MicroHorror

Rex Miles sat on an old wooden bench in Cove Spring Park, tapping his foot impatiently. He glanced up at the full moon and could tell by its position in the sky that it was about three in the morning.

“Fuck, I’m bored,” Rex huffed, pulling out his .357 Magnum. He unloaded the bullets and held them in his hand, moving them slightly so the moonlight could gleam off of the silver casing. “That damn Bray Pliny is full of shit! There’s no werewolf in this park!”

***

Rex’s fatigued mind replayed the events of his unusual encounter with Bray Pliny, a middle-aged man who still had boyish good looks.

“I’m a detective,” Bray informed Rex, “and I’ve been investigating a series of murders in Cove Spring Park.” He laid seven photos on the table. “Strange murders that indicate that there may be a werewolf involved.”

“Werewolf?” Rex snickered, looking down at the pictures. They would have been shocking to an ordinary person but Rex stared at the mangled, dismembered and bloody bodies with no remorse. “I don’t believe in folklore, Mr. Pliny.”

“Neither did I,” Bray said, frowning. “But I’ve conducted three stakeouts at the park, and each time a member of my team has caught some sort of glimpse of a large wolf-like creature.”

“Why didn’t you kill it?”

“Please, Mr. Miles. Be patient.”

“Patient?” Rex retorted, rolling his dark eyes. “Patience is for the people that are willing to wait… and I can’t stand those people.”

Bray ran a hand through his wavy hair and said, “Rex, I know all about you. You’re an assassin. And I could arrest you for murder.”

Rex snarled his nose. “Then what’s stopping you?”

“The Mayor. He says that you two have done business before.” Bray shrugged. “I didn’t ask any questions. I just did what he told me. And that was to keep this thing quiet. So, he ordered me to contact you, and pay you for the hit.”

Rex nodded his head. “Yeah, Mayor Featherstone. I know him. A great guy who always pays in cash.”

“Well, back to the matter at hand, Mr. Miles. The werewolf. We shot at it twice, and I am quite sure that we hit it. But I guess we missed, or maybe… we couldn’t kill it with regular bullets.”

***

The night air picked up and blew through Rex’s hair. He squeezed the silver bullets and sighed, “Nonsense. There’s no such thing as werewolves.” He got up, put the bullets in his pocket and began walking to his black Tahoe.

A slight rustling came from the woods behind him. Rex turned around in time to see a large animal leaping through the air. It knocked him to the ground. Rex quickly grabbed his gun. “A werewolf!” he said, fumbling through his pocket for a bullet. He grasped one and put it in the chamber. “An actual fucking werewolf!”

The werewolf stood up on his hind legs. It was seven feet tall and covered with stringy grayish-black fur with a long snout that housed razor-sharp fangs that were dripping saliva. It howled.

Rex smiled cocky. “Here, doggy! I’ve got something for you.”

The werewolf crouched down, growling.

Rex cocked the hammer back. “Come and get it.”

The werewolf leaped. Rex pulled the trigger. The bullet ripped through the creature’s midsection. It fell to the park’s rough terrain and let out a shrill cry. It started to transform back into its human form.

Rex stood over the body. “Mayor Featherstone,” he said, putting another bullet in the gun.

Featherstone looked up. “I… I hate this life, Rex. That’s why I had Bray call you! I knew that you’d put an end to my misery. I’m just glad that I didn’t kill you first.”

Rex rolled his eyes. “Please, Featherstone, you know me,” Rex said, pulling the trigger. “I always seem to get out of hairy situations.”

• Copyright: © 2009 Chad Case

The dead arose from their graves as Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” came blaring on the radio.

I slammed on the brakes and watched the dead with astonished, unblinking eyes. Some of them looked as though they’d been in the ground for many, many years, while others looked like they were new recruits for the dirt team.

I glanced down at the clock. 3:33. Then an old memory flooded my brain. I remembered the story that my father had told me when I was just a kid. He had told me about how the Apocalypse would happen at 3:33 on a June afternoon. When I asked him why at 3:33, he simply replied because if you multiply 3:33 by two you get the Devil’s number. As I grew up I always thought about how asinine my father’s story was. But now, at 3:33 on this sticky June afternoon, I am beginning to think that my father might have been right, and I might have been wrong. Dead wrong, in fact.

