Chapter Three
I was about to drop the lid down when something inside the can caught my eye. Then I did something that I've re-played over and over again in my mind, each time saying, "Don't do it, Marty. Don't look down in that trash can!" But, of course, I did.
At first, I thought that someone had put one of those department store mannequins in the trash can. It was wedged inside: feet and rear end down, knees bent in a semi-crouch. The body slumped over, right hand on the right knee, forehead resting on the hand. The left arm stuck up, lying across the head. The back of the head was a mess. Blood matted the hair so thickly that I couldn't tell what color it was. Flies buzzed around. I whispered, "shoo, shoo".
Slowly, as if they were controlled by some force outside of me, my hands rose to eye level. I stared at them, comparing them to the one I could see inside the trash can. Then, I did another really stupid thing. I stuck my hand down in the trash can and touched the left hand of the body. It was lifeless, but definitely not plastic.
That's when it hit me. No, no, no! Bile boiled up from my stomach and my legs went wobbly. All I could think was: Please, this can't be happening! I slammed down the lid, and ran like hell toward the picnic table, trying not to scream. Trying not to throw up.
"Vanessa!" I tried to shout to get her attention, but my voice caught and it came out in a squeak.
Suddenly, something took my feet out from under me and I fell backwards, my head hitting the ground. Everything went black.
The Madams of Mischief: Doom Divas Book # 1 Page 2
