It Was a Dark and Stormy Night...

by Kurtz, Matt; McKenzie, Shane; Strand, Jeff

  I check off the box, then rub my temples so hard that another pair of horns poke through the surface of my leathery skin. “All right, let’s try another one. Question four. Do you have any relatives currently living on Earth who could carry on your dark work in the event of your unfortunate demise?”

  Charles shakes his head. “No.”

  “No? Honestly, Mr. Miller...” I chuck my pen over my shoulder, where it sticks in the eye socket of the human head I have mounted on a hunting plaque. “Not even a child? I’m telling you, they make the best successors. Sure, they might try to stop you at first—maybe even side with the teenagers out to destroy you—but give them a year or so to mull things over and they’ll take up your legacy every time.”

  Charles shrugs. “No kids. Think I’ve got a cousin in Ohio, though. Heard he became an accountant.”

  Why me, Baal? Just once, can’t an arch-demon interview a well-spoken serial killer with an extended family, who died in a tragic incinerator accident, and wouldn’t have a problem being reincarnated as a snow-blower?

  Is that too much to ask?

  “Question five, and this is a big one,” I say. “Assuming you are sent back to Earth, describe to me your ideal method of slaughtering teenagers.”

  “Hmm, that’s a toughie,” Charles says, then gets up from his seat and grabs the machete. “If you people gave me a bunch of spooky superpowers, I’d run straight for the biggest group of teenagers I could find and cut them to ribbons before they knew what’s what.” He waves the blade around like a possessed feather-duster. “He-ayah! Ha! Woo-ah! Ga—”

  “Mr. Miller, I’m going to stop you right there.” I crumple the questionnaire into a ball and throw it in the trash. “Honestly, I don’t even know where to start.”

  Charles cocks his head to the side, then slumps back down in the chair. “You didn’t let me finish.”

  “Trust me, you’ve said plenty,” I say. “First of all, our killers never run anywhere—they walk. Sure, your target is allowed to run, but you’re supposed to know exactly where they’re headed and calmly stroll to that location. It’s like the old saying, slow and steady wins the chase.”

  Charles opens his mouth to respond, but I don’t give him the opportunity. It’s been a long day and I’m in the mood to rant.

  “Not to mention that nonsense about finding the biggest group of teenagers. Everybody knows that you focus your attention on four, maybe five tops, and at least two of them better be dating each other!”

  A glob of lava slaps against the window, casting Charles in a shaft of red light.

  “And who kills an entire group all at once? Amateurs, that’s who. Where’s your sense of drama? Your showmanship? At least tell me that you’d single out a finale.”

  Charles screws up his face, then fiddles with the bottom of his eye patch. “I don’t follow you.”

  “A finale!” I pound my fist against the desk, causing a skull to break free and clatter to the floor. “The one you pick to kill last. It should be the popular girl, but not cheerleader popular. Someone who’s able to appreciate it when you finally explain to her why you’ve slaughtered her best friends. Honestly, this is day one stuff here!”

  Chopin’s Funeral March blares from the intercom again, which is probably for the best. I’m about two seconds away from lecturing this wannabe on the finer points of stalking teens while they shower.

  “Mr. Shax, I’ve got a John Gordon here to see you,” my secretary says. “He says it’s urgent.”

  Mephisto’s ghost, will this day ever end?

  I take a deep breath, then push the intercom button. “Gore-Eyed Gordon is back already? He just got reincarnated last week.”

  The line goes silent for a moment, then Cheryl comes back on. “He says that he’s really sorry, but his long-lost son tricked him into revealing his true weakness.”

  “Unbelievable,” I say. “So help me, he’s not getting another chance until somebody recites his name three times!”

  “I’ll tell him you’re busy, sir.”

  “No, it’s fine, Cheryl. Just a minute.” I turn back to Charles, and see that his patch is now on the opposite side. He quickly slides it back, but not before I notice that both eyes are perfectly fine. “You aren’t really psychotic, are you, Mr. Miller?”

