by Various
The old man was gibbering, "You jam, you jam. It no open." He stood up but stayed stooped over, trying to be as small as possible.
"Open the mutha-fuckin-thang!" Bobby shouted at the old man who cowered against the wall.
"I can no open," the old man muttered, his eyes downcast.
Jake was eyeing up the two women at the beer coolers. He liked what he was seeing. There was an open/closed sign hanging from a hook at the top of the door. Jake flipped it over to closed. He turned the door latch locking them in.
"Have the old man turn the lights off," Jake said to Bobby. He had an evil smile on his face. Jake leered at the women, mentally ripping the clothes off their young slim bodies.
Bobby glanced at the women. He liked what he saw too. "Switch the lights off," he said.
"Please, "the old man pleaded. "I get you money. Nobody get hurt."
Bobby yelled at the old man, "I told you to turn those fuckin lights off!"
"Please. Nobody, get hurt."
Bobby's chrome plated forty-five roared twice in his fist and two holes were punched in the old man's chest. He flew from his feet in a cloud of gun smoke and red mist, landing in a crumpled heap on the tile floor.
Bobby went around the small counter and stepped over the old man and hit the light switch on the wall. The room was darkened to a dim neon gloom. The lights from the coolers and the orange tinted streetlights were all that illuminated the inside of the store.
Black Elvira was standing with her hands on her hips. All trace of surprise was gone from her face and posture. The Mexican Fairy Princess had her arms folded across her ample breasts. She gave the two bandits the evil eye as they approached.
Black Elvira shook her finger at Bobby and Jake. She was doing that head cocking thing that some black women do when they are getting ready to get pissed off.
"Oh, no, no, no, no," She said. "You don't want to touch me or my girlfriend. My man is Calvin Cooley. He's the head of the Cryps around here." She paused for effect. "He'll have you white boys skinned alive, you touch us."
Bobby and Jake were standing in front of the women now.
Bobby laughed.
Jake laughed.
Bobby said, "It's about time I got my dick sucked."
"Me too, muthafucka," Jake answered.
Black Elvira said, "You bring those wrinkled little white cocks out here and that'll be the last damn thing you do with them."
Bobby lashed out and punched Black Elvira in the mouth. She staggered back and bounced off a cooler door and fell to her knees.
"Oh no, choo did it now," The Mexican Fairy Princess said. "Choo geh her mad. Chee tear you up, man." Her voice and accent sounded exactly like Rosie Perez, the Mexican actress from White Men Can't Jump. Her eyes had an excited sparkle in them. She had a half smile on her lips.
Jake didn't like the smile. He stepped forward and shoved his pistol in her face.
"Bitch!" Jake yelled. "You best start getting those muthafuckin clothes off before I go upside your head."
The Fairy Princess's eyes seemed to blink a glowing red. Hair sprang from the pores of her face like grass growing in a time-lapse photography nature film.
Jake sprang backward into a rack of Green Giant canned vegetables. "What the fuck?" He yelled.
Brown fur sprouted and grew on the Princess' arms, legs, neck and face. Her nose and cheeks and lower jaw jutted forward creating a wolfish look.
"Momma taught me to be polite to peoples," She said. Her voice was now the raspy whisper of a threatened canine. Her body was thickening in waves, muscles jumping out of formerly feminine softness. "But choo called me the B-word. Choo don't do that to a lady."
Black Elvira looked up into Bobby's face. Her eyes glowed an ethereal blue. Her mouth had grown impossibly large. Pointed razor sharp shark's teeth and four long fangs grinned at Bobby. Her hands sprouted four-inch long black nails that looked like knives.
She swiped at Bobby like a cat and got him on the leg as he jumped back. Three tear lines went through his jeans, into the muscle of his leg and spewed blood.
"Girlfriend," She said. Her voice was a guttural growl. "We're going to have to teach these boys a lesson in manners."
The Mexican Fairy Princess Werewolf answered, "What gets me is, I just got my hair done." She reached up and patted her hair with vicious looking claws. "Wit me changin, I just trew dat money out da window."
