The night black as pitch, a typical Texas night, a low hum is heard through the trees.  Whirring, the hum rises in pitch, becoming a whine to shatter ears.  The hum ceases.  A crackle of metal, a few leaves trampled, a groan, and all is silent.

The massacre has begun.

A figure stalks the shadows, becoming one with them only to separate like a dandelion’s feathers in the wind.  Carrying a heavy crowbar, the figure prepares for the oily scent of death, longing for its fragrance as the deer panteth for the water.  The moon peaks from behind the clouds, shining a brief silvery light on the mysteryman as he crawls and rolls across the leaf-strewn ground to avoid detection.  The light flashes along the length of bar held in a thick fist before disappearing behind the clouds once more.

The man’s breathing harshens; the kill is soon.  Adrenaline pounds through his veins like lava through a volcano.  His grip tightens across the bar in anticipation of the slaughter.  Slipping into the shadows once more, he moves amongst the trees, searching for his target.

A building reveals itself; a black square against a blacker darkness.  No light shines and lips pull back over perfectly even teeth, one gold the rest white.  He stalks closer.

The door is unlocked and the man opens it slightly, listening for any residents that might reside within.  No sound but that of the night answers his probing ears.  He pushes the door open.  His prey lies unaware of his fate in the darkness by the wall.  Long and thin, he will be an easy kill.  
Taking the head off easily with his bare hands, the man searches for more.  

Three more he finds in the room, each dispatched quickly and without sound.  The fifth he finds in a corner, cowering.  He hums and pleads for mercy, but the mysteryman will hear nothing.  With a clash of metal on metal, a tearing of cords, and a whine to shatter the eardrums, the fifth is silenced, never to waken again.  

Out in the dark again, the man searches for more prey, ever on the alert.  For on this night in Texas, the night of the Chainsaw Massacre, dozens will meet the wrath of the murderer.  He can’t help it, though.  He has chronic aggression and can’t stand the sight or sound of chainsaws.  He’s finally gone over the edge and on this night, dozens of harmless chainsaws will go to meet their maker at the Main Street Lowes.