Someone must’ve heard me come in. With that thought in mind, Coy dropped down and crouched next to the mantle of the fireplace, keeping still with his wrench still in hand.
“Hello,” a deep male voice asked. “Babe, is that you?”
He continued to travel down the hallway.
“Kyle?” the male asked. “I thought I told you no more late night snacking.”
In the family room, the father paused. No one in sight.
In one fell swoop, Coy drove the side of the wrench into the back of the male’s neck. One blow sent him to the ground.
“That was easy,” he whispered to the male. “Mr. Flynn, I presume. Mr. Flynn, where’s the missus?” Clack. Clack. Clack. Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Coy grasped the wrench.
When Mr. and Mrs. Flynn woke up, they were in their cold, musky basement. Together they sat on one stool, bound by weight bench chains. Mrs. Flynn parted her eyelids and, in a haze, looked around the basement. She took a deep breath. She cringed at a strong stench filling her nostrils. “Christ, get me out of here!” she squeaked.
Coy emerged from the still darkness, his eyes glowing like a cat’s. He replied, “Fat chance.”
“What—” Mr. Flynn formed his lips, but couldn’t develop a question. He tried to jump through the chains. His hands twitched. He bit his lip hard. “You –you . . .”
“Out with it,” Coy said under his breath.
“Out with it!” Coy jumped in front of Mr. Flynn.
“What do you want from us?” he finally spat out.
The standard question. Coy shrugged as if to say, “I don’t know.” He did reply, “Satisfaction?”
“What?” the husband asked. Slobber covered his lips as they formed strange shapes.
“Is that the only thing you can say?” Coy asked. He stepped over to the wife.
“You leave her alone!”
Coy winked, turned to the woman, and bit her shoulder strap. Pulling with his teeth, he shredded the fabric and exhaled along her neck.
“I’m damn serious! Leave her alone or—”
“Or what?” Coy asked. “Or what?”
Coy pursed his lips around her neck and kissed. Suddenly, he sunk in incisors into the area he kissed, ripping off a small piece of her skin. The wife screamed as Coy spat the flesh onto the gasoline soaked cement floor.
“You won’t get away with this, you know!” the husband threatened.
Coy waved his hands around his eyes to say, “I’m not listening.” His attention darted to the sound of small footsteps echoing along the staircase.
“Oh my god . . .” the wife trailed off.
“Mommy, what’s going on?” a small voice asked.
No sooner than the child stepped foot on the cold concrete floor, Coy rushed towards him and clubbed him in the back of his head with the monkey wrench.
Moments later, all three fought with the chain binding them to the single stool. Once again, the boy asked, “Mommy, Daddy, what’s going on?”
Neither parent could find the words.
“All right,” Coy said, “I’ll tell him. Johnny boy, you, Mommy, and Daddy are all going to die.”
Shock sprawled across the parents’ faces even though the news shouldn’t have come as any surprise. Coy stared at the boy, waiting for his reaction. Contrary to what Coy envisioned, the boy did not cry.
“Tough guy, huh?” Coy asked the kid.
“Leave him alone!” the father shouted, his voice cracking.
“You are really getting annoying, you know?”
“What are you going to do with us?” the boy asked, lacking any intimidation in his tone.
Pick up a signed poster commemorating my debut novel Excluded. Perhaps it's not a poster to commemorate so much as it's to point out all the fun explicit content contained in the horror novel. 11"X 17"