Today at RDP, drkottaway asks us to get
creative with the word ‘quit’. Thanks, Doc!
Here’s where the prompt word took me.
Tag: Police
Vanishing Act
⌘ Rest in Peace, Trent McDonald, Friday Fictioneers ⌘
Written for Friday Fictioneers, where our host Rochelle
encourages us to be creative by writing a story in
100 words or less using the photo prompt below.
Also for Esther’s Word Prompt which is ‘edge’.
Here’s where the photo prompt took me.
Couldn’t Get Away
Written for The Unicorn Challenge
and also for Melissa’s Fandango
Flash Fiction Challenge #319. This
week I am inspired by two photos.
In exactly 250 words, this is my story.
Flowers For Sale
Written for Esther’s “Can You Tell A Story In…..?
#283” – exactly 38 words using the five required prompts:
‘operation’, ‘attract’, ‘vanilla’, ‘pram’ and ‘quack’.
In 38 words, this is my very short story.
911
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #406
using the word “decisive”. In 39 words, this is my flash.
What Would Dylan Do?
Written for Friday Fictioneers where we are asked
to be creative with 100 words or less using the
photo below for inspiration. Here is my story.
“Lieutenant! We’re getting a reading from the drone!”
“Gimme that, Krebbs! It shows beyond these woods is a clearing with what appears to be life forms. Round up the team; let’s check this out.”
Guns drawn, the squad stealthily worked its way to the clearing. Slowly they emerged; the lieutenant pushed back his fedora and whistled through his teeth.
“Well, lookie here! It’s the MIA grunge band, Rockit Gibraltar!”
“Are they dead, Lieutenant?”
“Nah! They’re stoned. Must be that ramped-up drug …. Double Rubble. Call for a chopper, one equipped with a boulder holder. This ain’t no soft rock band!“
NAR©2024
100 Words
This is “Like A Rolling Stone” by Bob Dylan
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
And Then He Knows – Revisited
Written for The Unicorn Challenge
(with a timely lead-in from yesterday’s
Friday Fictioneers). Here we are challenged
to be creative in 250 words or less
using the photo below. This is my story.
‘Domestic animals, even on leads, are banned from the beach from 6am – 9pm’
He walked on the beach with his dog just as he always did. He saw the sign but ignored it, happy to see someone had vandalized it. Damn rules!
He threw the ball but when the dog returned, he had a purse hanging from his mouth. He dropped the purse and ran back to where he found it.
Looking in the purse, the man saw a cell phone. Hers. Last call was to him. Chasing the dog, he saw a body sprawled on the rocks near the water.
And before he got any closer, he knew it was his wife.
A flood of questions hit him like a tsunami. What happened? Why didn’t he get her call? What was she doing here …. not just here on the beach .… here in Cannes?
She was supposed to be in Lyon finalizing the sale of her late mother’s apartment. Her mother died five years ago and for reasons only she could explain but never did, she refused to get rid of the place.
He quickened his pace to the body. The dog kept nudging her head and running around wildly on the deserted beach. The man looked at her phone again; there were numerous calls to someone named Roman. An unfamiliar name.
He heard a voice. “Monsieur! You are not supposed to be here with that dog! There are rules.” The local gendarmerie. Then louder, more urgently – “What have you done, monsieur? Do not move! Ici! Dépêchez-vous!”
And the whistles blew.
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is “Who Let The Dogs Out” by Baha Men. Hey, hippie-ye-yo!
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
The Ambush
Otis sensed it before Sam even heard it – tires crunching through the snow slowly approaching the diner’s driveway. The black lab growled, knowing instinctively it wasn’t Deb and the kids; it was much too early. They weren’t due back until around 10:00. Besides, Otis would have recognized the sound of Deb’s Jeep.
But there was one definitive reason why Otis knew it wasn’t Deb and the kids returning from their ski trip; Deb never drove in the dark with her lights off.
The instant Sam heard the vehicle, a knot started forming in his gut. “It’s ok, boy” he whispered soothingly to Otis while reaching for the service revolver he kept hidden in the cupboard and slipped it into the pocket of his Washington Wizards sweatshirt. Sam squinted in the darkness at the LED clock on the diner’s microwave – 5:10AM – too early, even for diehard customers. Tapping at his other pocket, Sam was reassured knowing his cell phone was there.
