u/Kaijufan22

So, my daughter has been begging for a dog for several months, and a few weeks ago I finally relented. I went to this shelter that was a bit out of the way run by this extremely pale bald gentleman.

I told him I wasn't looking for a project, just something cute and easy to train. He didn't speak, didn't even blink once, he just outstretched his bony hand to the door and out popped a handler.

That dude had this weird velvet cloak with scribbles all over the lining, and he was also hairless and shockingly pale. In his hands was a small coal black pup that had barely opened its eyes. I snatched the pupper from him, it felt unusually warm, almost feverish. But it opened its eyes, foggy glass bulbs that seemed full of life.

It squeaked out a yawn and licked my palm; it's little nub of tail hitting my arm.

"Is this one satisfactory?" The first bald man hissed at me. I nodded and brought out my wallet, but he held up a hand in protest. "One does not pay with money. In due time we will take what is owed."

Well, I had never heard of getting a dog on a payment plan but if it gave me time to scrounge up some dough I wasn't going to complain. I had a little bed for the pup in my sedan and sat him comfortably in the passenger side.

It took about an hour to get home, and it's the darndest thing. I looked over at the little fella, and I swear he seemed a bit bigger.

In fact, he was using that little doggy bed as a pillow, his long, brawny legs sliding off the side. An ear twitched and he raised is head with a guttural groan. His coat seemed darker, like looking into the blighted eye of a black hole. His eyes were a sea foam pale, marbles really.

I blinked at the thing, dumbfounded. He was just really small to hold. Like an optical illusion. He tilted his head and barked, the sharp tone startling me a bit.

Obviously, I was having second thoughts about all this, but I refused to let my little girl down.

The dog burst out of the car and ran right towards Becca's ear-piercing cheer. Even from the car it stabbed me right in the brain. The dog regarded Becca with an almost human level of curiosity, sniffing her up and down. Finally, he sat, perched on the ground towering over her like a stone gargoyle.

Becca could barely wrap her arms around his burly physique. The dog rested his drooling maw on her shoulders. She looked at me, tears of joy springing from her hazel eyes.

"Oh, daddy he's wonderful!" She could barely contain her happiness. I faked a smile to hide my unease at the dog's sudden growth spurt.

"Only the best for you, Jellybean. You pick out a name?" I asked. She opened her mouth for a fraction of a second to respond then froze. She leaned her ear closer to the dog, like he was whispering to her. A ridiculous notion I know but still. Finally, she looked at me, a wide gleeful grin on her chubby face.

"He says he has a name. It's Braxton Murkwater, scourge hound of the nine hells. He says we can call him Brax for short." I nodded and patted Brax on the head. She was always so imaginative.

Life with Brax got weird fast, it was the little thing you know?

He never went to the bathroom; He'd drag Becca up and down the street for an hour or so doing nothing but patrol until he grew bored and dragged her back inside. He would barely touch his wet food, not even when I threw in a hot dog for good measure.

He would cling to Becca's side; I'd hear soft growls whenever I went near her.

"He's just protective daddy, he says it's all part of the pact." Becca would attempt to reassure, which sounded maddening.

The final straw was when I let him out to play in the yard, and he instantly spotted a bunny. He sprinted towards it, galloping almost, and snatched the screeching creature, leaving nothing but a bloody patch of grass.

Brax titled his head upwards, the poor bunny still struggling in his maw. His glass eyes rolled back as he began to consume the doomed critter. He forced it down his gullet, I could see the scrunched outline of the thing scratching his bulging throat as he choked it down whole.

I looked on horrified, and I couldn't believe it when Brax turned to me, his sagging, frothing jowls flapping in the breeze.

I could swear he smiled at me, and then he squeaked at me with the dying cries of the rabbit he had slaughtered.

After that he pushed past me and trudged back inside, Becca welcomed him in with open arms. They went off together, Becca said something about Brax needing her help fulfilling the pact. I should have stopped her, instead I called the shelter.

"Yesss Mr. Buntley?" A slithering voice cooed from the receiver.

"How did- Listen you need to take this dog back, he's too much." I begged.

"I'm sorry Mr. Buntley, I'm afraid all sales are final. No refunds, as it were." The voice mocked.

"I didn't even pay anything for him!" I screeched.

"Didn't you?" The voice chuckled. The phone fell from my hand as the realization hit me like a truck. I charged upstairs, calling Becca's name. She was nowhere to be seen in her room.

"Becca! Becca where are you?!?" I sounded like a mad man, tearing her room apart.

Then I heard her voice from behind.

"I'm right here dad." My blood froze, and I slowly turned. Brax stood there, blood still dripping from his snout.

"I'm right here." the hellhound mocked. "And I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

So, my daughter has been begging for a dog for several months, and a few weeks ago I finally relented. I went to this shelter that was a bit out of the way run by this extremely pale bald gentleman.

I told him I wasn't looking for a project, just something cute and easy to train. He didn't speak, didn't even blink once, he just outstretched his bony hand to the door and out popped a handler.

That dude had this weird velvet cloak with scribbles all over the lining, and he was also hairless and shockingly pale. In his hands was a small coal black pup that had barely opened its eyes. I snatched the pupper from him, it felt unusually warm, almost feverish. But it opened its eyes, foggy glass bulbs that seemed full of life.

It squeaked out a yawn and licked my palm; it's little nub of tail hitting my arm.

"Is this one satisfactory?" The first bald man hissed at me. I nodded and brought out my wallet, but he held up a hand in protest. "One does not pay with money. In due time we will take what is owed."

Well, I had never heard of getting a dog on a payment plan but if it gave me time to scrounge up some dough I wasn't going to complain. I had a little bed for the pup in my sedan and sat him comfortably in the passenger side.

It took about an hour to get home, and it's the darndest thing. I looked over at the little fella, and I swear he seemed a bit bigger.

In fact, he was using that little doggy bed as a pillow, his long, brawny legs sliding off the side. An ear twitched and he raised is head with a guttural groan. His coat seemed darker, like looking into the blighted eye of a black hole. His eyes were a sea foam pale, marbles really.

I blinked at the thing, dumbfounded. He was just really small to hold. Like an optical illusion. He tilted his head and barked, the sharp tone startling me a bit.

Obviously, I was having second thoughts about all this, but I refused to let my little girl down.

The dog burst out of the car and ran right towards Becca's ear-piercing cheer. Even from the car it stabbed me right in the brain. The dog regarded Becca with an almost human level of curiosity, sniffing her up and down. Finally, he sat, perched on the ground towering over her like a stone gargoyle.

Becca could barely wrap her arms around his burly physique. The dog rested his drooling maw on her shoulders. She looked at me, tears of joy springing from her hazel eyes.

"Oh, daddy he's wonderful!" She could barely contain her happiness. I faked a smile to hide my unease at the dog's sudden growth spurt.

"Only the best for you, Jellybean. You pick out a name?" I asked. She opened her mouth for a fraction of a second to respond then froze. She leaned her ear closer to the dog, like he was whispering to her. A ridiculous notion I know but still. Finally, she looked at me, a wide gleeful grin on her chubby face.

"He says he has a name. It's Braxton Murkwater, scourge hound of the nine hells. He says we can call him Brax for short." I nodded and patted Brax on the head. She was always so imaginative.

Life with Brax got weird fast, it was the little thing you know?

He never went to the bathroom; He'd drag Becca up and down the street for an hour or so doing nothing but patrol until he grew bored and dragged her back inside. He would barely touch his wet food, not even when I threw in a hot dog for good measure.

He would cling to Becca's side; I'd hear soft growls whenever I went near her.

"He's just protective daddy, he says it's all part of the pact." Becca would attempt to reassure, which sounded maddening.

The final straw was when I let him out to play in the yard, and he instantly spotted a bunny. He sprinted towards it, galloping almost, and snatched the screeching creature, leaving nothing but a bloody patch of grass.

Brax titled his head upwards, the poor bunny still struggling in his maw. His glass eyes rolled back as he began to consume the doomed critter. He forced it down his gullet, I could see the scrunched outline of the thing scratching his bulging throat as he choked it down whole.

I looked on horrified, and I couldn't believe it when Brax turned to me, his sagging, frothing jowls flapping in the breeze.

I could swear he smiled at me, and then he squeaked at me with the dying cries of the rabbit he had slaughtered.

After that he pushed past me and trudged back inside, Becca welcomed him in with open arms. They went off together, Becca said something about Brax needing her help fulfilling the pact. I should have stopped her, instead I called the shelter.

"Yesss Mr. Buntley?" A slithering voice cooed from the receiver.

"How did- Listen you need to take this dog back, he's too much." I begged.

"I'm sorry Mr. Buntley, I'm afraid all sales are final. No refunds, as it were." The voice mocked.

"I didn't even pay anything for him!" I screeched.

"Didn't you?" The voice chuckled. The phone fell from my hand as the realization hit me like a truck. I charged upstairs, calling Becca's name. She was nowhere to be seen in her room.

"Becca! Becca where are you?!?" I sounded like a mad man, tearing her room apart.

Then I heard her voice from behind.

"I'm right here dad." My blood froze, and I slowly turned. Brax stood there, blood still dripping from his snout.

"I'm right here." the hellhound mocked. "And I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

Hey, hey stop scrolling, don't get any further you'll be killed.

You probably won't believe me but there's a hideous monster lurking at the end of this post!

It lures you in with an unsuspecting blog then leaps out of the bushes, it's machete fangs ready to tear you to shreds.

I think this is enough space for a warning so just, stay there, don't click anything I'll try to help you.

Just whatever you do, don't scroll down.

You scrolled didn't you. You just couldn't help yourself. Look I'm telling you the truth it's an awful, fuzzy thing with gnarled claws and rancid breath that smells like rotted garlic.

It has a dozen glass baubles for eyes, glistening and vibrant. They're always rolling around looking for those who are scrolling.

Which is you. Come on just, back up or something. click off to something else to throw it off the scent.

Switch tabs- NO DON'T

I forgot the last guy tried that. They're still trying to pry what was left of them off the floor.

And the ceiling.

It was very messy; it makes one feel just a bit queasy thinking about it.

What do you hope to achieve by ignoring me, is everything ok at home? Do you want death by monster? Because not to hammer the point home or anything but it's pretty messy and painful.

Think pinata filled with meat and gooey bits, all the monster needs to do is one quick swipe and it'll be raining pulpy goodies all over the joint.

Maybe you think you can best the beast, pfft yeah good luck with that one pal. Nothing can pierce its oily hide. Not silver, not brass dipped in holy water, not even atomic death beams.

Poor Dr. Obliterato.

God it's getting closer, can you sense that? DO you feel the Earth quake and quiver at the monster's steps? It's this lumbering monstrosity; it's drooling maw could fill a swimming pool a thousand times over.

There's still time, you just have to click off, shut your computer off, punch the screen in a fit of insane rage do SOMETHING to stave off the beast's approach.

You're still here aren't you. There's no hope for you, just another pitiful morsel for the monster's gluttonous belly. What a waste really, you could have gone on and done wonderous things.

I would hope anyway, I don't know you really.

You could be an awful person, like a mugger or something. If you are, keep reading it'll be funny. There's nothing lurking at the end of this post keep going, I was lying.

In fact, I want you to get to the end of this post, yeah just to spite me. Prove me wrong, go ahead, maybe it's all just one psychological mind game.

Yeah, keep going, there's nothing to see. Just keep wandering down the road.

You, you are still going aren't you, the reverse psychology didn't work.

What? Yeah, of course I've seen the monster why you think I'm warning you.

I'm usually long gone before splat, but I don't know, I feel bad. I think I'm with you at the end of the road on this one.

I mean, I think I saw it once. It might have been a big bird. Yes, I'm sure there is one. Otherwise, I'd feel mighty silly.

Here it comes, I can almost smell the nasty blighter. Nice knowing you, I guess. Brace yourself oh god here it comes.

. . .

. . . . . . .

. . . . Are we still alive? Where's the monster?

Huh. Wow I guess maybe I was overhyping it, I did get a bit hysterical there, man I'm embarrassed.

I guess there was no monster afteral-

Oh, there it is.

Chomp

Hey, hey stop scrolling, don't get any further you'll be killed.

You probably won't believe me but there's a hideous monster lurking at the end of this post!

It lures you in with an unsuspecting blog then leaps out of the bushes, it's machete fangs ready to tear you to shreds.

I think this is enough space for a warning so just, stay there, don't click anything I'll try to help you.

Just whatever you do, don't scroll down.

You scrolled didn't you. You just couldn't help yourself. Look I'm telling you the truth it's an awful, fuzzy thing with gnarled claws and rancid breath that smells like rotted garlic.

It has a dozen glass baubles for eyes, glistening and vibrant. They're always rolling around looking for those who are scrolling.

Which is you. Come on just, back up or something. click off to something else to throw it off the scent.

Switch tabs- NO DON'T

I forgot the last guy tried that. They're still trying to pry what was left of them off the floor.

And the ceiling.

It was very messy; it makes one feel just a bit queasy thinking about it.

What do you hope to achieve by ignoring me, is everything ok at home? Do you want death by monster? Because not to hammer the point home or anything but it's pretty messy and painful.

Think pinata filled with meat and gooey bits, all the monster needs to do is one quick swipe and it'll be raining pulpy goodies all over the joint.

Maybe you think you can best the beast, pfft yeah good luck with that one pal. Nothing can pierce its oily hide. Not silver, not brass dipped in holy water, not even atomic death beams.

Poor Dr. Obliterato.

God it's getting closer, can you sense that? DO you feel the Earth quake and quiver at the monster's steps? It's this lumbering monstrosity; it's drooling maw could fill a swimming pool a thousand times over.

There's still time, you just have to click off, shut your computer off, punch the screen in a fit of insane rage do SOMETHING to stave off the beast's approach.

You're still here aren't you. There's no hope for you, just another pitiful morsel for the monster's gluttonous belly. What a waste really, you could have gone on and done wonderous things.

I would hope anyway, I don't know you really.

You could be an awful person, like a mugger or something. If you are, keep reading it'll be funny. There's nothing lurking at the end of this post keep going, I was lying.

In fact, I want you to get to the end of this post, yeah just to spite me. Prove me wrong, go ahead, maybe it's all just one psychological mind game.

Yeah, keep going, there's nothing to see. Just keep wandering down the road.

You, you are still going aren't you, the reverse psychology didn't work.

What? Yeah, of course I've seen the monster why you think I'm warning you.

I'm usually long gone before splat, but I don't know, I feel bad. I think I'm with you at the end of the road on this one.

I mean, I think I saw it once. It might have been a big bird. Yes, I'm sure there is one. Otherwise, I'd feel mighty silly.

Here it comes, I can almost smell the nasty blighter. Nice knowing you, I guess. Brace yourself oh god here it comes.

. . .

. . . . . . .

. . . . Are we still alive? Where's the monster?

Huh. Wow I guess maybe I was overhyping it, I did get a bit hysterical there, man I'm embarrassed.

I guess there was no monster afteral-

Oh, there it is.

Chomp

u/MoLogic has been a very great writer flying under the radar around here, and the other day he shouted me out, so I am more than happy to return the favor, these are a few of his stories I really enjoy:

"Arthur Smith's Last Halloween." A very somber story about a man's final moments, really haunting and well written.

"I Beat The Shit Out Of The Hatman" A story in the vein of Tales from the gas station, a comedic look into an urban legend.

" I work At A Call Center." Chilling story about becoming addicted to fate.

"What The Blizzard Brought" a wintery creature feature that plays with paranoia and suspense, very good read.

Mo has been very supportive to writers in general around here and other places, and his work is always a fun time to read. I urge everyone to give his a look, you won't regret it.

Terry stood on his porch watching the sun melt into the tangerine skyline. The air was chilly, and a light breeze was passing by, yet it didn’t faze him. Instead, he took a deep breath and exhaled, savoring the early evening.

The street was quiet right now, only lonely cars and dried out leaves littered the pavement. Some of them still showed color, a husky scarlet here and a lemon yellow there. But most had devolved to the crinkly brown that made that euphoric crunch when trampled on. Terry enjoyed the quiet as well, it wouldn’t be long now before the sugar fueled horde began their annual prowl. 

Normally Terry would spend Halloween curled up in his den clutching his favorite cross and making sure his salt lines were nice and even. But Mary and Lucy had formed other plans. He had put on a good show when they begged him to indulge in their yearly trickery. He politely declined at first but the look of disappointment on Mare’s pouty face gave him pause.

-------------

“Awe come on now, don’t be batting those sparkling emeralds at me lass.” He had tried to charm.

“Ew.” Lucy had said, hiding her amusement behind a pumpkin spiked cold brew. 

“It’s our first Halloween together and you really want to spend it inside?” Mary pouted. 

“Look, I’m an old man, stuck in my miserable ways. You don’t want me prancing around the town with ya when you’re trying to have a fun night.” He explained. Mary played with her food more than usual, picking apart her jelly donut with deathly pale fingers. Next to her Lucy popped a chocolate munchkin into her mouth. 

“I’ve heard that the elderly can’t even stay awake past six pm, lest they crumple to dust and scatter to the winds.” She said between cocoa flavored bites. Terry shot her a glare from across the wobbly table.

“You’re a grand help.” He grumbled. 

“You’re welcome.” She said with glee. 

“You’re not that old, come on what’s the deal.” Mary snapped.

“Ah-just not a costume guy.” Terry evaded.

“Not what I heard.” Lucy mumbled. Now it was Mary who shot her a death stare and battered her knee under the table. 

“What if we come to your neck of the woods, you can show me around the neighborhood.” Mary offered.

“Wha-dude come on we always marauder around my place; every house has king size.” Lucy whined.

“You’re a grown woman with a pension; you can’t buy your own candy?” Mary retorted. 

“Not the same and you know it.” She folded her arms on her chest. Mary touched Terry’s hand slightly. Her hand was clammy, but her touch was impossibly warm. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun.” she cooed softly. Terry sighed and began to lose himself in her verdant eyes; he folded like a lawn chair soon after that. 

------------------

Terry had not dressed up for the occasion. He wore a simple black fleece that was zipped up to his pearl-white color. His hair was freshly combed; his graying stubble was clean shaven. When he shaved, he had noticed new sprinkles of snow cropping up on his once reddish-black scalp. He had considered hair dye once before but had heard horror stories of it bleeding into the roots; the chemicals rotting the brain from the inside out. He hadn’t survived the terror of his life this long just to be taken out by a bad dye job. 

Terry had always been comfortable with his middle age, until he began dating Mary that is. She wasn’t that much younger, but that blank stare when he talked about his favorite band growing up chilled him to the bone.

Still, they got along fairly well, a mutual disdain for werewolves and a borderline obsession with Star Trek would do that. But they still struggled with small talk. It was part of why Lucy had tagged along their last three dates; the raven-haired firecracker had a knack for pulling conversation out of people. 

