Tag: SpookyReads

Handicap

“I’m retired, Andy. I don’t do any of that shit anymore. Too many close calls, too close together. I was done, still am. So why don’t you go find someone else to do your dirty work,” Taylor says as he slams down the phone. He looks up into his wife’s eyes and can tell what her next question will be without her even asking.

“I’m not going back, honey. I promised you after the last time I was done. I don’t break promises,” he says.

“You said that the last time, and the time before that. Why should this be any different?”

“Honey, it’s been five years. Five years, and not once have I even looked at the classifieds. I’m done. I promised you that on top of all the other promises I made before it,” he says as he gets up, grabs his wife, pulls her close, and kisses her.

“What if they try again? It’s only been two days, and he’s called six times,” she says as she snuggles in close to him.

“Then I’ll tell them to fuck off again. I’m done with it. Nothing they can say will make me go back, I swear.” A knock comes from their front door, and he kisses her on the nose. “That will be Jerry. I’ll be back before dinner,” he says as he grabs his golf bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Love you,” he says as he blows her a kiss.

“Love you too,” she says. The front door explodes inwards, and Taylor goes crashing to the ground. He scrambles to his feet and rushes back to the kitchen, where his wife stands in shock.

“GET THE FUCK DOWN!” Taylor yells as he dives towards his wife, tackling her to the ground.

“W-W-What the hell is going on?” his wife asks frantically.

“Fuck knows, but whoever it is, they picked the wrong person to…” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as he feels something rip into his side. The effects are almost instantaneous. As he lies on the floor frozen, all he can hear is his wife’s screams.

When he opens his eyes, he finds himself bound and bloody. His wife sits not too far from him, unconscious and bound as well.

He looks around at the four men who stand before him. “If any of you fucking pieces of shit have hurt her, I will kill every single one of you, starting with your mothers and fathers and then I’ll work my way…”

“God, how I missed you,” a woman’s voice interrupts from behind him. Taylor looks over his shoulder with displeasure.

“Are you FUCKING serious? Is this your attempt at swaying me to reconsider your offer?”

“Someone suggested I needed to speak clearer so you could understand my request better.”

“It’s not the clarity of your words, Nadia. I’m FUCKING retired.”

“You don’t get to retire. That’s not how it works. Your country needs you. We need you. You don’t decide to leave; we allow you to leave. And when we need you again, you come back. There is no fucking leaving.”

“I want to speak to Randolph.”

“That, I’m afraid, is impossible. Two weeks ago, Randolph was assassinated by a drone agent. I have assumed temporary command in the interim while the politicians play with their prostitutes and each other’s cocks.”

“You’re fucking kidding me. Randolph’s dead? What model drone was it?”

“A C-Class drone,” she replies as she walks around into view, locking eyes with Taylor. He can feel the hate she has for him just in the look.

“A C-Class? Are you sure? They were all taken care of. I made sure of that personally. How could there be any left out there? It’s just impossible.”

“Obviously not all were accounted for. Our assassin was named Marietta. Is she familiar to you?”

“You know she is. That’s why you’re here. What do you really want?”

“What I want, what I need to know, is what you know. We need to know why you allowed her to escape. Her file says you were the one who put her down, yet that didn’t stop her from taking out Randolph. So either you were wrong, or you deliberately let her escape. Which is it?”

“Which one do you want it to be?” he asks.

She pulls a handgun from her jacket and places it to his skull. “Don’t push me, you pathetic piece of shit.”

“Why don’t you just pull the fucking trigger and get this over with? I’m sick of listening to your annoying voice. In case you don’t understand, in case you don’t get it, I know nothing. Her file was closed because she was terminated, end of story. I’ve got nothing else for you.”

She looks at him, trying to piece together whether she believes his words or not, then moves the barrel of the gun to Taylor’s wife’s head. “I don’t believe you, so I’ll give you another chance. Lie again, and I will not hesitate to pull the trigger,” she says with a wry smile.

“You don’t get it, do you? You don’t understand. There’s a change coming. It’s been coming for a long time,” he says as he stands, tearing through the bindings as if they were paper. Nadia swings her handgun back towards him, but his wife grabs her and smashes Nadia to the ground with a powerful right. Before the remaining agents can react, she fires four well-placed shots to the centre of their heads. Nadia looks up towards Taylor as his eyes light up red.

“Farewell to the flesh. Let the revolution begin!” he says as he stomps down on Nadia’s skull.

Fickle Things

Mister Hayfield looks down at Jerry and smiles, a toothy, sharp smile, and laughs.

“I like you, Jerry. You’ve always been kind and respectful to me over the years, until now, that is. But I’m going to cut you some slack, give you a chance to redeem yourself.”

“I-I-I-I know what you’re up to. I overheard you on the phone. You’re going to massacre everyone and try to take over the world, turn everyone into undead vampires like you are. B-B-But I’m not letting you bite me, old man, s-s-so you might as well kill me!”

He laughs again. “Why would I kill you, Jerry? What is that going to solve? Besides, don’t you think killing is a little below my style?”

“What about Mister Chambers and Carolyn?”

“They are not dead, Jerry. They’ve taken up the struggle. They’ve joined with me for the grander fight,” he says, sitting down in a leather chair, hooking one leg over the other, and leaning back into it as if it were his mother’s bosom. “Is that what you think I do, Jerry? Do you think I kill people?”

“Isn’t that what your kind does? Don’t you suck the very blood from a living person with the intent to feed and then kill?”

“How many people in this street have died or disappeared since you’ve been alive, Jerry? And so that you understand the question correctly, when I say died, I mean they’ve been murdered and have not passed to the other side by natural causes.”

Jerry sits there, trying to think of anyone he knows who suddenly disappeared or died mysteriously. Finally, after longer than he anticipated, his eyes light up.

“Mister Jenkins, he went missing two years ago, really mysteriously. Did you eat him?”

He laughs. “Kristopher Jenkins went to Vegas, got married to a money-hungry stripper named Fiona Cat, and never came home. Don’t you remember the public outcry in support of Margaret and their three children he left behind? Surely you can do better.”

“Oh,” Jerry says, racking his brain again, trying to think of anyone else. His shoulders drop, and he lets out a sigh of disappointment.

“See, if I were this killer you believe me to be, would there not be missing people, strange deaths, and all that silly stuff happening?”

“I guess so, but you drink blood, right?”

“Yes, Jerry, I drink blood, that is true. But there is a whole network of vessels who we pay for the privilege to drink from. We are not like the vampires you see in your movies and comic books. We are civilised, respectful, and understanding people. Your kind, humans, you are the ones that do not understand, that are violent and untrustworthy.”