Careful not to knock over anything that would make noise, Sam quickly strode to the window and with one finger eased back the curtain ever so slightly. In the bleak pre-dawn hours he could barely make out the shape of a hulking SUV parked outside the diner. This was not just a business to Sam and Deb; the spacious second floor was home to them and their kids. If anyone tried to break in or cause harm, Sam took it very personally.
Otis growled again; Sam hushed the skittish dog and together they crept back to the counter and slid behind it. Sam fingered the gun in his pocket; he was ready if it came to that.
Footsteps on the front stairs were followed by a quick rap on the window. Otis was more nervous than ever and Sam spoke softly to him while slipping him a treat to keep him quiet. One more rap on the window, then the front door handle jiggled. Then jiggled again, this time with attitude. Sam decided he needed to go on the offensive.
“We’re closed” he called out. “If you need help, the police station’s just down the road. I can call them.”
“No need for that, champ” came a voice from the other side of the door. “I just ended my shift there. Saw a car leaving your parking lot and wanted to make sure everything was ok.”
“Thanks, we’re fine.” Sam replied through the door. Something about the way this guy said “champ” made the hair on his arms stand up.
“Hey, it’s my job. I’d feel better if you let me take a look around” declared the guy outside.
“And I’d feel better if you showed me some I.D. Just slip it under the door.”
“No problem, champ.” A shiny laminated wallet-size rectangle slid across the floor.
Glancing to make sure the deadbolt on the front door was secure, Sam quickly retrieved the card and checked it out in the glow of his cell. The I.D. confirmed the guy was a trooper and the photo staring back proved what Sam feared – this guy was no stranger.
“Son of a bitch! Dan McGinty!”
The same Dan McGinty from New York. Sam could never forget his brother officer from their days in the NYPD. A dirty cop, that piece of scum almost got Sam and his partner Frank killed in an ambush. Their testimony at Dan’s trial helped get a conviction but Frank would never walk again. What was McGinty doing out of jail and out here in the boonies? How the hell did he ever land a job as a state trooper? Sam had a really bad feeling about this.
Otis sprang to his feet, jolting Sam out of his momentary reverie. The black lab stared in the direction of the kitchen and growled loudly. And Sam knew. In the stillness of the early morning he heard that familiar voice behind him.
“Hey, champ. Been a real long time.”
It was the last thing Sam heard before the room went black.
NAR©2024
This is “The Messiah Will Come Again” by Roy Buchanan
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Club Kashmir
Lovely Jenne from The Unicorn Challenge
is teasing us once again with this photo.
We are to get creative in 250 words or less.
In exactly 250 words, this is my response.
“Coroner? What do we need the coroner for?” asked Police Sergeant Jeffries. “It’s obvious this poor slob jumped off the roof. Just look at him!”
“Not so fast, Jeffries” snapped Police Captain Russo. “Take a close look at his hand.”
Knowing his boss was expecting him to man up, Jeffries crouched down near the splattered corpse. God, he hated jumpers.
“You know what I think, Cap? This guy was some sort of perv into the kinky stuff. That bottle in his hand is from Club Kashmir, the notorious sex den.” Jeffries looked up at his superior hoping to have made a good impression.
“Jeffries, sometimes I wonder how you ever made it onto the force” sneered Russo. “If you hope to be Lieutenant someday, you better prove you have what it takes. Pervert, my ass!”
Humiliated, Jeffries was beginning to think he wasn’t cut out for this line of work – always tripping over himself to impress the captain.
“ Jeffries! Make yourself useful. Put that bottle in an evidence bag. And for Christ’s sake, put on a pair of gloves first!” Russo shouted.
Jeffries felt like an idiot but did as he was told.
Captain Russo ordered everyone back to the station. “Not you, Jeffries. You’re done for tonight. Go home. Report back tomorrow.”
Jeffries nodded curtly but smiled to himself as he fingered the Club Kashmir passkey in his pocket which he pilfered off the dead guy. At least some hot chickie will show him a little appreciation tonight.