The streetlights started to lumber to life, as little monsters began to flood the town. Terry saw packs of them in inspired costumes begin to roam. There were ghosts in homemade sheets, an obscene amount of princesses, teenagers in gaudy rubber masks, and new parents trotting their barely conscious infants around in fuzzy, ill-fitting bumblebee outfits. Terry glanced to his side, the bowl he had put out for the night seemed ill-equipped for these fiends. It would have to do, besides a bowl filled to the brim with snickers should last the night; so long as everyone listened to the "Please Take One" note.

The air began to chill ever so slightly, whisky tinted breath manifested as he exhaled. He slipped his hands into the fleece’s pockets, making sure the contents were secure. His faithful flask, half-drunk but still viable. A small silver cross, assorted vials filled with salt and holy water, and a loaded snub-nose revolver. Some would call him paranoid; Terry preferred the term “overly cautious.” He hadn’t left the safety of his home on All Hallows Eve since he was nineteen years old. Not since the night he-

BEEP-BEEP

A horn broke the sound barrier as a blindingly indigo sports car pulled up in front of his house. Lucy waved at him from the driver’s door as she parked. Mary gave him a sweet smile as she stepped onto the walk. She was all dolled up, going the full nine yards with her costume. She wore black skinny jeans complete with a puffy pearl white blouse. A scarlet corset subdued her already skinny waist, and she wore a harness with outlandish plastic devil wings jutting out the back. Her belt doubled as a tail; a chain leading to a faux golden tip. On her arms were fishnet coverings ending in talons, an exquisitely bejeweled set. She wore a pixie cut with thick horns atop her ginger head. 

As Lucy turned the corner, she did a little twirl revealing her own costume. A velvet cape adorned her body; her face caked in powder that made her hazel eyes seem to glow in the dark. Her outfit made her look like she had stepped out painting straight from the Victorian era. Her puffy lips were a sparkling crimson. In a smile, she revealed two-pointed fangs that hung down from her upper lip. Hanging from her neck was an expensive looking brooch in the shape of a bat. The costumed pair walked right up to his front stoop, as if expecting a round of applause. 

“I must say you ladies look lovely this evening.” Terry admitted. Mary blushed ever so slightly as Lucy snorted with laughter.

“Thank you Terrance, but honestly when don’t we?” She purred. 

“What are you supposed to be? Terry asked, ignoring the bit. 

“I’m a demon-Luce is a vampire.” Mary jerked a thumb at her companion. 

“Get it?” Lucy barked. Even from five feet away he could smell the strawberry daiquiris on her breath. 

“Yes, very clever girls.” Terry grinned. He took a breath and stepped off the porch. On the first step he almost expected the world to explode in spiritual rage. But there was nothing. The air seemed a tad nippier, but he chalked that up to the season. He successfully descended to the pavement, granted it was only three wobbly steps. Mary went in for a hug but Lucy held up a hand, eyeing him up and down. 

“Hold it. Where’s your costume?” She slurred. Terry narrowed his eyes.

“This is it-I’m going as myself.” He beamed. 

“A buzzkill?” Lucy replied. Terry’s jaw clinched and before he could retort further, he felt Mary slip herself into his side. She had a bright smile chiseled on her, and Terry couldn’t help but relent.

“It’s simple, I like it.” She defended as Lucy scoffed. She reached into the passenger seat of her car and started fumbling around for something. The interior of her car was filled with discarded condom wrappers, half empty coffee cups that had deteriorated to sludge, and reeked of wild berries mixed with dry tobacco. After messing around in the back, she let out a delighted squee and slithered out in a half-drunk stupor. In her hands were two burlap sacks with crudely written words in ancient ink. The sacks read “Kandy” in brash lettering that looked like stoned children had drawn them. Knowing these two, Terry wouldn't have been surprised if that was the case. 

Lucy tossed a sack to Mary, who caught it easily. As the sack rustled, Terry heard the clatter of glass bottles. 

“Now then, tonight you join us for an age-old tradition using the sacred bags I made when I was a kid.” Lucy preached, reaching into her clinking bag. She brought out a lukewarm beer and snapped the top off with ease, the hiss of the brew sighing in the breeze. She took a swig, savoring the pumpkin tinted brew Terry's way. He caught in and looked it at it with mild disgust.

"We're gonna get drunk and steal all the candy we can carry." She proclaimed, fishing out another brew. Terry took a sip, almost gagging as he choked down the seasonal flavor. It tasted like fermented gourd drowned in urine with a dash of cinnamon. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Mary down a beer in on gulp, then shatter it to the ground, howling into the night. She grabbed his arm and the trio wandered into the adolescent evening.

Terry's neighborhood like to dress up for Halloween. The street they found themselves raiding looked like they had bought out several Spirit Halloweens. Yards were littered with stiff moving animatronics, and the air was choking with cotton candy scented fog. luminous tombstones jutted out, makeshift graveyards filled with plastic bones and flimsy skeletons. Stakes with tattered and mold adorned relics marked the yards, Styrofoam heads on stakes with putty molded faces forever screaming into the crisp night. Dangling like dead men swinging from the gallows were dozens of makeshift bats and rubber hoses made to look like entrails.

What was more spectacular were the almost ludicrous number of pumpkins planted on ever porch step. Every house had at least one with a carved smile and a radiant glow. Some had upwards of fifteen, like a pumpkin patch had sprung up over night on their front lawns. So many distinct carvings and patterns decorated the orange blighters. Those jagged grins gave Terrance the willies, dimly leering at them as they passed.

The trio had already stopped at a few houses, and the girls had gone through several foul-tasting brews. They had gotten ill looks as they rang the doorbells and whooped and hollered as they swung open. The residents had expected some charming youth horribly botching saying "Trick-or-treat." Instead, they were greeted by two very intoxicated women and a barely sober priest. Lucy would stick out her bag and shrilly cry; “Twick-or-tweat.” Terrance would die a little inside every time. The weary eyed neighbors would reluctantly pass out some bite sized snacks. The costumed pair would gobble them up into their sacks and break out into hushed snickers as they ran off into the night.

Every couple hours they’d down another bottle, or five in Lucy’s case. Terry and Mary would hold hands as they walked around, he would point out some old trees he futzed around with when he was a kid. Lucy walked way out in front, behaving like a wild animal.

Mary was enjoying the fresh air and fresher buzz. More than anything she was just happy Terry went out with them. She had noticed how he caught glimpses of himself at passing mirrors, lingering at the slight wrinkles in his cheeks. All Mary saw was a rugged Irishman who needed to loosen up a bit and stop worrying so much, they were doing great.

They found themselves coming up on a two-story house with brick lining and dozens of jack-o-lanterns covering the front lawn. The lights were on but the blinds were drawn and there were no cars in the long drive. Lucy was stumbling a bit, mumbling to herself as she eyed the front porch. Mare and Tear were chatting as they caught up.

“-My old buddy Marcus Kane used to live in that house, we used to ditch class and sneak beers in the Cheesecake brook.” He laughed to himself, pointing to a vine ensnared house across the way.

“I can’t picture you ditching; it’s like seeing Rocky lose, just inconceivable.” Mary replied.

“Rocky lost in the first movie, love.” Terry stated.

“What? It was a draw.” She shook her head in disbelief.

“Still isn’t a win, innit?” Terry said, the night air mixing well with his somber buzz. “In any case, I was a hellion in my youth. Just one idiotic thing after another.” He flinched as he recalled the last Halloween, he went out. Decades ago, a night of debauchery fueled by delinquency and whisky. Not unlike tonight’s misadventure actually.

Mary laid her head on his shoulders, partly for comfort, partly to support her decaying mobility as the drink set in.

“Sounds like young Terry was something of a wildcard.” She teased.

“He was something alright.” Terry muttered to himself. In his head, flashes of his troublesome mates being brought to their knees by gnarled vines and cackling golems played like old war reels. Even now, he could recall their screams of anguish with vivid perfection. The duo took notice of the absolutely faded Lucy. She was stumbling towards the house of a thousand pumpkins, taking one trip filled step after another.

Lucy's vision was abhorrent, the drink taking much of her senses. Yet at the end of the sightly cracked pavement was an oval orange bowl, filled to the brim with king sized Milky Way bars. Her cotton mouth began to salivate as she pictured silky caramel melting on her tongue. She waltzed towards the candy, arms outstretched like a wandering zombie.

Mary and Terry watched their blitzed cohort go for the gold, mild amusement streaking across their gobs.

"There ya go, she'll be satisfied for the night then." Mary mused.

"If only." Terry grumbled. "I don't think I've ever seen her drink this much." He noted.

"Holidays are-hard for her. Brings back old memories of her mom." Mary gossiped. Terry simply nodded, deciding to leave that expired can of worms closed for the time being. As Lucy giggled to herself with excitement as she closed in on the bowl, Terry peered down the musty road. The wind lightly jogged, kicking up dry leaves as they scattered. The house light further down were dwindling to a dim hue, and trick-or-treaters were retreating to their homesteads to gorge themselves on sugary delights.

He smiled to himself; the twilight of a Halloween eve didn't always mean doom and gloom after all. But as he squinted, sighting a strange glow materialize down the road, he was instantly reminded of his holiday sins.

The glow was of a marmalade hue, ghostly in its movement as it swayed in the air. As it approached the trio, a figure began to take shape behind it. It was cast in shadow, elvish in stature. The silhouette moved with a jig in its step, like a confident dancer strutting their stuff. Terry's heart froze, and a pale sweat began to drip down his brow as he watched the figure approach them.

Lucy had made it to the oval bowl, her drunken odyssey finally complete. It had been a long twenty-five and a half steps to the bowl, but as she looked down at the cocoa coated gold in front of her, she knew it had been worth it. There was a hastily written note tapped to it, a last-minute addition to a last second decision to simply leave a bowl out. In polite lettering, the note read "Please Take One." with a little smile at the end.

She scoffed to herself and grabbed a gluttonous handful of the bars. She had stuffed nearly the whole bowl into her sack and hightailed it out of there like the trashed bandit she was. The figure watched her break that sacred rule and clicked his tongue. He loathed those who mocked the sacred rules of this holiday, corny they may appear it times.

Lucy's heels clicked on the pavement as she broke out in a fit of gassed laughter. Mary joined her but Terry?

Terry stood there, a mortified expression on him, his hand clutching the gun in his pocket as the figure revealed itself to them.

He appeared to them, stepping out of the shadows in a blink. The girls winced at the sudden light glaring from the stranger's lantern. The man was strikingly handsome, had a small button noise and a sharp jawline. He was clean shaven and had piercing brown eyes. He wore an unbuttoned snow-white dress shirt with brown overalls, two straps clinging to his slender shoulders. His ears were almost impish, and his hair was wild and unkempt, the color almost distressingly ginger. He brought the lantern, an old-fashioned lamp with a tiny flame trapped in glass, to his pale face. He smiled, his teeth actually glistening in the timid light. There was an aura of trickery to that grin, lost to all but Terry, still frozen in abject terror.

"Good evening to you fine young lasses, and hello once more to you, Terry my lad." The stranger spoke up, speaking like he strolled straight out of the rocky road to Dublin.

"Oh, is this one of your buddies you were talking about?" Mary asked a little too loud in Terry's ear. He struggled to find the words and cursed himself for not speaking up sooner as Lucy waltzed over to the stranger. She took half a bow, nearly toppling over as she did, and put on her best drunken Dracula voice to greet him.

"Good evening, I vant to suck your blood." She snorted to the unimpressed stranger. He shook his head and turned his attention solely to Terry.

"Oh Terry. Ya haven't learned a thing have ya boyo? Still consorting with wild miscreants who have no respect for tradition." The man's face twisted in annoyance. Lucy looked up, taken back by the stranger's curt response.

"Hey, what's your problem ass-wipe." Lucy slurred. Mary rolled her eyes and tried to pull Mary back. Terry broke out of his fear induced stupor and stepped forward, dragging them both behind him as the stranger looked on.

"We've not trespassed on your laws Jack, they've just had a bit too much of the sauce. You know how it goes." Terry explained as the girls complained behind his back.

"Always were a lousy liar, or did you fail to notice your friend there." He pointed an accusatory finger at Lucy. "She pilfered more than her fair share, blatantly ignored the code of honor." He roared. Terry's blood pressure skyrocket at that accusation and grabbed Lucy by the shoulders.

"You didn't" He shouted, his eyes begging for the truth. Lucy shook off his grasp and twirled her sack around, reveling her prize.

"Yeah, so what?" She turned to Jack, a smug look growing on him. "It's the end of the night, who cares."

"You know in olden times, when they caught a thief, they'd cut her grubby hands clean off." Jack recalled.

"Dude that's a bit much. It's just candy." Mary called out from behind Terry. She nudged him, trying to rile up a defense to this strange man. Instead, Terrance hushed her and put on a brave front as he tried to talk his way out of the wraith's fury.

"Forgive their insolence-" He began

"Wow I'm skinning you later." Lucy interjected.

"-but surely there are worse crimes, her only sin is drunken ignorance." He pleaded. Jack titled his head, mulling that over.

"True enough I suppose. You would know after all." He smiled, malice seeping out of his pores.

"What's he talking about?" Mary whispered. Jack's eyes widened in glee.

"He's never spoken of me? I'm not surprised, though I am a bit hurt. Folks call me Stingy Jack, though I prefer just good old Jack. I'm a wanderer of sorts, keeping people on their toes during this wondrous season." He beamed with pride. Terry gripped the gun in his pocket, the handle bleeding into his skin.

"Stingy Jack?" Lucy laughed. Jack shot her a glance. She was stumbling around, dangerously close to stepping on one of the jack-o-lanterns. "That's the dumbest name I've ever heard, and I know a guy named FurFur." Jack eyed her legs, a deadly twitch to his face.

"Careful now lass, I wouldn't harm them lanterns if I were you." He warned. Terry went pale and looked on in horror as Lucy sneered and dangled a foot over one of them.

"Lucy for Christ's sake don't be an idiot." He shrieked.

"Yeah come on, that's just a dick move." Mary said, embarrassed by her friend's drunken outburst. "Why don't we go home and get some decaf in you." Lucy waved a dismissive hand.

"Oh please, things are just getting fun." She said, her dangling leg crashing down atop a half-mushed pumpkin. The lantern cried out as it crumpled to bits, the light within being snuffed instantly. Shards of pumpkin guts splattered to the stone pavement, seeds raining down like tiny bullets. The sudden quiet that came with that lantern's final gasp could drown a newborn. Lucy put her hand to her mouth in an exaggerated gasp. "Oops." She snickered as Terry brought out his gun. He turned it on Jack, cocking it as he did.

Jack wore a solemn look. Behind him, a thick mist began to roll in. As quickly as it came, it surrounded the group, engulfing them like a hungry wolf. The fog bank danced through the front yard, twirling around the vengeful gourds, their cartoonish expressions looking on at their fallen brethren. Even Lucy was getting a bit weirded out as she stepped back onto the pavement, stumbling to Terry's side. Jack's lantern bloomed, the light within casting an azure glow.

"See I warned you didn't I. That's the problem with you yanks, you don't care for ways of the old world." Jack growled, his voice filling with venom and starch. His glamoured form began to fall apart. His skin became course yet developed a smooth texture. His head convulsed and took on the shape of a misshapen oval. His skin was chalk white, his hair gone from his scalp. His eyes became two hollow holes with a dim earthly glow. His face was featureless save for those two holes, and a slit mouth that looked carved on. What little teeth remained in that slit were like mini square blocks.

All in all, his head looked like a big, skinned turnip.

His body went through a similar metamorphose, a variety of colors and textures spinning around his torso. gnarled roots wrapped around his limbs like tiny spider-webs, the arm holding the lantern becoming a like a clubbed cage. The light within sputtered out in spectral fury, His legs became like trunks; dry bark seemed to root him to the ground, yet he moved freely, dancing a marry dance as he did.

The fog wrapped around everything, seeming to seep out of every stray orifice the phantom had. Jack's hollow eyes regarded the trio like you would a gnat; he cared not for the shaking gun pointed at his produce head.

The girls eyed the swirling fog with unease; it had a stench of rot and sweet squash to it. Terry did well to hide the fear in his weary, pale eyes. But Stingy Jack could see right through the facade. He made an advance, his truck legs uprooting from the ground and lurching forward, emitting a grating noise like a log being sawed in half.

Terry, to his credit, did not hesitate.

BLAM-BLAM-BLAM

The silver-streaked shots flew through the air, Jack's veggie chest burst with droplets of tangerine tinted sap flying outward. Smoke cooly poured through his wounds, which began to close as quickly as they came. Jack chuckled dryly at the attempt, his carved smile not moving one iota.

"Ah Terrance. You can't kill the will of the season any more than you can tame the wind." He spoke. Around them the world began to crawl to life. The ground shifted and shock, infected by the insidious mist. Once dull flames began to roar a deep blue, as the Jack-O-Lanterns began their march. Like wilting arms their withered vines came to animated life, dragging their bulbous gourds up. Their faces locked in eternal carves, some happy, some sporting devilish grins. All the pumpkin golems swayed in the breeze as they got their footing. They looked like stick figures come to life, their bodies composed of twisting roots and frayed leaves.

In the trees, the branches shook with such eager ferocity, their contents spilling out into the night. Cotton bats and plastic ghouls flew off out their wooden shackles, sniggering into the night as they surrounded the trio. They made ghastly sounds that chilled to the bone, their faces frozen but their movement quick and twitchy. A bat flapped its wired wings and screeched at Lucy as she batted it away from her head with a yelp.

"You guys are seeing this shit to, right? Or do I need to cut back on the booze." She hissed at them.

"Both things can be true." Terry mumbled. Soon they were besieged on all sides by twisted ferns and deadly gourds, creatures brought to life solely to maim. ensnaring roots dangled around the girls' legs, coiling around like vipers. They scratched at their chlorophyll chains, and Terry turned to help but felt a foul wooden arm wrap around his neck. With a laugh Jack pulled him back, and as much as Terry struggled, he couldn't escape that legume loving bastard. He could do nothing, but watch as the pumpkin tentacles had their way, entombing the pair in deadly leaves and fondling wire.

Jack leaned his ripe head next to Terry's, reeking like bad soil. He forced his termite ridden arm under Terry's chin, forcing him to watch the pumpkin patch envelop his friends.

"You watch now Terry." Jack crooned in his ear. "Maybe you'll learn this time. Watch my children choke their lungs with rot wood and strip the flesh from their bones." His voice gurgled with sadistic glee.

Lucy and Mary were drunk, their muscles sore and as the vines began to coil around their throats they wished they hadn't drunk so much. Mary's lime eyes flashed with fury, and she opened her jaws. Two long fangs jutted out, and she sunk them into the weeds. They tasted like sour spinach. But she tore through the ragweed with her fangs, her hands becoming hedge clippers as she began to tear away at the winding plants. The plants recoiled, pain a fresh new sensation, and loosened their twisting grasp.

