Tag Archives: short story

Wish Me Luck

The man with the greasy hair grinned. “I guess today’s your lucky day.”

I tested the zip ties around my wrists. “Really? You said you were going to kill me.”

He chuckled. “Never said it was good luck.”

Slipping a rough hand between my arm and bruised ribs, he hauled me to my feet.

The burning pain in my side forced me to gasp. I had been trying to be stoic. Thought maybe if he didn’t know how much pain I was in, he wouldn’t be tempted to poke the bruises. I might have been wrong about that, though.

“Don’t worry. We’re going to have some fun first. But not here. Too close to the trail.” He picked up the shoe that had come off my foot when he dragged me into the bushes and tossed it near me. “Put it back on. No clues left behind.”

“How am I supposed to do that with no hands?”

He glowered for a moment. “If you try anything funny, I’ll break your leg.”

I believed him. He was at least double my weight and maybe as much as a foot taller. I scanned the environs for any offshoots or paths while he tied the laces.

The man stood up and grinned. His teeth looked like he ate rocks.

“No one’s ever going to find you.” He chuckled again. “Or me. The Law’s too stuck on technology.” He gestured to the trees. “All you have to do is go off the grid and you may as well not even exist. I can do anything I want, and they can’t do jack about it.”

“I’m guessing you know something about those other three hikers that have gone missing over the last two months, then.”

He snorted. “That’s only the ones you know about.”

This well-maintained trail was popular among hikers, runners, and cyclists, but the surrounding forest thickened to a gloomy wood on either side. Dense shrubs and fallen trees made it almost unnavigable, but the man picked his way through the underbrush as if he knew where he was going.

He probably lives out here in some Unabomber shack.

“I got a promotion at work. More money, and closer to my house. Really lucky to get it.”

The man grunted. “Why you tellin’ me that?”

“Because I was supposed to meet my mom for dinner tonight. I was going to tell her about it, but… well, I felt like I needed to tell someone.”

He grunted again.

“I don’t suppose you know anything about rare coins, do you?”

“What?” He pushed a branch out of the way for us to pass.

“Yeah. It was the weirdest thing. I was really low on cash a couple of weeks ago, so I scraped together all my loose change and went to the grocery store to put it in the coin sorter thing—you know what I’m talking about? The machine that takes your change and gives you a voucher or gift card you can spend at the store?”


“Anyway, there were a couple of coins that got rejected. One of ’em, I’m not sure where it came from. Don’t remember seeing it before. Kinda goldish or coppery circle in the middle, and a silver circle on the outside. Writing on it wasn’t English. Thought I’d find somebody to look at it and tell me if it was worth anything.”

He snorted. “Probably a Mexican peso. Looks like your luck has taken a nosedive.”

“Maybe. But—”

“Would you shut up? I don’t care about your life.”

“Don’t you? You’re trying to steal it.”

He stopped and spun me around to face him. “Enough!”

He raised his fist, but only glared at me. I stumbled as he shoved me forward into the thicket. My head throbbed. Not sure how long I’d been out after he hit me over the head from behind, but it was a while. Hadn’t expected that, but probably should have.

It wasn’t easy to tell how much of the gloom was shade from the trees and how much was from the vanishing sun.

A thorny vine stretched its rigid stems like a razor wire spider’s web from a nearby tree. I managed to scratch up my leg as we pushed on through the thicket, and blood trickled down my calf. Enough for a marker? I brushed my leg against as many plants as I could to brush away the clots and keep it flowing.

I wiped my jaw across my shoulder to dislodge some dried mud. “So, you live around here?”

He growled like a grumpy dog.

A stick snapped somewhere to my left. Something large was moving through the underbrush.

The man heard it, too, and frowned at the dusky woods. He muttered to himself, and I thought I caught the words, “feral hogs,” but I couldn’t be sure.

“One of them survived, you know. She dug her way out of that shallow grave you left her in and crawled to the highway. That’s how I knew you were out here. I’m lucky you finally took the bait.”

He squinted at me, working his jaw back and forth, testing words in his head and biting them back. “Lucky?” he spat. “I’ll make sure your luck runs out. Double-damn sure. Then I’m on the wind, and nobody will ever find me. I’ll hunt again wherever I please.”

He took a moment to smirk before he shoved me again, and we resumed shuffling through the woods.

And there it was, maybe fifty yards ahead. As predicted, the Unabomber shack.

“Looks like a fixer-upper.”

“Shut it,” he snapped.

A deer stepped onto the rough path between us and the shack. It was over-sized for a native whitetail and shadows wrapped around it, even in the clearing, scoffing at the dwindling light.

The man waved his arms. “Get out of here! Go on! Git!”

The deer lowered its head and shook its antlers.

“Frickin’ ruttin’ bucks.” He cast about for a weapon. Not much but vines and forest litter presented itself.

The deer took a few steps toward us. It was just wrong. The creature was bone-thin and its limbs didn’t fit its body. Didn’t look strong enough to hold up its heavy rack of antlers. The poor thing’s face was so skeletal it appeared not to have any flesh on it at all and its eyes were sunken deep into their sockets.

The man shook his head. “Don’t worry, dude. I’ll put you out of your misery soon enough.”

“Bet he just needs food. He looks really hungry.”

“Naw. He’s had all summer to fatten up. That there’s chronic wasting disease. Zombie deer sickness.”

Wonder if anyone’s thought of that for Halloween—Zombie deer.

He waved his arms again and ran a few steps toward the deer. “Get out of the way!”

It continued toward us.

The man looked around again. He broke off a small limb from a yaupon bush. Couldn’t have been any thicker than my pinkie finger, but it was long and bushy.

“Nice flyswatter.”

He shoved me and I toppled over. I wriggled around until I could see what was happening.

The man charged, waving the branch. The deer rose onto its hind legs, towering at eight or nine feet tall over the man.

He froze.

And it kept walking.

The man took a few steps back.

Instead of dainty cloven front hooves, the deer had gnarled, clawed hands. Thick, iron-like talons sprang from its knotty fingers.

And still it came.

The man let out a strangled scream and tried to flee, but he tripped over his own hubris and sprawled in the fallen leaves.

I shook my head. And he thought he was such a predator.

Fading sunlight glistened off strings of slime as the monstrous deer opened its jaws. Its eyes glowed a deep red.

Unable to get up, I watched in morbid fascination as the thing’s nightmarish spikey teeth were fully exposed.

It bent over the fallen man. He screamed and struggled, then went limp. When the beast raised its head again a few minutes later, the lower third of its face was smeared in gore.

It rose and approached me.

The creature stank of rot and decomposition as it leaned over, running a rough hand down my arm. Its wicked talon sliced through the zip tie like hot butter.

“Thank you. I wasn’t sure that vine had drawn enough blood to open the portal for you to come.”

I put my hand over the strange coin in my pocket, to make sure it was still there before I stood up. I had started seeing the monster standing under a tree across the street from my window that night after I returned from the store with my paltry coin-bought groceries.

It had called to me in my dreams.