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is Led Zeppelin with “Kashmir”
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
For What It’s Worth
Glyn Wilton is our host at Mixed Music Bag;
the theme this month is groups or solo artists
that start with the letter A or B.
Before there was Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, there was Buffalo Springfield, my group of choice for Glyn’s MMB challenge.
Buffalo Springfield was formed in 1966 in Los Angeles by Canadians Neil Young, Bruce Palmer and Dewey Martin and Americans Stephen Stills and Richie Furay. The group released three albums and several singles in the two years they were together. Their music combined elements of folk and country with British Invasion and psychedelic rock influences and was key to the early development of folk rock. The group became widely known for their protest anthem, “For What It’s Worth”.
The Sunset Strip in West Hollywood was a gathering place for hippies and followers of the rock and roll culture. Young people would congregate nightly, disrupting the flow of traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian. Local business owners had enough of it and petitioned town officials to impose a curfew. Well, that notion didn’t sit right with many of the young people.
On November 12, 1966, fliers were distributed inviting people to join demonstrations that night to protest the curfews. Several of Los Angeles’ rock radio stations also announced a rally outside Pandora’s Box on Sunset Boulevard, a club where groups like the Beach Boys and Sonny & Cher had performed over the years. That evening, as many as 1,000 young people, including future celebrities such as Jack Nicholson and Peter Fonda (who was handcuffed by police) gathered to protest. Although the rallies began peacefully, trouble soon followed. The unrest continued the next night, and periodically throughout the rest of November and December, forcing some clubs to shut down. It was against the background of these civil disturbances that Stephen Stills recorded “For What It’s Worth” on December 5, 1966.
Despite having a reputation as being an anti-war song (as it was also written during the Vietnam War) Stephen Stills said that “For What It’s Worth” was mostly in response to the Sunset Strip riots. In an interview for the Los Angeles Times, Stills said “It was really different things intertwined, including the war and the absurdity of what was happening on The Strip. But I knew I had to get out of there fast before the cops nabbed me. I headed home where I wrote my song in about 15 minutes. For me, there was no riot; it was basically a cop dance …. the term ‘riot’ is ridiculous. They were demonstrations and the song was written in response to them but it was big, man. It looked like a goddamn revolution.”
The lyrics reveal to the listener Stills’ perspective of the tumultuous time, referencing people in the street, singing songs while hoisting up protest signs. “For What It’s Worth” is on the group’s eponymous debut album, “Buffalo Springfield”, released in December 1966 on Atco Records and has been covered by a vast number of recording artists over the years. In 1977, Crosby, Stills and Nash – along with Tom Petty – performed the song at Buffalo Springfield’s induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
After several drug-related arrests and line-up changes, the group disbanded in 1968. Stephen Stills went on to form the supergroup Crosby, Stills & Nash (CS&N). Neil Young launched his solo career and in 1969 became a member of CSN&Y. The group briefly reunited for a comeback tour in 2011.
Wars are still raging, people are still protesting and the world keeps on spinning. In some ways, not much has changed.
Here is Buffalo Springfield with their epic tune, “For What It’s Worth”. Listen for the dissonant chords when the words “paranoia strikes deep” are sung; little things like that make a great song even better.
Lyrics
There’s something happening here
But what it is ain’t exactly clear
There’s a man with a gun over there
Telling me I got to beware
I think it’s time we stop
Children, what’s that sound?
Everybody look, what’s going down?
There’s battle lines being drawn
Nobody’s right if everybody’s wrong
Young people speaking their minds
Getting so much resistance from behind
It’s time we stop
Hey, what’s that sound?
Everybody look, what’s going down?
What a field day for the heat (Ooh ooh ooh)
A thousand people in the street (Ooh ooh ooh)
Singing songs and they carrying signs (Ooh ooh ooh)
Mostly say, “Hooray for our side” (Ooh ooh ooh)
It’s time we stop
Hey, what’s that sound?
Everybody look, what’s going down?
Paranoia strikes deep
Into your life it will creep
It starts when you’re always afraid
Step out of line, the men come and take you away
We better stop
Hey, what’s that sound?
Everybody look, what’s going down?
You better stop
Hey, what’s that sound?
Everybody look, what’s going down?
You better stop
Now, what’s that sound?