Lucy howled like a rabid baboon as she thrashed against her own plants. Her skin took on a pale blue hue, a common demon complexion. She flexed her arms, and the rope-like vines snapped like they were tissue paper. Her eyes turned cotton candy pink, the pure color of lust. She grabbed hold of the nearest swaying pumpkin golem and began to rip it to shreds. As she turned it to mulch, the ones still struggling to contain the raging succubus retreated.

The pair stood there panting, their costumes ripped slightly, covered in the gutty works of demonic gourds. The horde took a step back, underestimating the monstrous twins. Jack cocked his head, bewildered at the turn of events. Terry took that split second to reach into his fleece and fetch the holy water he had stashed for later. With some sleight of hand, he flicked the cap off and splashed it onto Jack's stone face. Terry scurried over to his friends as Jack screeched like a banshee, the holy water seeping into him. He clawed at his unmoving face, the sacred ointment searing him as he struggled.

"Ah you fecking worthless pile of shite!" He screeched. The whore sneered at them, circling them like furious panthers. The trio stood tall with each other, knowing the coming brawl would be unrelenting. Jack stepped into the mist, giving a melted look at them, chunks of his starchy face peeling to the ground. "Obliterate the lousy cunts." He ordered.

With that the Halloween horrors advanced. With only three bullets left in his gun, Terry stuck to the sidelines throwing salt and holy water at the marauding beasts, careful not to splash any on Lucy and Mary. The vampire and demon went to town on the horde. Their vampiric and hellish powers fully unleashed on the pumpkins. The horde was armed with seasonal fire and thorns, which did not stand the test of a succubus' nails. The animated decorations buzzed around the battlefield like wasps, swooping down to swat the pair with plastic fury. Lucy grabbed a wiry bat; it screeched as it tried to escape her fiery grip. She hissed as she bit into the bat's neck, and with one quick flick of the neck tore it from the body. Fuzz and blood spurted out like a fountain, lucy spat the head to the ground like a quitter.

A golem tried to sneak up on Terry, who twirled around and swiftly blew it's head off. A smidgen of pumpkin meat splattered his chin, the rest fell to the ground in a mushy heap. The blessed salt and water made steaming work of the devilish horde. They cried out in agony as they burned, their mesocarp burned.

Mary was cutting down vine after vine that tried to entangle her, her fangs dripped with sap as she drained the creatures of their lives. The trio was winning, but the horde was never ending, the horrors seeming to spawn out of the fog from thin air. They were battered and bloody, coated in orange entrails. It was only a matter of time before the beats overwhelmed them. All around them they could hear Jack's mocking chortle, and it only hardened their spirits against the tide. Terry turned to his right and saw a golem with a scythe like blade about to strike at Mary.

"Behind you!" He shouted as he pulled the trigger. The pumpkin reaper was blown away, Mary picked up the fallen blade and used it to cleave the oncoming horde. It was a a bloodsoaked harvest. Lucy stumbled, nearly tripping on her fallen sack. She reached into it, grabbing a final warm bear and a candy bar. She snapped the cap off, glaring at a creature coming towards her.

"Swig break." she said, taking a sour gulp of the hooch as she then bashed the half-drunk bottle against the bumpy hide of the pumpkin monster. It shattered, bits of glass sticking into it. She then preceded to drive the broken bottle into the Jack-O-Lanterns head. She collapsed onto its gangly, stick of a body as she smashed it to bits with the broken bottle, the glass starting to cut into her hands as she drove her bloodied instrument into it.

Terry panted, his chest heaving and his lungs about to shrivel and die in his wheezing body.

"We can't beat this; they'll just keep coming. I'm sorry, to the both of you. This is all my fault." Terry moaned.

"Hardly, I'm the messy drunk." Lucy cracked as she tore a giggling sprite out of the sky and hurled it at a lantern at mach-speed.

"No, I can't blame you. I did the same thing myself, egged on by my belligerent pals. I should have told you the real reason I hide inside on Halloween." Terry lamented, using his last bullet to vaporize a swooping bat.

"Don't beat yourself up Tear. We all do stupid shit when we're kids." Mary comforted after draining the sanguine sap from a withering monster. Terry's lips gave way to a weary smile, in spite of the assault. The trio were soon forced into a corner, the fog heavy and the lumbering creatures frothing at the carved mouths. Stingy Jack appeared behind his gang of ghouls, ghostly light brewing in his lantern hand. He watched as the horde surrounded the exhausted trio, if he could smile from that slit he would have. His veggie face had healed yet still bore a black singe from the water. He would enjoy slowly stripping the meat from Terrance, oh yes, he would take such jo-

bong,bong,bong,bong-

A clock tower rang out, midnight. It singled the 1st of November. The fog groaned with each mournful bell, each one a stab in the heart of the mist. The creatures moaned as the Hallowed magic waned, the animated sprites began collapsing to the ground. The golems began to break apart, rotted veggies spilling to the ground, slopping off their stringy stalks in droves. The trio was bewildered, amazed at the prospect of literally being saved by the bell.

Soon enough all that was left of the creatures was a mountain of foul-smelling pumpkin guts, the ground looked like someone had puke an endless supply of pumpkin stew on the ground. As the mist cleared, the night sky came tumbling back into focus, and the crickets resumed their late-night opera. Stingy Jack stepped forward, reverted back to human form, his lantern the normal, dull glow. He regarded the trio with annoyance, then finally shrugged his shoulders.

"Ah well. Can't win them all I suppose. Interesting company you keep these days, Terrance. I'll keep that in mind for next year." He simply stated before walking off into the cool night, melting back into the realm of shadows from whence he came. The danger over with, Terry rubbed his knees and winced, as Lucy began adding her own strawberry flavored vomit to the mix around them. For better or worse, they had won.

The trio trudged back home, completely coated in foul smelling lantern guts. Mary was holding Lucy up, who was the perfect kind of blackout drunk where you can sleepwalk home with your eyes completely shut. She was mumbling to herself, something about her mother tanning her hide for coming home late, and Terry assured her no such thing would happen. They finally got home, finding Terry's bowl of sweats empty and his front porch covered in dried yolks. They collapsed onto his steps, Lucy slouching to the deck out cold. Terry rubbed his aching knees as Mary plopped down next to him, leaning sweetly on his shoulders.

"Bloody knees are killing me." he mumbled.

"Know how ya feel. Think I threw my back out juggling pumpkin men." She laughed. "And that sap isn't gonna set well in the morning." She grimaced.

"Ah you're young, you'll be in top shape in no time." He waved.

"I'm not that spry Terry. And you're not that decrepit." She teased.

"In my glory days, I would have slapped Jack around I tell you that much, would have ran circles around his little pumpkin patch." he boasted.

"You also said you smashed lanterns and were so much of a general prick that it pissed him off to begin with." She noted. Terry sat in silence for a moment, while Lucy loudly snored next to them.

"Well-Young Terry was an asshole." he finally admitted.

"Young Terry sounds like a guy I'd avoid like the plague." Mary said, sinking into him. "I like Old Terry." The pair enjoyed each other in silence for a while longer, enjoying the beautify evening before them. They spent the right of the night with each other, only climbing out of bed to help a dazed, retching Lucy crawl her way to the Bathroom.

All in all, Terry had certainly had worse Halloweens, and as he laid in bed, an adoring woman wrapped around his chest, he couldn't think of anywhere else he'd rather be.

Terry stood on his porch watching the sun melt into the tangerine skyline. The air was chilly, and a light breeze was passing by, yet it didn’t faze him. Instead, he took a deep breath and exhaled, savoring the early evening.

The street was quiet right now, only lonely cars and dried out leaves littered the pavement. Some of them still showed color, a husky scarlet here and a lemon yellow there. But most had devolved to the crinkly brown that made that euphoric crunch when trampled on. Terry enjoyed the quiet as well, it wouldn’t be long now before the sugar fueled horde began their annual prowl. 

Normally Terry would spend Halloween curled up in his den clutching his favorite cross and making sure his salt lines were nice and even. But Mary and Lucy had formed other plans. He had put on a good show when they begged him to indulge in their yearly trickery. He politely declined at first but the look of disappointment on Mare’s pouty face gave him pause.

-------------

“Awe come on now, don’t be batting those sparkling emeralds at me lass.” He had tried to charm.

“Ew.” Lucy had said, hiding her amusement behind a pumpkin spiked cold brew. 

“It’s our first Halloween together and you really want to spend it inside?” Mary pouted. 

“Look, I’m an old man, stuck in my miserable ways. You don’t want me prancing around the town with ya when you’re trying to have a fun night.” He explained. Mary played with her food more than usual, picking apart her jelly donut with deathly pale fingers. Next to her Lucy popped a chocolate munchkin into her mouth. 

“I’ve heard that the elderly can’t even stay awake past six pm, lest they crumple to dust and scatter to the winds.” She said between cocoa flavored bites. Terry shot her a glare from across the wobbly table.

“You’re a grand help.” He grumbled. 

“You’re welcome.” She said with glee. 

“You’re not that old, come on what’s the deal.” Mary snapped.

“Ah-just not a costume guy.” Terry evaded.

“Not what I heard.” Lucy mumbled. Now it was Mary who shot her a death stare and battered her knee under the table. 

“What if we come to your neck of the woods, you can show me around the neighborhood.” Mary offered.

“Wha-dude come on we always marauder around my place; every house has king size.” Lucy whined.

“You’re a grown woman with a pension; you can’t buy your own candy?” Mary retorted. 

“Not the same and you know it.” She folded her arms on her chest. Mary touched Terry’s hand slightly. Her hand was clammy, but her touch was impossibly warm. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun.” she cooed softly. Terry sighed and began to lose himself in her verdant eyes; he folded like a lawn chair soon after that. 

------------------

Terry had not dressed up for the occasion. He wore a simple black fleece that was zipped up to his pearl-white color. His hair was freshly combed; his graying stubble was clean shaven. When he shaved, he had noticed new sprinkles of snow cropping up on his once reddish-black scalp. He had considered hair dye once before but had heard horror stories of it bleeding into the roots; the chemicals rotting the brain from the inside out. He hadn’t survived the terror of his life this long just to be taken out by a bad dye job. 

Terry had always been comfortable with his middle age, until he began dating Mary that is. She wasn’t that much younger, but that blank stare when he talked about his favorite band growing up chilled him to the bone.

Still, they got along fairly well, a mutual disdain for werewolves and a borderline obsession with Star Trek would do that. But they still struggled with small talk. It was part of why Lucy had tagged along their last three dates; the raven-haired firecracker had a knack for pulling conversation out of people. 

The streetlights started to lumber to life, as little monsters began to flood the town. Terry saw packs of them in inspired costumes begin to roam. There were ghosts in homemade sheets, an obscene amount of princesses, teenagers in gaudy rubber masks, and new parents trotting their barely conscious infants around in fuzzy, ill-fitting bumblebee outfits. Terry glanced to his side, the bowl he had put out for the night seemed ill-equipped for these fiends. It would have to do, besides a bowl filled to the brim with snickers should last the night; so long as everyone listened to the "Please Take One" note.

The air began to chill ever so slightly, whisky tinted breath manifested as he exhaled. He slipped his hands into the fleece’s pockets, making sure the contents were secure. His faithful flask, half-drunk but still viable. A small silver cross, assorted vials filled with salt and holy water, and a loaded snub-nose revolver. Some would call him paranoid; Terry preferred the term “overly cautious.” He hadn’t left the safety of his home on All Hallows Eve since he was nineteen years old. Not since the night he-

BEEP-BEEP

A horn broke the sound barrier as a blindingly indigo sports car pulled up in front of his house. Lucy waved at him from the driver’s door as she parked. Mary gave him a sweet smile as she stepped onto the walk. She was all dolled up, going the full nine yards with her costume. She wore black skinny jeans complete with a puffy pearl white blouse. A scarlet corset subdued her already skinny waist, and she wore a harness with outlandish plastic devil wings jutting out the back. Her belt doubled as a tail; a chain leading to a faux golden tip. On her arms were fishnet coverings ending in talons, an exquisitely bejeweled set. She wore a pixie cut with thick horns atop her ginger head. 

As Lucy turned the corner, she did a little twirl revealing her own costume. A velvet cape adorned her body; her face caked in powder that made her hazel eyes seem to glow in the dark. Her outfit made her look like she had stepped out painting straight from the Victorian era. Her puffy lips were a sparkling crimson. In a smile, she revealed two-pointed fangs that hung down from her upper lip. Hanging from her neck was an expensive looking brooch in the shape of a bat. The costumed pair walked right up to his front stoop, as if expecting a round of applause. 

“I must say you ladies look lovely this evening.” Terry admitted. Mary blushed ever so slightly as Lucy snorted with laughter.

“Thank you Terrance, but honestly when don’t we?” She purred. 

“What are you supposed to be? Terry asked, ignoring the bit. 

“I’m a demon-Luce is a vampire.” Mary jerked a thumb at her companion. 

“Get it?” Lucy barked. Even from five feet away he could smell the strawberry daiquiris on her breath. 

“Yes, very clever girls.” Terry grinned. He took a breath and stepped off the porch. On the first step he almost expected the world to explode in spiritual rage. But there was nothing. The air seemed a tad nippier, but he chalked that up to the season. He successfully descended to the pavement, granted it was only three wobbly steps. Mary went in for a hug but Lucy held up a hand, eyeing him up and down. 

“Hold it. Where’s your costume?” She slurred. Terry narrowed his eyes.

“This is it-I’m going as myself.” He beamed. 

“A buzzkill?” Lucy replied. Terry’s jaw clinched and before he could retort further, he felt Mary slip herself into his side. She had a bright smile chiseled on her, and Terry couldn’t help but relent.

“It’s simple, I like it.” She defended as Lucy scoffed. She reached into the passenger seat of her car and started fumbling around for something. The interior of her car was filled with discarded condom wrappers, half empty coffee cups that had deteriorated to sludge, and reeked of wild berries mixed with dry tobacco. After messing around in the back, she let out a delighted squee and slithered out in a half-drunk stupor. In her hands were two burlap sacks with crudely written words in ancient ink. The sacks read “Kandy” in brash lettering that looked like stoned children had drawn them. Knowing these two, Terry wouldn't have been surprised if that was the case. 

Lucy tossed a sack to Mary, who caught it easily. As the sack rustled, Terry heard the clatter of glass bottles. 

“Now then, tonight you join us for an age-old tradition using the sacred bags I made when I was a kid.” Lucy preached, reaching into her clinking bag. She brought out a lukewarm beer and snapped the top off with ease, the hiss of the brew sighing in the breeze. She took a swig, savoring the pumpkin tinted brew Terry's way. He caught in and looked it at it with mild disgust.

"We're gonna get drunk and steal all the candy we can carry." She proclaimed, fishing out another brew. Terry took a sip, almost gagging as he choked down the seasonal flavor. It tasted like fermented gourd drowned in urine with a dash of cinnamon. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Mary down a beer in on gulp, then shatter it to the ground, howling into the night. She grabbed his arm and the trio wandered into the adolescent evening.

Terry's neighborhood like to dress up for Halloween. The street they found themselves raiding looked like they had bought out several Spirit Halloweens. Yards were littered with stiff moving animatronics, and the air was choking with cotton candy scented fog. luminous tombstones jutted out, makeshift graveyards filled with plastic bones and flimsy skeletons. Stakes with tattered and mold adorned relics marked the yards, Styrofoam heads on stakes with putty molded faces forever screaming into the crisp night. Dangling like dead men swinging from the gallows were dozens of makeshift bats and rubber hoses made to look like entrails.

What was more spectacular were the almost ludicrous number of pumpkins planted on ever porch step. Every house had at least one with a carved smile and a radiant glow. Some had upwards of fifteen, like a pumpkin patch had sprung up over night on their front lawns. So many distinct carvings and patterns decorated the orange blighters. Those jagged grins gave Terrance the willies, dimly leering at them as they passed.

The trio had already stopped at a few houses, and the girls had gone through several foul-tasting brews. They had gotten ill looks as they rang the doorbells and whooped and hollered as they swung open. The residents had expected some charming youth horribly botching saying "Trick-or-treat." Instead, they were greeted by two very intoxicated women and a barely sober priest. Lucy would stick out her bag and shrilly cry; “Twick-or-tweat.” Terrance would die a little inside every time. The weary eyed neighbors would reluctantly pass out some bite sized snacks. The costumed pair would gobble them up into their sacks and break out into hushed snickers as they ran off into the night.

Every couple hours they’d down another bottle, or five in Lucy’s case. Terry and Mary would hold hands as they walked around, he would point out some old trees he futzed around with when he was a kid. Lucy walked way out in front, behaving like a wild animal.

Mary was enjoying the fresh air and fresher buzz. More than anything she was just happy Terry went out with them. She had noticed how he caught glimpses of himself at passing mirrors, lingering at the slight wrinkles in his cheeks. All Mary saw was a rugged Irishman who needed to loosen up a bit and stop worrying so much, they were doing great.

They found themselves coming up on a two-story house with brick lining and dozens of jack-o-lanterns covering the front lawn. The lights were on but the blinds were drawn and there were no cars in the long drive. Lucy was stumbling a bit, mumbling to herself as she eyed the front porch. Mare and Tear were chatting as they caught up.

“-My old buddy Marcus Kane used to live in that house, we used to ditch class and sneak beers in the Cheesecake brook.” He laughed to himself, pointing to a vine ensnared house across the way.

“I can’t picture you ditching; it’s like seeing Rocky lose, just inconceivable.” Mary replied.

“Rocky lost in the first movie, love.” Terry stated.

“What? It was a draw.” She shook her head in disbelief.

“Still isn’t a win, innit?” Terry said, the night air mixing well with his somber buzz. “In any case, I was a hellion in my youth. Just one idiotic thing after another.” He flinched as he recalled the last Halloween, he went out. Decades ago, a night of debauchery fueled by delinquency and whisky. Not unlike tonight’s misadventure actually.

Mary laid her head on his shoulders, partly for comfort, partly to support her decaying mobility as the drink set in.

“Sounds like young Terry was something of a wildcard.” She teased.

“He was something alright.” Terry muttered to himself. In his head, flashes of his troublesome mates being brought to their knees by gnarled vines and cackling golems played like old war reels. Even now, he could recall their screams of anguish with vivid perfection. The duo took notice of the absolutely faded Lucy. She was stumbling towards the house of a thousand pumpkins, taking one trip filled step after another.

Lucy's vision was abhorrent, the drink taking much of her senses. Yet at the end of the sightly cracked pavement was an oval orange bowl, filled to the brim with king sized Milky Way bars. Her cotton mouth began to salivate as she pictured silky caramel melting on her tongue. She waltzed towards the candy, arms outstretched like a wandering zombie.