I drew in a deep breath. If this was the start of the Apocalypse, I figured that I had to do something. Anything. So I grasped the steering wheel tightly and pushed in on the clutch. I smiled like the Grinch as the dead made their way in front of my massive truck. I cranked up Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” as I popped the clutch and commenced to run down the dozen or so walking dead. The bastards tried to run, but my full-size Ford with the oversized tires caught up with them quickly and turned them into mincemeat pie. I even backed over them a couple of times, making sure that I had completed the job.

Now, I knew that this was the start of the Apocalypse and many of people were going to die. But what can I say, I was having one hell of a time. That was… until my eyes caught the sight of a hefty-sized man flailing his arms wildly. At first I thought he was just another dead person. But then I realized that the man was normal even though he was yelling at the top of his lungs.

I drove over to him and rolled my window down.

“What the fuck are you doing?” the man screamed. His eyes flared, his nose snarled and his teeth were grinding.

I thought to myself about how ungrateful this man was. I had just saved him from being ripped to shreds by the walking dead. So I replied smugly, “Saving your life.”

***

That was six years ago. And, as you can tell, it wasn’t the start of the Apocalypse. No, as it turned out I had drove up on the filming of a new zombie flick. And the dead were nothing more than actors. But in my defense they were pretty convincing. Award-winning. Maybe even Oscar-worthy. Hell, the movie itself might have been the best zombie flick of all time. But, then again, I could have been wrong. Dead wrong, in fact.

• Copyright: © 2010 Chad Case

I paused after I’d unlocked the front door of my new house. I drew in a deep breath, then whipped around to face my parents. “Mom. Dad,” I said in an all-business voice. “Before you two meet Raven there is something that I need to tell you about her.”

They peered at me with immense curiosity.

I could feel my nerves beginning to shake, so I blurted out, “Raven claims that she’s a vampire!” I had expected that my mom would freak out and say that she must be the devil’s offspring, but she just narrowed her eyes and chewed at her bottom lip. “Raven says she’s a real life, bloodsucking vampire!” I added, looking at Dad. He was once a comedic actor in the mid-eighties and I had expected him to make a crude joke about how a vampire couldn’t give good head, but he just stood there unfazed. “Did you two hear me?” I asked, puzzled.

Mom spoke first. “I’m sure we’ll like her, son.”

“Even if she is a so-called vampire,” Dad finished with thick sarcasm. They chuckled a little, giving each other nonchalant eye rolls.

I felt foolish but I had to say, “I was just letting you two know about Raven. She’s really sensitive about the matter. She also has some unusual rules for our guests. So–” I hesitated, drawing my gaze on Mom– “could you please take off your cross and hide it.”

Mom looked offended but did remove her cross. “Things you’ll do for your kids,” she said sweetly, putting the necklace in her purse.

Dad smiled. “I’m glad I didn’t put on my garlic cologne this morning.”

I felt my face flush. “I guess so, Dad.” I tried to smile but I knew when I was being teased. So I brought back my all-business tone of voice and concluded, “Just be cool, you two! And don’t make fun of her, Dad!”

Dad nodded his head. Mom smiled like a kid trying to keep a secret.

I shook my head and opened the door. Raven stood there. “Close the door!” she shrieked, her eyes widening. The sunlight engulfed her like a golden blanket. Her skin began to burn, and catch on fire. She let out an unholy howl then disappeared in an explosion of black ashes.

I stood there astonished and confused. “Did that just happen?” I’d managed to say. “Raven was a real vampire?”

Dad put a comforting arm around me. “Son,” he said, wise and fatherly, “do you still have that old Colt pistol I gave you when you were a kid? Because your mother keeps telling me that she’s a werewolf! Come on, son, let’s shoot her and see what happens!”

• Copyright: © 2009 Chad Case

Rex Miles walked into The Pixie Dust. A shabby little nightclub on the outskirts of Plano, Texas. His dark eyes scanned the establishment. It was empty except for a gorgeous brunette with caramel-colored skin and a voluptuous body working her magic on the stripper pole. She paid no attention to him at all.

Rex marched over to the jukebox and turned it off. “Jillian Wet,” he called out.

Jillian gave him a cocky smile and swayed over to him. “They call me the Rumpshaker. Because–”

“I don’t care,” Rex interrupted, looking her up and down. She wore a nice, shiny silver bra and panties ensemble. “I’m just here to pull a trigger!”