Everybody look, what’s going down?
You better stop
Children, what’s that sound?
Everybody look, what’s going down?
Source: Musixmatch
Songwriters: Stephen Stills
For What It’s Worth lyrics © Cotillion Music Inc., Springalo Toones, Ten East Music, Richie Furay Music
NAR©2024
This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR © 2017-present.
POOR ALTHEA’S BOY
Sirens tore through the silence of the crisp fall night as police responded to a robbery on Corsa Avenue, a quiet street of middle class two story homes in The Bronx, NY.
Police officers Ralph Taylor and Mario DeMarco were the first to arrive at the scene. Jasper Gardner, an eye witness, told the officers he was out walking his dog when two guys came running down the front steps of the house in such a hurry, they practically knocked him over. When asked for a description, Mr. Gardener said it happened so fast, he didn’t get a good look at them, just that they were wearing dark hooded sweatshirts.
The homeowners, Drew and Chloe Bennett, apparently arrived home from work while the intruders were still inside their house. Tenant Albert Farrell who occupies the first floor of the Bennetts’ house was home at the time. When questioned, Mr. Farrell stated that he was playing video games all evening with his headphones on and didn’t hear anything. The police speculated that the rumbling noise of the Bennetts’ electric garage door scared off the intruders.
The police determined that the perps didn’t have much time; only the bedroom had been ransacked. They probably knew the Bennetts’ regular work schedule and got spooked when the couple came home early. There were also muddy footprints in the backyard and on the fire escape leading to the second floor. No doubt the intruders gained access through a bedroom window.
When police asked the Bennetts what was missing, Chloe Bennett pointed to her suede coat on the floor. “Look at this” she told the police. “They left my expensive suede coat behind but ripped off the faux fur collar and took it with them, probably thinking it was real fur.”
When asked if any valuables were missing, Drew Bennett said that other than the jewelry his wife was wearing, everything was in an armoire in their bedroom. “These guy are idiots and have no idea of the value of things!” he exclaimed. “My wife’s collection of Lenox and Lladro figurines hasn’t been touched. And my original John Lennon drawing is hanging right there. I’ll bet this was all done by those no good, lousy punks Chucky Green and Bobo Bulfamente! What a couple of losers!”
The police were well acquainted with Charles “Chucky” Green and Roberto “Bobo” Bulfamente, small time thieves who grew up in the neighborhood. Bobo was currently staying with his sister and brother-in-law; Chucky lived with his mother, Althea. Both had been picked up several times for petty thefts but were always released. Police never found anything on them; they couldn’t even charge them with breaking and entering.
Chucky and Bobo worked as a team, entering houses and apartments when the homeowners were out; they scored a few items which Bobo stashed in the trunk of a rusted-out car in his brother-in-law’s garage. When they collected enough stuff to hawk, Chucky and Bobo were going to take off for Miami to try their luck in new turf. The one thing Bobo never told Chucky about was the pair of diamond earrings he pocketed one night. Bobo figured if Chucky ever got nabbed, those earrings would be his ticket out of The Bronx, even if it meant turning his back on Chucky.
By now a crowd of people had gathered near The Bennetts’ house. One man quickly walked over to the cops to report seeing Bobo racing down Given Avenue. Officers Taylor and DeMarco jumped into their car and sped to Given where they came upon an accident. Getting out to investigate, they spotted Bobo craning his neck for a better look. Bobo wasn’t even aware of Officer DeMarco until he was right on top of him. DeMarco nabbed Bobo, handcuffed him, tossed him into the back of the police car and locked the doors. It was only a matter of time before the cops would discover Bobo’s stash in the rusted-out car, including the diamond earrings. His string of breaking and entering would be over and he’d be shipped off to the slammer … if only temporarily.
Meanwhile Officer Taylor approached the accident scene. A bus and a truck had collided; pinned between the two vehicles was a very unfortunate Chucky Green. His run of small time thefts had come to an end … permanently. On the ground lay a pillowcase containing a few items, including Chloe Bennett’s faux fur collar. Charles “Chucky” Green got pinned last night but not the way the police expected and certainly not the way they hoped.