  He fidgets with his hands, then sighs. “Err, not exactly, no. It’s just so hard to find employment these days,” he says with the smooth voice of a television announcer. “I didn’t bathe for a week to prepare for this interview. Even had to borrow an outfit from my neighbor. Now there’s a nut-job. The guy loves earwigs. Seriously, he makes wigs out of human ears!”

  “No kidding. Tell him to drop off his résumé.” I push back my chair and stand up. “At any rate, it’s been a...pleasure meeting you. We’ll be making our final decision within the next few weeks.”

  Charles nods, and we exchange another brief handshake.

  “Level with me, Mr. Slacks,” he says, tucking the machete back inside his cloak. “I’m not getting the job, am I?”

  Ugh.

  “Truthfully? Not a chance,” I say. “But we encourage all applicants to apply with us again in the future. Judging by the current rate of humanity’s progress, DemoniCorp should be opening a brand new division within the next hundred years.”

  “Oh yeah?” he says, “That sounds exciting.”

  “It certainly is. We’re going to revolutionize the supernatural killer industry.” I walk him to the door, then clap my hand around his shoulder. “Just think about it. Executing teenagers in...outer space!”

  Night of the Killer Whatchamacallit

  by Emma Ennis

  Author’s Note: Due to the fact that it goes against the grain of the genre, there will be no use of electric lighting in this story.

  It was a dark, windy night in the throes of autumn. Big blustery clouds swarmed over the full moon in droves, smothering its every attempt to catch a breath of air. Far beneath this celestial struggle, inside a line of tossing trees, a twig snapped. The bottommost branches parted and a being stepped out into a clearing in front of an abandoned manor house.

  The creature was unlike anything you have seen before. It stood upright with the bearing of man, yet its legs were bent in the wrong direction, the knobby knees to the back. Its body was clothed in a layer of mangy fur, unruly in patches where its skin was stretched tightest over its emaciated framework. But its head, now that was the strangest of all. It was no round, cherubic visage that topped this anomaly of nature, but rather an elongated, snouty thing with rheumy eyes and pointed ears, coated in the same tufted fuzz.

  It gazed up at the careering skyscape as though it was looking for something. All of a sudden the moon slipped free, glancing once over its shoulder before racing across the sky. The thing raised its ugly head in salute and let loose an unearthly howl. The sound rose to an eerie pitch before it was cut short by a hacking cough. The creature bent over double, barking and wheezing, its eyes bulging with the pressure. Its body convulsed, its skin rippling with each spasm. The skeletal frame was on the verge of snapping in half when a slimy hairball finally belched from its throat and slithered to the ground, wet and glistening like a baby.

  It had just enough time to catch a breath before its head whipped to the side, slobber flying from its jaws. Still as a stone, its ears cocked on alert, it listened for several seconds before scarpering back into the trees, leaving a trail of fleas in its wake.

  ***

  Just as the branches settled back into place, a group of teens entered the clearing. A boy of Asian ethnicity, a blond cheerleader with blue and yellow pompoms attached to her wrists, a beefy jock, and an African-American buck were among the body of halfwits that crept along in a cautious train, giggling and hooting and tripping over one another.

  The two at the head of the chain were lugging a metal beer keg between them. When they reached the front porch of the abandoned house, they dumped their load with relief.

  “Who’s got th
e crowbar?” The question came from one of the beer-bringers, a dark haired, handsome boy with an athletic build (the popular one).

  A ripple ran down the line of revelers as each looked to the other in expectation.

  “So nobody brought a crowbar?” The boy on the porch threw up his hands in despair. “What the hell are we doing here then?”

  The Asian boy (the nerdy one) at the back of the group chimed in, his hand in the air as a testament to the saying ‘old habits die hard.’ “That’s actually a very logical question,” he said. “We don’t even know one another, and we have nothing in common, so the probabilities of us liking each other are slim. Unless of course, we were to get caught up in an extremely intense situation and—”

  “Shut up, Nikon,” the cheerleader snapped. She turned to the two on the porch, focusing on the hulking jock in particular. “Can’t you do something, Dirk?”