Bobby and Jake let loose with their guns. The hail of bullets they fired drove the Black-Vampire-Elvira and the Mexican-Were-Fairy-Princess against the doors of the coolers. A few of the shots went wide shattering the glass doors and some of the beers sprayed foam into the air. They kept firing until their guns were empty and clicked repeatedly as they kept pulling the triggers.
When the cloud of gun smoke cleared, the two women, now looking like escapees from a horror film festival, were standing there dusting themselves off.
Black Elvira fingered one of the many bullet holes in the front of her dress. No blood came from the holes that closed as Jake and Bobby watched.
"I did used to like this dress," Black Elvira said.
"We're getting the fuck outa here!" Bobby yelled.
That was when they heard the hissing like escaping steam coming from behind them.
Slowly, they turned around.
Sitting on the countertop, eyeing Jake and Bobby was a lizard far larger than any lizard from any of their drug-induced nightmares. It had shiny green scaly skin and was about the size of a big St. Bernard dog. Its eyes were large and black. It sat like a cat. When the lizard breathed, there was an angry rumbling that came from deep within its chest. Smoke puffed from its nostrils and mouth. The teeth in that mouth were huge and looked as sharp as jagged glass.
One word came into Bobby and Jake's minds simultaneously.
Dragon!
Jake screamed as the dragon sprang from the counter and knocked him backward into Bobby. Both of them sprawled into the shelves that held Green Giant peas, corn and green beans. The dragon was after them, slashing with sharp talons and snapping at them with quick reptilian strikes of his jaws.
Bobby went down first when he stepped backward onto a can of nibblets corn. His foot flew out from beneath him and he crashed to his back, his head bouncing on the tile.
Bobby begged for mercy when the dragon climbed onto his chest. He started shouting long forgotten prayers, asking Christ and God and the saints for salvation from this hungry thing that stood on him. But, on this night, God looked the other way and saved his salvation for someone who deserved it.
With a rip of its claw Bobby's throat was torn open. Dark red blood geysered into the air. The dragon took Bobby's head in its mouth and tore it loose from his body. Bobby's arms and legs pistoned in and out in his body's last spasms. Then he went stiff and lay quiet.
Jake backed away from the carnage in front of him. He backed right into the waiting arms of two female things from hell. They welcomed him. Black Elvira on his right and The Were-Fairy-Princess on his left.
They wrapped their arms around him and caressed him with razor sharp talons and hungry mouths with daggered teeth. Jake screamed and cried as their nails cut gashes into his flesh. He fought against them and tried to pull away but their skin and limbs were as strong as steel. He was like a baby in their hands.
But there was no mothering instinct being stirred here. The instinct he brought forth from them was the instinct to feed. Jake was dragged to the ground and pinned down by the two. He screamed and cried and begged. It didn't make any difference.
Black Elvira was at his throat. She raised herself up and looked into the bawling man's eyes.
"Don't you want me now?" she asked. "You've got me." She clamped razor sharp teeth down onto his throat and ripped it open.
The Were-Fairy-Princess ripped open Jake's shirt at his stomach. Then she ripped open Jake's stomach and scooped out his soft insides and fed upon them.
For a time only the sound of smacking lips and chewing w
as heard inside Monster Mart.
The dragon backed away from what was left of Bobby's body and went behind the counter. He started to shake all over so fast that his green skin became a blur. The shape of the dragon's body changed. The back legs grew longer. His spine straightened out. The lizard snout receded into the face. The old oriental man was now back to looking human again. He quickly dressed into the clothes he'd left behind the counter.
Master Po, as he was known to the Monster Community, would let the girls finish their meal. He knew they dropped by to pick up Vampire's Nectar, a beer laced with blood, produced by Monsters Inc. The beer and other beverages were made to curb the cravings of members of the Monster Community. Po was Chicago's distributor of these products.
His mission, as with all the members of Monsters Inc., was to help the young of their kind find ways to fit into society as useful productive citizens.