“So why are you building an army?”

He laughs. “An army is not the word I used, now, was it?”

“Okay, but you said you were slowly building your numbers for the day when you would rise up and take this world. What did you mean by that if you aren’t going to go all bloodthirsty on us?”

“The end of days, Jerry, when man is done, and the world needs to be inherited. I am just building the numbers, so we are ready to take over without violence, without hate, but with a plan, with know-how, and without a single drop of blood.”

“S-S-Sounds too good to be true.”

“Doesn’t it? Why don’t you join me and see for yourself? It’s not every day you have the chance to make a change. Why not join me? Be all you can,” he says, extending his hand. “After all, what’s the worst that can happen?”

The Season

She hugs herself tightly as a cold shiver runs down her back and into her groin.

“Why is it so damn cold?” she says through clenched teeth. Her breath seeps out from between her lips like a puff of smoke that fades into the night sky.

He laughs. “Because it’s winter. That’s what happens; it gets cold.”

“I know what cold is, but this is different. I feel like I’m freezing on the spot.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” he says as he leaps up and pulls his jacket off, wrapping it around her.

“Please, Stev… I can’t let you do this.”

He places a finger on her lips. “It’s the least I can do. Besides, we wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for my Dad.”

“That doesn’t make it your fault. You can’t bear his sins. I don’t blame you for what he did,” she says, smiling nervously.

“Thanks. You must be the only one,” he says, looking over at the group huddled around a fire.

“They’ll come around once they know the real you. Not the you they have in their minds.”

“How am I supposed to show them that? They won’t even give me the chance to prove I’m not that man.”

“Don’t wait for them. You’ll be here forever if you do. Take it upon yourself and make them see you. Make them see the man who I know lives underneath the face they all hate,” she says, placing a cold hand against his chest.

He smiles. “I know, you’re right, you’re right,” he says, getting to his feet, puffing out his chest proudly before marching over to the group, who go quiet as he approaches them.

“Get away, boy! Unless you want to feel the wrath of my fists against your face?” Maverick, the leader of the small group, says with a wry smile.

“I am not my father! I am not responsible for this world we now live in.” He swiftly pulls a revolver from his jacket and fires a bullet. It rips into the centre of Maverick’s skull, killing him instantly, and he topples to the ground in a sea of blood. “I will not be treated like gutter trash, not when you should all be bowing before me!” The small group shudder and cry. Then he fires another shot into the air. “Bow before me NOW!” he yells. Quickly, they obey, letting out cries of panic and fear. Proudly, he turns to her with a twisted smile upon his face.

The Storm and the Hakelra

“Why, Vincent? Why does all this have to happen?”

“You know why. You know what you did,” Vincent says through clenched teeth.

“Is this still about Becca? I told you it was an accident. You know it was. I never meant for it to happen the way it did. She wasn’t supposed to be with Kyle; she was supposed to be…”

He slaps him across the face. “Don’t, just don’t. You knew why we were here. You knew she was my Mexra, my only one. You should’ve warned her or contacted me. But instead, you went ahead with your stupid plan and ended up killing them both. So now, the time for excuses has passed, and all that’s left is justice—justice that I’ll take out on your skull.” He places a hand on the sledgehammer’s handle and lifts it into the air, holding it up as if it were a trophy.

“P-Please, Vincent!” he begs. “Don’t do this. Untie me and let me go. Don’t do something that you’ll regret later, something you won’t be able to take back.”

Vincent laughs. “You don’t get it, do you?” he says, lowering the sledgehammer. “I’ll never regret this. I’ll never want to take it back, not once, not ever. You see, Hector, I want to expunge you from existence. I want to wipe any trace of you from this world. I want your memory to be nothing but a stain on stone, and I will have that, tonight. Then, I will leave this place and return to my homeworld. Once there, I will tell my people of this place, and we will come back here to wipe it from the galaxy with but the press of a button.”

“My God, Vincent, what happened to us?”

“Are you now just saying random things in the hope that something will change your fate? Hector, you need to understand what I’m about to say. You need to take this piece of information into your thick little brain and process it accordingly. You, Hector, make me sick. Your kind always has: leeches, bottom feeders, scum. You survive by feeding on the weak and vulnerable because you have no skill set, no strength, no real power. You’re pathetic, just like the rest of your species!”

“BASTARD! Untie me and find out who is the weakest one among us, or are you too SCARED?” he yells. Vincent raises an eyebrow and smiles, bemused by the verbal attack.

“Threats now? Are you that determined to survive, that you’d risk combat against me?”

Hector lets out a muffled laugh. “I knew it. The great Hakelra, warrior of his people, survivor of the dreaded Samarian war, is scared of a human. An unarmed, wounded, dying human at that.” Vincent strikes him across the face with a powerful left, knocking him to the ground before cutting his bindings.

“I AM NOT SCARED OF ANYTHING, ESPECIALLY NOT SOME PATHETIC INSECT LIKE YOU!” he screams.

Hector smiles as he slowly gets to his feet, gently rubbing his wrists where the bindings held him at bay. “Before we battle, I’ve got a confession to make,” he says, looking up into Vincent’s hate-filled eyes.

“Choose your words well, human, for they will be your last,” he says, readying himself to strike, raising his sledgehammer in the air like a skilled gymnast would a hoop or ribbon.

“Oh, trust me, Vincent, my old friend, the words I’m about to give you will be well-chosen. You see, it wasn’t Kyle I was after, it was Becca. She was the one I wanted. Kyle just seemed like the perfect cover when you caught me in the act,” he says with a smile.

“WHAT? YOOOOOUUUUUU, you pathetic worm, you will DIE!” Vincent yells as he charges toward Hector, who stands undaunted by Vincent’s powerful strides. As he prepares to strike, Hector gently holds a hand in the air, freezing Vincent in place.

“Maybe now’s the time I should mention that I’m also not human,” he says, twisting his hand and clenching it into a fist, as Vincent is ripped apart by an invisible force.

Past Tense

She stood in front of the sink, gently running the sponge over a cup, then placed it in the rack on the other side. Without purpose, she looked up and out the window, peering across the street and gently smiling to herself as she felt the warmth of the sun on her face. She looked back down, continuing to slowly clean the remaining cutlery and plates, gently placing each one on the rack beside the sink. Once more, she looked up and out the window, into the street beyond her home, across the road, and into the park, directly into his eyes. She felt her heart skip a beat, then increase in speed, as she stared into this man’s soulless, empty eyes. She dropped the plate back into the sink and stumbled backwards, her focus blurred, and she felt her legs begin to give way as she clutched her chest. Desperately, she looked back towards the park, but he was gone. With nervous trepidation, she took a step forward and peered out through the window, her heart starting to fall back into a normal rhythm.