Mary and Terry watched their blitzed cohort go for the gold, mild amusement streaking across their gobs.

"There ya go, she'll be satisfied for the night then." Mary mused.

"If only." Terry grumbled. "I don't think I've ever seen her drink this much." He noted.

"Holidays are-hard for her. Brings back old memories of her mom." Mary gossiped. Terry simply nodded, deciding to leave that expired can of worms closed for the time being. As Lucy giggled to herself with excitement as she closed in on the bowl, Terry peered down the musty road. The wind lightly jogged, kicking up dry leaves as they scattered. The house light further down were dwindling to a dim hue, and trick-or-treaters were retreating to their homesteads to gorge themselves on sugary delights.

He smiled to himself; the twilight of a Halloween eve didn't always mean doom and gloom after all. But as he squinted, sighting a strange glow materialize down the road, he was instantly reminded of his holiday sins.

The glow was of a marmalade hue, ghostly in its movement as it swayed in the air. As it approached the trio, a figure began to take shape behind it. It was cast in shadow, elvish in stature. The silhouette moved with a jig in its step, like a confident dancer strutting their stuff. Terry's heart froze, and a pale sweat began to drip down his brow as he watched the figure approach them.

Lucy had made it to the oval bowl, her drunken odyssey finally complete. It had been a long twenty-five and a half steps to the bowl, but as she looked down at the cocoa coated gold in front of her, she knew it had been worth it. There was a hastily written note tapped to it, a last-minute addition to a last second decision to simply leave a bowl out. In polite lettering, the note read "Please Take One." with a little smile at the end.

She scoffed to herself and grabbed a gluttonous handful of the bars. She had stuffed nearly the whole bowl into her sack and hightailed it out of there like the trashed bandit she was. The figure watched her break that sacred rule and clicked his tongue. He loathed those who mocked the sacred rules of this holiday, corny they may appear it times.

Lucy's heels clicked on the pavement as she broke out in a fit of gassed laughter. Mary joined her but Terry?

Terry stood there, a mortified expression on him, his hand clutching the gun in his pocket as the figure revealed itself to them.

He appeared to them, stepping out of the shadows in a blink. The girls winced at the sudden light glaring from the stranger's lantern. The man was strikingly handsome, had a small button noise and a sharp jawline. He was clean shaven and had piercing brown eyes. He wore an unbuttoned snow-white dress shirt with brown overalls, two straps clinging to his slender shoulders. His ears were almost impish, and his hair was wild and unkempt, the color almost distressingly ginger. He brought the lantern, an old-fashioned lamp with a tiny flame trapped in glass, to his pale face. He smiled, his teeth actually glistening in the timid light. There was an aura of trickery to that grin, lost to all but Terry, still frozen in abject terror.

"Good evening to you fine young lasses, and hello once more to you, Terry my lad." The stranger spoke up, speaking like he strolled straight out of the rocky road to Dublin.

"Oh, is this one of your buddies you were talking about?" Mary asked a little too loud in Terry's ear. He struggled to find the words and cursed himself for not speaking up sooner as Lucy waltzed over to the stranger. She took half a bow, nearly toppling over as she did, and put on her best drunken Dracula voice to greet him.

"Good evening, I vant to suck your blood." She snorted to the unimpressed stranger. He shook his head and turned his attention solely to Terry.

"Oh Terry. Ya haven't learned a thing have ya boyo? Still consorting with wild miscreants who have no respect for tradition." The man's face twisted in annoyance. Lucy looked up, taken back by the stranger's curt response.

"Hey, what's your problem ass-wipe." Lucy slurred. Mary rolled her eyes and tried to pull Mary back. Terry broke out of his fear induced stupor and stepped forward, dragging them both behind him as the stranger looked on.

"We've not trespassed on your laws Jack, they've just had a bit too much of the sauce. You know how it goes." Terry explained as the girls complained behind his back.

"Always were a lousy liar, or did you fail to notice your friend there." He pointed an accusatory finger at Lucy. "She pilfered more than her fair share, blatantly ignored the code of honor." He roared. Terry's blood pressure skyrocket at that accusation and grabbed Lucy by the shoulders.

"You didn't" He shouted, his eyes begging for the truth. Lucy shook off his grasp and twirled her sack around, reveling her prize.

"Yeah, so what?" She turned to Jack, a smug look growing on him. "It's the end of the night, who cares."

"You know in olden times, when they caught a thief, they'd cut her grubby hands clean off." Jack recalled.

"Dude that's a bit much. It's just candy." Mary called out from behind Terry. She nudged him, trying to rile up a defense to this strange man. Instead, Terrance hushed her and put on a brave front as he tried to talk his way out of the wraith's fury.

"Forgive their insolence-" He began

"Wow I'm skinning you later." Lucy interjected.

"-but surely there are worse crimes, her only sin is drunken ignorance." He pleaded. Jack titled his head, mulling that over.

"True enough I suppose. You would know after all." He smiled, malice seeping out of his pores.

"What's he talking about?" Mary whispered. Jack's eyes widened in glee.

"He's never spoken of me? I'm not surprised, though I am a bit hurt. Folks call me Stingy Jack, though I prefer just good old Jack. I'm a wanderer of sorts, keeping people on their toes during this wondrous season." He beamed with pride. Terry gripped the gun in his pocket, the handle bleeding into his skin.

"Stingy Jack?" Lucy laughed. Jack shot her a glance. She was stumbling around, dangerously close to stepping on one of the jack-o-lanterns. "That's the dumbest name I've ever heard, and I know a guy named FurFur." Jack eyed her legs, a deadly twitch to his face.

"Careful now lass, I wouldn't harm them lanterns if I were you." He warned. Terry went pale and looked on in horror as Lucy sneered and dangled a foot over one of them.

"Lucy for Christ's sake don't be an idiot." He shrieked.

"Yeah come on, that's just a dick move." Mary said, embarrassed by her friend's drunken outburst. "Why don't we go home and get some decaf in you." Lucy waved a dismissive hand.

"Oh please, things are just getting fun." She said, her dangling leg crashing down atop a half-mushed pumpkin. The lantern cried out as it crumpled to bits, the light within being snuffed instantly. Shards of pumpkin guts splattered to the stone pavement, seeds raining down like tiny bullets. The sudden quiet that came with that lantern's final gasp could drown a newborn. Lucy put her hand to her mouth in an exaggerated gasp. "Oops." She snickered as Terry brought out his gun. He turned it on Jack, cocking it as he did.

Jack wore a solemn look. Behind him, a thick mist began to roll in. As quickly as it came, it surrounded the group, engulfing them like a hungry wolf. The fog bank danced through the front yard, twirling around the vengeful gourds, their cartoonish expressions looking on at their fallen brethren. Even Lucy was getting a bit weirded out as she stepped back onto the pavement, stumbling to Terry's side. Jack's lantern bloomed, the light within casting an azure glow.

"See I warned you didn't I. That's the problem with you yanks, you don't care for ways of the old world." Jack growled, his voice filling with venom and starch. His glamoured form began to fall apart. His skin became course yet developed a smooth texture. His head convulsed and took on the shape of a misshapen oval. His skin was chalk white, his hair gone from his scalp. His eyes became two hollow holes with a dim earthly glow. His face was featureless save for those two holes, and a slit mouth that looked carved on. What little teeth remained in that slit were like mini square blocks.

All in all, his head looked like a big, skinned turnip.

His body went through a similar metamorphose, a variety of colors and textures spinning around his torso. gnarled roots wrapped around his limbs like tiny spider-webs, the arm holding the lantern becoming a like a clubbed cage. The light within sputtered out in spectral fury, His legs became like trunks; dry bark seemed to root him to the ground, yet he moved freely, dancing a marry dance as he did.

The fog wrapped around everything, seeming to seep out of every stray orifice the phantom had. Jack's hollow eyes regarded the trio like you would a gnat; he cared not for the shaking gun pointed at his produce head.

The girls eyed the swirling fog with unease; it had a stench of rot and sweet squash to it. Terry did well to hide the fear in his weary, pale eyes. But Stingy Jack could see right through the facade. He made an advance, his truck legs uprooting from the ground and lurching forward, emitting a grating noise like a log being sawed in half.

Terry, to his credit, did not hesitate.

BLAM-BLAM-BLAM

The silver-streaked shots flew through the air, Jack's veggie chest burst with droplets of tangerine tinted sap flying outward. Smoke cooly poured through his wounds, which began to close as quickly as they came. Jack chuckled dryly at the attempt, his carved smile not moving one iota.

"Ah Terrance. You can't kill the will of the season any more than you can tame the wind." He spoke. Around them the world began to crawl to life. The ground shifted and shock, infected by the insidious mist. Once dull flames began to roar a deep blue, as the Jack-O-Lanterns began their march. Like wilting arms their withered vines came to animated life, dragging their bulbous gourds up. Their faces locked in eternal carves, some happy, some sporting devilish grins. All the pumpkin golems swayed in the breeze as they got their footing. They looked like stick figures come to life, their bodies composed of twisting roots and frayed leaves.

In the trees, the branches shook with such eager ferocity, their contents spilling out into the night. Cotton bats and plastic ghouls flew off out their wooden shackles, sniggering into the night as they surrounded the trio. They made ghastly sounds that chilled to the bone, their faces frozen but their movement quick and twitchy. A bat flapped its wired wings and screeched at Lucy as she batted it away from her head with a yelp.

"You guys are seeing this shit to, right? Or do I need to cut back on the booze." She hissed at them.

"Both things can be true." Terry mumbled. Soon they were besieged on all sides by twisted ferns and deadly gourds, creatures brought to life solely to maim. ensnaring roots dangled around the girls' legs, coiling around like vipers. They scratched at their chlorophyll chains, and Terry turned to help but felt a foul wooden arm wrap around his neck. With a laugh Jack pulled him back, and as much as Terry struggled, he couldn't escape that legume loving bastard. He could do nothing, but watch as the pumpkin tentacles had their way, entombing the pair in deadly leaves and fondling wire.

Jack leaned his ripe head next to Terry's, reeking like bad soil. He forced his termite ridden arm under Terry's chin, forcing him to watch the pumpkin patch envelop his friends.

"You watch now Terry." Jack crooned in his ear. "Maybe you'll learn this time. Watch my children choke their lungs with rot wood and strip the flesh from their bones." His voice gurgled with sadistic glee.

Lucy and Mary were drunk, their muscles sore and as the vines began to coil around their throats they wished they hadn't drunk so much. Mary's lime eyes flashed with fury, and she opened her jaws. Two long fangs jutted out, and she sunk them into the weeds. They tasted like sour spinach. But she tore through the ragweed with her fangs, her hands becoming hedge clippers as she began to tear away at the winding plants. The plants recoiled, pain a fresh new sensation, and loosened their twisting grasp.

Lucy howled like a rabid baboon as she thrashed against her own plants. Her skin took on a pale blue hue, a common demon complexion. She flexed her arms, and the rope-like vines snapped like they were tissue paper. Her eyes turned cotton candy pink, the pure color of lust. She grabbed hold of the nearest swaying pumpkin golem and began to rip it to shreds. As she turned it to mulch, the ones still struggling to contain the raging succubus retreated.

The pair stood there panting, their costumes ripped slightly, covered in the gutty works of demonic gourds. The horde took a step back, underestimating the monstrous twins. Jack cocked his head, bewildered at the turn of events. Terry took that split second to reach into his fleece and fetch the holy water he had stashed for later. With some sleight of hand, he flicked the cap off and splashed it onto Jack's stone face. Terry scurried over to his friends as Jack screeched like a banshee, the holy water seeping into him. He clawed at his unmoving face, the sacred ointment searing him as he struggled.

"Ah you fecking worthless pile of shite!" He screeched. The whore sneered at them, circling them like furious panthers. The trio stood tall with each other, knowing the coming brawl would be unrelenting. Jack stepped into the mist, giving a melted look at them, chunks of his starchy face peeling to the ground. "Obliterate the lousy cunts." He ordered.

With that the Halloween horrors advanced. With only three bullets left in his gun, Terry stuck to the sidelines throwing salt and holy water at the marauding beasts, careful not to splash any on Lucy and Mary. The vampire and demon went to town on the horde. Their vampiric and hellish powers fully unleashed on the pumpkins. The horde was armed with seasonal fire and thorns, which did not stand the test of a succubus' nails. The animated decorations buzzed around the battlefield like wasps, swooping down to swat the pair with plastic fury. Lucy grabbed a wiry bat; it screeched as it tried to escape her fiery grip. She hissed as she bit into the bat's neck, and with one quick flick of the neck tore it from the body. Fuzz and blood spurted out like a fountain, lucy spat the head to the ground like a quitter.

A golem tried to sneak up on Terry, who twirled around and swiftly blew it's head off. A smidgen of pumpkin meat splattered his chin, the rest fell to the ground in a mushy heap. The blessed salt and water made steaming work of the devilish horde. They cried out in agony as they burned, their mesocarp burned.

Mary was cutting down vine after vine that tried to entangle her, her fangs dripped with sap as she drained the creatures of their lives. The trio was winning, but the horde was never ending, the horrors seeming to spawn out of the fog from thin air. They were battered and bloody, coated in orange entrails. It was only a matter of time before the beats overwhelmed them. All around them they could hear Jack's mocking chortle, and it only hardened their spirits against the tide. Terry turned to his right and saw a golem with a scythe like blade about to strike at Mary.

"Behind you!" He shouted as he pulled the trigger. The pumpkin reaper was blown away, Mary picked up the fallen blade and used it to cleave the oncoming horde. It was a a bloodsoaked harvest. Lucy stumbled, nearly tripping on her fallen sack. She reached into it, grabbing a final warm bear and a candy bar. She snapped the cap off, glaring at a creature coming towards her.

"Swig break." she said, taking a sour gulp of the hooch as she then bashed the half-drunk bottle against the bumpy hide of the pumpkin monster. It shattered, bits of glass sticking into it. She then preceded to drive the broken bottle into the Jack-O-Lanterns head. She collapsed onto its gangly, stick of a body as she smashed it to bits with the broken bottle, the glass starting to cut into her hands as she drove her bloodied instrument into it.

Terry panted, his chest heaving and his lungs about to shrivel and die in his wheezing body.

"We can't beat this; they'll just keep coming. I'm sorry, to the both of you. This is all my fault." Terry moaned.

"Hardly, I'm the messy drunk." Lucy cracked as she tore a giggling sprite out of the sky and hurled it at a lantern at mach-speed.

"No, I can't blame you. I did the same thing myself, egged on by my belligerent pals. I should have told you the real reason I hide inside on Halloween." Terry lamented, using his last bullet to vaporize a swooping bat.

"Don't beat yourself up Tear. We all do stupid shit when we're kids." Mary comforted after draining the sanguine sap from a withering monster. Terry's lips gave way to a weary smile, in spite of the assault. The trio were soon forced into a corner, the fog heavy and the lumbering creatures frothing at the carved mouths. Stingy Jack appeared behind his gang of ghouls, ghostly light brewing in his lantern hand. He watched as the horde surrounded the exhausted trio, if he could smile from that slit he would have. His veggie face had healed yet still bore a black singe from the water. He would enjoy slowly stripping the meat from Terrance, oh yes, he would take such jo-

bong,bong,bong,bong-

A clock tower rang out, midnight. It singled the 1st of November. The fog groaned with each mournful bell, each one a stab in the heart of the mist. The creatures moaned as the Hallowed magic waned, the animated sprites began collapsing to the ground. The golems began to break apart, rotted veggies spilling to the ground, slopping off their stringy stalks in droves. The trio was bewildered, amazed at the prospect of literally being saved by the bell.

Soon enough all that was left of the creatures was a mountain of foul-smelling pumpkin guts, the ground looked like someone had puke an endless supply of pumpkin stew on the ground. As the mist cleared, the night sky came tumbling back into focus, and the crickets resumed their late-night opera. Stingy Jack stepped forward, reverted back to human form, his lantern the normal, dull glow. He regarded the trio with annoyance, then finally shrugged his shoulders.

"Ah well. Can't win them all I suppose. Interesting company you keep these days, Terrance. I'll keep that in mind for next year." He simply stated before walking off into the cool night, melting back into the realm of shadows from whence he came. The danger over with, Terry rubbed his knees and winced, as Lucy began adding her own strawberry flavored vomit to the mix around them. For better or worse, they had won.

The trio trudged back home, completely coated in foul smelling lantern guts. Mary was holding Lucy up, who was the perfect kind of blackout drunk where you can sleepwalk home with your eyes completely shut. She was mumbling to herself, something about her mother tanning her hide for coming home late, and Terry assured her no such thing would happen. They finally got home, finding Terry's bowl of sweats empty and his front porch covered in dried yolks. They collapsed onto his steps, Lucy slouching to the deck out cold. Terry rubbed his aching knees as Mary plopped down next to him, leaning sweetly on his shoulders.

"Bloody knees are killing me." he mumbled.

"Know how ya feel. Think I threw my back out juggling pumpkin men." She laughed. "And that sap isn't gonna set well in the morning." She grimaced.

"Ah you're young, you'll be in top shape in no time." He waved.

"I'm not that spry Terry. And you're not that decrepit." She teased.

"In my glory days, I would have slapped Jack around I tell you that much, would have ran circles around his little pumpkin patch." he boasted.

"You also said you smashed lanterns and were so much of a general prick that it pissed him off to begin with." She noted. Terry sat in silence for a moment, while Lucy loudly snored next to them.

"Well-Young Terry was an asshole." he finally admitted.

"Young Terry sounds like a guy I'd avoid like the plague." Mary said, sinking into him. "I like Old Terry." The pair enjoyed each other in silence for a while longer, enjoying the beautify evening before them. They spent the right of the night with each other, only climbing out of bed to help a dazed, retching Lucy crawl her way to the Bathroom.

All in all, Terry had certainly had worse Halloweens, and as he laid in bed, an adoring woman wrapped around his chest, he couldn't think of anywhere else he'd rather be.

Halfway down the stairs

The decor is gaudy; you always put on airs.

The stair I'm sat at

Still reeks like that long-decayed cat.

I came home early, flowers in hand, fulla joy.

Imagine my surprise when I caught you fiddling the pool boy.

Shock turned to grief, grief to rage.

It was then I decided you’d never reach a ripe old age.

I’m an accountant by trade, my hands soft and wimpy.

As I wrapped them around your tender throat, I admired that sheer dress, so skimpy.

You clawed and tried to scream; your face began to turn a lovely blue.

Your pale eyes filled with crimson, the pool boy scrammed, seemed he could take a clue.

Snippets from the past flashed in my mind, of kinder days where our love was fresh.

An awkward first date, the dance where I swept you off your feet. The night I first savored your sweet flesh.

You could see your demise in my eyes, as yours bulged bloody out of your head.

What little senses remained all screamed with glee that you’d soon be dead.