“Alright folks. The excitement is over. Go on home now” announced Officer Taylor. “Ok, Mario, let’s bring Bozo Bobo down to the station. And get a squad car over to Chucky’s house; someone’s gotta break the news to his mother. No matter what a screw up Chucky was, he’s still her son. Poor woman.”
NAR © 2023
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BACK BEFORE YOU MISS ME
Rebecca Jameson couldn’t get to sleep. She shifted her body from side to side but just couldn’t get comfortable. Maybe she should go downstairs and watch The Tonight Show.
“Can’t sleep, Becca?” Danny asked groggily.
“Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to wake you!”
Danny flipped on the nightstand lamp. Rebecca glanced at the alarm clock; it was very late and Danny had to get up early for work. She felt terribly guilty but this last month of her pregnancy was rough. She got up and waddled to the bathroom, then settled back in bed cradling her substantial belly. Danny propped himself on one elbow and rubbed Rebecca’s tummy.
“Well, I’m up now so what can I do for you, babe?”
Rebecca looked at him sheepishly and Danny grinned. “Rocky Road with Gummy Bears and rainbow sprinkles?” he asked, knowing her cravings so well.
“You don’t mind?”
“For you and Danny Jr? I’d do anything, Becca. Thank God for the 24-hour Dairy Princess!” He kissed her forehead, grabbed his wallet and bounded down the stairs. “Back before you miss me!”
That was the last time Rebecca saw Danny.
When Danny didn’t return after 30 minutes, Rebecca wasn’t worried; late Friday nights at the Dairy Princess were always busy. One hour later and she was starting to get a little anxious. After two hours she was a nervous wreck. She tried calling Danny; her calls went straight to voicemail. When she called her dad Frank, a detective with the NYPD, he answered immediately.
“Becky! Are you OK? Is it the baby?”
“The baby and I are fine, Dad. It’s Danny. He went for ice cream two hours ago and hasn’t come home yet. Daddy, I’m scared” and she started to cry.
“Sweetie, Mom and I are coming right over. Try not to worry; I’m sure everything’s gonna be alright.” Frank hoped he sounded confident but he knew Danny; this was totally out of character.
Rebecca and Danny knew each other all their lives. They were childhood sweethearts and never dated other people. Rebecca was a kindergarten teacher and Danny managed Jameson’s Deli. They had the same friends and spent all their free time together; they even shared the same Facebook page. There were no secrets between them.
Danny was thrilled when he and Rebecca found out she was expecting a boy. He started calling him Danny Jr. and talked non-stop about the things they’d do together. With just two weeks to go, Danny was eager to be a dad.
When Rebecca’s parents arrived, they found her nervously looking out the window. Her mom Betty made a pot of tea while Frank talked soothingly to his daughter.
“Listen, honey. I called the station on the way over here and my guys are out combing the area. I know you’re scared but there’s got to be a logical explanation. People don’t just disappear, especially not Danny.”
The hours ticked by without a word. Rebecca became more and more agitated, certain something terrible had happened. Betty convinced Rebecca to get a little rest and she managed to doze off. When she got up to use the bathroom, Rebecca’s water broke and Frank drove them to the hospital. They went straight to the ER and a few hours later, Danny Jr. was born. He was perfect but Rebecca’s world was never the same.
Seasons came and went without a trace of Danny. Frank and his team never stopped searching; every trail led to a dead end. It was as though Danny Jameson never existed.
Rebecca never accepted Danny’s disappearance. How could someone simply vanish and why? She took solace in caring for Danny Jr. which was a double-edged sword. He was a happy, well-adjusted child who gave Rebecca much joy but he was also the spitting image of his father. Whenever Rebecca looked at Danny Jr. she saw Danny. It was difficult.
Danny Jr. asked about his father and Rebecca explained as best she could. At first the boy seemed content with the answers his mother gave but as he got older he heard people talking about how his father “just up and left”. He asked Rebecca about that which she vehemently denied; there was no way Danny would have walked out on them. Still, restless thoughts occasionally visited Danny Jr. It didn’t help when people would comment on how much he looked like his father.
A missing person case eventually turned into a cold case. Rebecca refused to have Danny declared legally dead. As painful as the unknown was, that closure was too much for Rebecca to handle.