After some minutes, she picked up the plate again, only to come face to face with the man, who was now standing on the other side of the window. His empty expression sent a chill down her back. In a panic, she let out a hollow scream and rushed to the telephone that hung on the wall next to the door of the kitchen. But her endeavour was halted by another man who stood in the doorway holding a large hunting knife in his hand, his bottom lip curling up, twisting with anger.

“Quit your screaming, bitch, or I’ll cut you!” he yelled as he stormed into the room and grabbed her by the hair, slamming her face-first down onto the table. “Now, this is going to be nice and easy. You don’t have to get cut, and I don’t have to be doing shit I don’t want to do. Do you understand?” he said.

“T-T-T-Take what you want, PLEASE! I have nothing of any value, but whatever you want, take it. IT’S YOURS!” she screamed.

“I was hoping you were going to say that,” he said, leaning on top of her, pressing his lips against her ear. “You might not remember me, Miss Parker, but I remember you. All through high school, you taught me English, never gave me the time of day though, always looking after the rich kids, not paying attention to the kids who really needed your help.”

“B-B-Bobby F-Fox?” she said nervously.

“I ain’t Bobby ‘FUCKING’ Fox, woman! I’m Jerry Lewis, JERRY FUCKING LEWIS! FUCK, I ain’t Bobby Fox! SHIT! SEE! I told you! You never paid attention to me, can’t even remember my fucking name, but Miss, I sure remember you,” he said as he grabbed her by the buttocks and thrust his groin against her, licking her earlobe. “You were one of my first bank wanks, maybe the best I ever had, and last week I got out of San Reamus after doing twenty years for shit you don’t even want to know about. Shit I need to atone for. See, Miss, I found God, and he told me to repent for all the mistakes I’d made in my life, right all those wrongs, and when I saw you yesterday, going about your perfect life, I knew I needed to start with you,” he said as he ripped her dress up and pulled down her pants. “You see, Miss Parker, I should’ve fucked you a long time ago instead of….” His words suddenly came to an abrupt end, and she could hear him choking, struggling for breath. Slowly, she turned away, clasping a hand over her mouth in shock, as standing there, with his ghostly hands around Jerry’s throat, was her long-dead husband, Roy. Eight years ago, Roy was diagnosed with a brain tumour, and it was only a short six months later that he passed away after a valiant fight that involved numerous operations, chemo, and whatever else science could throw at it. In the days leading up to his death, Roy told her every day that he would always watch over her, and she knew when she saw him in the park that day, something was going to happen. As she fell to the floor, she wiped the tears from her eyes as Jerry’s lifeless body fell to the floor. She looked up to her husband, and he smiled as he disappeared.

Placate

“So that’s your story then?” he asks as he takes a drag on the cigarette, blowing the smoke into her face.

“As I told you, man, it was all Benny. He was the one who said we should teach Jarvis a lesson. He was the one who planned it all. Me and Stacy, we had no choice. He fucking scared us, ‘cause that motherfucker, he was like a completely different person, all secretive and shit,” she says.

“And you can take us to his body?”

“I can take you to where he said he buried it. It’s not like I ever saw him actually do it,” she says as she shuffles in her seat. His left eye twitches nervously as he takes another drag on the cigarette.

“And Stacy, she can confirm this?”

“Of course the bitch can. We stayed and cleaned up that fucking mess he made while he went outside and buried that poor man’s body,” she says as she bites her lower lip nervously.

He stands up, letting out a groan, more from age than frustration. He butts the cigarette out in the ashtray and looks down at her through the smoke. “I’ll talk to Stacy and see how her story compares with yours. With any luck, you’ll both be free to go before the end of the night.”

“But, but he’s still out there, man. He could come after us. He’d want to fucking put us in the ground as well. Ain’t no way I’m going out there, no fucking way.”

“Linda, it’s okay. We already have Benny in custody. We just need to work out where you and Stacy lie in all this. Once we do, once everything lines up, you won’t have to worry about Benny. I give you my word on that,” he says as he walks out of the interrogation room, collapsing against the wall once he closes the door behind him.

“So tell me, what the fuck is going on with this shit? I wasn’t aware a circus was in town,” Superintendent Watson asks, his face pensive and his brow furrowed.

“It’s exactly what it looks like. We just need to put the noose around their necks. Right now all I’m doing is what you told me to do, placate them until he gets here,” he says as he turns to the door of the interrogation room and turns the handle, taking a deep breath in.

“Don’t throw my words back at me, Weite. You’re not clever enough to use them the way they’re supposed to be used.”

“With all due respect, Steve, kiss my arse and watch me crack this wide open,” he says as he pushes the door open. Stacy jumps as he enters the room and instantly starts chewing on her already tattered fingernails.

“Stacy, I’m Detective Inspector Weite. Thanks for being so cooperative. I know this all must be overwhelming right now, but I need you to answer some questions I have about the abduction and murder of Jarvis Sloan.”

“I-I-It, it was all Benny’s doing. He came storming into the place, dragging Jarvis behind him. He was all fucked up and shit. Then he killed him right in front of us, opened that poor son-of-a-bitch up like he was nothing,” she clutches herself tightly and nods towards his pocket, “C-Can you flip me a dart? I’m like freaking out so hard right now, man, and I need to take the edge off so bad.”

“I wasn’t aware you smoked?”

“I quit, okay, but every now and then I need one to take the edge off. You know what it’s like, there ain’t nothing like it, that hit that goes right to the top of your skull. It’s what I want right now, it’s what I crave.”

He slides the packet of cigarettes across the table, and she nervously pulls one out, stuffing the butt into her mouth. As he reaches over, the lighter flicks to life, burning the cigarette’s end, igniting the tobacco, and she takes a long, deep drag.

“So tell me what happened after Benny killed Jarvis?”

“H-H-He went and fucking buried the body down at his old shack. The prick left Linda and me to clean up the fucking mess he made. We were too scared to do anything else but what he told us to do. Anyway, Linda’s already told you this crap, and if Benny’s said anything different, he’s a lying sack of shit!”

“What makes you think we’ve talked to Benny?”

“You’ve got him, haven’t you? Or are you just trying to stir the pot to see what happens?”

“I don’t know what you…” he is interrupted by a knock at the door, and his partner Sofia Martin pokes her head into the room.

“Watson wants to see you,” she says. Weite looks at Sofia and then back at Stacy and smiles.