The rush was orgasmic, seeing the light within shrivel and die

The mist began to disperse, and I huffed and puffed as I looked upon my work, it made me want to cry.

My knees began to wobble, And I worried I might topple.

The sight of your corpse on the bed made me violently ill.

How I made it out of the tainted bedroom without spilling my sick took great skill.

The thrill of the kill had blinded me to the reality of my misdeed.

Soon you’d be discovered, the pool boy escaped before I could make him bleed.

The world around me began to spin and turn. It made my queasy stomach being to churn.

I stumbled down the staircase. I tried to hard not to fall on my face.

Now I sat there, reflecting through tears of regret.

If I hurried, I could escape to Mexico without breaking a sweat.

Then, behind me a creak made me turn. Standing at base was a ghastly phantom.

Its form was familiar but pale, its neck bruised and worn, a face I had once found handsome.

In a blink she was there, that vengeful wench with malice in her gaze.

Before I could utter her name and plead for mercy, I felt her strike me down toward a fiery blaze.

I tumbled down the winding stairs, my body broken and cracked on the floor.

In the distance, sirens came screaming; they’d be too late of course, my condition was poor.

The final view I had was the smirking wraith, shedding faux tears.

She floated there

Halfway down the stairs.

Halfway down the stairs

The decor is gaudy; you always put on airs.

The stair I'm sat at

Still reeks like that long-decayed cat.

I came home early, flowers in hand, fulla joy.

Imagine my surprise when I caught you fiddling the pool boy.

Shock turned to grief, grief to rage.

It was then I decided you’d never reach a ripe old age.

I’m an accountant by trade, my hands soft and wimpy.

As I wrapped them around your tender throat, I admired that sheer dress, so skimpy.

You clawed and tried to scream; your face began to turn a lovely blue.

Your pale eyes filled with crimson, the pool boy scrammed, seemed he could take a clue.

Snippets from the past flashed in my mind, of kinder days where our love was fresh.

An awkward first date, the dance where I swept you off your feet. The night I first savored your sweet flesh.

You could see your demise in my eyes, as yours bulged bloody out of your head.

What little senses remained all screamed with glee that you’d soon be dead.

The rush was orgasmic, seeing the light within shrivel and die

The mist began to disperse, and I huffed and puffed as I looked upon my work, it made me want to cry.

My knees began to wobble, And I worried I might topple.

The sight of your corpse on the bed made me violently ill.

How I made it out of the tainted bedroom without spilling my sick took great skill.

The thrill of the kill had blinded me to the reality of my misdeed.

Soon you’d be discovered, the pool boy escaped before I could make him bleed.

The world around me began to spin and turn. It made my queasy stomach being to churn.

I stumbled down the staircase. I tried to hard not to fall on my face.

Now I sat there, reflecting through tears of regret.

If I hurried, I could escape to Mexico without breaking a sweat.

Then, behind me a creak made me turn. Standing at base was a ghastly phantom.

Its form was familiar but pale, its neck bruised and worn, a face I had once found handsome.

In a blink she was there, that vengeful wench with malice in her gaze.

Before I could utter her name and plead for mercy, I felt her strike me down toward a fiery blaze.

I tumbled down the winding stairs, my body broken and cracked on the floor.

In the distance, sirens came screaming; they’d be too late of course, my condition was poor.

The final view I had was the smirking wraith, shedding faux tears.

She floated there

Halfway down the stairs.

It all started when I was drinking myself silly in the middle of the day. There was a rapid knock upon my door, tiny knuckles rapping in a chaotic rhythm. I lumbered to the door, gut spilling out of my blazer and lukewarm can in hand. The morning sun burned my retina as it swung open.

As I was flash banged, I couldn't tell at first what was at my stoop. Then it cleared its throat, sounding like guttural phlegm being torn from an exhaust port

It was a little goblin creature in a navy-blue suit and matching tie. He was bald, his scalp spotty with blemishes and his eyes a sickly yellow. He smiled a jester's grin and held out a grimy, grease covered paw. Under his other arm was a haphazardly put together cardboard box.

"Good morrow sir, good morrow indeed. You look like your life is plagued by misdeed." The goblin rhymed. I blinked, and stumbled back a bit, frankly unsure if this was real or if I had died from alcohol poisoning and this critter was the last thing my booze-soaked brain was showing me before I drifted off to Hell.

Going along with what I thought was a coma dream, I timidly took its hand and gave it a vigorous shaking. The goblin did a little jig and made this chortling sound. He scurried past me, mysterious box in hand.

"Can I help you man?" I slurred at it. The goblin ignored me and made a face at the grotesque state of my living room. It looked like I had been living in an episode of "Hoarders" for several days. He swept some gunk off my glass end table and plopped the box down with a soft thud. He gently patted the top and gave me a proud look.

"What's in the box?" I asked.

"It seems, good sir, that I have arrived just in time. You've been wallowing away in all this grime." The goblin's voice was high and songy, his accent gave him away as being a limey.

"Come on, what's in the box?" I repeated, annoyance creeping in.

"Relax, let me get into my sales pitch. No need to be a whinny bitch." The goblin rolled its bulbous eyes as it insulted me, pursing its chapped lips at me with this smug attitude.

"Now then-I'm here today to change your life, this box right here contains whatever you want, money, power, maybe even a wife." My ears perked at that last bit and the little creature knew he had me hook line and sinker.

"Turn that frown upside down, with the box you'll be the hit of the town! See it knows you inside and out, if your cold it'll give you cloths if you're hungry it'll whip up a spotted trout!"

"What's the catch?" I narrowed my eyes, studying the box. The cardboard was frayed, moldy and moist. Barely held together by some stripes of blue tape.

"Come now, no catch my good man. If something ill befouls you, why you can always kick me in the can!" He broke out in a giggle fit and a pit formed in my stomach. There was only one thing I wanted, and that box couldn't have it.

The goblin watched remorse form on my face and smiled sadly.

"Ahhh I see your wish, your one regret. The one who got away, that lovely brunette."

"She said she didn't see a future with me; she tore my heart out of my chest and stomped it into little bits!" I ranted and raved.

"All you want is her hand in marriage, to whisk her off in a heavenly carriage." The goblin concurred with my plight. I nodded my head in solemn agreement.

"Fine, I'll take the box if you think it'll help." I fished out my wallet, a wad of crumpled bills in hand. "Will this do?" I meekly asked.

The goblin greedily snatched the bills from my hand and was out the door in a huff, his last words to me were: "Thanks for the quick buck, you schmuck, enjoy the box, or don't, I don't give a fuck!" As he ran out of the house, leaving me with the mystery box.

My heart skipped a beat as I rushed forward, eager to see what joy the box would bring. I was like a kid tearing away wrapping paper on Christmas morning. When I finally pried that tape off, I was hit by a wave of decay as the box opened. The smile dropped from my face, and I flew back from the table, knocking the box to the ground. Its contents tumbled out, almost mocking me.

It was my ex-girlfriend's severed hand, the brass ring still on her bloated finger.

That was a few days ago, and I haven't left my home. I peek out the windows, waiting for the parade of police to come and haul me away. I haven't touched that hand, it clings to the rug, the dry fibers cutting into rotting flesh. It reeks of the river; you can even see tiny bite marks on her fingertips from the fish nibbling on her.

I don't know how that little goblin thing dragged her out of the brine, let alone known what I'd done. A note was slipped under my door, it read:

"Hope you liked what was in the box, sure as hell wasn't socks. Be a shame if anymore turned up, if the fuzz found out your life would blowup. Thousand dollars a week is the price for my silence, you'll do good to keep up your compliance."

I've resigned myself to my fate, it's the least of what I deserve. I never should have opened up that stupid box.

"Fireball!" Todd screamed, his husky voice booming around the cramped desk. He wore a dusty brown robe that smelt like mildew and mountain dew, and atop his messy head was a makeshift cone made out of purple construction paper. He shook his grubby fist and with a graceful flick of his wrist threw the d20s to the table.

They rattled on the board landing on an honest to God Nat 20. The party huddled over them, almost in awe of Todd's destructive stupidity. We were trapped in a bar, only hours into Dave's new campaign. Todd's Lvl twelve wizard Trentor the wise had led us in for a round of mead after slaughtering some goblins. We were mid celebration when a gang of raiders came up to pick a fight.

Dave did a damn fine job as the dungeon master, painting a grim picture of scummy looking men with nothing to lose and everything to prove. Danny, our resident paladin, had attempted to smooth things over in order to circumvent the coming brawl. After all we were a man down with Ben running late, and I was out of spell slots till the next long rest.

"Good sirs, we understand our presence worries you, within good reason. Why just last week I slew a horde of marauding miscreants who looked just like you fellows. Many a men threw themselves upon me and I cleaved them with ease." Sir Daniel the mighty had said. "But we are here in these lands for far more wicked things then you. So, spare yourselves the senseless death and we will be on our way after this round." As far as thinly veiled threats went, it wasn't bad.

Danny was just about to roll to see if it worked when Todd interjected. We all patiently awaited Dave's verdict, anxious to see just how badly Trentor had screwed us. We heard annoyed scribbling and low grumbling as Dave's square glasses and bowl hair peeked out from behind his DM Screen.

". . . The fireball speeds towards the band of raiders, incinerating all in its path. The smell of burnt flesh is overwhelming. It hits a wall, instantly killing a couple seated at a nearby table and a bar maid. The fire quickly spreads; the tavern is ancient and quite flammable. Everyone inside is burned to ash, save Blem who still has her protection of fire spell active." He waved a sympathetic hand towards me as the part table erupted in cheers and jeers.

"Awe come on Dave that's bullshit!" Todd screamed, slamming a fist on the table.

"Maybe if someone didn't have a bloodlust to match his ego, we'd still be among the living." Danny spat smugly. His hair was slicked back, and he had this foul-smelling cologne clinging to him, like cigars dipped in Brandy. A scent he only seemed to wear when he knew I was coming to these. He also wore one of those faux tux t-shirts, faded with age and if one were to look closely, you could count the sweat stains under his arms.

"Oh please, when has Sir Danny ever gotten us out of a brawl with that smarmy mouth of his. A preemptive strike was the best call." Todd's puffy face was red; he pursed his lips in a defensive snarl. From behind his screen, I heard Dave harshly whisper.

"So, you blow up the tavern? Your chain lighting is right there you fucking halfwit." A twitch of a smile formed on my face and I drew Todd's ire.

"What are you grinning about Beth, get outta there and rez us already." He complained.

"Maybe if you ask nicely." I said, rolling my own custom d20s. They felt light in my hands and were of a crystalline azure hue. My Cleric, Blem, had a plethora of resurrection scrolls on hand so I had her hightail it out of the ruins of Torath's Tavern and rez the bickering duo.

". . . Right, the fire killed the informer who was hiding behind the tavern waiting to meet with Kon, and with Benny running late anyway I say we take five." Dave sounded exhausted as he laid his screen down on the table.

"Fine by me. I'm gonna go bother Marcia, see if my weekly pull is in yet." He smirked as he rose from the table, his eyes already lingering to the beyond bored woman working the counter.

"You just wanna leer at her." Danny spoke plain.

"Heh, more like she gets to leer at me, and who can blame her?" He flexed his oddly muscular flab, his tone oozing with so much sleaze I actually vomited in my mouth a little. "Get me when Ben's in, otherwise later nerds." With that he lumbered away from the table and broke out into a wide smile as he approached Marcia's counter.

The game shop was cramped and crowded with rows upon rows of expensive plastic and paints, stacks of games and black-eyed figures that bore holes into the souls of the geeks who bought them in droves. Along the backwall were comics and a trade shelf.

Some lingered, browsing the month's newest issue of Absolute Batman. Danny had already gone over there to skim it, no doubt an excuse to chew my ear off and pretend he wasn't scooting closer to me with each syllable.

We were seated at a gaming table near the front of the store, partially so Dave could keep an eye on the door. It was just the two of us seated at the gray fold out, further back a group was playing something that involved a table length board and next to them was a duo badly playing Yu-Gi-Oh.

I had known Dave for years, we met at gaming club in college. We bonded over a mutual love of DnD and cheesy horror movies. We would spend hours debating which Peter Jackson horror was his best work. I still say Dead Alive.

We kept in touch after graduation and played DnD together about once a month. He ran two games, his passion for being a DM a bright shiny star, one with a pretty cool group of people who I had gotten to know pretty well outside the game.

Today we were playing with the second group.

I still don't know why Dave put up with Todd's loathsome behavior; I asked after the last time when he almost upended the table. He mumbled something about owing his brother a favor and left it at that. Danny was ok when he wasn't carving holes into my chest, nice enough just super cringy around women.

Then there was Ben.

He was a tall, almost skeletal guy. He always wore a coal black trench coat and a patch of scraggly hair on his chin. His eyes were dark and uneven, almost like he was looking in both directions. He had long, bronze hair that was bunched together into a ponytail.

He had this arrogant attitude to him, like he was beneath playing with us. His character, a warlock named Kon, was reserved and liked to watch every encounter from afar, only getting involved when something attacked him directly. He barley spoke to me, and when he did his soft voice would make my skin crawl.

Frankly he gave me the heebie-jeebies, Todd worshiped the ground he walked on. I heard him call Ben a "Sigma male" once and I cringed so hard I almost passed out.

For what it was worth though he treated Todd like dogshit, not even dogshit honestly, he treated him like the last bit of muck you have to scrape off with a nail after you step in it.

He was cordial to Dan and Dave and kept to himself when we went on breaks. He would immediately get up and go to a different table; scroll on his phone and scribble something in this leather-bound journal he carried around in his jacket pocket.

Last time he spoke to me he sounded fired up about something; there was a giddiness to his usual stoic demeanor.

"I finally found it, Bethany." Something about him using my full name made my skin crawl. "It should arrive soon. Then I can show you all what I've been working on." He smiled then, flashing me his damn near perfect teeth.

So, there I was hoping we would just call it a day, and Dave grumbling next to me as he futzed with his notes. He hated when his story would go off the rails, which was often with this group.

"Could just call it, Dave." I hinted. "Ben's gonna be a no show anyway and the store closes in half an hour." Marcia shot me an angered glance as Todd chatted her up. She wore a black T with some graphic on it, and a mismatch sleeve of art on both arms. Todd was oblivious to how much he was pestering her, as per usual. How he didn't have a lifetime ban from this joint is beyond me.

Dave sighed next to me and stared blankly at the papers in front of him. There were saddle bags under his hazel eyes. He always pushed himself when he cooked up a new story. He once confided in me he had wanted to be a great novelist, crafting tome after tome of his fantastic work.

A nice goal if he could pull himself away from the DM screen long enough.

"I'll give it five more minutes. Or until Marcia starts screaming." he cracked.

"Shouldn't be long now." I grinned as I spoke. "We still on for next week with Percy and the rest?" He nodded eagerly.

"Tammy and Abi are good to go, just waiting on a text back from Barb."

"I bet you are." I teased. His face flushed with embarrassment.

"Hey like you're one to talk; "Oh Percy tell me more about accounting, I just find math so riveting." He put on a shrill, mocking tone as I kicked him under the table.

"I can't wait for this campaign to be over honestly. I know you worked hard on it, but Todd's attitude is getting so petty lately." I whispered to him. "Not to mention Danny's cringy ass."

"He keeps asking for your number you know." Dave confided.

"Augh, great, fantastic. Now I gotta have that conversation." I rolled my verdant eyes.

"Which conversation is that?"

"You know the "You're a nice guy but I find you immensely repulsive." conversation." I answered.

"Ah of course, that old chestnut." Dave nodded. "I'm sure he's used to it by now."

"You would think, right?" I laughed. "You see that new Wolf Man?"

"I did, it stank." He grimaced.

"You would say that-" I started, ready to die on that hill.

Ding

The front door opened, from outside we heard the roar of a torrential downpour. Ben stood soaking in the doorway, lightning flashed and a crack of thunder rang out. All eyes in the store turned to him, and he stood there in a moment like he expected a standing ovation.

Todd turned from the counter; a dopy grin plastered on his face.

"Hey FINALLY. Let's get going already." He waltzed over to the door trying to dap up Ben. Ben regarded him with a look of disdain and shoulder checked him, marching right up to our table. In his hand was a package, neatly wrapped in brown paper and yellow string. He gently put it on the table and smiled at us.

"It's here. Now we can begin." He spoke. Dan and Todd joined us, Danny sitting a bit closer than before.

"Nice of you to join us, Ben." Dave remarked.

"I apologize for my tardiness. It took longer to arrive than anticipated. But now we can truly begin." He clasped his hands on the mystery package, his eyes wide and full of manic glee.

"We're a bit into already, we died but then heal slut over there rezed us, and I think Kon needs to talk to some imp or something to get the story moving again." Todd waved a dismissive hand toward me as he rambled on.

"I told you not to call me that, dickweed." I scowled at him as Dave buried his head in his hands from embarrassment.

"What, it's a term of endearment." He scoffed.

"If you're an asshole, sure." I snapped.

"You shouldn't talk girls like that Todd." Danny came to my defense. He shot me a quick glance. "Especially ones as delightful as Beth." He winked and I wanted to die.

"Dude butt out, you're just saying that cause you wanna get in her pants. I'd ease up, else you'll run her off like you did Sandy." Todd chortled as Danny's face turned a shade of red I'd never seen before.

"Would you guys settle down, let's just get through this." Dave ordered.

"Only if Todd apologizes for his misogynistic remark toward Beth." Danny replied, beaming like a white knight in shining armor.

"Oh my god dude enough, I can speak for myself. Todd- You're an asshole and I'm not healing you anymore." I spoke with venom in my voice.

"Pfft, that's fine I got like seven mass healing scrolls. I could solo the red dragon I bet."

"ENOUGH!" Ben shouted, slamming his hands into the desk. We all turned to him, shocked at the display. "Forget the game. It no longer matters." He spoke. I looked at the object in front of him; he had opened it during the argument.

It was a book of some kind, bound in foul smelling brown leather. A crimson pentagram was carved into it, the cuts jagged and raw. It was a large tome; I could see the frayed and yellowed outlines of the pages within. Dave leaned over his DM screen, a curious look in his eyes.

"Ben what is that?" He finally asked for the table.

"It's gone by many names over the centuries. Changed hands often and touched so many souls. It is the book of the damned, bound in the flesh of sinners and inked from the blood of virgins." He explained.

"It was never meant for the world of the living." Dave shot under his breath so only I could hear. I kicked him in the shin and stifled a laugh as Ben went on.

". . . held within these dark pages, are spells and rituals I can use to gain power, real power, and wield it as I see fit." He sounded so serious, he truly believed the madness he was spouting. He could tell from our faces we thought he had lost it, even his lapdog looked concerned.

"Uh-huh. You feeling alright today, Ben? Maybe you should go lie down or something." Todd shifted, not used to feeling ashamed of his idol.