Jillian’s honey-colored eyes widened. “Who are you going to kill?”

“You,” he said flatly.

Jillian’s smile turned erotic. “Why would you want to do that?” she questioned, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Because I’m an assassin,” Rex beamed, “and I was paid to put a bullet through your fucking head.”

Jillian rolled her eyes and kissed Rex on his cheek. “You’re going to kill me?” she said, raising a neatly plucked eyebrow. “You wouldn’t be the first to try.” She turned and started to walk back to the pole. “Besides,” she added, glancing over her shoulder, “who’d want to kill me, anyways?”

“I don’t know why,” Rex answered, pulling out a nine-millimeter Beretta. “I just collect my money and pull a trigger.”

Jillian stopped and began to shake her ass. A long, dragon-like tail shot out from her tailbone. She whipped her head around and it had changed form. It now had a crinkled forehead. Glowing red eyes. A huge, flared nose. And a protruding mouth that showcased a set of razor sharp fangs.

Rex’s expression didn’t change. “Oh, now I see why someone would want you dead.” He raised his gun.

Jillian’s long tail drew back and swung, knocking Rex’s gun from his grip. Her tail came back around and hit Rex in his side, throwing him to the floor.

“You’re not going to make this easy, are you,” Rex said, getting up.

Jillian charged at him like a bull. She hit him with a right hook, then a left hook. Then she whipped her tail around and knocked him to the floor again. Rex shook his head, and watched in awe as Jillian picked him up above her head and threw him into the wall, shattering whiskey bottles. He gathered himself and leaned up against the wall. Grabbed a bottle of vodka and took a sip.

Jillian yelled, “You might want to go out the back door. The last fellow that tried to kill me, well, I tore him to shreds!” She walked over to the jukebox and hit F-4. Thunder Kiss ’65 came blaring through the speakers.

Rex rose up. He jumped on the bar, and pulled two six-shooters from his shoulder holster.

Jillian smiled like a kid with a new puppy. “I really thought you’d slip out the back, but I see that you want to play.”

“Then let’s play, bitch!” Rex began to fire. Jillian moved her head with the music, letting the bullets pass her by. Rex paused, letting her move her head, and he pulled the trigger again. The bullet ripped through Jillian’s left ear.

“You bastard!” Jillian shrieked, whipping her tail at Rex. It coiled around him like an anaconda. She pulled him in close. “Now, you die.” Her tail began to squeeze him.

Rex wiggled his arms and managed to get them through Jillian’s tail. “Listen, bitch,” Rex spat, putting the guns in Jillian’s ear, tilting them upwards. “I told you that I was going to put a bullet through your fucking head!” He pulled the triggers.

Jillian crashed to the floor in a dead thud.

Rex looked down at her and added, “It’s a shame that I had to kill you, Jillian. I bet you were a nice piece of tail.”

• Copyright: © 2009 Chad Case

Rex Miles lay stretched out on a beige couch with his hands behind his head. A therapy session will do me some good, he thought lazily.

“Mr. Miles,” Dr. Irene Paddy said, uncrossing her legs, “we’ve talked about your parents. Your childhood. Your hopes and your so-called dreams.” She paused, tapping an ink pen against her notebook. “Um… tell me, Mr. Miles, about your job. What do you do for a living?”

Rex smiled like a shark. “I’m an assassin.”

Irene Paddy adjusted herself in her seat. “An assassin?” she asked, taking her horn-rimmed glasses off. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No,” Rex answered. “I get paid a lot of money to kill people.”

Irene took a moment to think. Her voice was flat and flustered when she asked, “And you enjoy that?”

“Hell, yeah!” Rex exclaimed. “I enjoy the hell out of it!” He sat up quickly, and his look of cheerfulness turned into a portrait of despair. “But here lately my business has slowed down.” He shook his head somberly. “Must be the economy.”

“Uh, Mr. Miles,” Irene said nervously, “are you joking? Did my husband put you up to this?”

“Sort of,” Rex answered, looking her dead in the eyes. “Your husband was going to pay me to kill you. Then frame one of your patients for the murder. It was a good plan. A great plan.” Rex paused, and let out a deep sigh. “But then I asked him why he wanted you killed–”

“And his answer?” Irene broke in.

Rex huffed, “Because you’re pregnant by your lover.”