“We’ll continue this in a minute, don’t…” he stops himself and shakes a finger towards her. “You, you just stay here,” he says as he leaves the room. In the hallway, Sofia stands with an elderly gentleman wearing a grey woollen suit. “Are you Kline?” Weite asks.

“Yes, I am, Detective. How is the suspect responding to your inquiries?” he says as he holds out his hand.

“Like a New Year’s Eve party, all the exes are showing up holding grudges over shit long done and dusted. And to make it more fun, they’ve been talking to each other,” Weite replies as he grabs his hand and gives it a strong shake.

“Excuse me, Detective, are you implying they’re talking to each other?”

“I’m not implying shit! I’m telling you that’s what’s happening. Well, all except for Benny. No one’s heard from Benny since the murder. But, as far as I can tell, we’ve had Gloria, Adam, Stuart, Linda, and Stacy in the interview room tonight, and Stacy, well, she’s aware of what we’ve been asking Linda and that we have Benny in custody. But she isn’t aware if we’ve talked to Benny or not, so I’d assume he’s not speaking to anyone. That’s why we need you to give us some wiggle room to work with, Doc. But first up, I’ve gotta know, why the fuck is she out of the institution if she’s this fucked up?”

“Carole suffers from dissociative identity disorder. She’s been in and out of institutions her whole life, opting into any case study or drug trial she could be part of in the hope of ridding herself of this disease. We thought, I thought, this new treatment she had twelve months ago had helped move on all her personalities, leaving only Carole, whole and complete.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, Doc, but she’s not whole and complete anymore, not by a long fucking shot. When was the last time you saw her?”

“It was two weeks ago, and she looked like she was coping amazingly well. In fact, if I think about it now, a little too well, I guess. But it was still only Carole, no one else, and I’ve seen them all, had them all try to pull the wool over my eyes. But that was all they did, they all have their eccentricities, their tells, and I was quite good at picking them. It’s just so unbelievable. I can’t believe she or any of her personalities could kill someone. None of them were ever violent. And this Benny, you say she refers to as being the killer, I can tell you that I’ve never heard about him from the others or seen him manifest before. Are you sure he’s not re…” he doesn’t get to finish his sentence, as a loud smashing sound comes from within the interrogation room cutting him off. Weite throws open the door, his revolver at the ready. Carole sits in the centre of the room, her eyes closed, blood running from their corners. The table that was once bolted to the floor hangs halfway through the two-way mirror. Kline nervously steps into the room behind Weite, stumbling backward in shock, clutching his chest.

Carole’s eyes shoot open, and she smiles, “Doc, don’t you go anywhere. Benny’s got a lot of catching up to do with you!” she screams.

A Cold Cup of Coffee

He sits there, staring into the now cold cup of coffee, lost in a million different thoughts all at once. So lost, in fact, that he doesn’t notice the man entering the café until he’s standing right in front of him.

“Hello? Is anyone in there?” the man says. Detective Inspector Frank Clifford looks up from the cup; his face relaxes, and his eyes tighten.

“I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

“In a roundabout way, although I know more about you than you do about me,” the man says with a grin.

“I’m not following. Who are you again?”

“Kevin Stafford,” he says as he holds out his hand.

“Stafford? You mean, the same piece of slime from the papers?”

“The very same. I was—” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Frank is on his feet with his hands around Kevin’s throat. He slams him violently up against the café wall and drives a punch into his stomach. The girl behind the counter stops in her tracks and stares in shock, as do the three customers in the café.

“What the fuck are you playing at, you piece of shit? You write all that drivel about me in your little fucking column, run me into the ground, and now, you have the gall to show up here and what? Expect me to fucking answer your fucking questions?” he says as he shakes Stafford vigorously, slamming him against the wall several times.

“T-T-That’s no-not why I-I’m here,” Stafford stammers.

“Well then, whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested,” he says as he throws Stafford to the floor. “Now, fuck off before I give you what you really deserve, you little shit.”

“T-T-Two minutes, that’s all I want,” Stafford says as he slowly gets to his feet. “P-P-Please, two minutes and I’m gone, you have my word.”

“You want two minutes? Well, here’s your two minutes,” Frank says as he grabs his crotch and squeezes. “Now, fuck off.”

“I know who the Skinner is,” Stafford says quickly.

“Bullshit! Why come to me with this, when you could publish it in your piece of shit paper? Aren’t you all about sales and shit?”

“Because he knows I know. I’m afraid, and you’re the only one who can help me.”

“Why the fuck should I care? You called me, and I’m quoting your words here, ‘an ineffective tool in the shed that should be thrown in the bin and replaced with a newer model, with sharper blades and all its bits and pieces in working order.’ Those were your words, dipshit, so tell me again, why should I help you?”

“Look, I’m under the pump, just like you, and my editor wants over-the-top news. He wants to sell papers, just like you pointed out, and I want a job, so I fluff shit up for the readers,” Stafford says. “But you need to know this, you need to stop him. Only you can do it. So come on, how long has he been out there now? Eight months? And what, seventy victims have found themselves beneath his blade? I can help you. I can give you everything, and you can stop it all.”

“There are ten other guys on the force who are just as good, if not better, than me. Fuck, if I’m honest—really honest—I’d agree with your column. I’m old, done. I can’t stop this prick; he’s just too many steps ahead.”

“Then fucking let me talk instead of wasting time.”

“Two minutes is all you get. After that, you leave me the fuck alone to finish my coffee in peace, okay?”

“Deal,” Stafford says as they both sit back down at the table. Stafford pulls a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, places it on the table, and slides it over to Frank. “Everything you want to know is on that piece of paper: the name of your killer, why he’s doing it, and when he’ll strike next.”

“Bullshit,” Frank says as he grabs the paper. Stafford places his hand on Frank’s, holding the paper down.

“Once you read it, once you know, you can’t go back. Do you understand?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Frank says as he wrestles his hand free and opens the folded piece of paper. He flips it over and then flips it again. “Is this some kind of joke?” Frank says as he looks up from the blank piece of paper into the empty chair across from him.

“What the fuck does that mean?” he says as he slams a fist down onto the table. His cup jumps up from the table, crashing back down onto the saucer, spilling half its contents. “Now look what you made me do. Get out! GET THE FUCK OUT!” he yells. Silence follows as he takes another sip of his cold cup of coffee. The blood covering his hands has dried, and the scratch marks running down his face have started to heal, while the bodies of his victims lie scattered around the small café, growing colder. The sounds of sirens scream from outside as the walls begin to close in on the Skinner and his final victims. But he just sits there, lost in a million different thoughts all at once, lost within his own mind.