It knew what I wanted, and it told me what it wanted, so we struck a bargain. One blood sacrifice for one wish. I figured I could kill two birds with one stone—give some monsters to the monster and get something for me in exchange.

As long as I had the coin, it couldn’t hurt me, so why not?

It continued to loom over me.

I got to my feet and dusted pine needles off my butt. “That was a little harder than I expected. I’d been coming out here so much without him showing up that I’d started to think he’d moved on. Hadn’t counted on him bashing me over the head, though. Good to be lucky, I guess. But you got your meal. Now, it’s time for my wish.”

Its voice was like boulders grating against each other. “This will be the second. You have one left, Detective.”

Welfare Check

“Mommy? Why is Mr. Gonzales out there with two policemen?”

Kinsey Lang peered through the front window at her landlord, who waved his hands around as he spoke to a couple of cops.

He always was excitable.

Kinsey forced a smile. “I have no idea, Joanna,” she lied to the nine-year-old. “Take your brother and go to your rooms, okay? It’ll be all right. Don’t worry.” She awkwardly used her left hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her daughter’s ear that had stubbornly stuck to the girl’s forehead.

“C’mon, Charlie. You heard what Mommy said.”

The six-year-old stood, turning his head so he could use his one good eye to navigate. Kinsey watched until they disappeared into the hallway. She sighed and moved a chair against the wall to hide a hole in the sheetrock. The security deposit had been forfeited a long time ago, but she was still embarrassed for Mr. Gonzales to see the damage.

Would he blame her, like Randy always did?

Her husband had sworn it would be different this time. Guess he skipped the rent.


She knew exactly where it had gone. He’d stumbled in at six this morning reeking of cheap alcohol and cheaper perfume.

Kinsey took another look out the window. Neither officer had any paperwork. When they’d been evicted before, cops had handed her a whole stack of papers. But then again, she hadn’t expected to see any.

This time.

She moved away from the glass and paced around the living room.

Last month she’d scraped together enough money to pay most of the rent from her assistance check and some cash Randy had hidden in the closet. It was Tuesday—her check had come in the mail today. Always sent to her mother’s house, so Randy couldn’t get at it. She’d called to say it arrived.

They had a code.

Hey, Kinsey. Big sale at Walmart. You wanna go?

Sure, Mama.

I’ll come pick you up.

Because the one thing that Randy hated worse than being sober was going shopping, and food had to get into the house somehow. So he let her out, on a short, tight leash, holding the children hostage to make sure she returned.

Did they realize what was happening?

Even the cheapest level of store-brand cookie is still a cookie. Maybe that Mommy always came home with treats when she went shopping was all they needed to know. Safer that way.

He hadn’t always been like that. Or perhaps that was just one of the lies she told when she asked herself why she didn’t leave him. There were also practical considerations.

He said he’d kill her if she left him.

She had nowhere to go, anyway. Her stepfather hated children in general, and hated her specifically, so her mother was afraid to take her in. It would be hellish there, anyway.

Her father? He would have skinned Randy alive. If he hadn’t died of a heart attack when the children were small.

The voices outside got closer. She desperately wanted Mr. Gonzales to stay outside. She wouldn’t be able to bear the look on his face when he stepped inside and looked around.

She frowned as she almost tripped over her husband’s out-stretched leg.

He even managed to miss the couch. Kinsey wrinkled her nose. He reeked of more than booze now. Probably just as well. Easier to clean the tile than the upholstery.

Mr. Gonzales and the officers were on the porch now. She stepped over the pool of blood that spread out from beneath Randy’s head and tucked herself into the utility room. Kinsey sighed. Such a mess in here.

The exterior door to the backyard was unlocked, and she pulled aside the dusty curtain to peek through the dingy glass at the top. A clump of neighbors stood at the edge of the property.

Ah, Lucia Jones. Always were chasing after Randy. I wish you’d caught him.

And Chester Holiday. Biggest gossip in the neighborhood. Wonder what rumors he’ll be spreading tonight? If only he knew.

The key turning in the lock caught Kinsey’s attention.

A male voice. Must be one of the officers. “Mr. Gonzales. Please wait on the porch.”


Swear words.

They must have seen Randy.

The chirp and squawk of radios.

“Dispatch, we’ve got a 10-55d. Gonna need Homicide and Crime Scene out here… Copy that.”

More footsteps.

The word ‘clear’ repeated several times.

“Oh, God. Hansen? I found the kids.”

More radio chatter.

Footsteps getting closer.

“Where’s the mom?”

“Do you think she…?”

“Haven’t checked in here.”

The door to the utility room flew open and two officers gaped at Kinsey.

It had taken a long time for the photographers to finish and the people in Tyvek suits and surgical booties to start their prowl around the house. Little yellow tents with numbers on them littered the rooms.

Finally, someone taped some paper bags over Randy’s hands and tucked him into a body bag. The gun on the floor next to him went into another bag. The stretcher snapped into place and technicians wheeled him out.

Kinsey felt nothing and wondered if that was normal. She should have been upset. Instead, the Randy-shaped hole in her life was all fog and wind.

Another gurney appeared from the hallway, with a third close behind it. Tears streamed down the face of a man pushing one of the child-sized cadaver pouches.

A voice sighed heavily, right in front of Kinsey, so she shifted her attention.

“I’ll never understand as long as I live how someone could do something like this.”

Kinsey picked a sticky clot of blood out of her hair.

“Who found the bodies?”

“Her mother called for a welfare check. She was supposed to pick Ms. Lang up this afternoon but couldn’t get in touch.”

“What do you think set him off?”

“Who knows?”

“You get her feet.”

Kinsey watched as they pulled her body out of the narrow utility room. She didn’t recognize her own face. Her right arm caught on the edge of the washing machine, bending at a 90° angle between the wrist and elbow where the bone had been shattered. She winced.

Hours later, the crime scene investigators left. The officers left. Yellow tape fluttered in the October breeze.

“Mommy?” Joanna plopped down on the couch.

“What is it, baby?”

“Is Daddy coming back?”

Kinsey’s eyes lingered on the glossy black pool of clotted blood where Randy had lain. “I don’t think so, honey.”

She thought a shadow swirled over it but told herself it was just the tree outside moving in the wind.

“Grandpa!” Charlie shouted.

Kinsey turned her head. “Dad?”

Her father stood near the front door, arms open wide enough to a hug all three of them. “Come on, Kinsey. Let’s go home. Let’s all go home.”

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. If you are someone you know is in danger at home, please call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1−800−799−7233 or TTY 1−800−787−3224.

True Crime Society

 True Crime Society

“Welcome to our virtual meeting for the Houston chapter of the True Crime Society. It’s Tuesday night live!” Elizabeth smiled at the screen, and stacks of electronic boxes filled with people, smiled back. So far, twenty-seven people had joined.

“We’ll just wait a few minutes before we get started to make sure any stragglers have a chance to get signed in. How’s everybody been this week?”

A woman in a bright yellow shirt began mouthing words, but there was no sound.

“Susan, you’re muted, hon.”

Susan squinted at her screen for a moment. “Can you hear me now?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I just wanted to let everybody know that I’m spending my lunch hour walking in the park. It’s like a mini vacation, you know, to get out of the house and just have a change of scenery. And guess what? I’ve lost five pounds!”