“He knows about that?” Irene asked, covering her mouth with a thin, bony hand.

“Yes,” Rex answered. “And he’s pretty pissed about it, too. But I told him I wouldn’t do it.” He shrugged and added, “I’ve got a no-killing-a-pregnant-woman rule. Not many assassins care, but I do.” Rex hesitated and watched Irene Paddy’s look of surprised shock change into bitter hatefulness. That’s when he made his move. “Mrs. Paddy,” he started, “I am here today to help you out.”

Irene leered at him like he was a crazy man, and thought to herself that he was. “Help me out?” she asked sarcastically. “How’s that?”

Rex smiled a cunning smile. “Your husband will find another assassin to kill you. I have no doubts about that. And as you can imagine most assassins are heartless bastards. But I’m here today to make you a deal.”

“A deal?”

“Yes, Mrs. Paddy, you pay me ten thousand dollars and I’ll kill your husband and–” Rex looked at the huge metal file cabinet– “let me go through some of your files and pick three or four people to kill.”

The look of surprise-shock returned to Irene’s face. She opened her mouth to say something…

But Rex threw her a stern, cold glance. “I told you, Mrs. Paddy, business has been slow.”

Irene shook her head and managed to say, “Okay. Deal.”

***

An hour later Rex Miles knocked on the front door of Mr. and Mrs. Paddy’s big, expensive home.

“Rex Miles,” Mr. Paddy said with a thick New Orleans accent, “did you change your mind about my offer?”

“No,” Rex replied. “I told you, sir, I don’t kill pregnant women.” He pulled a large chrome .357 Magnum from his shoulder holster. “I’m here to kill you, sir.” And Rex pulled the trigger. He glared down at the body of Mr. Paddy and added, “I don’t know about you, Mr. Paddy, but I believe I need to go to more therapy sessions. Because if a man enjoys my line of work something must be wrong with him.” Rex paused to think. “But what the hell.” He raised a shoulder. “It pays good!”

• Copyright: © 2009 Chad Case

Rex Miles looked into the cold, black eyes of Kali Valentine. A sly, devilish smile crossed his lips as Kali walked seductively towards him wearing a skin-tight red leather dress.

“Mr. Miles, I know all about you.” Kali’s voice was heaven with a hint of sexual desire. “You’re an assassin with a hundred-percent success rate.”

“What can I say?” Rex shrugged his massive shoulders. “I’m good at my job.”

Kali smiled widely, exposing her long, bright white fangs. “But you can’t kill me,” she teased, running her pink tongue over her teeth. “I’m already dead.”

Rex crossed his arms. “True. I can’t kill you in a conventional way, but I can destroy you.”

“With what?” Kali asked, running a hand through her raven hair. “A wooden stake? Some holy water? Chopping my pretty little head off? Or are we going to wait here until the morning for the sunlight?”

“Look around,” Rex said. “We’re in a windowless room. With only one door and I’ve got the key.”

Kali looked around. The large room was completely empty. “Then I guess this’ll be your last job, Mr. Miles.” she said, leaning into Rex’s neck. Her nostrils flared and she jumped back quickly. “That smell!” she exclaimed, her chest heaving up and down fighting for fresh air. “I hate garlic!”

“I know,” Rex said. “That’s why I took a bath in it.” He paused, and watched Kali’s beautiful face turn crimson-red with anger. “I knew we’d be locked up in this room for a while,” he added, “and I didn’t want you taking a bite out of me.”

“So that’s your plan, Mr. Miles, starve me to death?”

Rex shook his head. “No,” he stated. “I plan on feeding you… with this.” And pulled a small surgical bag filled with reddish-black blood out of his inner coat pocket.

Kali’s eyes flew open. “Mmm,” she moaned, licking her full red lips. “Hand it here.”

Rex threw Kali the bag. She grasped it, and sniffed the bag as though it was a freshly baked cake. She smiled wide, then paused and asked, “What did you put in it?” she cocked her eyebrows. “Garlic? Holy water?”

“I didn’t put nothing in it,” Rex answered. “It’s zombie blood.”

Kali laughed. “Zombie blood?!” she cried. “What good will that do you?”

Rex pulled out a black .357 magnum. “I figure that when you get hungry enough, you’ll drink it, then you’ll turn into a zombie.” He paused, and put six bullets in the chamber. “Then I’ll blow your fucking head off.” He gazed at Kali and smiled with the grace of a politician.

