. Good luck buying weed without me. I know you're all too pussy to buy it yourselves, stingy bitches...”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the trio of students said in perfect harmony.

  Tiffany said, “Don't worry about it, Hailey. Listen, Kyle's right. I'll wear a little skirt, I'll lick my lips a little, and I'll show him some skin. I'll get his attention while you cheat off of Melanie, and Melanie can cheat off of that nerd that sits next to her. It's that easy.”

  Hailey responded, “Okay, well... I hope it works. I don't know if it's that easy. You know, I heard Wilson is messing around with someone from school already.”

  “Yeah, I've heard about that, too. I think I know that slut. A little disgusting cheerleader who can't keep her paws to herself. Dirty cunt...”

  The group became silent upon hearing Tiffany's vile insults. Bickering amongst themselves was normal and accepted—it was part of life. When they spoke about someone without their knowledge, it was personal and hateful. There was a look in Tiffany's eyes that frightened the group—an icy glare of hatred.

  Changing the subject, Melanie asked, “Anyway, have you guys heard about the dead girl?”

  “Anna Lee?” Kyle said in an uncertain tone.

  “Yeah. You heard about her?”

  Tiffany said, “Yeah, she's dead.”

  Melanie smiled and shook her head. She said, “No, no. I mean, have you heard the new rumors about how she died?”

  Tiffany furrowed her brow and tilted her head, curious. She was a young, pretty girl, but she had a hidden interest in the macabre.

  She asked, “How did she die?”

  Melanie explained, “It's crazy. I heard her... her jaw was ripped off of her head and her tongue was cut off.”

  Eww—the girls exclaimed as they listened to the rumor. Meanwhile, Kyle chuckled and shook his head. Despite their reactions, they weren't actually bothered by the gruesome details of a classmate's death. Tears were not shed, prayers were not said.

  Melanie continued, “I don't know if it's true, I didn't see it, but it sounded real to me. I mean, there's supposedly a video of it online. They said her parents couldn't stop crying when they went in to identify her body, too. They found her jaw, but they never found her tongue. It's some crazy shit.”

  As she stared down at her keyboard, Tiffany said, “Well, maybe Anna had a big mouth and someone wanted to shut her up. Maybe everything she–”

&
nbsp; Thud—Tiffany stopped upon hearing a sound. She glanced over her shoulder and stared at the doorway. The sound of creaky wood and rattling windows entered her room from the hallway. The noise would be normal on any other day, but she was home alone. Everything caused suspicion.

  Noticing the fear on her face, Kyle smiled and asked, “What's wrong with you, Tiff? You look like you just saw a ghost. Maybe it was Anna's ghost...”

  “No. I... I think I heard something.”

  “Now that you mention it, I thought I saw someone walking behind you. Yeah, there was someone in your hallway. I'd be careful if I were you.”

  “Fuck off, Kyle,” Tiffany responded without taking her eyes off of the doorway. She glanced back at the screen and said, “I'll be right back. I'm going to go check it out.”

  ***

  Tiffany pulled the earbuds out of her ears, then she walked out of her room. She found herself in the hallway. The doors to the left and right were closed. She walked down the hall until she approached the front side of the home. To her left, an archway led to the kitchen. The spacious living room resided to her right. The front door waited directly in front of her.

  She approached the door and checked the locks. The latch lock was still secured. She peeked through the peephole. Her parents' car was nowhere in sight. She flicked a switch near the archway and illuminated the kitchen. An incessant humming sound emerged from the light. A stack of dirty dishes sat in the sink. There was nothing out of the ordinary, though.

  She asked, “Is anyone here? Mom? Dad? Hello?”

  There was no response.

  Tiffany hopped and gasped, startled. A flurry of wind caused the windows to rattle and screech. The blinds waved and the curtains swayed, allowing a wave of moonlight to pour into the room.

  Tiffany furrowed her brow as she examined the living room, holding her hands over her chest. She stared at the corner between the large flat-screen television and the open window. The curtains swayed near the corner and she could see a silhouette in the darkness—a human figure. The first thought in her mind: a home invasion, just like the movies.

  As she stepped into the living room, Tiffany stuttered, “Wh–Who... Who are you?” Again, there was no response. As her breathing intensified, she said, “I called the cops already. My friends can hear everything, too. They can–”

  Mid-sentence, she ran forward and approached an end-table beside the couch. She turned the knob on a lamp and illuminated the living room. Wide-eyed, she quickly turned her attention to the corner. To her utter surprise, the silhouette vanished. She stared at the corner with a deadpan expression, then she burst into a nervous chuckle of relief.

  She whispered, “Oh, shit... It was all in my head. It was all in my damn head. I've been watching too many horror movies...”

  She closed the window and turned off the light, then she entered the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and examined her options—water, milk, orange juice, or soda. She took a swig of orange juice from the carton. She was thirsty, but she was also trying to buy some time. She genuinely feared the silhouette in the living room and she didn't want to appear frightened in front of her friends.

  She closed her eyes and sighed, mentally preparing herself for the verbal onslaught. They're just words, she thought, these assholes are my friends.

  As she walked down the hall, Tiffany shouted, “I'm coming, idiots! Don't worry, I wasn't checking myself out, either!” She walked into her room and said, “I just left the window open and–”

  She stopped as she caught a glimpse of her laptop. The video chat changed. Melanie cried as she spoke on her phone, Kyle frantically tapped the screen on his cell phone, and Hailey disconnected from the chat.

  “What the fuck?” Tiffany whispered. She sat on her bed and placed the earbuds in her ears. She asked, “What are you guys planning? What–”

  Hysterical, Melanie shouted, “Get out of the house! Run!”