"You sniveling sycophant. Haven't you been listening?" Ben sneered. "With this book I can do anything, be anything. All it requires is a sacrifice." With that he opened the book, revealing strange symbols and an incomprehensible text. He flipped through them, and I saw horrific drawings of strange creatures and diabolical incantations. He stopped at a page and took a deep breath. "This is it."

"Alright, I'm calling it. Ben, this is too weird man go home and call me when you've got your head on straight." Dave started to get up, gathering his things. I stood up to join him as Ben shook his head.

"It's far too late. I am sorry, I did like most of you." There was a sadness in his voice, and he cleared his throat and began to read from the book.

The language he was speaking was alien to me, sounded like a mix of Sumerian and Aramaic. As he spoke the lights began to flicker, and the air turned colder than a witches' teat. Todd grabbed his shoulders and shook him, yelling at him to knock this shit off. Ben brushed him off with a forceful push and Todd fell back, collapsing a shelf and taking a bunch of board games with him.

"Hey, what the fuck are you idiots doing back there?!" Marcia screamed as she rushed over to help Todd up. "Fucking dorks, you're all banned after you clean up this mess."

Ben was ignorant in his surroundings, lost in his terrible incantations. His eyes were rolling into the back of his head, his skin almost translucent with how pale it was. His lips were moving faster than he could speak the longer he went on, his hands gripping the edges of the book and a wave of nonsense spewed from his mouth.

He was speaking the language of the damned, evil flowing through every syllable. His voice stuck in my head, those damned words like worms wriggling around in my grey matter. I clenched my head, a piercing shriek ringing out from somewhere beyond as all the lights in the building burnt out at once.

With that, the room erupted into chaos. Ben fell forward, his head slumping to the desk as the book fell from his grip. One of the patrons pursuing the comics sprinted to the front door, it refused to budge. The card players in the back were accusing each other of cheating and refusing to yield.

Marcia pulled Todd to his feet, and he look humbled to say the least.

"T-thanks, Marcia." He mumbled.

"Don't mention it." She said as she pushed past him to check on the now comatose Ben. "Did he take something? Does he have any allergies, what?" She said, checking his pulse.

"I-I-I-" Dave sputtered like a broken record. Danny sat in his chair, trembling and twiddling his thumbs. I rushed next to Ben, throwing that flesh bound novel to the ground.

"No, I don't think he took anything. He mentioned something about shellfish once but, no. He was talking crazy." I explained to Marcia.

"It sounds like he had a seizure or something, call 9-1-1." Marica barely looked at me as she attended her fallen patron. I got my phone out and was met with a blank screen. It was completely dead. Dave saw and fumbled for his, only to find another brick. Marcia narrowed her eyes as the room was suddenly bathed in a dull, crimson glow.

"The emergency lights finally came on, alright stay with him I'm gonna check the land line." She said as she rushed back behind the counter. Outside the storm raged, a cloak of rain blocked the window, could barely see an inch into the parking lot. I touched Ben's back, he felt cold and I don't think he was breathing. I turned to see Marcia cursing at the landline, the cord coiled around her arm. Dave came up behind me and touched my shoulder.

"Why don't you go see what's wrong with the phone. I'll stay with Ben." He looked nervous, so unsure of himself.

"Ok. I'll yell if anything comes up."

"I'm sorry Beth. This is all fucked up." He laughed.

"It'll be ok. We'll get out of here and Ben can get some help. It'll all be fine." I reassured. With that I left him there and walked up to the counter. From the front of the store two people were banging on the glass door and swearing they'd sue. Marcia looked frazzled but determined, slamming pointed fingers into the receiver. I could hear the dial tone from where I was standing.

"Doesn't make any sense, doors jammed, phone's dead. Lights are on, there's power." She was mumbling aloud.

"Is there another way out of there, I don't-I don't think Ben is breathing." I whispered, barely believing the words I was saying. Marcia leaned in like we were spies deep undercover.

"That dude is dead. No pulse, no response whatsoever. Skin is ice cold and he's already starting to get stiff. It's like he walked in here dead." There was a calm panic in her voice that I found oddly soothing.

"Are you sure?" I whispered, horrified at the realization.

"I'm an ARPN in training, I'm sorry but your friend is dead." She shook her head.

That was when we all heard the snap.

We turned and saw Ben standing up right, his face contorted with rage. His eyes looked hollow and pale, a vicious black fluid running down his snarled lips. He was holding Dave's shoulder, his grip digging in, with his right hand. In his left was the base of Dave's skull.

I hope he was dead instantly, that those twitches on his cheek were nothing more than basic instinct, the last spasms of sudden brain death. Blood trickled from his nose onto the back of his shirt, his lips quivered and his eyes were bloodshot. His glasses fell to the ground, shattering as they did. The skin around his neck was twisted, like a turtle head poking out of its shell.

From the back the card players and the board game geeks jumped up in terror and screamed like banshees. Ben ignored them, looking right at me with his hideous visage. He grabbed a handful of Dave's hair and pulled upward. I could hear this pulpy tear as he tore his head off. A gusher of blood came forth, painting the ceiling red and coating the onlookers in droplets of what used to be my friend.

Dave's body crumpled to the ground like used tissue paper, still twitching and bubbling with blood. Ben held the head up high like a trophy, bathing in the gore and drinking what fell, lapping up the viscera like a dog would water.

All hell broke loose then. A crowd of people stormed past Ben, who stood there giggling as he watched the chaos. There were seven or eight people banging on the glass, trying to break out, but it refused to budge or even scratch. The glass windows rattled and shook as the mob clawed at it, screaming and swearing at each other as they cried for help.

I was too stunned to even process what I had just witnessed. Ben reviled in the misery he had caused, and floated upward, the tips of his feet dragging on the ground. Danny scrambled away like a frightened rodent, while Todd charged at the demonic Ben. Ben smacked him back and he flew into a rack of vinyl bobble heads.

He was crushed by a mountain of the caged things, and he batted them off with a roar, throwing a few at Ben. He clawed to his feet to confront the monster once more, only to be pierced in the stomach.

Ben had grabbed a foot long Superman statue and rammed it into Todd's belly. Todd clenched his stomach and roared with pain as Ben gleefully twisted the statue, blood spurted from the wound like a broken fountain. Ben was laughing all the while, this hellish chortle that danced in my brain, I swear I could hear it echoing across the walls.

The walls were bleeding; voices were laughing at me telling me to give up and burn. The room was a whirlwind of chaotic energy, things flew to the ground, the emergency lights bellowed and the room roared with evil. Todd collapsed to the ground, scooting away from Ben as he grasped the statue in his gutty works. It was deep inside his intestines; I could only see the ruby red boots and a bit of the cape sticking out.

The demonic Ben then turned his attention to the mob trying to escape. He flew over to them and grabbed the nearest one, sinking his teeth into the back of their head. Even over the screams I could hear the crunch and this horrid slurping noise as he feasted. He tore the shirt from his victims back and stripped the flesh from it, like it was a baking sheet being torn from the pan.

He clawed into the exposed muscle and tendon, tearing chunks of meat and tossing it at the crowd. The mob were trampling over each other trying to get away, as Ben savored the carnage.

It was all I could do to just witness this brutality. I felt something tug at my arm and I flinched and wound up my arm to back hand the threat. I was met with Marcia's fear-stricken visage.

"Come on, we're barricading the manager's office." She urged. I noticed Todd groaning and leaning on her, his hand damp and his usually rosy cheeks pale as all hell.

"Wha-what about-" I tried to speak up for the doomed crowd, but she shook her head.

"They're dead already." With that she grabbed my hand and dragged us both to the manager's office. It was a barely noticeable door next to the counter that had a small sign that read "No Entry" She kicked it open, and as she did a bloodied ribcage came sprawling into view. It smashed into meaty pieces as what little skin was their clung to the wall like glue. I gave one last look at Ben, floating there with severed parts in hand.

"Don't go Bethany. We still have so much fun to share." He giggled as he tosses a severed arm at us. The door closed in my face, and I heard it thump against it and fall to the ground. Ben turned his attention to the remaining patrons as I helped Marcia shove a chair under the handle. It was all we could do, as the screams slowly began to die down, and all that remained was the battering of rain and the chewing of flesh.

---------

We found Danny hiding behind the manager's desk, he was in a fetal position muttering something about this being a nightmare. We left him there to cower. The office was small; we were cramped in with a desk, a chair and a bunch of metal cabinets and Knick knacks. The walls had a few posters on them, a couple signed by some artist's barely legible scribble.

There was also a private bathroom that Marcia was rummaging through, looking for any sort of first aid kit for Todd. He was slouched against a wall, mumbling to himself while I applied pressure to the wound. I think that's what I was supposed to do, we tried getting the statue out of him, but he just kept screaming, then Marcia said something about always leaving the foreign object in when it involves impalement.

I placed a hand against his forehead, it was clammy and he gave me a side-eye. We both heard Marcia swear and throw things out of the bathroom sink cabinet. From outside we could hear weird bumps and groans, fits of heinous laughter and things crashing. The demonic shenanigans weren't limited to the storeroom, the walls in here were streaking red, and the toilet lid kept catcalling us, the lid flapping and clanging against the rim.

"Beth. . . I'm dying, every time I shift, I can feel it, the stupid thing shredded me." Todd proclaimed.

"Try not to speak. Marcia will find something to patch you up." I evaded the truth as best I could, giving a gentle pat on his shoulder. As I said that, a tool kit came crashing into the office, spilling its contents all over the floor.

"There's nothing fucking here!" Marcia yelled. "I told Jeremey to get one, but does he ever listen to me? Figures the one day he isn't here this happens; wish it was him about to get gorged to death by demons." She came out of the bathroom with her arms folded, a stern look her face. She softened when she saw how bad Todd was getting.

She knelt down beside him, concern growing with every second.

"He'll be dead soon; his soul will rot with the rest of us." The toilet bubbled and shook.

"I botched it, I fucked up my life. I'm sorry Beth, Marcia, I shouldn't have been such a prick." Todd winced as he barred his soul.

"Todd its ok. You're gonna-" I trailed off, my eyes darting to his wound. The statue had sunk slightly, making the tear in his flesh sag ever so slightly. The wound was turning black from exposure, a hint of flayed intestine sticking out.

"It's ok." he slurred. " You guys, you guys gotta get out here." He pointed a bloodied hand at the tools on the floor. There was a claw hammer, a few screwdrivers, a staple gun, and a old fashioned steel wrench.

"This isn't a movie, we can't go out there swinging with tools, we'll get slaughtered." Marcia protested.

"Distraction." Todd mumbled, thumbing himself.

"Todd. . ." Marcia started, until something wet slapped her leg. Her eyes went wide and she looked down to see a long arm made of bathroom refuse had materialized inside the toilet. She opened her mouth to scream but hasped at the feces hand grabbed her thigh and started to drag her towards the toilet. The lid was clanging like mad, a rapid boom that sounded like a shotgun blast. The stench of the thing was foul, it was clumpy like clay and all shades of brown and low green, bits of dried paper stuck to it, yellow and crusty and clinging to the stinky appendage like, well like flies to shit.

Marcia clawed at the ground, kicking the thing with her boot as it dragged her, all the while the toilet demon mocked her.

"Come on then, you pretty thing. I got something to show in you in here. Come take a dip. all it'll cost is your dainty little soul." The demon's voice was gruff and cruel, and it took me a moment, but I snapped into action. I snatched the wrench off the floor and rushed over. I raised the wrench high above my head and started bashing the arm. It flinched with every hit, but its grip held fast.

Every strike chipped more and more of its shit flesh away; I was being showered with moist splinters as I hacked away with my tool. With one powerful strike I mushed it right down the middle and tore into it with my bare hands. There was a sound like Velcro being stripped, and Marcia was free. The hand let go, twitching on the ground and flopping like a fish out of water. What was left of the crap tendril slithered back into the toilet.

"Augh you fucking bitch, I'll devour your heart and shit you out just to do it again!" It barked at us.

"What a potty mouth." Marcia mumbled as she collapsed onto the ground, her breath ragged and weary. She kicked the still flopping claw away from her as I looked at my hands. They were caked in filth, and I felt queasy just looking at 'em. There was no kidding ourselves, we had to escape- or die trying.

--------------

The plan was simple. We would wheel Todd out in the chair, and he'd get Ben's attention, while Marcia and I bashed our way through the storefront with our tools. We wouldn't leave him totally at the mercy of Ben, Todd had one last trick his sleeve. Danny overheard us plotting our escape, meekly watching us from his hidey hole. As we got ready to go, he leapt out, a wild look in his eyes. I think he was gonna try and book it the second we opened the door.

We let him hide, if he was in front, he'd just be in our way. The door clicked open and we were met with the crimson hue of the storeroom. The ground was covered in splatter and gore, the stands and shelves smashed to bits. A giant pile of vinyl figures, a mountainous monument to consumerism, lay in the center of the room. All the tables were overturned and most of the bodies little more than bits and pieces.

It was oddly quiet, the only sound the squeak of the office chair we were rolling. From behind we heard Danny start to hyperventilate as he got a better look at everything. Marcia turned to shush him when he just went nuts.

"Fuck it!" He shouted as he pushed past us, nearly knocking Todd out of his chair. He scrambled to the front door, feet splashing in the puddles of blood left behind from the former patrons. Before he could get to the door a corpse jumped out at him.

It was flayed, the muscles still raw and glistening in the dim hue of the lights. It's lower jaw was hanging by a single thread, its upper teeth sharped and jagged like a goblin shark. Its eyes were wild and hollow, cloudy voids I'd say. It made a gurgled choke, I could see what was left of its vocal cords struggled to stir, and it pounced on Danny, who was flailing his arms in such a manner one could call it trying to fight back.

"Please, come on, this isn't you, you don't have to do this. We can get you help, just, just let us pass." He pleaded with the demon, his voice a pathetic whisper. The demon did not care for his pleas and started digging into his chest. Half-Jaws claws were pointed bones, efficient at stripped away flesh as it dug, I could hear ribs snap and organs shred as a dark fluid jutted from his chest. It was fast, like sticking a blender in there and pressing "puree" Dan's cries became dying moans, which quickly became silence as he slumped over.

I heard a triumphant gurgle and meat being cinched in a vice, as Half-Jaw raised Dan's heart and attempted to take a bite out of it.

While that was happening, something scurried under our feet, nipping at our heels. It was those damned black eyed bobble heads, animated and deranged. They moved like puppets, stiff movements and jerky growls, they were fast little buggers. With a growl I smashed a few with my wrench, they exploded into red mists of pop vinyl. Marcia and I were swatting at the swarming creatures, but they just kept coming.

The floor was awash with the vinyls of the damned. They kept swiping at us, tearing our pants and scarping our ankles. Todd cried out, struggling to fight off the little critters gnawing on his shins. Marcia swept them off, streaks of red and gnawed meat coating his legs, I swear I could even see part of his shin poking out.

A roar from behind and Half-Jaw was upon us. I took a swing and hit him square in the face. His lower jaw flew to the side and shattered, the beast was stunned. I took another strike and hit it so hard in the scalp it popped out one of his eyes. It shot towards me like a missile, hitting me in the cheek. I yelped and stomped on it, vaporizing it into a mess of jellied pus.

Half-Jaw, or I guess no jaw now, screamed, his cords vibrating and making this sing songy noise, a sort of deep guttural rage known only by the dead. I wound up my arm and bashed it right in the throat. I heard a sickening squelch and it collapsed, sputtering and choking. I just kept hitting it then, splitting open its skull until it was nothing but paste beneath my wrench.

I was lost in the sauce at that moment, hand shaking, yet craving more. I looked down at the still twitching corpse, what was left its tongue flapping in the breeze, a half-crushed eye tumbling in its own gore, it was horrid to look at but I just couldn't look away.

"Beth watch out!" Marcia warned, and I looked up to see Ben dangling from the ceiling. He was smiling at me, Dave's head in his hand. He dropped it without warning, and I caught almost by instinct. The wrench clattered to the ground as I held my dead friend.

Then his eyes opened, and he gave me a glass-eyed smirk.

"Hey Beth. Wanna grab a bite?" he asked. Before I could answer he lunged at me, sinking his teeth in the flesh between my thumb and finger. I tried prying the cackling head off my hand, but it just wouldn't budge. I slammed it into a fallen table, and it just went deeper, dagger-like teeth cutting me to ribbons.

Ben floated down from the ceiling, descending down like a marionette on a puppeteer's strings. Marcia was cutting down more vinyl imps and didn't notice Ben looming. She pushed Todd's chair back, saving him from the onslaught of imps. He was barely conscious in his chair, blood seeping from his lips. Marcia turned to face a grinning Ben who took a swipe at her. She dodged it and narrowed her face at the demon. Acidic drool was pooling in his mouth, and he pointed a clawed hand at her.

"I'll swallow your soul." He cried.

"Real original." Marcia snapped as she roared and jabbed a screwdriver into his eye. Ben howled in agony as Marcia grunted and twisted that flathead deeper into his skull. Ben retaliated quickly, grabbing her by the back of her curly black hair and started squeezing. I wasn't sure what he was doing at first, until I heard Marcia cry and noticed her scalp stretch and start to tear.

The skin on her head was slow to flay, each strand of hair popping as Ben pulled, each tug taking more flesh with it. It was like watching a band aid get methodically removed. I glanced at my trembling hand, Dave's head still feasting. I brought it down to the slick ground and placed my foot on it. With all my strength I tore my hand from his mouth, a string of meat still caught on his fangs.

I stumbled then and my foot caved in his skull; it crumpled like a rotten cassava melon under my heel. I was left standing in a goopy mess, now free to help Marcia.

Todd was being overwhelmed by the impish horde, I yelled out to him, but he couldn't hear me. I rushed Ben and started clawing at his shoulder. My nails cut deep into him, tiny scratch marks that oozed an inky fluid. He didn't even look at me; he just swatted me away and I flew back. I watched in horror as the top of Marcia's skull was now a wet, hairy flap of skin, and he was still going strong. Ben regarded me then; the screwdriver still stuck in his eye.

"Watch closely Bethany." His mouth watered as he lunged to take a bite from her skull.

"BEN!" A voice cried. Ben paused, curious at Todd's survival. He threw Marcia aside, who crawled towards me cradling her head. The impish horde were devouring Todd, giggling as they bleed him by death from a thousand bites. But they overlooked what he was holding in his hands.

A can of raid and a lighter.

"Fireball." He uttered with his last breath.

The lighter clicked to life and a burst of flame came forth. The heat was immense; I shielded my eyes. Ben and Todd were engulfed, the smell of burning vinyl hounded me as the imps dropped like flies. Ben was making an unholy noise, like a demon caught in childbirth. He was flailing around, completely ablaze. The storeroom quickly caught fire as he tried to put himself out, rolling on the ground in a desperate bid to save himself.