  The behemoth shrugged his shoulders and lumbered over to the door. Lengths of timber were nailed across it and he slid a big stump of a hand behind them, ripping them off without even breaking a sweat.

  “Booya!” The black dude strolled on into the house, cool as a fart in minus temperatures.

  The rest filed in behind him. Handsome clapped Dirk on the shoulder as he passed by. “Nice one, buddy.”

  The house was in darkness. Somebody flicked on a torch (I warned you) and they followed its beam to the sitting room. It was still partially furnished. A tawny girl with a thick set of glasses spanning her be-freckled nose found a spot on the sofa where she watched the others set up. Before long another girl joined her; she was your typical first-to-die character, unremarkable in every aspect apart from a slight Australian accent. We could go on to describe her hair, her eyes, her ample knockers, but trust me, there’s no point.

  “Gillian,” she introduced herself.

  The girl on the couch pushed her glasses up on her nose before accepting her handshake.

  “Amanda.”

  They fell silent, their eyes on the rest of the group who were gathered by the empty fireplace, looking for something to burn. Amanda’s attention was focused mainly on Handsome and it was not long before Gillian noticed.

  “You like Trey?” she teased.

  Amanda ducked her head, her cheeks flaming. Gillian smiled in a knowing way.

  “He doesn’t bake my biscuits. But Clifford on the other hand...” Their eyes moved to the Negro pyromaniac who stood off to the side, waiting to stick a light to the pile of debris they had accumulated. “The only reason I’d kick him out of the bed is to do him on the floor.”

  Nikon was trying to build some kind of tepee in the fireplace, giving a spiel about oxygen and draughts and whatnots. Trey shoved him to the side and beckoned to Clifford.

  “Spark it, homeboy.”

  Clifford dropped one shoulder and raised the eyebrow on the opposite side. “I ain’t yo homeboy, snowflake.”

  He flicked a match and the construction in the grate caught with a whoosh. Tiffany, the cheerleader, gave a squeal of excitement and shook her pompoms. The next task was the keg. After much aimless fiddling, peppered with a range of schematics from Nikon, it was Dirk’s brute strength that got it running in the end. He twisted the nozzle, pressed down on the bunghole, and the sweet nectar began to flow.

  “Ennui High!” he roared and a cheer erupted from the rest of the crowd, harmonized by the rustle of pompoms.

  Plastic pint glasses were passed around among the unlikely bunch and music started up from somewhere…let’s not get into the details. Gillian soon sidled off, mincing her way over to Clifford where she promptly began to lay foundations. Amanda watched Trey and Tiffany gyrating to the music, oblivious to everyone else. At some point Nikon sauntered to the sofa and tried it on, but sensing the frigidness, soon gave up, and he and Dirk started a game that involved tossing coins at the wall.

  ***

  Outside in the darkness just beyond the glow from the windows, something lurked. From his vantage point among the rustling trees he had a clear view of the room. His breathing was erratic with excitement as he watched the tasty teenagers flirt and frolic. He could almost smell the hormones that flew between them like a virus.

  Two of the party, a blonde with something bizarre hanging from her wrists and a tall male, broke away from the rest of the group and moved to the doorway. Nobody inside noticed them leave, but he did. He kept pace with them, skulking along the fringe of trees to the second window which gave him a different perspective. From there he could see the backs of the blonde’s legs, rising tanned and toned to a tight little ass that jiggled like two eggs running around in a hanky.

  Forgetting himself, he stepped a little closer, but the couple had disappeared into the dark hallway. There was another girl by the fireplace; there wasn’t anything particularly interesting about her, but the African-American at her side looked meaty. He took another step forward. His foot caught on a root and he fell flat on his face.

  ***

  “What was that?” Amanda jumped up from the sofa and backed away from the window.

  Nikon was at her side in a flash, peering through the glass as if he could actually see something.

  “The chances of anyone besides us being out in the wilderness at an abandoned house in the middle of the night are astronomical. It’s probably just the trees.”

  Amanda exhaled. “Thank God for that.”