  “What's going–”

  “He's in your closet, Tiffany! Run!”

  Tiffany froze upon hearing the explanation. She felt as if time had slowed to a crawl. She could feel each bead of sweat slowly trickling down the nape of her neck, she could count each thumping heartbeat in her chest. One-by-one, she pulled the earbuds out of her ears. She glanced over her shoulder and stared at the closet next to the bedroom door.

  With a quivering lip, she whispered, “Oh, shit...”

  The closet door swung open. A tall, brawny person stood in her closet, his dark clothing contrasting against her colorful wardrobe. The intruder wore a long black raincoat, dark pants, and matching steel-toe boots. The hood of his coat covered his head. A white paper-mâché mask veiled his face.

  The mask was expressionless. Red lipstick was smeared on the lips and eye-shadow was applied around the eye holes. Streams of red paint were marked on the cheeks, as if the person were crying tears of blood. The mask was poignant and terrifying. The knife in the intruder's gloved hand, however, was much more horrifying.

  Tiffany ran towards the door and shouted, “Help! Somebody help me!”

  She yelped as the intruder grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her back into the room. She lost her footing and staggered to her knees in front of the bed.

  Melanie watched in horror as the intruder violently tugged on her friend's flannel shirt. The shirt stretched and ripped, then the garment fell to the floor. The masked person effortlessly ripped Tiffany's bra from her chest.

  As she fell onto her bed, one arm covering her breasts while swinging at the intruder with the other, Tiffany cried, “Don't! Please, don't! Don't do this! Don't rape me! Oh, God, don't rape me!”

  As she watched the assault from her laptop, eyes full of tears, Melanie yelled, “Don't touch her! Don't you dare touch her, you sick bastard!”

  The intruder was not daunted by the pleas or the strikes. Despite her resistance, he pulled Tiffany's panties off. He grabbed her arm and pulled her off of the bed. He forced her to stand in front of the laptop as she sobbed and babbled—as if he were modeling her tight figure for the webcam. He held his hand over her mouth, then he glided the blade across her stomach.

  Tiffany squirmed in his arms, whimpering and trembling, but she couldn't escape his grip. Melanie's eyes widened as the call connected.

  A female operator answered, “911, what is the nature of your emergency?”

  Melanie shouted, “My friend! He's hurting my friend! You have to help her!”

  “Okay. Please calm down, ma'am. Tell me: who's hurting your friend? Where are you?”

  “She–She's at 2314 Forest Avenue. You have to help her. Someone is... is attacking her in her room. He's going to–”

  She held her hand over her mouth and gasped, shocked. She watched as the masked intruder stabbed Tiffany's stomach. Hoarse gasps seeped from between the person's fingers as the young woman struggled to breathe. Blood spewed from her lower abdomen as the blade viciously penetrated her stomach eight times. Her stomach, crotch, and legs were drenched in blood.

  As Tiffany fell to her knees, stunned by the violent attack and disoriented due to her loss of blood, the intruder shoved his fingers past her lips and pried her mouth open. He grabbed her tongue with his fingertips and tried to pull it past her lips.

  To his dismay, Tiffany chomped down on his fingers with all of her might. The intruder grunted and groaned. He was bothered by Tiffany's resistance, but he wasn't discouraged. Her teeth could grip and pinch his fingers, but she couldn't penetrate his thick gloves.

  So, the masked intruder stabbed into Tiffany's chin, thrusting the knife upward into her mouth and through her tongue.

  Tiffany, shocked by the attack, released his fingers. Her eyelids flickered and her bottom lip quivered. She wheezed and groaned, unable to cope with the pain.

  The intruder grabbed a fistful of Tiffany's hair and pulled her head back, then he turned her towards the camera—the knife still jammed in her jaw. The view was perfect. He thrust the knife in-and-out of her chin, saw
ing through the tendons and ligaments in her jaw—all while tugging on her bottom teeth.

  Blood cascaded across her neck and chest, drenching the rest of her body. Droplets of blood dripped from her erect nipples, like milk from a mother's teat. Bubbling, crackling, and crunching sounds echoed through the room as the intruder tore Tiffany's jaw from her head, which left her mutilated tongue dangling over her bloodied neck. Her tongue swung left-and-right like a pendulum, cut in half and barely attached to her mouth.

  Due to the loss of blood and sheer shock, Tiffany passed away during the jaw removal. The intruder pushed her aside. He leaned forward and gazed directly at the webcam. His crystal blue eyes sparkled with a glimmer of deviance—zany, malevolent eyes. His face couldn't be seen, but he clearly smiled behind the mask.

  He closed the laptop and ended the video chat.

  Chapter Two

  Breaking News

  Charlene Sanchez ran her fingers through her curly black hair as she stared at her reflection on the mirror near the front door. A high school senior, she didn't draw much attention to herself in terms of style. She wore a simple white top, a black skirt, and matching flats. Her lustrous brown eyes and tender smile could hypnotize any man, though. Despite her beauty, she remained kind and humble.

  From the kitchen, Janice Sanchez, her mother, yelled, “Charlene! Don't leave without talking to me! I'm serious this time.”

  Charlene sighed, then she approached the archway. She stared at her mother, her lips puckered. The short, frail woman stood in front of the sink, washing the morning dishes. She didn't have her daughter's youth, but she could match her beauty and kindness.

  Janice glanced back at the archway and said, “I want you to be careful today. I don't want you to stay out too late. I know I can't keep you locked up after school, but... I just don't want you out there with this crazy mess going on.”