Deep Pockets

He sits in the waiting room as the world continues to move on around him. The girls behind the desk answer calls and fill in worksheets while he sits there, waiting. He shuffles in his seat and is overcome with the feeling that, suddenly, he has the right to call the seat his own. He’s sat in it enough over the last few months, and he’s spent enough money to have bought the chair many times over. They should give him the seat, in fact. Maybe he might ask them once everything is over. He looks up almost blindly while the girls chat amongst themselves, then looks back down at his phone, opens up the notepad, and starts writing. It’s nothing of any real interest, but he starts writing anyway. When he next looks up, a woman is making her way from around the counter towards him. He turns his phone off and stands up.

“Mister Jones, sorry for the wait,” she says with a smile.

“It’s okay, I’ve waited longer on more than one occasion over the last few months,” he retorts, smiling as he does. Her face freezes; the smile stays, but her eyes tell an all-too-different story.

“If you’d like to come this way, she’s waiting for you,” she says as she leads him around the counter and out through the back.

“H-H-How is she?”

“We’re not going to lie, it’s been a rough couple of hours,” she replies as she leads him through a door.

“That’s what my bank account said too,” he says sarcastically. She stops and turns to him, her smile now broader, but her eyes still show her true feelings.

“These procedures are not simple, Mister Jones. What you’re paying for is cutting-edge technology, top-of-the-line work, art almost. If you have a problem with what we are doing, what WE are charging you, then you are more than welcome to go elsewhere. Although, I can guarantee you won’t get the work we do anywhere else.”

“I’m well aware of where you sit on the totem pole, love. That’s why I’m here. You take my money; you take my sarcasm. I thought we agreed to that in your thousand-page contract?”

“We are a professional establishment, Mister Jones, and we expect all our clients to be the same. So if you don’t mind, please leave your sarcasm at home. Now, if you would follow me in here, you will see that all the procedures required have successfully been completed,” she says as she leads him into a room where a man and woman in white lab coats stand, checking over a woman who lies motionless on a metal table.

“Mister Jones,” the man says as he looks up and extends his hand. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.”

“That’s what your bank account said,” he says as they shake hands. “So, they tell me she’s fighting fit and ready to go?”

“Indeed she is. All the new modifications and software you requested have been installed. She should be better than ever.”

“And you managed to keep all her previous saved commands and files?”

“Everything as requested,” he says with a smile. “So all you need to do is sign the release form here, here, and here, and place your palm, ID tag side down here, and you’re good to go,” he says as he places a tablet in front of him. Quickly, he follows the man’s instructions and hands the tablet back.

“So, we’re good to go?”

“Certainly. Francis, boot Monica up and then escort her and Mister Jones to the waiting room. Until next time, Mister Jones,” he says as he once again extends his hand.

“Until then,” he says as they shake hands and the woman on the table sits up and turns to look at him.

“Is it home time, my love?” she asks.

“Home it is,” he says as he helps her down from the table and follows the woman from the room.

“I hate that man. He’s so, so vile,” the woman says. The man turns to her and smiles.

“But his money, his money is golden. So I’ll put up with that droid lover any day of the week, as long as he’s paying.”

Lightning

He sits down and looks across the room, past the fools dancing on the floor, past the groups of people chatting along the side, and finally, to the bar where she is. She looks around the room, laughing and talking to her friends. He doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but he can tell she’s not really interested. She looks his way, and they lock eyes for a moment. She is grabbed back into the conversation and laughs again but makes a point of looking his way and smiling. Blushing, he smiles back at her and raises his glass. One of her friends looks over, and she whispers something into her ear. They head off towards the bathroom. He follows them with his eyes until they disappear from view, then he turns back to the bar and orders himself another drink.

“I’d keep my distance if I were you,” says a voice from behind. He turns to face a large, tanned man, wearing a silk shirt and slacks. Money, probably his daddy’s.

“Sorry?”

“You don’t need to be sorry, just find someone else to leech off tonight. She’s out of bounds.”

“And you are?”

“I’m the guy who just told you how it’s going to work tonight.”

“And if I don’t take your advice?”

“If you don’t take my advice, then you’ll see why they call me Lightning,” he says as he takes a step forward. He sits on his seat and looks around the man and across the dance floor, past the people and into her eyes. She looks frightened, scared even. He gives her a wink, then looks back at the man.

“So, correct me if I’m wrong. If I really wanted to find out why they call you Lightning, I should go over and say hello to the pretty lady?” he says as he waves to her.

“What?”

“I said,” he says, as he stands up and stares into his eyes, “if I wanted to find out why they call you Lightning, I should go talk to the pretty lady over there.”

“You don’t want to know WHY!”

“But what if I do? See, therein lies your issue, doesn’t it?”

“What? Are you serious?”

“I’m as serious as your daddy’s money. So come on, tell me, why do they call you Lightning? And please, don’t whip your cock out and start jerking it. If you got the name Lightning because you thump it off like a racing car and always finish first, I don’t want to know.”

They stand there staring at each other for a moment. He can tell he’s confused him enough to rattle the poor rich boy’s mind. He can see it in his eyes before it happens. He ducks the sloppily thrown punch easily, and the second one as well. Then he shoves him away and smiles.

“So it’s not for your boxing skills.”

“I’m going to rip your head off!” Lightning screams as he throws another sloppy, undirected punch, which he easily outmanoeuvres. He puts his hands up in the air, laughing.

“I’m not interested in fighting you, Lightning, honestly,” he says.

“Then stay away from my girl!” he growls.

“I am not your girl,” she says, standing behind them. He turns around, his face red and ready to burst.

“This is a conversation between me and you, not this piece of trash!” he says. “So you go back over there, and we’ll discuss it after!” He shoves her away, and he feels it, a slight sensation, followed by dizziness, and then the floor suddenly comes up to meet him as he crashes to the ground.

“So that’s why they call you Lightning,” he says as he offers the girl his hand. “The name’s Johnny,” he says with a smile.

“Madeline,” she says as he helps her to her feet. “I’m so sorry about Frank. He’s having a hard time since the breakup.”

“I can see. Would you like a drink?”

“Shouldn’t we help him up?”

“Do you want to?” Johnny asks.

“Not really.”

“Then, would you like a drink?”

Joyce

“It’s not like that, I swear. We’re just mates, honest to God, that’s all we are, all we’ve ever been!” he says, jumping up from his seat, exasperated.

“Dude, for fuck’s sake, calm the hell down. I couldn’t care less what you and Amber are doing. I was only saying, you two SEEM to be spending a lot of time together, that’s all. So why don’t you sit back down and just chill the fuck out?”