Other members clapped, and there were responses of “Way to go!” “Good for you!”

“Oh, oh, oh!” A young woman with a green China doll haircut and bee sting lips waved her hand. “My uncle got out of the hospital. Nobody thought he was going to make it.”

“Oh, that’s excellent news, Leslie.” Elizabeth smiled and nodded.

A name appeared in the waiting room. Alex Ridgeway. That’s the guy that signed up yesterday afternoon. She clicked the button and admitted him to the call.

A woman with long dark hair appeared in a new box.

Oops! Guess it’s an Alexandra, not an Alexander. “Welcome, Alex. This is our newest member. She joined online yesterday after watching the video on our Insta. Thank you, Patricia, for making that.”

Patricia grinned. “I had a blast doing it.”

Elizabeth shifted her microphone. “Alex, would you like to tell us a little bit about yourself, then we’ll get started with our speaker.” Is that barbeque sauce on your cheek? You should always do a mirror check before you turn the camera on.

A faint yowl and a thump came from somewhere. Alex looked over her shoulder, then turned back to face the camera. “The cat’s knocked something over. I was just really curious about the group, so I thought I’d log in and check it out. Killers are fascinating. So, yeah…here I am.”

Alex looked over her shoulder again, then reached up and adjusted her webcam so that it was focused more on her chin and decolletage.

Elizabeth cringed. Can she not see her feed? “Alright, then. Without further ado, I’d like to welcome Agent Samuel Berkowitz of the FBI. He’s with the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, and he specializes in counter-terrorism. His latest book, Free Radical, is about how people get lured into violent organizations, and how to get them back out again. Alright, Sam, take it away.”

“Good evening. I’d like to thank Elizabeth DeSalvo for that great introduction – she made me sound really good. Hope I don’t disappoint. We’re all here together tonight due to the miracle of the internet. Amazing thing, the World Wide Web. Don’t you all agree?”

The people who had their cameras on nodded.

“Now, despite its many charms, the web has a dark side. You don’t know who’s really lurking on the other side of your screen.”

The bang of a slamming door made everyone jump.

Elizabeth broke in, “I’m just going to put everyone on mute. Sorry. I should have done that earlier.”

She glanced at Alex, who was watching something over her shoulder.

“Now, as I was saying,” Agent Berkowitz started.

A young, sandy-haired man appeared in the hallway over Alex’s shoulder. Elizabeth sighed with relief. At least there was someone there with her. Elizabeth had been getting concerned, as the new member had seemed very distracted by noises going on behind her.

Alex swiveled completely around to face the man. He charged at her, rage distorting his face. She just sat there, arms in front as if she were holding something in her lap.

Elizabeth fumbled for her mouse. It took her three tries to click the “Unmute All” button.

“Alex! Alex, run!”

She stood up just as the man reached her. The webcam got knocked over, and there was only a view of a laptop keyboard.

The crack of a gunshot ripped through Elizabeth’s headphones, followed closely by a guttural scream. Oh. My. God. “Alex! Alex!”

Her rectangle disappeared as her connection dropped.

“Elizabeth!” Berkowitz shouted. “Call 9-1-1. Do it now.”

She almost dropped her phone twice, her hands were shaking so badly.

“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

The phone connected to the computer by Bluetooth, causing an echo as the conversation played out over the video conference.

“She’s been shot.” Elizabeth’s voice was so high and thin she didn’t recognize herself.

“Who’s been shot?”

“A-a-alex. We were on a virtual meeting. This man just walked in and shot her. We all saw it.”

“What’s the address ma’am?”

“I. I don’t know. It’s all virtual. She was new…”

“Do you have a membership database?” Berkowitz asked.

“Yes. Of course! Aileen? Are you still-”

“I’m here! Hold on a sec…” Her fingers tapped furiously on the keyboard. “Got it! Alex Ridgeway, 2001 Green River Road, #1130.”

Elizabeth repeated it to the dispatcher.

“Thank you, ma’am. Emergency services are on the way. Are you able to see the victim?”

“No. She disconnected.”

“I see. Can you describe what happened?”

Elizabeth told her what she’d seen. The little red circle in the upper right of her screen caught her eye. “The whole thing is recorded! It was for a webinar, but…”

“Excellent. I need your contact information. A detective may stop by later this evening.”

Elizabeth looked at the wastebasket near her feet. She thought she might vomit. But she managed to give the 9-1-1 operator her details.

Some of the True Crime Society members had signed off, but most were still on. Including Agent Berkowitz. This was the closest most of them had been to a true crime. Elizabeth just wanted to crawl into bed and hide under her covers.

“Okay, then,” Agent Berkowitz said. “I think we’d better save this talk for another time. Is everyone okay?”

Elizabeth could see his eyes scanning the screen full of pale faces. She wasn’t so sure she could answer ‘yes’ to his question.

“It’s normal to be shaken up,” Berkowitz said, looking at each individual frame. “Your body has a strong reaction to violence, because, well, you could be next. If your hands are shaking, you feel nausea, and your breathing is shallow, that’s the adrenalin that flooded through your body when the flight-or-fight reaction kicked in. It’ll pass as the excess adrenalin leaves your system, but it can’t hurt to talk to someone about it – seeing violence first-hand like that can affect the witness almost as much as the victim.”

“Thank you, Agent Berkowitz. I will, um, contact you later in the week.”

“Certainly. When you give the police everyone’s contact information, make sure they know I’m an FBI agent. I’m more than happy to assist with the case, if they would like.”

“I’ll do that.”

Berkowitz dropped off the call.

“Alright, everybody. Stay safe. Go hug your loved ones. We’ll reconvene next week. Good night.”

Elizabeth shut down the call, then got up to make herself a cup of hot tea. She sat on her couch, covered with an afghan, sipping the hot drink and staring out the sliding glass door to the back yard.

It didn’t help. It took another four hours for her to finally feel like she was winding down. She’d just stood up to get ready for bed when the doorbell rang. Elizabeth padded softly on bare feet to peer through the peephole. Two dark-haired men in suits stood there.

“Who is it?”

“Police, ma’am. Detectives Lucas and Rader.”

“Hold your ID up to the peephole.” She was half expecting them, but she was still spooked at the thought of strangers at her door.

They held them up, but between the dim porch light and the fish-eye distortion, Elizabeth couldn’t tell if they were real or fake. But neither looked like the killer. “What do you want?”

“We just need to ask you some questions about the Alex Ridgeway incident.”

They must be real if they know the details. Elizabeth flung open the door. “Come in, come in.”

She led them to the living room. “Can I offer you anything to drink?”

The one that she thought was Rader said, “No, thank you.”

“So, how can I help you?”

“The dispatcher said you might have a recording of the incident,” Lucas replied.

“Yes.” Elizabeth moved to the desk in the far corner and woke the laptop. Once she found the recording of the virtual meeting, she clicked on it and said, “I don’t want to watch this again. I’ll go in the kitchen and get myself some water.”

Rader nodded, his eyes softening. “Yes ma’am. I think that’s a great idea.”