Kali dropped the bag, and charged at Rex. But when she touched him, her fingers burned as though she’d laid her hands on a hot stove. She screamed as the smell of burning flesh filled the room.

“You bastard!” Kali hissed through gritted teeth. “Why don’t you go ahead and kill me?”

Rex took a moment to ponder the thought. “Well, business has been very slow,” he began, “and I do enjoy my job very much. So, when I do get a job, I take my time. A cat-and-mouse kind of thing.”

Kali gnawed at her lip. “Damn you, Rex Miles.”

“Sorry,” Rex offered, “but a job’s a job.”

Seven hours later…

Kali’s stomach began to growl. She craved blood. She needed blood. She grabbed the bag of zombie blood and sank her fangs into it. She let out a sensual moan as the blood ran down her chin.

Rex cocked the hammer back on his .357 magnum. He watched and waited for Kali to change.

Kali breathed deeply, licking her lips. Then her eyes began to fade from black to charcoal-gray. Her breathing stopped. She let out a low growl followed by an unholy howl.

Rex took aim. “The problem with women vampires,” he said, pulling the trigger, “is that you get paid so little to kill them.”

• Copyright: © 2009 Chad Case

“There’s two of them trying to get in!” Barbara Dunmore shrieked, pointing a slender, askew finger at the front door. “Do something, Everett! Do something!”

Everett Dunmore closed his newspaper, got out of his La-Z-Boy, and grabbed his cane quickly. “Is it those zombie skeeters?” he asked, limping to the door. He examined the pesky mosquitoes that were bumping their heads against the quarter-inch glass door.

“Yup!” Everett began with a hoarse southern drawl. “You’s can tells by their grayish-black looking bodies, and those small red eyes.”

Barbara slapped Everett on his back. “Do something, Everett!” she cried, cupping a wrinkled hand over her small, quivering mouth. “Don’t just stand there!”

Everett frowned and shook his bald head. Nag. Nag. Nag, he thought, Fifty years together, and all she does is nag!

“Barb,” Everett began sternly, “goes into the kitchen and gets me that can of bug spray! You know, the black one with the skulls and crossbones on it!”

Barbara just stood in place shaking like a dogwood leaf in a Kentucky breeze.

“Gosh darn it, Barb!” Everett said somberly. “I’ll goes and gets it! Got to do everything else ’round here anyways!” He went into the kitchen and fumbled around in the utility cabinet. He huffed, “Damn it, Barb! What’d ya do with it?” Everett opened another drawer and found it.

He limped back into the living room. “Got it!” he said proudly, walking past Barbara. “I sees that you’ve stopped shaking, Barb. That’s good.”

He shook the can. “I’m gonna spray the hell out of these little bastards!” And began spraying around the edges of the door. “There’s only one of them here now, Barb. Wonder where the other one went? Must’ve flown away.” His heart sank upon seeing a small hole in the rubber seal. “Damn,” he cussed, sticking the tip of his index finger in. “Bastard might’ve gotten–”

Everett jumped with the energy of a teenager when he heard a loud buzzing noise behind him. He spun around to see thousands of grayish-black mosquitoes in the shape of his wife, Barbara. His pale green eyes widened. They got her! he thought, raising the bug spray with a shaky, thick-veined hand. Little bastards got her!

He licked his lips, and began to spray. The mosquitoes fell to the beige carpet. Everett looked down with squinted eyes. Their wings and legs still kicking. He knelt down and emptied the can on the mosquitoes. They slowly stopped kicking.

Everett stood up cautiously, and took a deep breath. “Well, darn,” he said, steadying himself with his cane. “Who’s gonna fix dinner now? Oh, well.” He shrugged his hefty shoulders. “At least, I don’t have to listen to her nagging anymore.”

• Copyright: © 2009 Chad Case

Rex Miles looked down at an eight-by-ten, black-and-white photo of a long-haired, bony-faced man known as RatTail Randy.

“He’s a drug dealer,” B.J. Lovington said, pointing at the picture.

“Drug dealer?!” Rex replied through gritted teeth. “So he’s a scumbag? A real lowlife son-of-a-bitch! The shit on the bottom of a birdcage.”

“Yeah,” B.J. agreed, laying a black leather briefcase on the table. “That’s why I need you to kill him.” B.J. opened the briefcase, exposing ten thousand dollars in cash.