  They turned back to the party.

  “Who’s missing?” he mused, looking around. “Hey, Dirk, where are Trey and Tiffany?”

  Dirk shrugged and raised his drink. “Ennui High!”

  They all cheered and joined his toast.

  ***

  “Over here.” Tiffany taunted with a playful giggle.

  Trey felt his way along the wall, following the sound of her voice. He had been chasing her for fifteen minutes now and his stiff-one was growing limp with boredom.

  “Cut it out, Tiffany.”

  “I’m right here.” Her words landed on his ear, scaring the shit out of him.

  His pecker twitched, whether from the fright or the closeness of her body he did not know, but he planned to use it whatever the cause. He slipped his arms around her waist while hers encircled his neck. The plastic fronds of the pompoms tickled him and he pulled away in frustration.

  “Jesus, Tiffany, can’t you put them down for half an hour?”

  “Trey!” she whined, “they’re in the script.”

  He shook his head. Whatever. He could take one for the team. His lips found hers at the same time as his fingers found the catch of her bra. He was beginning to sweat when the damn thing finally gave. She moaned. And he hadn’t even touched her yet. He lifted her Ennui High shirt over her head, struggling to pull it off over the pompoms on her wrists. It let go with a jerk sending her staggering away from him. He caught up with her before she got too far and slipped the bra off her shoulders. He dropped it to the ground where it landed with a dull thunk.

  Flexing his thumbs in anticipation and wishing he’d had the foresight to adjust his pants, he reached out. For a moment he thought she had turned her back to him until his hand brushed against nipple, so small it should have had a homing device attached.

  Fucking Wonderbra! The only thing guaranteed to drop a cock faster than the word ‘circumcision’. Get it together, Trey. Never look at the mantelpiece when you’re poking the fire. Avoiding the offensive things, he delved lower and began working on the skirt. His jeans were starting to tighten again, and he had almost struck gold when there was a scratching sound at the door.

  Tiffany pulled out of the kiss with a loud smack. “What was that?”

  “Nothing, baby.” He leaned over to kiss her again.

  Just then the door burst open and Dirk fell into the room. The blinding beam from the flashlight fell on them.

  “Daaaaaaamn!” Clifford exclaimed, training the light on Tiffany’s bared chest. “Check out them bee stings.”

  Dirk snorted on the floor.

>   “Dirk!” Tiffany’s tone was dangerous.

  He looked up, his eyes unfocussed as though he was trying to think of something to say. “Ennui High!”

  ***

  All the prancing and flirting had made Gillian want to pee. Clifford had gone off some time ago with Dirk, having hatched a master plan of some kind that was seemingly epic. She decided to take advantage of his absence to find a quiet place to relieve herself.

  Taking a spare torch, she wandered the empty hallways in search of a bathroom. The kitchen was at the back of the house, and through a door on its right was the utility room. Leading off this was a poky restroom. The window was broken and the gusting wind whistled through the cracks, making the room a chilly and unsavory place to bare one’s wares.

  She shone the light on the bowl of the toilet and recoiled. Ugh. She had never seen a brown bathroom suite in her life and, try as she might, she could not quite convince herself that’s what it was. There was nothing for it—she was going to have to squat this one out.

  Balancing the torch on the cistern, she held her shirt up with her teeth, dropped her pants, and gripped the wall for support. Already her thighs were beginning to ache and she could have kicked herself for letting it build up so much.

  ***

  The torchlight was angled perfectly to afford him an awesome view of the tiny room’s sole inhabitant. For a moment he was disappointed to find it was that girl, the nondescript one. But sometimes one had to take the good with the bad...and she was alone.

  His breathing hitched. He moved away from the window and, as quietly as he could, let himself into the utility room door.

  ***

  Gillian heard the click of the door outside and her hand slipped down the wall in fright. She managed to steady herself before she’d done any damage, but not before her elbow knocked against the torch, sending it rolling along the porcelain. It clattered to the ground and the light went out. For a moment the moonlight served as backup, and then that too was extinguished.