When Elizabeth heard the gunshot, she drank most of the water and had to refill her glass.

“Ma’am?” Detective Lucas called. “Could you send this to me?”

Elizabeth came back into the living room. “Of course. Do you have a card with your email on it?”

“Yes.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a fancy metal business card case. Mother of pearl gleamed on the inside as he opened it.

Elizabeth sat back down at her computer. “I’ll load it up to the cloud, then send you a link. I think it’s too big to email.”

“If you could get a list of all the attendees and their contact information, that’d be helpful.”

“Already downloaded.” She started to upload the video.

“So you’ve never actually met Alex Ridgeway, is that correct?” Lucas asked.

“Yes, that’s correct. Is Alex okay?” Elizabeth suspected she already knew the answer.

Detective Rader shook his head. “No, ma’am. I’m sorry. If it’s any comfort, the cat will be okay, though.”


“Ridgeway’s cat. Yes. It came through the surgery just fine.”

Elizabeth’s hand flew to her mouth. “What happened to it?”

“The intruder stabbed it, but lucky for the cat, missed any vital organs.”

“How awful. As I said before, I didn’t really know Alex, but she seemed nice.”

The detectives looked at each other. Lucas pulled out his cell phone and scrolled around on it for a moment. He showed her a photo of a young man. Sandy blond hair. Blue eyes.

Elizabeth leaned back. “That’s the killer.”

Detective Lucas shook his head. “No, ma’am. That’s Alex Ridgeway.”

The Wallpaper Lady

This story was written and narrated by Houston area author Lynn Long. Visit his website for more info: http://www.gulfcitysaga.com/

Newt Bunko double-checked the address and identified the house. The Craftsman in the middle of the block.

“Good, I’m on the right side.” He never let the client see the red, replacement door on his beige Crown Vic. Appearances matter. After he parked the land whale, he popped a tape into his stereo unit. The staccato theme to Mission Impossible­ blasted through hissing speakers. When the music stopped, the tense narration started.

“Good morning, Captain Commission. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to make this sale. You are an eagle—an earning eagle. You are the captain of cold calling. Now go in there and close this deal.

As always, should you or any of the Fantasti-Cans Force not make the sale, the Secretary will drop you on the leader board. This tape will self-destruct in five seconds. Good luck and always be closing.”

Inspired, Newt fished out a tube of peppermint Binaca and gave his mouth the blast that lasts. The steering wheel pulled a gap in his straining shirt as he slid out of the sedan. Armed with a thick sales book and brimming with confidence, he waddled toward the house.

As he huffed up the steps, he came eye to eye with a snaggle toothed Jack-O-Lantern waiting patiently on the porch. Thick paper embossed with a cliché image of a witch covered the door. The old hag beckoned, ‘Step inside my pretties.’

Taking a deep breath, Newt exhaled a minty “You got this,” before pressing the doorbell button. It took a few minutes for a thin, gray-haired woman dressed in black to appear. To Newt, she looked like she had posed for the door cover.

“Good Afternoon, Mrs. Spellman. Newton Bunko with Best Ever Windows. I called earlier.”

“Oh, yes, young man.” The LOL, Little Old Lady, opened the door wider and waved him in. “Come in my little sweetie.” She let out a strangely harsh laugh. “Just kidding. I love Halloween and the sweet darlings in their costumes.”

Newt gave her a big smile. “I do too. I can’t wait to hand out the candy.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. He lived in three-story walkup and he would spend the night drinking lite beer, eating a 250-count bag of fun-sized Snickers  and watching the horror movie marathon.

“Mrs. Spellman, I don’t want…”

“Stop right there. I’m Miss Spellman—never found Mr. Right. Besides, just call me Edwina.”

“Of course, Edwina. Call me Newt.”

“Sure Newt, please have a seat.” Edwina choose the small, plaid loveseat and Newt plopped down right beside her.

Flipping to the back of his book, Captain Commission dived right in. “No need looking at the economy lines. For a fine house like this one, you’ll want Elite.”

More by accident than intent Newt had told the truth. It was in fact a lovely home. Newt figured the bungalow was built in thirties and the craftmanship implied by its name, was evident everywhere. The cottage had more space-saving built-ins than a yacht: bookcases, mailboxes and even a telephone nook.

Without hesitation, he jumped into the sales pitch. The quality of his merchandise, how it enhanced home value, the energy efficiency and, of course, its lifetime warranty. Non transferrable and by the looks of this old bird, it would expire within five years.

“That’s all very nice,” squeaked Edwina. Newt’s blitzkrieg sales pitch seemed to have overwhelmed the frail woman. “It just seems like it would so expensive.”

“That’s a common reaction, but don’t you worry. The good people at headquarters can tailor a payment plan to fit your income.” Adopting an erudite tone, he added, “Besides, you have to think value over cost. A window replacement program from Best Ever pays for itself. Especially the Elite line.”

Reaching over, she placed her hand on his knee. “Oh, I just don’t know. This is when I wish I had a man around.”

“Miss Spellman, Edwina, rest assured I’ll be with you through every step of the process.” Placing his hand on top of hers, he leaned in for the kill. With a Binaca fresh whisper, he asked, “Miss Spellman, tell me how to earn your business?”

 “It seems like the right thing, but it just makes me so nervous.” In a flash, she perked up. “A nice cup of tea. That always calms me down.” Rising, she shambled into the kitchen to prepare the beverage service.

Newt sustained a plastic smile as she left the room. Great. I hate tea.

The little old lady was taking forever, so he investigated a nearby window. He found a double-hung, oak frame unit with polished brass hardware. Flipping the catch, he opened a sash. It moved as smooth as butter. Replacing these windows with the vinyl crap he peddled would be criminal.

Not my problem.

As he closed the window, the wall paper caught his attention. On the right, a chocolate brown paper with a gold, Art Deco pattern adorned the wall. An abstract paper in varying colors with elongated and distorted ovals covered the other half. The pattern reminded Newt of that Dali painting with the melting clocks. It was just plain weird.

“Here we go!” The LOL pushed a tarnished, silver cart with the tea service. She had a teapot snuggled in a Jack-O-Lantern cozy and a tray of Halloween cookies: scary ghosts, wicked witches, mutilated pumpkins and a dancing scarecrow. They returned to the couch where she served. Newt gave it his best shot, even holding out his pinky as he sipped the brew.

“My, this is quite tasty.” He complemented the tea as he bit into a heavily frosted cookie. The morsel was more icing than cookie and the salesman wanted to spit it out.

Be calm and munch on. A sale was in the balance, so he washed down the cookie.

“You like them!” Edwina beamed. “Have another.” She pushed the tray toward him.

“Oh, no. Got to watch the old waistline.” He patted his amble belly. “But I’ll have some more of that tea.”

The two sat there for an hour sipping tea and talking about anything but window replacement programs. As the sun dropped lower in the sky, Edwina stood, went to one of the bookcases and removed a cut crystal bowl.