Rex lifted his eyebrows. “Nice,” he said, running a hand over the greenbacks. “You’ve got yourself a hit man.”

“The reason I want him dead is–” B.J. began.

“Don’t care,” Rex broke in, closing the briefcase, and shrugging his muscular shoulders. “A job’s a job.”

***

Four days later…

Rex followed RatTail Randy’s ’66 Cadillac down a dark alley.

He’s making this too easy, Rex thought.

Rex parked behind a huge dumpster and watched as RatTail Randy pulled in front of a worn-out warehouse and got out of his big Caddy. RatTail Randy looked around cautiously. Once he thought he was safe, he entered the building.

Rex exited his black Tahoe and climbed through a busted window. He pulled a nine-millimeter Browning out of his black jacket, and found RatTail Randy standing in front of huge stack of cocaine in the shape of a triangle. Rex emerged from the darkness.

“Hey, RatTail,” Rex said, taking aim on the skinny man wearing faded blue jeans and a black leather jacket.

RatTail Randy raised his hands and turned around slowly. “Don’t shoot,” he cried. “I haven’t done anything!”

“You’re a drug dealer, aren’t you?” Rex uttered.

RatTail Randy shook his head. “Yeah, but–”

“Enough said!” Rex chimed in, pulling the trigger.

Rex had been a hired assassin for fifteen years, and had never seen a man take a shoot to the head and not fall. Until now. RatTail Randy stood tall and unfazed.

RatTail blinked his eyes wildly. “You don’t know how much that hurts,” he said, rubbing the tiny hole in his head. “Don’t you know that you can’t kill me?” He paused, as the hole grew back new flesh. “I’m a drug dealer!” he bragged.

Rex pulled the trigger again. And RatTail Randy didn’t flinch as the bullet ripped through his head.

“Stop that!” RatTail yelled.

Rex frowned. “But I’ve got to kill you. It’s my job.”

“Job?” RatTail questioned. “Ah, I guess B.J. Lovington hired you.”

“How’d you know?” Rex asked.

“Ah,” RatTail sighed. “He’s been after my business for years.”

“He’s a drug dealer, too?” Rex probed, putting the Browning back into his jacket.

RatTail Randy shrugged. “Sort of,” he began. “He’s a drug lord. But he doesn’t own me, nor my market. And it pisses him off!” RatTail waved his hand at Rex. “Now,” RatTail said, “go. I’ve got business to take care of.”

Rex looked at the stack of cocaine. An idea crossed his mind. He went back to his Tahoe, and went to the nearest gas station. He returned to the warehouse, and found RatTail Randy in the same spot.

“You back again?” RatTail asked smugly.

“Yep,” Rex answered, pulling a high-power rifle off his shoulder and taking aim. “And I’ve got a new plan.” he said, pulling the trigger.

RatTail Randy’s head exploded and his body began stumbling around the place.

Rex ran over to the stack of cocaine, and began pouring the gas on it.

RatTail Randy’s head grew back. “I told you that hurts!” he screamed, eyes flared.

“And so does this,” Rex said, lighting a match and throwing it on the cocaine.

RatTail Randy’s eyes grew wide and glowed orange as the stack of cocaine went up like a bonfire. Almost simultaneously, RatTail’s feet caught on fire then the rest of his body. He fell to the ground, and Rex watched as RatTail Randy burned to ashes.

“Drug dealers.” Rex smiled. “How I do hate ’em.”

• Copyright: © 2009 Chad Case

Even though it sounded like a lie, I knew that the gaunt, sinister-looking man was telling me the truth.

“Name’s Lox,” he said, with a voice that sounded like he was chewing marbles, or rocks, or maybe even human bones. “I drank the blood of Christ while he hung on the cross.” he paused. “It was sweet, but tasted like an old penny.” He raised his mangled, black-haired head proudly. “I’ve been an immortal ever since.” He smiled. An eerie smile that wasn’t friendly but pure evil. “I’ve been shot, stabbed, set on fire, run over, everything you can possibility imagine. Still… I live.”

Lox ran a long index finger across the rusty bars of his ten-foot-by-ten-foot cage. “Your government officials put me in here in the year 832, because I created so much chaos. I murdered, raped, stole. You know, all the fun stuff.”

I shook my head somberly.