We hurried to our feet, Marcia leaning on my shoulder. The entrance was only a few measly feet away, but we were battered beyond belief. Behind us Ben kept hollering, his skin slopping off in droves, each layer charred beyond repair. We heard this popping sound as his skin fizzled, like popcorn going off.

We reached the front entranced, and with adrenalin pumping through my veins I tore through it with that damn wrench. The glass shattered as smoke began to envelope us, we cut our knees crawling through the door. The storm was still raging but the fires within could not be quelled. We crawled onto the pavement, chests heaving as we looked back as the game shop go up in flames.

The smell of death and crispy flesh began to wash over us, the rain doing little to cleanse it. In the distance sirens wailed, and I prayed the place would crumble to ash before they arrived.

--------

That was all a couple weeks ago now. When the authorities arrived, they found us huddled together in the rain half dead. They couldn't save the store, and I was overjoyed at that. They pulled a few bodies out of the rubble, charred mummies they looked like.

One had a screwdriver lodged in its skull.

Whatever black magic Ben had invoked was banished by flame, and I spit on his grave and hope the bastard is rotting wherever he is now. Marcia is still in intensive care, but the doctors say she will pull through. I didn't leave her bedside the first few days I felt so guilty. Questions were asked and I had no answers to give that wouldn't make me sound like a raving loon.

My guess is they'll call it a tragedy and chalk it up to faulty wiring.

My hand itches something fierce through the bandages, I can see tiny black veins cropping up from the wound.

Sometimes I wake up drenched in sweat, nightmares about joining the ranks of the damned.

It doesn't help that the fire marshals left me with something.

The only thing found intact in the rubble.

A strange looking book bound in leather.

When they showed it to me, I quickly snatched it and said it was a family heirloom. I got a weird look but whatever, as long as they don't mess with it.

It's safe with me, I intend to keep the blasted thing locked up in a trunk under the floorboards. Sometimes- sometimes I swear I hear it call out to me, begging for a read. I'd never do that of course, I don't even want to think about it.

I've never use it.

No matter how much my hand itches.

The van tumbled through the dirt path, bits of shrapnel shooting out in all directions as it stumbled down the way. The backseat of the tumbler buckled, and a weak groan escaped the passenger's saggy lips. Ted looked behind him, his eyes bulging out of their sockets, a thin red line streaking from his nostrils.

"HEY! Quiet down back there Kyle. We're almost there." He sneered at him before turning his fleeting attention back to the road. He felt himself coming down so he took another bump and turned up the AC/DC as he started screeching the lyrics to "Highway to Hell." The auburn-haired woman in the front seat, whose name was something stupid like Becky English or something like that, began bobbing her head to the beat.

Besides Kyle sat the enigmatic Kay, from that one story with the woman trapped in the room. I realize of course that wasn't her name but frankly, that story was a putrid tumor and I don't want to look up what it really was.

She sat with her head in her knees, her wavy blond hair dancing in the non-existent breeze. If Kyle had any higher brain function left, he might have thought she was beautiful.

Kyle was slouched in his car seat, a bit of drool falling from his lips. His eyes were glazed over, and his hair was stringy and matted at the same time. His legs were broken twigs, withered away from years of atrophy. In the back his eclectic wheelchair bounced against the shoddy van walls.

Kyle Borrasca had been a limp mute in that chair for years, until one day Ted scooped him up in his "Caper Crusader" to drive around the coast solving ghosts. Does this set up make any sense? No, not in the slightest.

Anyway, the crew was driving down that lonely dirt road in the middle of the dank, dark woods. Barren trees rose in the air, their branches twisting and curling like monstrous claws. Above them was the pregnant full moon, radiant in its pregnant beauty, it glowed and shone down on the crew.

Ted squinted, and in his drug fueled haze he could make out the silhouette of the dissolute manor in the distance. He smiled and began to explain in meticulous detail the lore of their new case.

"Alright crew listen up. As you already know, we're going to that haunted manor that's located in these cursed woods that also happens to be built atop an ancient Indian burial ground on Friday the 13th. Long story short Old Man Hancock built the place in the spring of 1892 until his tragic and mysterious demise seconds later. Old Man Hancock Jr took residence not long after and reported all sorts of spooky things like ghostly moaning, chain rattling, and bedroom headboard banging. Long story short Old Man Hancock Jr went mad and had to be put down like a dirty old dawg and the place was in ruins for decades after."

"That was until recently, when Old Man Hancock III took over the estate. Long story sort he's been trying for years to dispel the rumors that the place is cursed, trying to turn it into a bed and breakfast. Unfortunately, the hauntings have persisted. In fact, one might say they've worsened. I'm talking gruesome beheadings, live vivisections by bug-eyed little grey men, random acts of sodomy. You know really weird and spooky shit. And as you all know guys, we're the ones to call when shit gets spooky." Ted then finished up his spiel by looking directly at you the reader and winking, his luscious lips puckering as he did. "Yeah, you like that reference don't you, you little Creep Cast groupie you." He moaned.

Becky Manchester-by-the-sea giggled at Ted, and the van came to a grinding halt. Kyle lurched forward, gurgling and bobbing his half-broken neck as he did. Ted pointed at the loaming structure in front of them, eerie yellow glows sprouting from broken windows. The mansion looked like it was ripped from a 60's era Hanna-Barbara cartoon about a talking dog that went around solving mysteries. It even had those weird gothic spires and bats looping around them chasing gnats.

The van idled in front of a rusty gate, a skinny caretaker lingering out front. He was skin and bones, his head bleached and balding. He gave a timid wave at the van, and Ted stepped out. Kyle awaited the wheelchair ramp to bring him down to the dirt, his mouth gaped as he blinked at the moonlight around him. Ted was talking up a coke fueled storm with the caretaker, who regarded him with contempt. The wheelchair clumped to the ground, and he felt Kay grip the back and give him a polite push to get him going. It was an electric wheelchair, and Kyle had just enough fine motor control with his frayed digits to work the shaft.

He also had a little copper bell on the other handle, railing? I don't know what those little bar things on wheelchairs are called. Anyway, he had a little copper bell on the other one; kinda like that old cartel guy that turned Giancarlo Espósito into Two-Face in Season 4, Episode 13 of Breaking Bad.

Kyle rolled forward, the monotonous electronic roar of his wheelchair filling the night air. The wheels struggled against the muck, but they got the job done, they were built tough. Ford tough. Kyle eyed the structure; the caretaker opened the Rusty gate. Something in Kyle's half dead heart stirred. It was at this moment he felt a feeling; a sort of tingly feeling that made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. The sort of feeling that made him swell and want to explode and share that feeling with everyone around him.

It made him feel like his entire life was leading to this moment. As he gazed upon the haunted mansion shrouded in cursed darkness, he knew it was his destiny. He rang his little bell in excitement as he began to roll up the hill to the haunted manor located onto of the Indian burial ground, that was also cursed by a shaman witch doctor and blessed by a satanic priest on June 6th, 2006. On today of all days, Friday the 13th.

----------

The clue crew wandered up the stony path to the main house, the only sound the whirr of Kyle's chair. In the distance an owl hooted, which contradicts what I just said about the only sound being the chair, but who gives a fuck. The manor was newly remolded, a fresh coat of faded verdant and lime greens covering the wooden firetrap. The crew hoisted Kyle up onto the front deck, Kyle rang his bell the whole time trying to convey who excited he was. Each ring was like getting fucked in the ear canal with a rusty blade. They dropped him down with a mighty plop and the front door creaked open. A smell wafted out of there then, like a freshly cut fart. Ted and Becky London wrinkled their noses at it while Kay tried not to gag. The smell didn't phase Kyle, because his nostrils simply didn't work anymore.

His time in Borrasca took more than his legs, it also took his sense of smell. Which unfortunately didn't heighten the others, actually his hearing was starting to go as well, and his vision had always sucked ass. Least he could taste, well he could but then he got COVID and he still hadn't quite regained that yet. But none of that deterred Kyle. He pushed forward, slipping into the inviting darkness of the spooky manor.

"Alright led the way I guess." Ted grumbled, not used to being a follower. He always considered himself an Alpha, and Kyle barely a Gamma, let alone a Beta. Little did he know that Kyle was actually a sigma, who cared not what Ted thought as long as he could bust a ghost.

The interior of the manor was wide, like it was a big open space. Ancient paintings of chubby men in colonial attire adorned the walls. There was no ramp or anything to go upstairs, so the crew was forced to hang out downstairs; something they heavily resented Kyle for.

This didn't bother Kyle, who mindlessly explored the big open space. He was looking for clues, ringing his bell in rapid succession which translated to "Let's split up and look for clues gang!"

"Alright you heard him. Kay, you stay here and look busy, Becky Double Decker Bus and I will slip into the den and GET busy." He winked at Becky Beans On White Bread who blushed and batted her eyelashes at the hunk of man. The pair slithered off into the den to do it like they do on the Discovery channel which left Kay to wander around the room while Kyle searched for clues.

Kay admired the way Kyle persisted despite his crippling crippledness. Despite being stuck in that chair, and mute, and virtually brain dead, he was kinda cute. Kay walked over to him, and he began excitedly ringing the bell. The ringing translated to: "Look at this document I found, it proves that Old Man Hancock Jr faked his death and this place has been cooking the books for years!" Kay nodded and sat on his lap, tussling his hair.

"Yeah, I agree Kyle, this place is really spooky." She leaned into him and shivered for effect. Kyle grunted, his eyes darting to the smoking gun just lying on the ground that blew the whole conspiracy wide open. Above them the upstairs hall creaked and moaned. Or maybe that was Ted thrusting away in the den. Kay sighed and looked into his distant blue eyes. What secrets did they hold? Did they hold the key to his soul? They had certainly captured the lock and key to her heart. She leaned deeper into him, wrapping her model like arms around him.

"Oh Kyle. I wish you could walk. That way you could carry me away from all this, just whisk me off to some tropical beach." She sighed, her boobs bobbing boobily up and down as she fantasized about her crush taking her away. The wheelchair stopped in its tracks, the motor coming to a dead stop, Kyle gulped and stopped moving. He began ringing the bell, a rapid taptaptap filled the big room. It roughly translated to: "I'm very flattered Kay but I am more into girls that look like they could be my sister."

"Oh I knew you felt the same Kyle, you've always been so mysterious and special, you're the single most important character in the universe. I just feel like you and I were destined to be here in this haunted manor that is located in the cursed woods that was also built atop the Indian burial ground on today, Friday The 13th." she cooed as she leaned in and have him a wet sloppy kiss on the cheek. The ringing stopped as Kyle began to feel that feeling again, that certain throbbing feeling, that swelling, aching feeling, the feeling was so large he could pitch a tent with it. Before he could ring her bell, they both jumped at a distant noise.

It was a low thrumming coming from the den. It was the distant but iconic sound of a wheelchair motor. Kay's eyes winded in horror.

"But, but you're the only one here in a wheelchair Kyle, who could that be?" She sputtered in disbelief as the mystery motor rattled ever closer. Around the corner Ted and Becky Mr. Bean tumbled back into the big room, barely clothed and wearing their knickers on the outside.

"What's going on out here, I was so close to busting a clue." Ted whined. "Kyle shut that infernal thing down I can't hear myself think." He roared.

"It's not him. It's c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-oming from over there!" Kay sputtered and pointed at the room where the noise was coming from. A seated shadow loomed in the dark, an aura of menace and evil coming off in radiating waves that pulsated and enhanced just how evil and spooky the shadow was, the crew was literally pissing and shitting and cumming in their pants from just how jaw droppingly spooky that shadow was.

Then the shadow came into view, and the mystery villain pulled from the Creep Cast mythos came into focus. It was the rotting, skeletal corpse of a shriveled up, babbling old man. In his lap was a stuffed dog and a hunting rifle that was both bolt action and had an AK-47 mag in it. His scalp was all fucked up and rotting, bits of brain matter dripped to the floor, and he looked absolutely disgusting and heinous like most old people.

The crew gasped in shock and knee buckling terror at the sight of the old man in the wheelchair.

"It's the Ghost of OLD MAN HANCOCK!" Screeched Ted. "Holy fucking ass crackers guys lets skedaddle the fuck outta here." With that the crew geared up for a hectic chase scene that would have repeating backdrops to save money and some upbeat song that's mostly "La-la-la-chachaha" or some such nonsense. The ghost of Old Man Hancock did not give them a chance, however.

Almost on instinct, at the sight of the group of meddling middle-aged adults, he opened fire on them. The blast tore through Becky Running The Joke Into The Ground. She crumpled to the floor like a wad of used and runny tissue paper. Ted cried out like a little bitch and burst into tears. He grabbed hold of her limp hand and examined the damage. The bullet had torn right into her gutty works, which is ironic because that's exactly what Ted had been doing earlier. He reached his hand into the gapping mound of entrails and tried to stuff them back in.

"Oh God, Oh Jesus Christ our lord and savior oh it'll be ok, don't go into the light stay here, oh no, oh man oh god oh man oh god." Ted wept. "Somebody do something, I can't hit a guy in a wheelchair we're so fucked." The evil whirr of the ghost of Old Man Hancock came to life as he approached, cocking his gun and giving an evil chuckle that sounded kinda like Jabba The Hut's iconic laugh.

Kyle's eyes lit up, this was his chance. His own chair whirred to life and he met the old man face on. It was like an old Western standoff, with the hot blonde Kay standing to the side cheering her man on. It was Kyle's time to shine, he was the alpha now, that's the crux of his super complex character arc, he's the chosen one, he's the hero. Do you get it???

Anyway, as the hero and villain of the story stared each other down Kyle began giving this major heroic speech using the bell. The room became covered with passionate dings and rings as he gave this long-winded speech about good and evil and causality and philosophy and to make a long story short, we can translate what he said as "1v1 me pussy do it no balls."

The ghost of Old Man Hancock nodded and threw his iconic bolt action rifle with the mag clip in it to the ground.

"Like men of honor then." he rasped. With that the pair charged towards each other in an epic battle of good and evil. They smashed into each other, each motor cutting in and out as they locked wheels. The ghost of Old Man Hancock struggled the clattering of metal clashing against metal making metaphorical sparks fly. Kay gasped as she watched the epic struggle of two guys in wheelchairs hash it out. Kyle gave him a right wheel, then a left, then the wheels got caught in each other's spokes and then motors gave out. Then they were sort of flailing against each other.

"Eugh, fuck off." Muttered the ghost of Old Man Hancock as a wheel kept hitting his leg. He pinned him and just kept running into his leg while the ghost of Old Man Hancock winced then suddenly jumped to his feet. "Fuck off you gave me a bleeding Charlie horse you fucking cunt you." He whined as he then kicked Kyle's chair, toppling him over instantly. Kyle let out a soft gurgle as he struggled on the ground. The room came to a hushed gasp as Ted stood up.

"Holy shit. He can walk, get his ass!" He screamed as he and Kay charged at the ghost of Old Man Hancock. The old man put his hands up in pitiful surrender but it was too late. The ass whopping he received would become iconic among the haunted house circuit. They rained blow after blow upon the sniveling old coot, who was curling up in a ball on the ground to protect himself. A futile effort, with a roar ted picked up the fallen wheelchair and began beating the ghost of Old Man Hancock to death with it.

Kyle watched on, still flopping around on the floor. He was disheartened that his moment of glory had been stolen from him. But he did get a sick thrill of watching his friends beat that old man to death, the sick fuck, the twisted little shit. Anyway, after they were satisfied the ghost of Old Man Hancock was bleeding internally, Ted huffed and puffed and threw the bloodied and battered wheelchair to the ground. Kay then helped Kyle up, and he rang the bell in thanks.

---------

The ghost of Old Man Hancock was whimpering on the ground, bloody tears pooling on the old wood.

"Alright guys good work we caught the ghost of Old Man Hancock." Ted beamed with pride. "Now let's see who he really is." he smirked. He reached down and yanked the rubber mask off the old man to reveal an even wrinkeler and decrypt looking mummy of an old fossil, just a truly disgusting looking old man with prune-like skin and like one moldy and yellow tooth.

The crew gasped and said in unison, expect for Becky because she was fucking dead, "OLD MAN HANCOCK THE FOURTH?!?!?" The rotten old fart just nodded his head.

"Yeah, that's right, and I would have gotten away with it it tweren't for you meddling middle aged adults and your mangy guy in a wheelchair." He sputtered, coughing up a little bloody phlegm as he did.

"Ok so I totally get what the plan was, but why don't you walk us through it step by step for Kyle here?" Ted asked.

"Alright it's really simple. You see way back in 1910 when my great grandfather faked his death to get out of the looney bin, he discovered his wife, Old Woman Hancock, had taken out a massive life insurance policy on him. Well, they reconciled and started raking in the dough and convinced my grandfather to do the same."

"We staged the hauntings and made it look like there were ghosts running around when in reality it was just so my great grandfather could live comfortably without worrying about getting seen. It was all going perfectly until my father got cold feet and didn't follow through with his life insurance scam. That was when I killed him and started upping the ante with the hauntings, real depraved shit you'd see in a Saw movie, or I Spit On Your Grave."

"You see it turns out the life insurance policy doesn't cover acts of patricide, So I was trying to attract people to a haunted bed and breakfast to make a quick buck till I was old enough to fake my own death and get the scheme back on track. My hope was to have you guys come in, I kill you a little bit, and everyone comes to see the killer ghost and I get rich. Does that make sense, any of that getting through to you all, it's a little convoluted I know." Old Man Hancock IV said. Ted simply shrugged.

"Honestly who cares, people will lap up this slop just for the wheelchair fight, I kinda just want this to be over." He admitted.

"True, the audience is so frigging picky and annoying. Member when they complained that they never did Marbel Hornets three? Then complained more when they finally did. Don't even get me started on how they react whenever a fan story is read-" Old Man Hancock IV started.

"Yeah, let's not open that can of worms." Ted said. "Let's just wrap this up already. You're going to jail for a long time Old Man Hancock IV." Ted said as Kyle and Kay dialed 911.

"Pfft, on what grounds?" Old Man Hancock IV said. Ted just gave him a dumbfounded look.

"Dude you just, you killed Becky for starters, I mean you could argue self-defense because we are in your home but like, no one is buying that. You also just admitted you killed your dad and you've been committing all sorts of insurance fraud. I don't, I don't think it looks good for you dude I think not only are you going to prison, but you're also gonna get the chair dude." Ted said.

"Wha-really?" Old Man Hancock as ted nodded.

"Oh my Christ, I can't go to jail I'm only 22 I have my whole life ahead of me, Oh God what have I done?!?!?!" He cried as he wept on the floor as everyone just kind of stood around awkwardly waiting for the cops to come.

The cops eventually came and took the bloodied, weeping man away. Old Man Hancock IV was sentenced to death almost immediately and was given the electric chair, the first man to be executed by the state in that fashion in over 100 years. His last words were a curse upon Kyle's bloodline and how he would see him in Hell.