Sometimes, the humans didn't make this easy.
Po watched the two girls as they finished up with Jake and moved on to what he had left of Bobby. They attacked his body voraciously. Po's appetite wasn't what it used to be. He was getting old. The girls wouldn't even leave bones behind.
They were good girls. Po knew them from the neighborhood. He hoped that tonight wouldn't influence them toward feeding on humans unnecessarily when there were alternatives available.
He brought the girls two rolls of paper towels. One for each of them. They were good girls, but their table manners left something to be desired.
Bob L. Morgan Jr.
lives in a suburb of Seattle Washington with his wonderful wife Judi, stepdaughter Natalie and their insane cats Patty and Fritz. In the late 1980's and early 1990's he went to college In Victoria Texas and saw print in several college publications. He then didn't write for publication for the next 10 years. Bob's wife talked him into giving fiction writing another shot after she read some of his old stories and was impressed. His short fiction has been featured in House Of Pain, The Writers Hood, Splatter Punk, Short Scary Tales, The Murder Hole, and Savage Night. He currently is a staff writer at SavageNight.com where he reviews books, and movies.
Current projects include the novel, Blood For The Masses as John Dark and as always several short stories are being worked on at the same time. He welcomes any comments and questions and can be contacted by e-mail at [email protected].
VALENTINE'S DAY HORRORS
The tradition of celebrating love on February 14 originates with the Roman Empire. It was the time to honor Juno, queen of the Roman gods, also considered by Romans the goddess of marriage and women. February 15 was the Feast of Lupercalia. On the night before the Lupercalia celebrations boys would draw the names of girls from jars; they would then be paired with the girl for the festival. Often these pairings were to last an entire year. As one might imagine, this frequently led to marriage.
The Catholic Church recognizes three different saints bearing the name Valentine/Vanlentinus, all of whom were martyred. As for the Saint Valentine after whom the holiday is named, there are many legends. Three facts are constant in all the tales: Valentine was a priest, he lived during the third century AD, and he fell out of favor with Emperor Claudius II (also known as Claudius the Cruel). It seems he was beaten to death and then beheaded.
In one legend he was jailed and eventually slain for refusing to give up his belief in Christ. After being caught worshipping in a temple he was imprisoned, but during this time Valentine's romantic side showed itself and the jailer's daughter fell in love with him. When the time of his execution arrived he left her a letter, signing it "From your Valentine." A second legend states that Claudius banned marriage because it not only prevented men from joining the military, but married men in the army pined for the loved ones. Despite the ban Valentine continued to perform Christian marriages in secret. He was caught and sentenced to die. In some tales Claudius attempts to convert Valentine to the worship of Roman gods only to have Valentine attempt converting him to Christianity, after which Valentine is sentenced to die. In any event, he was declared a saint and in 496 AD Pope Gelasius declared St. Valentine's Day.
Eventually the Catholic Church attempted to subvert and eliminate the Lupercalia celebration traditions by substituting the names of young women with those of saints. They were only partly successful, as the act of young men and women choosing each other on Valentine's Day became intermingled with the act of choosing patron saints for the coming year.
During the Middle Ages young people would draw names of the opposite sex from a large bowl. Then they would wear the name on their sleeve for a week, originating the term "wearing your heart on your sleeve." In fact, the day only became increasingly superstitious (or "pagan") with additional beliefs heaped on over time: if a woman saw a sparrow on Valentine's Day she would live happily with a poor man, a robin meant her destiny was to marry a sailor, a goldfinch meant a millionaire; cutting an apple in half and counting the seeds would also reveal how many children you'd have. Today people merely celebrate with the exchange of cards, candy, and flowers. The first of these St. Valentine's Day cards was sent by the Duke of Orleans to his wife in 1415; he was imprisoned in the Tower of London at the time after being captured at the Battle of Agincourt.