When Danny Jr. was in his late teens, Rebecca was diagnosed with breast cancer. Whenever Rebecca went for a chemo treatment she’d say “Back before you miss me”. She struggled for 8 years, finally succumbing at the age of 52. Danny Jr. was 26 years old, happily married with one daughter.
On the day of Rebecca’s funeral, Danny Jr. and his family stood near the side of his mother’s grave. His mind was whirling with memories of his mother and questions about his father. Would he ever know what really happened to Danny?
As the priest recited the final prayers, Danny Jr. stared straight ahead, his eyes filling with tears. Just then he noticed a man standing across the street from the gated cemetery. Danny Jr. was shaken to the depths of his soul by the appearance of this man; their resemblance was uncanny. At that moment Danny Jr. realized he was looking at the face of his long-lost father. Even at a distance the men’s eyes locked and Danny Jr. began to slowly walk across the cemetery.
As he drew near to the man a large bus rolled by, momentarily obscuring his view. When the bus had passed and Danny Jr. had a clear view, the man was gone.
In his heart Danny Jr. knew that man was his father. He would have given anything for just one hour with him.
NAR © 2022
TRYPOPHOBIA
“Coroner? What do we need the coroner for?” asked Police Sergeant Jefffries. “It’s obvious this poor slob jumped off the roof. Just look at him!”
“Not so fast, Jeffries” snapped Police Captain Russo. “Take a close look at the extensive amount of pimples on this guy. There’s something very strange about them.”
Averse to showing fear but knowing his boss was expecting him to man up, Jeffries crouched down and examined the various array of pustules. God, how he hated those disgusting zits!
“You know what I think, Cap? This guy was some sort of perv into kinky sex and weird stuff. Maybe this is some rare strain of an STD.” Jeffries looked up at his superior hoping to have made a good impression.
“Jeffries, sometimes I wonder how you ever made it onto the force” replied Russo sarcastically. “If you hope to be Lieutenant someday, you better prove you have what it takes. There’s something nefarious going on here and I can see it with my own two eyes. Have this entire area cordoned off and call the coroner pronto. I’ll bet you a week’s worth of doughnuts he’ll agree with my assessment.”
Humiliated again, Jeffries was beginning to think he really wasn’t cut out for this line of work – always tripping over himself and looking like a fool in front of the captain.
When Dr. Rusikoff, the coroner, arrived he took one look at the body and started barking orders: “Get this man in a body bag ASAP! Hold on … make it two bags; I want this guy double wrapped and hauled off to the morgue! I’m gonna call ahead. This body needs to be incinerated immediately. Jeffries! Make yourself useful and get a crew to scrub down this sidewalk with the strongest disinfectant you can find.”
Jeffries felt like a lackey but did as he was told. After the street was cleaned up he asked the coroner “Dr. Rusikoff, what’s going on here?”
The coroner looked at Jeffries as if he was an idiot. “Isn’t it obvious, Sergeant? Those aren’t pimples; they’re sacs and they didn’t appear naturally. These ghastly things were caused by some sort of aggressive virus manufactured in a lab. Both Russo and I could clearly see organisms moving around inside just waiting to bust out. I heard about this same thing happening in Gongabu in the Kathmandu Valley. Believe you me, Jeffries, it was a nightmare of epic proportions.”
Captain Russo ordered everyone back to the station. “Not you, Jeffries. You’re done for tonight. Report back tomorrow.”
Talk about getting cut off at the knees! “I’m such a loser! I need a drink, a decent lay and some excitement in my miserable life” Jeffries thought.
He began walking aimlessly about and found himself outside ‘Bar Kathmandu’, the sleaziest dump he’d ever seen. Jeffries drank way too much and woke up the next morning with a killer hangover and a stabbing pain in his neck. That pock-marked hooker must have slipped him one hell of a mickey. Stumbling to the bathroom, he looked into the mirror and let out a blood-curdling scream; he was completely covered in throbbing pimples. Just before his head erupted Jeffries saw thousands of tiny grotesque creatures breaking through their sacs and scurrying off.
Who will their next host be? They may be heading in your direction! And for fuck’s sake, stay out of ‘Bar Kathmandu’!
NAR © 2020
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