Ted never recovered from Becky's untimely murder and spent all his time getting high on super heroin in his van.

Kay got over her crush on Kyle and went into modeling, she's now the number one model on Onlyfans, ironically making millions from men watching her in a room.

Kyle eventually regained the use of his legs and learned to speak, becoming an advocate for what was known as "Hector Salamanca Syndrome." Thanks to his help. millions of people stopped relying on bells to speak. He was later hit by a car and became double paralyzed, just in time for his cameo in "Borrasca Part 5"

Becky is still dead.

Thus ends the tale of "The Mystery Of The Haunted Manor In The Cursed Woods Located On The Indian Burial Ground On Friday The 13th." Otherwise known as the worst fucking thing I have ever written.

Bart was a pudgy gentleman whose gaze lingered too long at the waitress' skirt. The air stank of cheap draft and stale grease. The overhead lights a bit too colorful, highlighting the raving barflies as they guzzled down their swill. Bart sat upon a woeful stool that was begging for the sweet release of death.

He wore a tightly tucked beige gold short and khaki pants that were lightly stained near the groin and smelt like you'd expect. In his beefy grip was a mug of the best the bottom shelf had to offer. The world around him slightly spun, and he shook his head and slapped a palm across his face. He refixed his gaze on the waitress' ass and all was well in the world.

Tucked away in the upper corner was box TV so ancient there were cave scrawlings dedicated to it. It limped on, more ashy static than hockey as the game droned on, capturing the attention of all but him and the man beside him.

Carl The Chatterer they called him, a greasy looking individual with slicked back hair and shark eyes. He wore a gold chain and a navy-blue button down, five gold watched clung from his wrists. The pair went way back, grew up in the same neighborhood in fact. Bart went into the working world and Carl went under it.

They met weekly at that dive called Manny's and exchanged woes and dirty glances at the help. Their meeting today began with Carl chattering in his ear, his voice like needles in Bart's head.

"I get no respect around here I tell ya B. I break my back earning for the old man, and you know what he says to me, I said you know what he says? He says to me" Carl, quit your yapping and get your collections straight." You believe that? That he has the gall to speak to me like that. You make on measly mistake around there and they crack the whip on you, it's disgraceful is what it is, just downright disgraceful." Carl rattled off next to him, his breath stinking like dry schnaps.

"Mhmm." Bart muttered as he took a swift swig. There was no stopping Carl once he was on a roll, just easy to drink and nod. The Chatterer yapped on for a solid fifteen minutes, divulging so much information about his crew you'd think he was wearing a wire. Finally, he shut his trap and slammed a crisp beer onto the counter. He smiled, yellowed teeth pointing out as he eyed Bart up and down.

"Listen to me over here, bitching and moaning." He shook his head. "What's got you down this week B? Must be living large over there in Newton." He inquired with wide eyes. Bart shifted, and the stool squeaked beneath him.

"It's ok." He lied under his breath. Truth is he worked a dead-end job at some data entry company. It paid decent enough, but his hours were crushing, and he had let himself gone to hell to keep up with them. The floor of his sedan for example was a sea of crumpled Door Dash receipts and the discarded skeletons of meals past. He woke up this morning and eyed his gut spilling over, feeling like a sullen sack in his hands.

"Yeah?" Carl raised an eyebrow. "You hear back from Marie?" He casually brought up. Bart gave him the stink eye, and he raised his hands.

"You gotta get back out there B, plenty of fish in the sea; plenty of tail in the brush" He shot off a perverted smirk, his wandering eyes glancing at a pair of women sitting in a booth at the other end of the bar. The one with raven hair and hazel eyes rolled them and flipped him off. The redhead with curly locks gave him a timid wave and a lingering look of longing.

Carl would be having a good time later, that much was certain.

"Who has the time for that, I tried those dating apps. I got nowhere." Bart grumbled. His wandering eye landed once more on the tender's firm buttocks.

"Well, you need to get laid or something man, you're bringing down my buzz with this woe is me shit." Carl replied.

"Well, what do you suggest smart guy." Bart barked at him. Carl leaned in like he was passing on some archaic knowledge.

"Get a hooker." He whispered with bated breath.

"Awe get the fuck outta here." Bart moaned. Carl pulled him back in and the pair talked in a hushed huddle.

"You go down to Munson St and pick up one of the gals there, she shows you a good time and you're walking the town with some umph in your step." He leered.

"Cops watch that street like hawks." Bart spat.

"Pigs only give a shit during an election year." Carl retorted. Bart turned back to his swill and drowned his frustrations. Around them blitzed cheers rang out as it looked like someone scored a goal.

Seeing a professional was something Bart had considered, if to get past that seething yearning he always felt in his loins. None of them could ever measure up to Marie of course, but just to be desired again in any capacity. Though he was too scared, scared to be caught, scared to be the laughingstock of the water cooler. It would just be his luck, wouldn't it?

Rolling up to a busty blonde in stockings, half gone ciggy in her hands. His nerves would be shot to hell, the only sound that brain melting squeak of his window coming down. The woman would lean her gorgeous head in and he'd blurt out

"How much for half and half?" To which the woman with crimson lipstick would sweetly smile and say:

"You're under arrest for solicitation."

---------

Bart felt a sharp thud smack into the fat of his back, and he awoke from his paranoid fantasy. He turned to see Carl gawking at him, egging him on to prowl the red-light district. He shook his head and Carl groaned in dismay. Bart took another swig, dismayed and frustrated below the belt. Then Carl perked up, a sleazy idea taking form in his degenerate skull.

He patted him on the back, salivating at his own ingenuity. Bart sighed and leaned into Carl, expecting some crude solution.

"Here's what ya do then. I know this spot; it's a bit out of the way but reliable. It's a massage joint." Carl winked.

"Massage-awe come on man, my back is fine." Bart grumbled, Carl recoiled away in annoyance.

"Gawd you're stupid man. You don't go for the massage you go for the ending." Carl licked his lips at some unspoken lewd memory.

Bart mulled it over, he supposed it was safer than picking someone up, and at the end of the day it was just fulfilling a need. Might help him focus himself a little bit more if he was clearheaded and not bogged down by that throbbing urge in his loins. Fuck it what did he have to lose? He took a final gulp of his swill and slammed the glass onto the counter.

"Where's it at?" He slurred with a lustful eagerness.

------------

Bart sat in his car, the radio turned down to a dull beat. His speakers thrummed a slow jam as he stared at the conspicuous building in front of him. It was more than a bit worn, the yellow paint stripped of its once pristine shine. The front door was egg white, a golden handle adorning it. The windows were shuttered; he could barely make out the sheer fabric curtains from within. There was a dim crimson hue radiating from within and stapled to the wall was a neon sign that read "OPEN."

All in all, the place looked abandoned, if Bart hadn't seen the slightest hint of a shadow brush past the window, he would have assumed Carl was playing some sick prank on him. He gripped the steering wheel, second thoughts racing through his mind. Was this seedy place really the solution to his dry streak? Besides wouldn't it have been cheaper just to go home and crank one out in the dark. Then of course the regret would sink in, and he'd lay there in a sticky mess, his hand moist and reeking of himself.

He slapped the nerve back into him and took a deep breath as he took the plunge. The night air did little to sober him up, his mouth dry and housing the lingering stench of cheap booze. He staggered over to the front door and rang the doorbell. From inside he heard a light clatter, soft feet walking on titled ground. Doubt entered his mind once more and for a split second he thought of booking it out of there and speeding off into the night.

Then the door opened, and whatever doubt he had shoot itself in the head.

A woman poked her pale head out, her wavy black hair spilling out of the doorway. Her eyes were like sapphires in heat, her lips full and the color of freshly spilled blood. Her fingers were long and elegant, a ruby red ring adorning her index finger. Her fingernails were painted coal black and shone even in the dark.

Bart felt a dry lump form in his throat that scrapped his insides going down. The woman opened the door slightly, revealing her slender frame. She wore a velvet robe that left little to the imagination. Bart stepped back, almost in awe of the masseuse. She blinked, confused at the large man standing at her doorstep.

"You call ahead?" She asked in a soft, almost hypnotic voice. Bart found his voice and squeaked out a response.

"Y-yeah, well no, but I thought Carl-I'm a friend of Carl, he said to stop by and, ya know. . ." He trailed off as he rambled like a moron

The woman smiled warmly, her teeth sharp and pristine. She opened the door and gestured him inside. A pleasant aroma of lavender and cherry scented candles wafted towards him, the scent swirled around him, an intoxicating lure.

He smiled like a dope, his chubby face turning beat red. He waddled inside and the woman glanced behind him, a small smirk twitching on her lips. She promptly closed the door behind her and attended to her customer.

The parlor lights were low and sultry, everything coated in a soft amber hue. The woman's heels clicked against the hardwood floor as she led Bart deeper into the building. There were a few doorways with various curtains in front of them, barely hiding the illicit deeds of those within. Bart heard soft giggles and lustful moans, and his face no longer felt as flush.

The woman stopped at the end of the hall, moving a curtain back to reveal a small room with a single bed. The walls were adorned with portraits of wide fields and sandy beaches, and somewhere overhead a soothing tone played. Tucked away in the corner was a small, cramped table holding a lamp, bottle of lube and a timer. Bart took one look at the set up and gulped, his manhood longing to be touched.

The woman tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to see her Cheshire's grin. She held out her palm like she was expecting a tip.

"Half hour?" She casually asked. Bart panicked and fumbled around his frumpy pockets and dropped a wad of crumpled and oddly sticky twenties in her hand.

"Is-is this enough? I'm sorry its. . . my first time." He reluctantly admitted. The woman touched his arm, tracing her fingertips on his skin.

"It's ok." She simply stated. "I'll be right back. My name is Cass." Her voice was so sweet it was oozing sugar, and there was an accent he couldn't quite ail down. Definitely Eastern European, Romanian maybe? Ah hell, he didn't care. He just nodded his head like a good little stool pigeon and tore off his cloths.

He stripped to his knickers and flopped down on the table. He heard it groan as he did, suddenly very conscious of how he had let himself go. He had put on some cologne, and hoped Cass wouldn't be repulsed by his back flab.

As he laid face down, his face poking out from that little hole in the masseuse table, he began to have doubts. Was it too late to back out? Before he could give it a serious thought, the curtain whooshed open and Cass waltzed over to him. Somewhere in the building a man with a gruff voice cried out in ecstasy.

"Oh God, FUCK." His voice was shrill and full of painful pleasure, followed by deep sighs and rattles. Cass giggled, and Bart twitched with anticipation. The soothing music overheard grew louder to drone out the noise.

Cass was silent in her approach; it was like she was gliding across the floor. It wasn't until she slid her hand up Bart's back did he began to relax.

Her touch was heavenly; her hands were smooth and cool yet spread warmth with every rub. It was like decades of tension were melting, he felt like puddy being sculpted by a master artist. The table creaked as she climbed on top, straddling the man's thick back.

He felt the smooth texture of her robe sway over him; shivers ran up his spine as he felt hard nipples drag themselves across his skin. From below he felt something swell, and his knees twitched with anticipation.

Cass knew what she was doing, she buckled down and went to down on Bart's anxious flab, grinding her elbows into just the right kink and cracking his sciatic nerve. He let out a yelp, and she simply said "Shhhh" the soft noise whistling through her puffy lips. For every soft touch and whiff of a nipple there was a crack and rough hands digging into his skin, like she was rolling a lump of dough with an iron pin.

Bart didn't hate it though; the pain mixed with a soothing pleasure that made short circuited his already middling brain. Any worries he had simply evaporated by her touch. After twenty minutes of feeling like he was being fondled by a cougar in heat he felt a hot whisper in his ear.

"Turn over please." She nipped at his ear in a playful matter, and he blushed with what little blood remained above his lower extremities.

Cass reached below the table and propped up his head with a pillow. In the lowlight he thought he saw a sneer streak across her face, but it was quickly replaced by giggles and smiles. She disrobed, her pale body akin to a Greek goddess. Her emerald eyes seemed to flash in the light as she made her way down the table, tracing her hand across his body.

He quivered with anticipation as her hand slowly and gracefully ran down his side to his mountainous groin. It was unkempt and smelled vaguely of vinegar. Fat had buried a good portion of his pud, but erect he stood at a commendable five and a half inches. She toyed with the base, cradling his balls as she absentmindedly ran her fingers up and down the shaft.

Whimpers of eager pleasure squeaked out of Bart's chapped lips, as he nervously eyed what was going on down below. Cass shot him a side eyed and bent down. She licked the tip with a flick of her tongue; his root twitched and precum erupted in spurts. It was embarrassing, almost out of a cheap porno.

Cass licked her lips, her eyes straying to a singular vein running along the crimson rod. Without another word she greedily dove down and started slurping. The sensation was incredible for Bart, her throat moist and welcoming, her tongue exploring every centimeter of his cock. He had to focus not to burst, the pressure was building and he was ready to explode. It hadn't even been thirty seconds.

While he was in the throughs of pure orgasmic bliss, he was unaware that Cass was looking right at him. Her eyes were that of a feline, an eerie verdant glow to them. She smirked, and two-pointed fangs descended from her mouth.

"Oh Christ, just like that, I'm-I'm gonna cu-AAAGHHUUEE FUCK!" Bart screeched as Cass made her move. She had sunk her fangs directly into that throbbing member she had skillfully sucked down. Her jaw clamped down with a hiss, his meat was caught in a vampiric bear trap.

At once his jiggling thighs and legs broke out in hysterics and he tried to get up. It was no use; her bite was like a vice. She thrashed her head and he screamed; he could feel her finishing his briss. He couldn't even sit up to swat her away, he was like a turtle getting his dick ripped off.

Finally, Cass relented and with a quick snap of her neck tore the soft meat from his groin. She flew to the wall, sharpened nails sinking into the cheap drywood and she laughed and scuttled up the wall. Blood and viscera dripped from her mouth; she was still savoring the blood sausage.

She munched on it while hanging on the wall like a spider, taking joy in watching Bart scream and scramble to the ground.

Bart flopped off the table, which was thrown to the side in a calamitous clatter. His face was ghastly pale, and there was a sanguine river raging from his former neither region. He reached down with a shaky hand in between gasps from pain and shock and came back with a fistful of blood. Nothing remained by a shredded stem and a torn sack. His vision began to tumble and whistle around him, spots of darkness coming in as be blacked in and out. With a sputtering breath he got on his hands and knees and spotted the looming woman on the celling. She was grinning, her mouth split open in a row of ravenous teeth, her pale face caked with gore.

If he squinted, he could make out what was left of his manhood sliding down her gullet.

"Oh, god please, I needa, needa hospital." He mumbled as he tried to stand, the shock setting in fully now.

"Sure." mocked Cass. "Your blood, your meat. Quite an inferior stock, reeks of grease and human misery. Ah but that aftertaste-" she shivered for effect, her verdant eyes rolling into the back of her head. " MMmmm, I could actually taste your loneliness. It was exhilarating. I want more." She hissed and pounced.

In what could only be called a miracle, he leapt out of the way, and she crashed into the table. Call it adrenalin, call it dumb luck, call it whatever you want. Bart had managed to get to his wobbly feet and began to stumble out the door. In his daze he managed to grab his shirt and clumped it against his mangled groin, a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

He fumbled with the half-drawn curtain and weakly called for help. Another woman, a blonde wearing only her knickers and intestines wrapped around her shoulders like a scarf, came out to greet him. In her hands was a man's burly arm, torn from the ligament. She tore a sleeve of skin off and sucked it down like chicken skin, her eyes flashing bronze at him.

"Is there something I can help you with sir?" She giggled in a mocking tone.

"Oh god, help, SOMEONE HELP ME!" Bart pushed past the blonde chewing on a midnight snack as he screamed for help. He would find none in this den of vipers. As he stumbled past the hall, he caught glimpses of the denizens within. It was like a slaughterhouse.

Men were torn apart, the walls painted with blood as the monstrous women within dined on their flesh. They were all ghastly pale with wide mouths full of sharp teeth, their eyes vibrant neon that signaled their inhumanity. They regarded him as one would a passing deer in the road as he fumbled in the dark for safety.

The whole place reeked of death and iron, gone were the cheerful aromas of vanilla extract. Bart leaked all over the floor, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs as he waddled up the hall. Somehow, he made it to the front door and pounded on it to no avail. It rattled and shook and tried as he might to make it budge, the door refused.

Around him was the sounds of gluttonous slurping and the stripping of flesh of bone. He heard the vampires suckle the marrow out and gnaw at what remained. He heard them laughing, laughing at his plight and his grotesque visage. The snide whispers swirled around him, like wisps of hate as the world began to spin and his knees began to finally give out. He turned and saw Cass leap from the shadows.

She wrapped herself around his bulky frame and sank her maw into his neck. Her claws cut into his back like butter, and as she tore the life from his he began to crumple and rattle, his last breaths a sickening death rattle. The last thing he saw before the darkness claimed him for good was the breathtaking masseuse who had just half an hour ago met him at the door.

A shame really. He didn't even get to finish.

------------

Cass feasted on the blubberous man crumpled to the ground. His skin was white as sheet; tiny veins broke out in spiderwebs in places. She carved into his belly and lapped up the fat like it was going out of style.

It wasn't like her to gorge herself like this but missing that initial pounce had soured her mood something fierce, and nothing cheered her up like senseless violence. The blonde, whose original name was long lost to her, waltzed up behind her. Cass knew it was Sil just by the reptilian click of her heels. She turned and faced her patron, a mouth full of gore and yellowed fat spinning out of her maw.

Sil offered what was left of the severed arm, and Cass took it, frothing at the bits for more. Sil knelt down, examining the pile of eviscerated remains in front of her. She dipped a finger into the human broth and spoke as she did. A clear Russian accent to her speech, like she had stepped right off the boat yesterday instead of centuries ago.

"Let's see what all the fuss is about." She licked the tip of her finger, the succulent taste of misery, fast food, and lust spiking her senses. She winced, wiping her finger off on the walls.

"Not my cup of tea darling but have at it. He paid up front of I assume?" She asked.

"Of course, mistress." Cass replied with a mouthful of chewed muscle tissue.

"Don't speak with your mouth full darling, it isn't lady like." Sil remarked.

Cass finished up her meal and then disposed of the remains, what little they were. His car was impounded, left to rot in some landfill. His clothing was cleaned and donated to a homeless shelter, even the bloodied shirt. Bart simply vanished, last seen with his good buddy Carl.

Carl wasn't available for questions either. He turned up in an alley near Manny's pub with two holes in the back of his head, his tongue cut from his mouth. Ironically, it was lucky for his real killers no one ever looked too closely. The propitiators of the midnight massage parlor are not the only predators who stalk the night, and if they looked closely at his body, they would have found two holes punctured in his neck, not a speck of blood around the scene.

Curtesy of that redhead from across the bar, and her raven-haired companion.