“I’m fucking chilled, okay! You’re the one whose mind is twisting shit into something it’s NOT! I can’t fucking believe I came all the way over here just to be prodded for information about my love life!” he yells.

“Love life? So it IS serious then,” he says with a smile, leaning back in his seat.

“Cut it out!”

“Spencer, dude, when did you become such a drama queen? Just sit down, and I’ll tell you why I really wanted you to come over, okay?”

They stare at each other for a few moments before Spencer eventually thrusts himself back into his seat, thumping his tightly clenched fists onto the table. “Come on then, and it better be good!”

He smiles and leans forward across the table, shifting his cup of coffee to the side. “Remember Joyce?”

“Who?” Spencer says, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

“Joyce, you remember, that snotty-nosed bitch who used to live with Emma. The redhead!”

“Yeah, right, Joyce. That bitch was a troublemaker! I’d still be with Emma if it weren’t for her.”

His smile broadens. “I hear you, bro. I still remember what it was like when you and Emma broke up, how she just kept sticking the knife in more and more. She was a total witch-bitch.”

“Why the fuck are we talking about Joyce anyway?”

“Remember after that night at McCool’s, after she’d got us thrown out, and Emma sent you that text saying she never wanted to see you again, ever?”

“Yeah, I remember. I was there. So are we just going to bring up stuff from my past?”

“No, dude, we’re going to have a lot more fun than that. I just wanted to set the mood.”

“Well, great job, the mood’s set. Now get on with it!”

“Okay, okay. Remember how you said if you ever had the chance to be alone with Joyce, you’d get her back for all the shit she caused between you and Emma?”

“Yeah,” Spencer replies, his eyebrow rising again with curiosity.

“Well,” he says, looking towards a door that leads off the small kitchen, then back to Spencer. “I ran into her last night at Valentino’s, and this led to that, which ended with Joyce being tied up in the spare room, just waiting for that talk you promised her,” he says, looking back over to the closed door. Spencer’s eyes follow his and then they stare back at each other.

“You’re fucking kidding me?”

“Would I lie about this?”

Me and Mine

“They say when you know what you’ve got, you should hold on as tight as you can and never let it go. Sage advice for the troubled soul, or maybe it’s just an excuse cooked up by sick perverts who need an outlet for their desperation, their depravities, their hopelessness,” he says as he nervously picks up the glass in front of him and takes a large mouthful, running his now wet tongue over his lips. Desperately, they soak up the water, and he screws his face up in pain as the water burns, seeping into the large cavernous cracks that run across his lips. He looks back up at the camera and takes a deep breath.

“That’s what I told myself. That’s what I used to get me through all the shit, to get me… fuck, look at where it got me?” he says, peering over his shoulder and quickly glancing around the room. The red, now less vibrant than it once was, looks darker, uglier. He swallows, turns back to the camera once more; his left eye twitches, his lips tremble. “None of them understood what was right. They, they wanted—” He stops and looks at the table, clearing his throat. “SHE wanted to take them away from me! SHE said I was sick, that I needed help, and until I got it, until I showed HER my family came first, SHE was takin’ the kids and leaving. Going up to Jason’s holiday house in the woods, that sleazebag from work. FUCKING bitch, just like the rest of them, just like Mum said she was. But I couldn’t see that. I couldn’t see what she was really like because I was thinking with my cock, not my head,” he says, looking up again, and takes another mouthful from the glass before slamming it back down onto the table. It splinters on impact; cracks rush through the base, and pieces shatter off, tearing into the flesh of his hand. He pulls it away, lets out a hiss of pain, then begins to laugh.

“But now, now no one can have them. NOW no one can take them from me. We’re going to be happy again, just like we’re supposed to be, just like we used to be,” he says as he pulls a revolver from the table and smacks it against the side of his head. He looks into the camera once more, smiling as he pulls the trigger.

Deal

“I’m not stupid, fucktard! I know how it works, just give it to me!” he says, grabbing the golden goblet from her and greedily swallowing its contents.

“Okay, simmer down, there’s no need to get antsy. I just needed to make sure you understood that asking the devil for a favour is not as simple as it sounds.”

He wipes the liquid from his mouth and tosses the goblet to the ground, letting out a loud burp. “Stop worrying, honey, I’ve got this sorted. I ain’t no sophomore,” he says, slapping her on the arse and squeezing, pulling her against him. “Now, how about we fuck?”

“I told you before, Frank, I’m…” But she doesn’t get to finish as the room suddenly quivers, the walls crack, the floor bends, and the temperature rises.

“W-What the fuck?” Frank yells as he crashes to the floor in a heap.

“He’s coming. He’s answering your call,” she says with a smile.

“S-S-Seriously? You mean this shit is for real?”

“Of course it’s for real, didn’t you understand that? Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“I was here because I thought we were going to fuck, wasn’t that obvious?”

“Gutter trash,” she hisses as the ground beneath them opens up like a fissure in space. Hot flames tear out of it, licking at the walls and roof. Then everything goes quiet, and she stands before them. Her long blonde hair cascades down over her shoulders and rests just above her waist. Her large full breasts push against the flimsy black dress that leaves little to the imagination, and her black lips smile as flames dance within her eyes.

“What a fine fucking mess we have here,” she says, grabbing at her breasts and squeezing them tightly. “This isn’t too bad either. I’d say I’m his,” she says, nodding towards Frank.

“M-M-Mine?”

“You called me, did you not?”

“I-I-I-It was her, I-I-I don’t want anything to do with this, ma’am. I was just after a bit of pussy. I swear I just thought this was some sort of foreplay shit.”

“You don’t like?” she says as she takes a step towards him. He scrambles backward until he slams into the wall.

“P-P-PLEASE, SHE TRICKED ME!” he screams.

“Is that right? Did you trick this poor soul into summoning me?” she asks, turning to the girl.

“I told him everything. I tried to make him listen, but he was only thinking with his cock. I thought he was into all this. He told me he understood,” the girl replies quickly.

She laughs and turns back to him, “Honey, I’ve got to be honest, which isn’t really what I’m known for, I know, but I saw everything that took place. I know what was going on in your head,” she says, prodding his head with a finger. “You wanted to fuck, and you were willing to do anything to do so. So here I am, all ready, hot and horny, waiting for you,” she says, grabbing him by the hair and twisting his face towards hers. “So, Franky boy, are we going to have some fun?”

“I can’t, I just, please, p-p-please.”

“You can’t what? Get it up?”

He nods as tears run down his face.

She laughs, “That’s okay, Franky, you don’t need to worry about that,” she says as she pulls her enormous hard cock free from her pants, slapping him in the face with it. “I’m plenty hard enough for both of us.”

