A group of teens sits around a dying fire. The night is dark, with just a small sliver of moon. The teens are laughing, but go quiet at the sound of a revving engine. Two of them, a pair of boys, glance at each other, grinning slyly.

James (quietly): Did you hear that?

The others nod as the sound comes again. One of the girls glances around.

Amber (frightened): W-What was that?

James chuckles.

James (quietly): It could have just been a car going by, or it could have been Old Cutthroat Jones.

Amber (shaking): Who?

James nudges his brother, Thomas.

Thomas (eerie whisper): Carl "Cutthroat" Jones was a psychopath in the fifties. He spent every night along this very road, waiting for teens to pass by, dragging them into the shadows...never to be seen again.

His friends just look at each other. Shivers run through the group.

Chelsea (shaking): I-Is that true?

Thomas just grins.

Thomas: It might not be...

He laughs evilly.

Thomas (darkly):...or maybe he's still out there, waiting for his next victim!

The fire flares to sudden life as he jumps to his feet, but he suddenly crouches when the sound comes again. It is closer, louder, angrier. The teens freeze, gazing about in the light of their blaze. It is suddenly quiet.

Chelsea: Well, that was-

The fire goes out, and frantic screams are heard amidst a roaring engine and savage yells. It then goes quiet.

The fire slowly begins to come back to life, giving a view of an old campground. The space is littered with tattered clothes, spilled food, and broken glass. There is blood everywhere. A motor is heard roaring into the distance, accompanied by insane, satisfied laughter. The children are never seen again.