“This one was from last year,” she announced as she handed it to Newt, who struggled not to drop his cup or the bowl. After ditching the demitasse and clasping the crystal, he read the inscription:

First Place

Grandiflora Rose

Loddiges Rosarian Society

“Impressive,” pretended Newt. Pointing at the row of bowls in the cabinet, “And it looks like this isn’t the only time you’ve won.”

“I have the best entry every year.” Edwina snapped up, straight as a rod. “It’s nothing but pure jealous spite when I don’t win first. I just throw away those second-place cups.” Just as quick, she softened and leaned in close to her guest. “I’d tell you my secret, but then I’d have to kill you.” Newt joined her in her harsh, unsettling laugh.

“You must try another cookie,” commanded Edwina as she used silver tongs to place the dancing scarecrow on his saucer. This confection did stand out, with silver beads for his eyes and buttons. Forcing a smile, Newt bit his head off.

Now this one is tasty. It was a peanut butter and chocolate concoction that he wolfed down in a couple of bites.

“My, you really liked that one. Sorry I only have the one.” The LOL beamed.

Newt grinned and was about to reply when his bladder went into overdrive.

“May I use your facilities, Ma’am?” Newt rose from the settee.

“Why so formal, kiddo.” She pointed toward a door at the far end of the room. “You can syphon the python in there.”

Flabbergasted by her answer, Newt toddled toward the toilet. Beautiful tile work and polished brass adorned the chamber. Everything except the floor which was covered in a strange, clinical vinyl. After closing the door, Captain Commission scolded himself. Get back on point. Time to seal this deal.

He patiently stood over the bowl while his serpent spewed out a stream of yellow venom. He was zipping his snake back in its den, when a weird wobbly slithered up his spine. Looking down, he watched his Thom McAn wingtips spin and fall away as if they were being flushed through the floor. Slumping to the ground, he watched the ceiling gyrate and float away. Closing his eyes, a tranquil wave swept over him. Now he felt like he was floating in a warm, briny sea. He tried to move, but he couldn’t twitch even one itsy-bitsy muscle.

The door to the bathroom opened and Edwina stepped in pushing a stainless-steel cart. She gave him a picture-perfect smile. “Curarium. At least that’s what I call it. It’s an oral neuromuscular paralyzer that I synthesized from the curare plant. Works pretty good, don’t you think?”

Captain Commission couldn’t answer. Nonchalantly, Edwina opened the medicine cabinet and worked a control panel hidden behind the glass door.

“Timing is critical. I have to give you the cookie right before the pee potion kicks in.” A panel in the roof dropped like a trap door. As a nylon sling descended, she continued. “Weight, age, a bunch of factors can screw up the clock. Good thing I’m an old pro.”

She took off his worn shoes and holey socks and dropped them into a garbage bag. “Thom McAns? I didn’t know they made those anymore.”

Her skilled hands looped the sling around his ankles and she went back to her control panel and held down a rocker switch. “I used to do this with an old rope pulley. This is a whole lot easier.”

Up went Newt. As he hung like a side of beef, she took a huge pair of shears and cut off his clothes. After stuffing the remains of his cheap suit into the garbage bag, she pulled on rubber gloves with a proctologist pop. The LOL came over and sat on the side of the tub. “Let me tell you my little secret…

The was a beautiful rose, red as a robin’s plume

But nasty chemicals would make her gloom

Feed her meal of blood and bone

And all other flowers, she’ll dethrone

Because fresh kill is the trick to make her bloom”

She stroked the hair out of his face and flashed him a sweet smile. “I feed my babies a diet of blood and bone meal and they just flourish.” She beamed, “I’ve tried dogs, cats, birds, you name it. But they do the best on good ol’ homo sapiens.”

Frowning, she continued. “One thing that always bothered me was the waste. Then I thought—wallpaper. Once you roll out and dry human skin, it almost becomes translucent. A stretched face produces the most interesting patterns. Plus, it’s quite durable and easy to clean. Electrolux, Kirby, Rainbow. Vacuum machines alone did one bedroom. Then it was magazines, insurance, supplements. There’s always somebody trying to sell you something.”

Standing, she continued, “Vinyl windows, that’s a hoot.” Edwina slapped Newt’s ample butt. “This is a Wesley Peter’s house. You think, I’d put in cheap windows. That is a hoot.”

Returning to her cart, she retrieved one of her crystal bowls and put it under his head. “Only seems fitting, don’t you think? You’ve been hanging long enough. It goes faster if your blood has pooled toward your head. You feel a little pinch, then get sleepy and … well you know.”

She got face to face with Newt. “Don’t worry it’ll go fast.” Finding the strength, he managed to shake his head and blurt out “Nuuca.”

“No?” Edwina gave him a wistful look. “I’m afraid so, honeybun. I’m low on rose food and besides, you know a tad too much.”

Stretching out her arms and arching her back, she elucidated further. “It’s quite an ordeal. I have to leave you hanging here about three days until the skin loosens up enough to harvest.” She thumped his belly. “Even with a big boy like you, you don’t get as much as you’d think. Then I can extract the bones. The rest of you will end up in that low-shelf cat food. You know, that ten cans for a dollar stuff. The people who make that crap don’t ask many questions.” 

She shook her head. “You won’t believe how much floral scented Glade I go through and they don’t sell that door-to-door.” She gave him a hoot and another ass swat.

Moving back to her cart, she examined a tray of instruments. “Hmmm, which one to use?” After looking back and forth between the tray and her victim, she made her decision.

“This one will work just fine.” She approached with a well-honed paring knife, and felt for his throbbing neck pulse.

“Left or right, sweetie?”

A Murder of Crows

Jim Bob Renfro needed a helper, and I really needed a summer job. His opening at A Pest Free Palace was available, and it paid $12/hour – a fortune to a high school sophomore with no experience.

Most of the time, I vacuumed up mouse turds and fetched things from the truck. Stuff like that. From the start, I didn’t like Jim Bob – Mr. Renfro – much. Not sure why. He hadn’t said anything mean to me, and he looked like an average middle-aged dude – nothing weird or creepy. One thing, though – he had a flashy gold watch that he was uber-proud of.

Once, he saw me looking at it and said, “You work hard, save your money, and maybe you can get a watch like this. It’s very expensive.”

What I was thinking was, “Did he really pay money for that gaudy bauble?”

I hadn’t been there long when we went to a house for a follow-up visit. We climbed the rickety pull-down ladder to the attic to check the de-ratting progress. I had a trash bag tucked into my belt, and I held the flashlight for him while he rummaged around in a dark corner.

“Open the bag,” he grunted.

He tossed a glue trap with an emaciated, dead rodent into the sack.

I felt queasy.

There was some rustling and squeaking, and Mr. Renfro produced a second glue trap with a terrified, live rat stuck to it, squealing and struggling to get free.

“You’re not going to just toss it in the bag, are you?”

He cocked his head and looked at me as if I’d asked the question in Russian.

I pointed to the trap. “The rat? It’s alive.”


“You’re going to throw it in the trash and let it suffer?”

Renfro smirked and dropped the trapped rat onto the floor. Before I realized what he was going to do, he slammed his heel down on the rat’s head.

“Now it’s not suffering. Clean it up.”