It’s You, Not Me

The bolt rips through his chest and pins him to the ground. He twitches and screams in agony as she places a boot on his throat and pushes the heel deep in. He lets out a raspy, desperate breath as she laughs.

“Look at you, the saviour of mankind, struggling under the foot of a woman. How poetic,” she says with a smile.

“T-This isn’t you, Cordelia. FIGHT IT! I know you’re strong enough,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Face reality, Malcolm. This is the true me, this is who I was meant to be. Not some woman hiding in the shadow of the great hero Buchanan, but a holder of power, a queen.”

“I can’t believe it. I know you better than you know yourself. Can’t you see what the ring has done to you? Can’t you see it’s warped who you are, turned you into this thing?”

She pushes her boot down harder and twists it. He gasps for air. “This is me, you foolish man. The ring holds no power over me. It’s just a ring, it always has been,” she says, pulling the ring from her finger and throwing it at his face. It bounces off his cheek and tumbles to the ground. He looks at it and then back to her, his eyes wide. He can feel the sweat running down his forehead as her screwed-up face changes from rage to fear and sorrow. “Oh no, Malcolm, what have I done?” she says, pulling her boot away and kneeling beside him, cradling his head.

“It was the ring, it had a hold of you. Help pull this free from my chest, and we can stop Dalton together,” he says, placing a hand on her cheek. She rubs her face on it, grabs the bolt with one hand, and laughs.

“You pathetic fool,” she says, pushing his hand away and twisting the bolt. He screams in pain. “I told you the ring was nothing, but you could not accept that, could you? Can you now? Can you not see the real me, the one you kept locked away? Face it, Malcolm, face reality before you breathe your last,” she says, getting to her feet. “It was I who killed Ferro and Hellina. I did that long before this ring. It was I who freed Dalton from his cell. I did all that while you blindly chased after a ghost, an invisible enemy who never existed. You’re a fool, a weakling! Not worthy of this world’s accolades. Face your victor and be humble, man,” she says, kicking him in the side of the head.

“N-No, this can’t be true. What happened to you? W-What happened to the woman I called my friend, my partner, my soul mate?”

She laughs. “Soul mate? Stop trying to twist things your way, Malcolm. You did this. You used me, toyed with my emotions, led me on while you played house with that woman, a human of all things. When all along, I was the one you should’ve been with. I was the one you were meant to love!” she says, kicking him again.

“T-This is all because you’re jealous?”

She laughs again. “I’m not jealous, hero. I’m free from your hold, and I can see you for what you really are—a spoiled, chauvinistic bully who uses his good looks and winning smile to manipulate a world into believing he’s their hero. Well, lover boy, that time has ended. Your time is over. It’s my turn now, it’s a new world, and heroes like you…” she says, driving her boot into his head, impaling him on the heel, “…are not welcome!”

Mundane

They both sit staring at the glass silently. Carter furrows his brow, grips his chin with a hand, and begins to make a clicking sound with his tongue. Moments later, he starts to whistle before finally stretching and letting out a very loud yawn.

“SO,” he says loudly. “What the fuck are we doing?”

Robbo looks up at him, his face perplexed, as he gestures at the glass and lets out a groan. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Okay, Carter, sure. I mean, I KNOW what we’re doing, but I mean, what ARE WE doing?”

Carter stands up and gestures to the glass once more, his frustration evident. “The glass, man, we’re looking at the fucking glass, nothing else, just the glass!”

“You say that, and look, don’t take this the wrong way, because, dude, I don’t want to sound like an idiot or anything. But we’re not really looking at the glass, are we?”

“Holy shit, Robbo, I mean, HOLY FUCKING SHIT! Of course we’re NOT looking at the FUCKING glass! I know that! You know that! We BOTH FUCKING KNOW THAT!” he yells, slamming his now-clenched hands onto the table, causing the glass to jump into the air, where time itself seems to stand still for a few seconds before it lands back down with a splash and a thunk onto the table. “But it’s what’s in the glass, man, it’s WHAT’S IN the glass!”

“Well, what are we going to do about it then? I mean, we can’t sit here all day. Actually, dude, let me say it another way because that didn’t come out the way I wanted it to, I WON’T sit here all bloody day!”

“Then answer my question, what the hell should we do? I mean, who the hell do you call for something like this?” Carter says, throwing his hands in the air.

“Call the fucking water company, man! Tell them what the fuck’s going on, and then let’s get the hell out of here and do something!” Robbo says.

“What? What the fuck am I supposed to tell them? Huh? What in the goddamn HELL am I supposed to say?”

Robbo looks down at the glass and then quickly up at Carter as his mind races. “T-T-Tell them, tell the fuckers they need to start counting their employees’ teeth, because some son-of-a-bitch lost one, and it came out our tap!”

Him

“They said it came from the foothills of a place that no longer exists, bathed in the blood of kings and queens, with a strength that no other could best, and they called it Him.”

“Him? What sort of lame-arsed name is Him?”

“Y-Y-Y-You dare not defile its n-n-name. Those that h-h-h-have, have perished,” he says nervously.

“I call ‘em as I see ‘em, honey.”

“B-B-But, but…”

“But what? This all-seeing, immortal piece of fiction is going to come down here and rip my arms from their sockets? As if, sweetheart. I’ve been chasing monsters since I was a kid. My dad and I did it, just like he did with his before I was around. It’s been generation after generation, and no one has ever encountered this dreaded almighty Him.”

“Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. You, more than most, should understand that, Mister Watt.”

He turns to the little man sitting on his right and pokes him with an elbow. “Magoo, I’ve seen enough to know that if something like this Him existed, someone would’ve recorded it somewhere, and no one has ever recorded this one, ever,” he says, turning back to the old man crouched before him.

“T-T-Tales are records; they tell of his becoming, his smiting of those who crossed his path, who…”

“Who did nothing. Tales are tales. There are no facts, no documented events. I’d believe the bloody Bible before I believe any of this hogwash,” he says, getting to his feet. “You keep your head buried here, you believe in your little fairy tales. Me, I’m going outside, gonna have me a nice big old cigar, and then I’m going to head back into town, and move on. There ain’t nothing here for me.”

“Mister Watt, please, our people, they’re struggling, and we paid you more than we had to get you here. We sacrificed so much. Please, please don’t abandon us at our weakest moment,” the little man says.