Lox squeezed one of the bars so tight that his knuckles turned white. “Say, I’ll make you a deal,” he started, gnawing at his bottom lip. “Let me out of here, and I promise–” he paused as if the next line out of his mouth was a sin against nature. “I’ll be good.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I think not.” Then I turned to walk away. I hated listening to crybabies.

“But can’t I be forgiven?” he questioned. There was a hint of curiosity and concern in his voice.

I took a deep breath and turned my gaze to Lox. His cold black eyes were wide with desperation.

Lox continued, “A man named Luke once told me: Love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back.”

“I know,” I huffed, pulling a pewter skeleton key from my pocket. “I know Luke, and his work, well. Forgiveness is one thing I wish the people of the world would learn to do. Now, step back so I can open the cage.”

Lox did as he was told. He jumped in place like an eager kid waiting in line for cotton candy.

I slid the key into the slot, and watched Lox’s excitement grow with a slow turn of the key and a soft click. “Now,” I said sternly, “you be good. Promise.”

Lox smiled so wide I could see his back teeth. “I promise,” he hissed like a snake.

I opened the door and Lox shot out like a deer.

“Be good!” I yelled, shaking my head. I knew he wouldn’t but I could hope. And what can I say? It has been years since I released total havoc upon the world, so I figured what the hell? Let Lox have his fun. Let the people of the world see what I am capable of. Then I’ll clean up the mess… again.

• Copyright: © 2009 Chad Case

Rex Miles answered his ringing phone with such authority that he nearly ripped the phone cord out of the wall. It’s been four whole days since I’ve killed a man, he thought quickly. Rex instantly recognized the voice as Dr. Henry Peppersmith, an old acquaintance, who had needed Rex’s experience as an assassin a time or two before.Peppersmith informed him, “Rex, I’ve got a bit of a situation here at the Loomis Towers. My latest experiment has turned my whole crew into flesh-eating zombies. It’s a horrible mess. I’ve got them contained, but don’t have the heart to…”

“Kill them?” Rex broke in, with a hint of excitement in his baritone voice. He breathed deeply, his chest rose like a soldier ready for battle. “I’ll do it,” he declared, smiling and licking his lips. “A job’s a job.”

***Two days later Rex stood proudly on the second-floor balcony looking down at eighteen mindless, slow-moving zombies.

Dr. Henry Peppersmith sighed, “The governor is pretty pissed about this little mess. He gave me the money that you asked for,” Peppersmith shrugged his hefty shoulders, “and more. I guess he really wants to keep this out of the papers and off the television.”

“I suppose,” Rex said, taking aim on a tall, blood-covered zombie.

Peppersmith’s eyes widened. “I’ve known some of these people for years,” he said hastily, his skin turning pale. “That’s Harvey you’re taking aim on. He’s been working for me for years!”

Rex looked at Peppersmith sternly. “I don’t care,” he began, and turned his attention back to the zombie Harvey. “Now, you watch this, because you’re the mad doctor responsible for this fuckup.” Rex squeezed the trigger. Harvey’s head exploded in an array of blood and bone.

Vomit swam up Peppersmith’s throat. He choked it back down as Rex pulled the trigger seventeen more times.

As the bodies oozed out red-black blood, Rex let out a satisfied sigh. “It’s done.”

Peppersmith shook his head gingerly. “Yes,” he croaked, eyes tearing up. “The governor will be pleased. The madness that I caused is over.” He hung his head and began to walk away.

Rex lifted the rifle, and took aim on Peppersmith. “Oh, Doctor,” he said.

Peppersmith turned around and threw his hands up and yelled, “What the hell are you doing?”

Rex looked at Peppersmith through the scope. He could see the beads of sweat forming on Peppersmith’s brow. Rex half-smiled and replied, “The governor’s more pissed than you know, Doctor. What did you think the extra money was for?”

Peppersmith frowned. He realized he was the dumbest son-of-a-bitch in the world for handing over his own assassination money. “Wait!” he yelped, licking his dry lips. “Can’t we work out some kind of deal?”

“No,” Rex answered, moving the crosshairs between Peppersmith’s eyes. “The governor and I have already made the deal.” He pulled the trigger, then stood over Peppersmith. “Sorry,” Rex said to Peppersmith’s headless body. “But a job’s a job.”

• Copyright: © 2009 Chad Case