I gagged as I tossed the bloody mess into the garbage bag. Maybe I should start looking for another job tomorrow.
Renfro headed toward the ladder. “Put out some more glue traps.”

I did. I just didn’t remove the plastic layer that covered the glue.

By the time I came down and refolded the ladder, Renfro was finishing up with the homeowner.

“Good bye, Mrs. Thompson. We’ll see you next week.”

“Thank you, Jim Bob! I don’t know what I do without you.”

As it turned out, job opportunities were hard to come by, so I had to grit my teeth and stick it out for the rest of the summer. I was never so glad to see August roll around – couldn’t wait for the first day of school.

It was a few months later when my mom called me to the phone. I think we’re the only people I know who actually still had a landline.

“Hey, it’s Jim Bob Renfro. Got a big job Saturday, and I wondered if you could use some extra cash?”

I could definitely use extra cash. “I have plans that night, but I’m free during the day.”

It was Halloween, and Randy – one of my buds – was having his annual party. He and his brothers made their own haunted house in the garage with black plastic sheeting to form the corridors. Sure, sometimes it was cheesy, but they also had a pool, and it was still usually 80 or 90 degrees in October. And his mom went nuts with all the Halloween food. Spider cupcakes, mummy meatballs, witch’s fingers breadsticks. And then some.

“If we start by eight, we should be done in the early afternoon.”

I was saving up for a car, for when I got my driver’s license over the summer. I needed every penny I could get, because Dad said I had to pay the insurance, too.

“Sure. See you Saturday morning, Mr. Renfro.”

“Crows. Filthy birds, even worse than pigeons. Started roosting on an office building, and we have to encourage them to leave.”

“Oh?” I was afraid to ask.

“We have to install bird spikes, stuff like that. I’ll tell you all about it Saturday.”

Saturday was a little chilly, and I was glad I had a jacket when my mom dropped me off at A Pest Free Palace’s office. Being here reminded me how much I hated this job. Probably too late to call in sick. I just had to think of the beautiful car I would buy with my saved-up money.

Mr. Renfro waved at my mom as he opened the door. She drove away. I wanted to run after her. But if I wanted my own car, I had to come up with the cash. I forced a smile.

“Morning, Mr. Renfro.”

“Morning. Everything’s already loaded up. Let’s get ‘er done.”

The crow-plagued office building was across our small town, at the edge of the city park. Fifteen minutes after setting off, we arrived. A few of the black birds watched us from the trees as we tacked down bird spikes, installed rotating reflectors, and hooked up a motion-activated predator call broadcaster. Sometimes they flapped around and cawed to each other, but mostly they just watched. I felt like I was trespassing.

As I walked across the roof to string some cable, I heard a loud crunch and the roof started to give way. I threw myself backward and landed on my butt. At least my foot didn’t go all the way through the shingles – just left a big dent. Renfro didn’t ask if I was okay, but he did take a picture to send to the building manager to they could get a roofer up to repair it. Priorities, I guess.

When we finally got the equipment installed, we sat under the awning over the office’s front door and took a break. I seriously wished I’d brought more than a PBJ sandwich and an apple.

“Now,” Renfro said between bites of his own meal. “There’s one more thing we have to do.”

I’m not sure why this made the food in my stomach curdle. Maybe it was the way he looked at the watching crows.

“Pigeons, sparrows, they’d see all that stuff and just go away. Not crows, though. They’re too smart for their own good. They’ll find ways around the spikes, and realize the reflectors aren’t a threat. Nope, crows, you have to send them a message.”

I didn’t like the way that sounded. I just nodded. Something bad was getting ready to happen, I could feel it coming.

Renfro packed up his lunch kit and took it to the truck. When he came back, he had a BB gun and a sparkly glass bead the size of a grape.

He chuckled softly. “They can’t resist something shiny. Watch this.”

Renfro rolled the bead out onto the grass beneath the tree where the crows were perched. They cocked their heads from one side to the other, trying to get a better look. After muttering amongst themselves, they hopped, branch by branch, to the lowest part of the tree. One must have been the lookout, because it stayed perched in the leaves and kept its beady little eyes on us while the other three flew down to investigate.

Renfro carefully sighted in on the middle crow in a group of three and pop! Down went the bird, struggling and flapping on the ground. The other three flew off, cawing loudly.

I don’t think you should have done that.

He took the bird by the feet and carried up onto the roof. He used a heavy-duty staple gun to secure it to the roof, out of sight from the street, but easy to see if you were a crow flying over the building. It squawked both times he stapled it, and I jumped each time. I couldn’t really see it, but I could guess what he was doing.

You really, really should not have done that.

“Welp, that’s it. The crows won’t roost here anymore.”

He gave me $100 in cash and dropped me at my house – it was on the way back to his shop. The bills were new and crisp, but they felt dirty.

I tried playing Assassin’s Craft online for a while, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the poor crow stapled to the roof. My mom had dabbled in reupholstering chairs, so I found her tack removal tool and stuck it in my pocket, pulling my shirt over the long bit of the mini-crowbar that stuck out of my jeans.

“I’m going to ride my bike,” I told my dad.

He barely looked up. “Don’t be gone too long if you want a ride to Randy’s at seven thirty.”

“I know.”

It took about twenty minutes to get to the office where we’d worked earlier, and dusk was just settling in. I didn’t have a ladder, but I pulled the fire escape down and used that to get up on the roof.

There were crows everywhere. They surrounded the bird that Renfro had stapled down, and they moved silently out of my way as I approached their fallen comrade.

I pulled up the staples, and the bird just laid there limply. I thought it was dead, but one of its eyes opened. I didn’t know what I was going to do with it, but I couldn’t leave it there. I put it inside my shirt and tucked the shirt into my pants.

As I started toward the fire escape, a flash of something shiny and gold caught my eye. When I turned towards it, I noticed a huge hole in the roof, where I’d nearly fallen through earlier. What had made it collapse?

Curiosity was not my friend. I looked over the edge.

Lying on the polished concrete below was Mr. Renfro. What on earth could have brought him back to the office building? He knew the hole was there – he took a picture of it. I thought of the shiny object at the edge of the collapsed roof and swallowed hard.

I called 911and scurried down the fire escape.

The fire department broke through the glass doors, but it was too late for Mr. Renfro. They suddenly became very suspicious of what I was doing there. I called my mom to come get me, and I told them what had happened. Everything. I even pulled the half-dead crow out of my shirt to show them.

One of the police officers looked at him and said, “My girlfriend’s a wildlife rehabber. Why don’t you let me take him to her?”

I handed the bird over. What was I going to do with it?

Needless to say, I didn’t make it to Randy’s party. After taking such a long time to go to sleep, I was annoyed at being woken up at a quarter of six by cawing crows. Then came the pecking. There were birds pecking on my bedroom window. Irritated, I went to shoo them away.

I opened the window. “Let me sleep, you idiot birds!”

Something shiny glittered on the window sill. I rubbed my eyes and picked it up.

It was Mr. Renfro’s watch.

The Seventh Circle

Mr. Hughes loved Halloween.