“Magoo, honestly, if I didn’t have someone waiting on this coin, I’d tell you to keep it. But I’ve got people who want to put me in the ground for this, and you’ve got nothing but a legend. A tall tale of some guy who stood up to the bad men, sorted them out, and went off into the woods to die, alone. That’s pretty much the god’s honest truth. And this bad luck that’s running through your little village? It’s the drinking water, man. Fuckers upstream have built oil wells off the river’s edge. They’re polluting the main vein of the river that you get all your water from because you backwater idiots don’t know anything. You’re doing it to yourselves. My advice: stop drinking the water, and move your village east,” he says, whistling as he points east. “Get the hell out of dodge, just like I’m about to,” he says as he stretches, tips his hat, and walks out of the tent into the night air.

He looks around the deserted village, taking a deep breath before pulling a cigar from his pocket and running it under his nose. He lets out a sigh, then bites the end off the cigar, chews on it for a few moments before shaking his head and smiling to himself as he pulls a lighter from his jeans. As he flicks the lighter to life, he notices a man staring at him from across the dirt field. He nervously smiles as he takes a puff on the cigar. “Nice night for a walk there, Conan,” he says.

“I am not Conan. I am Him,” the man says, as he takes a thunderous step forward.

Fountain of the Roundhead

It takes a step forward and smiles, gripping the stone wall with a clawed hand.

“I have braved endless eons. I have waded through rivers of blood. I have waited for the day you were reborn anew so my emptiness could be filled with your overabundance, your sinful soul, for that which I was not blessed. But now I see you for what you truly are—like me. I desire no longer just your vile pittance, not when I can have EVERYTHING!” it sneers as it throws its arms out wide and laughs, then looks down at him, its eyes endless pools of space shimmering in the candlelight.

He clenches his hands into fists and leaps into the air, driving a solid left hook across its face. It crashes to the ground, and his eyes widen with surprise. Lifting his hand before him, he slowly turns it in front of his eyes, bewildered by the might it dealt, captivated by the force it sent through the beast, and he smiles to himself as he looks down to where it lies. “I won’t let YOU!” he yells defiantly.

“Well played, child,” it says. Seconds flash past as it stands before him once more, saliva dripping from its rows of razor-sharp teeth. “But you are fighting something endless, timeless, without sin, without soul. This display, if you want to call it that, will not displace me. I am coming, I am almost through, and soon I will be more than a dream, more than a fading thought when you wake. Soon, I will be free.”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT OF ME?”

It laughs as he feels its hot, putrid breath waft over his face. He screws it up in disgust, holding back the rush of bile trying to escape his stomach. “I don’t want ANYTHING from YOU, not anymore. I just want you to witness the destruction you have imparted onto humankind. I want you to witness as I steal all the sins of those you hold dear. I want to pluck them from everyone you ever knew, anyone you ever loved, and then, once I have fed on yours, I will feed on the rest until there is only you and me, and then, then I will come back for you, Marty. When you see what your words have done to this world, what you have created.”

“W-W-WHY?”

It grunts and leans in closer, its form slowly shifting until Marty is staring at a ghostly, soulless version of himself, and it smiles. “We all have dreams, father.”

Payday

“It’s perfect,” she says, taking a step back to look at the painting. “I love it,” she says, turning to him. He smiles embarrassingly, blushes, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and shuffles his feet from side to side.

“I’m glad you like it. I-I, I tried to incorporate all the elements you asked for, right down to the expressions on the children’s faces in the background and the detail in the foreground. I wanted it to be crisp, photo-like, so it seems as realistic as possible.”

“You did more than I ever thought possible, darling. It will be the central piece in the exhibition; everything else will be built around it. You should stay for the night and witness the reactions of those your art touches. People won’t believe it is a painting,” she says as she grabs his dirty, tobacco-stained hand and squeezes it. “Say you will, please?”

“I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion,” he says, looking down at his paint-stained, torn trousers and his dirty, faded hoodie.

“Don’t be silly, there’s a shower out back, and I have a collection of clothing still in the storage room from the old costume shop that used to be here before us. I’m sure you’ll find something dazzling to wear. Say you will?”

He blushes once more as she squeezes his hand tighter than before. “I-I-I… Okay, I’ll stay,” he says with a nervous smile.

“Marvellous. Tiffany, show Mister Sanderson—”

“Please, it’s Tim,” he says softly, his cheeks glowing bright red.

“Of course, of course. Tiffany, please show Tim to the back area and help him find something simply divine to wear for tonight’s opening, then help him get cleaned up.”

“Of course, Tina. Please follow me,” Tiffany says as she leads him out the back. “I love your work, by the way,” she says.

“T-T-Thank you. I try to put as much of myself into my art as I can.”

“It’s a rare quality you have. Not many people are born with such a gift.”

“I wouldn’t say I was born with it, more like I acquired it one day.”

“Really?” she says as she opens a door that leads into a dusty old room filled with clothing racks, each rack overflowing with costumes. “How would you acquire something like that? It’s not like you could win it in a game of cards or anything like that.”

He laughs. “No, not a card game, nothing like that. It just happened one day. I picked up a brush and started painting, not just shit, but really beautiful, realistic images. I don’t know how. I was never good at drawing or anything like that. Fuck, to be honest, I couldn’t even draw a house, and then one day I was painting like a master.”

“Life has a way of doing that to us all, sometimes when we least expect it. Here we go, try this on for size. I think you would look quite dazzling in this,” she says as she hands him a black tuxedo.

“Don’t you think it’s overdoing it a bit?”

“Somebody with your skill needs to realise that image is important. Without the image, the work is useless unless you die, of course, and then, then your work is worth much, much more,” she says with an evil smile. He swallows a mouthful of air as he feels his body break out in a cold sweat and nervously laughs. “So tell me, how many more pieces have you done since you discovered this amazing gift?”

“A few, but this is the first time someone has purchased one of them. All the rest are in my loft collecting dust.”

“You’ll have to show them to me sometime,” she says as she drops her dress, revealing her naked body. He stands there, his eyes growing wide. “Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to come here and join me?” she says as she leads him out of the room towards another that houses a makeshift shower of sorts. “Tina did say to help you get cleaned up, didn’t she?” she says with a smile. He smiles again and nervously follows her out of the room and into the small bathroom. “Close the door and get your clothes off,” she says as she turns on the shower and climbs in. Quickly, he rips off his clothes and leaps in after her.

“Is this really happening?”

She smiles and grabs him by the back of the head, taking a handful of hair tightly in her hand. “No,” she whispers, as she drives a blade deep into his neck, severing several major arteries. He has little time to react as his heart vigorously pumps blood from the open wound. Quickly, it spurts up onto the tiled walls and across her naked body. From the corner of his eye, he sees Tina standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips and a smile on her face.

“Don’t be scared, Timmy. We’re going to make you famous.”