Locked in a psych ward for who knows how long now, they pinned all of their deaths on me…
Dad slayed his fair share after the divorce so at first glance nothing about her moved me either direction. Soon after her status upgraded to “step-mom” I felt compelled to move.
Fall hit, picturesque as per usual: burnt orange leaves and pumpkins, kids tossin’ the footie on suburban Texas front lawns in the early evening air.
Little third grade neighborhood roughian ain’t exactly Roger Staubach, you know what I mean? The ball sailed over the fence onto the lemonade pitcher, dashing her freshly baked pumpkin kringle in the process.
For a split second her face transformed, a shapeshifter. Her eyes locked mine in place, I felt frozen. Chupacabra! The …show more content…
I watched closely as a long sharp nail extended from beneath her skin to penetrate the leathery flesh of the football. She peered through a hole in the fence prior to throwing it back.
Two weeks later, I warily returned to my Dad’s house one night after work to pick up an old couch he donated my way. I had a wife and kids at home, not to mention my wife’s poor elderly wheelchair bound grandmother. And yet, there I was, putting my life at risk for a free couch.
On the drive up I noticed M-I-S-S-I-N-G signage affixed to every telephone pole, every street lamp. Holy creepy cryptid Batman, it was Staubach!
A million thoughts ran through my head, but the only one that counted finally appeared scrolling across my brain like a Heads-Up-Display … Google! …show more content…
“Fire, fire, fire,” I blurt out like Beavis stoned out on a sugar high.
Time to take this blood-sucking step-cryptid out of the game on the permanent.
Scrounge for a Bic in the center console though wishin’ I had one of those cheapo gas station lighters with a flame adjuster.
Knocked and Dad answered, thank the gods. I tried explaining to Dad the situation at hand, about the kringle and all that. But alas, he found one too many bags of hallucinogenic mushrooms in my bedroom as a teenager and chalked it up to a flashback.
In the middle of the darkness, I felt something lurking in the unlit foyer. I blinked and she leapt to his side, flashing those eyes again, freezing me before addressing Dad.
“Honey, can you come to the bedroom for a sec? Something I want to show you before you load up the couch.”
“Sure babe,” Dad replied disregarding my subtle head-shaking.
I seized the opportunity to search the kitchen, I desperately needed an accelerant. That Stepford monster had kringle baking in the oven again!
“PAM,” I said aloud, and just as I did I heard Dad scream this awful
Dad slayed his fair share after the divorce so at first glance nothing about her moved me either direction. Soon after her status upgraded to “step-mom” I felt compelled to move.
Fall hit, picturesque as per usual: burnt orange leaves and pumpkins, kids tossin’ the footie on suburban Texas front lawns in the early evening air.
Little third grade neighborhood roughian ain’t exactly Roger Staubach, you know what I mean? The ball sailed over the fence onto the lemonade pitcher, dashing her freshly baked pumpkin kringle in the process.
For a split second her face transformed, a shapeshifter. Her eyes locked mine in place, I felt frozen. Chupacabra! The …show more content…
I watched closely as a long sharp nail extended from beneath her skin to penetrate the leathery flesh of the football. She peered through a hole in the fence prior to throwing it back.
Two weeks later, I warily returned to my Dad’s house one night after work to pick up an old couch he donated my way. I had a wife and kids at home, not to mention my wife’s poor elderly wheelchair bound grandmother. And yet, there I was, putting my life at risk for a free couch.
On the drive up I noticed M-I-S-S-I-N-G signage affixed to every telephone pole, every street lamp. Holy creepy cryptid Batman, it was Staubach!
A million thoughts ran through my head, but the only one that counted finally appeared scrolling across my brain like a Heads-Up-Display … Google! …show more content…
“Fire, fire, fire,” I blurt out like Beavis stoned out on a sugar high.
Time to take this blood-sucking step-cryptid out of the game on the permanent.
Scrounge for a Bic in the center console though wishin’ I had one of those cheapo gas station lighters with a flame adjuster.
Knocked and Dad answered, thank the gods. I tried explaining to Dad the situation at hand, about the kringle and all that. But alas, he found one too many bags of hallucinogenic mushrooms in my bedroom as a teenager and chalked it up to a flashback.
In the middle of the darkness, I felt something lurking in the unlit foyer. I blinked and she leapt to his side, flashing those eyes again, freezing me before addressing Dad.
“Honey, can you come to the bedroom for a sec? Something I want to show you before you load up the couch.”
“Sure babe,” Dad replied disregarding my subtle head-shaking.
I seized the opportunity to search the kitchen, I desperately needed an accelerant. That Stepford monster had kringle baking in the oven again!
“PAM,” I said aloud, and just as I did I heard Dad scream this awful