He once told me that it had been his wife’s favorite holiday, and he kept up the decorating to honor her after she’d died. An elaborate shrine to the dead, if you will. Instead of “Sweets for the sweet,” “Deads for the dead?” But I digress.

Every year, he created a different theme. Last year had been the best yet. A realistic cemetery erupted from his yard one morning. Bats hung from the trees, and giant spider webs stretched between tombstones. On Halloween night, he added a fog machine, and a hidden projector threw stalking specters against a nearly invisible mesh. Younger children were too scared to come close to the trick-or-treat bowl, but the older ones loved it – it was almost like a free haunted house.

He always made a costume that matched the decorations. One year, I helped him pass out candy, and he was surprisingly good at making me up like a zombie. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and it terrified me for a moment before I realized that it was me. The makeup was too realistic, too perfect. Made me think of the nightmares I used to have when I was in the hospital. I didn’t sleep that night. Or the next one. By the time I got to fifty-six hours, I was starting to hallucinate. I collapsed on the sofa and slept twelve hours straight. But at least I was too tired to dream. Another plus: my house was incredibly clean and my closets were more organized than they’d ever been.

The year after that, he did a werewolf scene. A disguised post supported a leaping canine monster, and I couldn’t tell you how creepy it was to go to my mailbox and be faced with a werewolf in mid-attack. Did I mention that it moved? It gave me the heebie-jeebies. Reminded me too much of the time my aunt’s big dog attacked me when I was little. Still have the scars on my jaw. I even go the long way around out of the neighborhood so I don’t have to drive past that monstrosity on the way to work. I couldn’t even look out the living room window in the evening – those glowing eyes haunted my nightmares.

Aside from his Halloween obsession, Mr. Hughes isn’t a bad neighbor. If you don’t mind obsessive grass mowing. At seven in the morning. But he always smiles and waves when he sees me. Although I suspect he might have been the one to complain to the HOA about my edging. That’s how the lawn service company does it. Not my fault, is it?

But this year, he’s got the most over-the-top tableau I’ve ever seen. And that’s saying something, given his decorations. It looks like a scene from Dante’s Inferno. Layers of ragged nylon fabric dance in the breeze of a fan, simulating flames. Damned souls writhe in the fires, and motion sensor-triggered sound effects wail in anguish. An enormous three-faced Lucifer head with pointed teeth and gaping maws was tethered between the two oak trees.

The night he put out the display, I woke up screaming. It had been months since that happened. I had to call my shrink at three AM. I think it’s probably been two years since the last time I had to do that.

Mr. Hughes. It was almost like he knew. Knew my most vulnerable spot, then gleefully sucker punched me. Was he trying to drive me insane? He couldn’t possibly know. But why? Why on earth would he choose this scene?

Surely, if he had been there, listening to my wife and kids screaming as the house blazed around them, he wouldn’t have done it. There was nothing I could have done as I lay on the ground, grass slick with my own blood, jagged bone ends sticking out of my thighs. I had tried to drag myself to the front door, but my legs were worse than useless. An explosion – later I found it was a gas line – shattered the windows and roared through the house like the Devil himself. I had been upstairs and got thrown through a picture window into the front yard. I lived. Not sure if it was a blessing or a curse. I had survived Hell, and for what? To be mocked by Halloween decorations? But this year, I could do something about it. I called up Mr. Hughes and offered to help with the final touches.


Sunday, Halloween morning, was cool and dull. Thin clouds lazed by, briefly exposing the wan sun. Clots of neighbors paused on the sidewalk, admiring Mr. Hughes’ pièce de résistance. A very realistic corpse had been added to one of the jaws of the three-faced Satan. The body’s head and neck vanished into dark mouth, and the arms were raised, hands against the teeth that were trying to chomp it down. The grass had been torn up, as if there had been an epic struggle. The character wore the kind of robe common to Christmas pageants – perhaps he was meant to be Judas? But I’m not really sure. Almost as soon as I’d arrived at Mr. Hughes’ house the prior evening, he’d offered me whiskey from an expensive, imported bottle. We each had a shot, then another. We went outside to look at the display, and he told me that this would probably be the last year of his Halloween extravaganzas. I agreed, fingering the length of clothesline I had in my pocket.

Watching from my darkened window, I could see that the neighbors’ concern increased to panic as Halloween evening stretched on, and Mr. Hughes had not appeared to pass out candy. I saw Mrs. Montoya, his other next door neighbor, standing on the sidewalk in front of his house, talking on her cell phone. I went to see what she was up to.

She ended the call before I got out there, and as I got closer, I could see that she was crying.

“What’s wrong, Mrs. Montoya?” I kept it formal – I didn’t know her all that well.

She sniffled before she turned to me. “Ernie seems to be missing – he hasn’t come out with candy, and he won’t pick up the phone. I’ve called the police. I’m afraid he may need to go to the hospital.”

Too late for that. “Really? Why?”

“He was diagnosed with an aggressive pancreatic cancer. He only has a few months to live.”

“I didn’t know. I’m very sorry to hear that.” You have no idea how sorry.

I sat on the curb and started to laugh. I was still laughing when the police arrived.

Post Spring Break Contest

The first person who correctly identify the beach I was sitting on when I wrote this short story wins a signed copy of their choice of one of the following: Earthbound, Cheval Bayard, Confessions of a Troll, Dragon by Knight, The Hanged Man’s Wife, or The Magician’s Children. Reply in the comments.

Spring break was almost over, and the clouds were rolling in. The fog was so thick that even the midday sun hadn’t been able to burn through it. The wind had churned the waves to nearly the color of chocolate milk, and the mist that shrunk visibility to only a few dozen meters was only a few shades lighter.
“Should we start packing?” Carmela asked, pulling her hoodie down around her neck.
“We still have one more night in the campsite,” Madison replied.
“Supposed to rain,” Carmela said, disappointed.
She was not a fan of the ghostly white crabs that scuttled on the beach when they’d walked down to skinny dip in the wee morning hours. Last night, even the tiny sliver of moon had been obscured by clouds. The fog seemed to make the roaring waves sound louder and the crabs bolder. There were more of them last night than ever.
Today, the beach was mostly deserted. A frustrated kyaker and a family with two toddlers were the only other people around. Even the seagulls hadn’t bothered coming out. The other four girls, Carmela and Madison’s school friends, had left this morning. Carmela wished she had joined them.
A sand piper paused in its race down the wet strand of beach and dipped its long bill hopefully in the sand.
“You want to go up the seawall to Ben and Jerry’s?” Carmela asked.
They were down to their least desirable provisions, and there didn’t seem to be much point in just sitting on a chilly, empty beach with Madison.
It sounded like someone had thrown a large rock into the water.
“What was that?” Carmela asked.
Madison rolled her eyes and sighed. “I’m sure it was just a fish jumping. They do that, you know.”
They do that because something’s chasing them. But Carmela didn’t say it out loud.
“Fine. Let’s go get lunch,” Madison said.

