convulsing.
“Dix, can you hear me? There’s help coming.”
He could see an EMT coming over quickly and wanted to tell his friend what he had seen before it was too late. Though he wasn’t sure if any of his words were being heard, he told Dix what he saw in the bathroom.
Dix didn’t seem to hear. Slowly he stopped shaking and just as the EMT got over to him, he died.
Henry put his forehead down on the asphalt. He felt like crying but knew that the tears wouldn’t come, not after all the shit he’d been through in his life. After this, he’d try to go back to a normal life or as normal as he was accustomed to having. He knew he’d be arrested and probably would go back to Rahway for a few years but hopefully the evidence would show that he wasn’t the one who killed Eddie Ford.
Eddie Ford, his parole officer.
Eddie Ford, the crab-thing in the bathroom with its throat slit.
From behind him an authoritative voice said, “You Henry Hooper?” and then he felt the cuffs tighten around his wrists. He thought of Peggy the bartender spitting in his beer, telling him it was good luck.
Henry looked over at Dix. Good luck. Yeah right.
* * *
Marie woke up to an empty room. She felt a draft and saw that the door to the motel room was open, the doorknob broken off. What the fuck happened?
It wasn’t a dream; she really didn’t have any feet. It wasn’t a drug-induced a hallucination though she couldn’t be sure about the naked woman and her machine.
Marie picked herself up, wondering if she could perhaps walk on the bottoms of her calves. As she put pressure on them, she fell face first into the corner of television stand, the wood piercing her eyeball and sending it straight into her brain.
Her last living thoughts were of Japanese spider crabs, of a man being eviscerated by them. She instinctively knew that the man had a grandson somewhere who was witnessing the same thing she was and for that, she felt sad.
In the next room, Grant finished another beer and continued to watch television. I wonder when the guys are coming back. I’m gettin ’ hungry. Horny, too.
He got up from the bed and with slow, deliberate steps walked to the bathroom. Shit, what a mess. Grant looked at the butchered mass of flesh and shell in the bathroom. He saw the image of Blanche Devereaux on the back of the body and walked over to it.
He loosened his belt.
What the hell. I’m not picky.
THE END
THE LONGHEADS
CHAPTER 1
The donkey on the hill laughed loudly through its Halloween mask.
It stomped its feet, shaking the snow off its fur, and let out a small, deep-throated giggle as well as a squeaky fart. The donkey turned toward the sunset, its eyes filling with pure light, and then dropped dead in the same way it had lived: joyful and filled with gas.
At the bottom of the hill, the city of Thompson , New Jersey bustled, despite the heavy snow and bitter cold. It acted out its routine like an oversized ant colony. Each man, woman, and child went through the motions of good citizens, despite the underlying hum of several factories that pumped noxious smoke into the air, adding cancerous spice to the falling snow.
Tommy Pingpong sat in his car with the engine running. Jake should’ve been out ten minutes ago . What the hell’s taking him so long? Tommy knew he was taking a risk idling in front of the building like that. Sure, the cops didn’t patrol often but when they did, they were a bitch to get rid of. Despite that worry, he stayed, looking at his watch every thirty seconds and glancing up to see if Jake was on his way.
Fifteen minutes. Shit, where the hell is he?
Finally, through the snow flurries, he saw Jake run out of the building, almost tripping over his own feet. Opening the passenger door with a frantic pull, Jake plopped down in the seat, out of breath. “Just drive,” he
“Dix, can you hear me? There’s help coming.”
He could see an EMT coming over quickly and wanted to tell his friend what he had seen before it was too late. Though he wasn’t sure if any of his words were being heard, he told Dix what he saw in the bathroom.
Dix didn’t seem to hear. Slowly he stopped shaking and just as the EMT got over to him, he died.
Henry put his forehead down on the asphalt. He felt like crying but knew that the tears wouldn’t come, not after all the shit he’d been through in his life. After this, he’d try to go back to a normal life or as normal as he was accustomed to having. He knew he’d be arrested and probably would go back to Rahway for a few years but hopefully the evidence would show that he wasn’t the one who killed Eddie Ford.
Eddie Ford, his parole officer.
Eddie Ford, the crab-thing in the bathroom with its throat slit.
From behind him an authoritative voice said, “You Henry Hooper?” and then he felt the cuffs tighten around his wrists. He thought of Peggy the bartender spitting in his beer, telling him it was good luck.
Henry looked over at Dix. Good luck. Yeah right.
* * *
Marie woke up to an empty room. She felt a draft and saw that the door to the motel room was open, the doorknob broken off. What the fuck happened?
It wasn’t a dream; she really didn’t have any feet. It wasn’t a drug-induced a hallucination though she couldn’t be sure about the naked woman and her machine.
Marie picked herself up, wondering if she could perhaps walk on the bottoms of her calves. As she put pressure on them, she fell face first into the corner of television stand, the wood piercing her eyeball and sending it straight into her brain.
Her last living thoughts were of Japanese spider crabs, of a man being eviscerated by them. She instinctively knew that the man had a grandson somewhere who was witnessing the same thing she was and for that, she felt sad.
In the next room, Grant finished another beer and continued to watch television. I wonder when the guys are coming back. I’m gettin ’ hungry. Horny, too.
He got up from the bed and with slow, deliberate steps walked to the bathroom. Shit, what a mess. Grant looked at the butchered mass of flesh and shell in the bathroom. He saw the image of Blanche Devereaux on the back of the body and walked over to it.
He loosened his belt.
What the hell. I’m not picky.
THE END
THE LONGHEADS
CHAPTER 1
The donkey on the hill laughed loudly through its Halloween mask.
It stomped its feet, shaking the snow off its fur, and let out a small, deep-throated giggle as well as a squeaky fart. The donkey turned toward the sunset, its eyes filling with pure light, and then dropped dead in the same way it had lived: joyful and filled with gas.
At the bottom of the hill, the city of Thompson , New Jersey bustled, despite the heavy snow and bitter cold. It acted out its routine like an oversized ant colony. Each man, woman, and child went through the motions of good citizens, despite the underlying hum of several factories that pumped noxious smoke into the air, adding cancerous spice to the falling snow.
Tommy Pingpong sat in his car with the engine running. Jake should’ve been out ten minutes ago . What the hell’s taking him so long? Tommy knew he was taking a risk idling in front of the building like that. Sure, the cops didn’t patrol often but when they did, they were a bitch to get rid of. Despite that worry, he stayed, looking at his watch every thirty seconds and glancing up to see if Jake was on his way.
Fifteen minutes. Shit, where the hell is he?
Finally, through the snow flurries, he saw Jake run out of the building, almost tripping over his own feet. Opening the passenger door with a frantic pull, Jake plopped down in the seat, out of breath. “Just drive,” he
Similar Books
