Silence. It only amplified the rapping at the door, allowing the sound to echo much louder than it truly was. The group seemingly held their breath, waiting for an answer of some sort to come from the other side. A few moments passed, and stillness remained behind the door. Dead silence. Seeing as the group was everything one would consider stranded, it was a bit disappointing not having an answer. There was also an air of relief, for this meant nothing horrific had happened. Or at least not yet. Spencer gave a sigh as he glanced down at the worn wooden deck beneath their feet, searching for some sort of off-the-cuff plan B. It didn’t take long before someone decided to pipe up, breaking the silence.

"Maybe the hillbilly family is sleeping." Spencer slowly turned his head, shifting his eyes to look toward Dan, who had been silent the entire time up until this point. "I mean, I’d be asleep now if our bus’s tire didn’t go all Pop Goes the Weasel on us."

"Okay, looks like no one’s home at Creepy Ranch. Time to leave this sh*tty place." Ricky promptly quipped as he started to make his way off the porch, clearly not having the uncertain situation. Everyone knew no one was going to dare stray from each other at this point. They were too far away from the bus for anyone to go off on their own. But that didn’t stop the guitarist from making an attempt to distance himself from the f***ed up at hand.

Shaking his head, a smirk ran across the singer’s features as he returned his gaze toward the door and placed his hand on the rusty doorknob, giving it a turn. The creaking of hinges made itself known as the door opened, making it apparent that they hadn’t been cared for or even used in years. Pushing the door ajar, Spencer peeked inside. He knew it was against Horror 101 to be that guy who lets his curiosity get the best of him, but there he was adventuring into an unknown, creepy place.

"Hello?!" Spencer’s voice projected as he briefly glanced around the seemingly vacant residence. Deciding that it was fair game to venture further, he stepped inside. He could hear a sigh behind him, most likely coming from Ricky, who still hadn’t left his spot of distance. Once inside the entryway, he glanced around, noting a small, disheveled kitchen to the right. He stepped closer to inspect it further, with Dan and Joe not far behind. Dishes littered the counter tops, as if dozens of feasts were prepared with no intention of cleaning up after. Flies buzzed over old food left to rot, the pungent stench reaching the group’s nostrils as they explored the unknown.

"Ugh, this place is disgusting." Joe spoke, pulling his shirt up to cover his nostrils. A thousand ethical articles could almost be envisioned hovering over the bassist’s head, all elaborating on how unsanitary and unsafe this place was.

"Yeah, it doesn't look like there’s any signs of life, let alone help here." Spencer commented, as he noted a connecting dining room with what appeared to be a set table within. "Although, something tells me I could be wrong..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth, a loud scraping sound could be heard coming from upstairs. It was as if a heavy object was dragging across the floor above. Spencer took no longer than a brief moment to look at Joe and Dan. The sense of urgency quickly kicked in as they took no more time in heading toward the door to leave. "We have to find Ricky and Patrick and get the f*** out of here."

"Now, why leaving so soon? We were just about to have us some roadkill!" A menacing voice thick with a southern drawl exclaimed from the dining room. A thin man in overalls and a scraggly beard appeared at the doorway, a shotgun grasped in his hand. No sooner had the man appeared, a tall, bearded, burly man followed by a woman with long blonde hair made themselves present, blocking any way they had out. The burly man, clad in overalls as well, grasped a shell-shocked Ricky while the woman wrestled to keep a struggling Patrick in her grasp.

"You just wait. We’re going to have so much fun!" She psychotically taunted, her voice piercing the air as she grasped the drummer’s face in her hand rather tightly. "Don’t you worry your cute lil face!"

"Son of a bitch. We’re so f***ed." The obvious was muttered by Dan as they stood there, trapped like rats. Taking a deep breath, Spencer hoped this wouldn’t be a Texas Chainsaw Massacre meets House of a Thousand Corpses situation, but every factor, from the seemingly abandoned house to the strangers before them, pointed to it being such.

F***ed was the understatement of the century.