After pizza and ice cream, Madison used her mother’s credit card to rent a pedal car, and the girls spent a few hours riding up and down the seawall. The spring break crowd had thinned considerably.
“You sure you don’t want to head home back early?” Carmela asked.
The girls picked up some sandwiches and headed back to their tent. The fog had turned to drizzle, and Carmela couldn’t think of many things she’d rather do less than be stuck in a tent with Madison and nothing to do for the next twelve hours. Maybe she could catch up on some much-needed sleep.
“I need to call Caleb,” Madison announced when they got back to their camp.
“Okay,” Carmela replied.
“I need some privacy.”
Carmela frowned. “It’s raining outside.”
“It’s not raining that hard. Besides, you can take my umbrella.” Madison held out a pink, heart-spattered collapsible brolly to Carmela.
Madison nodded toward the tent flap. “Yes.”
Carmela should have put her foot down, should have stood up to Madison. But that was the funny thing. Nobody ever stood up to Madison, no matter how much they ought to have. Carmela snatched the umbrella and crawled out into the rain.
All the other campers had had the good sense to pack up and go home. Madison’s green and white tent was the only one left in the entire campground. At least that meant that she’d most likely be able to use one of the flush toilets instead of one of the portables. She climbed the ramp and opened the first door.
The fluorescent light flickered and hummed. Just don’t go out while I’m in here. As bathrooms go, this one was quite large, with built-in benches lining the corner facing her. There were no windows, of course, but Carmela did consider dragging her sleeping bag into it, despite the signs forbidding just that. It would be nice if her cell battery wasn’t dead. She could at least text Emily while she was waiting on Madison to finish her oh-so-important private call with her boyfriend. But, lacking anything better to do, she went out to the beach.
It wasn’t quite dark, so she wasn’t too worried about the crabs being out just yet. She hadn’t walked very far down the beach when she noticed strange tracks in the sand – a large body, pulled along by flippers. Could it be a turtle? There were “Report Nesting Turtles” signs everywhere. Although, Carmela hadn’t thought they were that large.
Carmela whirled around, but saw nothing. That was it. Phone call or no phone call, she was going back to the tent.
She headed over the boardwalk towards the campsite. She was surprised to see Madison coming towards her.
“Bathroom,” she told Carmela.
“I want to show you something when you get out,” Carmela replied.
Madison nodded. While Carmela waited, she looked over the edge of the dunes to the wild sea. A vee of pelicans glided silently above the beach.
Something wet and cold flopped onto her shoulder. She yelled as her elbow flew back and struck its target.
“Ow!” complained Madison, rubbing her jaw. “What did you do that for?”
“Why were you sneaking up on me? How was I supposed to know you weren’t some perv?”
“Whatever. What is it you wanted to show me?”
“This way. I think there may be turtles on the beach.”
The tide was going out, and the tracks on the beach were still intact.
“I think that’s more than one turtle. Look how wide it is. Should we call the park rangers or something?” Madison asked.
“Probably. But my phone’s out of batteries.”
“Go get mine. It’s under my pillow.”
Carmela shook her head as she trudged through the deep sand to the boardwalk. Madison was wading into the water. What she saw in that cold water, Carmela would never understand. Besides, the strange tracks and odd noises made her uneasy. She’d get the phone and try to talk Madison out of the sea while they were waiting on the ranger.

Phone in hand, Carmela paused in front of the sign at the end of the boardwalk to dial the turtle hotline. She reported the location of the track as she walked back toward the ocean, then hung up.
Madison, however, was nowhere to be seen.
“Madison! Where are you? This isn’t funny,” Carmela shouted, her voice lost in the wind. She walked perhaps a hundred yards in either direction, but there was no sign of her.
There was no reply.
Carmela decided to check the bathrooms and the tent, but Madison wasn’t there, either. Fear seeped into the corners of her mind. She ran back to the water, but she was alone on the beach. Completely alone.
Madison’s phone dinged, and Carmela looked at the screen. “Battery Critically Low! Plug into Charger.”
Not even a pale, spidery crab had emerged in the thickening dusk. Carmela spun and ran back to the bathrooms, slamming the door behind her and locking it. She slid down the wall and plopped onto the bench in the farthest corner from the door. The light bulb lit up, although it still sputtered. Her hands were shaking so hard she could barely turn on Madison’s phone.
The screen lit up, then went black. “Goodbye!” the message read before the phone fell completely dark.
“No!” Carmela yelled at it, before throwing the useless thing onto the floor.
She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them against her. She sat there in the flickering light, heart pounding.
Carmela was sure she heard a grunting noise outside, as if there was a giant pig rooting around at the base of the bathroom structure. She held
her breath. Maybe it was just the wind.
It felt like at least an hour had passed, maybe more. It was quiet outside now. Had she just imagined the strange snuffling? Or maybe the wind had blown something up against the bathrooms? She let her breath out slowly.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Something pounded on the door.
Carmela was sure her heart stopped. She hugged herself even tighter.
“Hello?” called a voice from outside.
“Who’s there?” Carmela said, her voice too loud, too nervous.
“I’m from Parks and Wildlife. Someone called about nesting turtles, but I can’t find anybody.”
Carmela flew across the room and threw open the door. She’d never been happier to see someone in uniform in her life.
“That was me! My friend and I saw the tracks. I went back to get her phone to call, and now I can’t find her.”
“Let’s go make sure she’s not waiting for you on the beach. If not, we’ll call the Coast Guard for a search and rescue.”
Madison had still not turned up. Neither had the crabs. The turtle track was forgotten as Carmela and the park ranger called for her. At least Madison might be able to hear, now that the wind had started to die down.
Something bright green was caught in the beam of his flashlight.
Carmela felt ice in the pit of her stomach. Madison had been wearing a bright green shirt.
“Over there,” she said, suddenly hoarse.
They approached the object gingerly. It was a scrap of fabric. There was a tiny piece of a black printed mustache at one jagged edge.
“That looks like the shirt she was wearing,” Carmela said. “What could have done that?”
“You don’t know it’s her shirt. Every shop on the seawall has those.”
There was an odd sound behind them, like something heavy being dragged over sand. As Carmela turned to look, she heard the same grunting she heard earlier.
There was something large pulling itself across the sand towards them. Carmela cried out, and the ranger swung around, catching the thing in the bright glow of the flashlight.
At first, Carmela thought it was an alligator. A fifteen foot alligator. But she saw that it had flippers, rather than legs and feet. it was black and smooth, and glistened in the beam.
Carmela was sure she’d seen a picture of one of those before, if she could only think of where. She was also sure that the scrap of green fabric caught in its recurved teeth was from Madison’s shirt.
“Run!” yelled the ranger.
Carmela was rooted to the spot, so he grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her along. The beast wasn’t fast on land, and they easily outran it. The ranger radioed for help, but by the time the Coast Guard choppers arrived, the monster was gone. Carmela didn’t dare to be alone, so she stayed with the ranger. He followed the drag marks along the beach until they disappeared into the surf. Just at the water line, he bent over to pick something up.
He held it under the flashlight and examined it. “I’ve seen a lot of stuff wash up on the beach before. I’ve even hunted for fossils in South Dakota. And If I didn’t know better, I would swear this was a mosasaur tooth. Only it isn’t fossilized.”