For couples, the day is used to add a bit of romance to relationships, while for singles the suicide rate spikes (ending the "suicide season"). The day is also remembered for the St. Valentine's Day Massacre of 1929, during which organized criminals butchered their rivals in broad daylight. Other St. Valentine's Day facts from the United States: fifteen percent of women send themselves flowers, three percent of pet owners give gifts to their pets, children give each other and teachers over 650 million cards, crime rates tend to go down, and many stalkers use this day as an excuse to finally introduce themselves to their victims.
- John Edward Lawson
Killing Cupid
By Shawn P. Madison
Click.
Cupid Montgomery walked down the center aisle of the large parking garage toward the mall entrance on Level B-2, her two week old red convertible parked about forty feet behind. Her heels clacked loudly on the pale concrete of the platform, the sound reverberating off the walls in the confined space. Such a lonely sound, it reminded him of just how lonely his life had become.
Click.
He watched as she almost stumbled in her rush to make it into the huge glamour store anchor of the enormous shopping mall, it was three minutes to five and she was working a last minute shift to cover for a co-worker
Click.
His camera began to whiz and whir as it automatically rewound the film. Cupid Montgomery, looking stunning in a tight blue dress that fit her curves in all the right places, dark stockings complimenting the creamy tones of her face, disappeared through the thick glass doors and glitzy lights of the mall entrance.
It was February 14th, Valentine's Day, and Detective Ian Phillips wasn't about to allow a Cupid in his town to become the twenty-second victim of the Cupid Killer.
"Damn," he muttered and shook his head in grief as he scanned the many computer printouts of photos lying atop the dark manila folder sitting in his lap. There was just enough light in this section of the parking garage to allow him to see the terror that the twenty-one pictures contained. Pictures of young women, once beautiful, now nothing but horrible figures depicted in death. The long-lasting legacy of the Cupid Killer.
Every one of them missing their hearts…no…not missing them, that was wrong. They still had their hearts, all of them, when they had been discovered. When these pictures had been taken. Just not in their chests where they should have been.
Instead, the hearts had been…had been placed in…
Ian Phillips wiped sweat from his brow and upper lip with his sleeve. The terror etched on the faces of the dead women in the pictures was starting to get to him. No matter how many times he scanned those faces, mourned them for the atrocities they had been subject to, it didn't matter. The fear in their eyes,
frozen there over time, called to him through the years…
Twenty-one years in twenty-one different cities. All major metropolitan areas. Always the same MO. Always in the same manner. Always the same type of girl. All of them named Cupid. All of them young or relatively young. All of them beautiful.
He'd been following the case for the past six years, ever since Cupid Montgomery turned sixteen. There were twelve females named Cupid in this town, a relatively big town but not a huge metropolis. Eleven of his Cupids were too young, too old or too ugly to fit the profile. But Cupid Montgomery was just right. A stunningly gorgeous young woman from a wealthy family. Not into drugs, not too overly promiscuous.
No, Cupid Montgomery was just right.
Detective Ian Phillips hoped this Valentine's Day would be just like the past five; uneventful. There were more than fourteen thousand women named Cupid currently living in the continental United States, nearly three-thousand of them fit the Cupid Killer's profile.
But only Cupid Montgomery both fit the profile and lived in his town. Phillips tore his eyes away from the terrifying pictures, wiped a bit of wetness from his right eye and took a deep breath. There were more photos in an envelope on the passenger seat, but those were of Cupid. His Cupid. The pictures he had just snapped off would be added to his collection once he got them developed. Pictures of Cupid Montgomery on each Valentine's Day since she had turned sixteen. Pictures that he hoped would be added to next year when he snapped off some more shots of the beautiful red head, still alive and breathing. Still with her heart where it should be.
The odds were against the Cupid Killer striking in his town this year, Phillips knew. Especially with another lunatic running loose in the local area. The Hangman Killer, as the media had dubbed him, had proven to be slick with a belt and hard to capture. He had killed twelve so far in a three-state area, the epicenter of which lay just a few miles from where Phillip's car now sat parked. Serial Killers seldom intruded on each other's territory, at least according to all the studies those psych-jobs at Central Precinct were always quoting. So why did he feel something different this year?
