Kentucky Moon
We pulled into the lot of the old gas station, the only car parked out front glowed with a ghostly hue from the moonlight. I reached into my jacket and pulled out my gun.
The robbery took a week to plan and only a second to fall apart. Hank was supposed to enter the gas station to clear out the customers while I waited, but as soon as he entered I heard the blast of his shotgun. I ran inside and found the clerk erupting blood like a volcano from a hole in his chest.
“Jesus Christ, what the hell happened?” I turned to find Hank focused on a woman in the back of the store, she had black hair, tan skin, and fabulous curves. I understood why he was bewitched.
“Bitch, get over here to where I can see you,” Hank said as he locked the front door.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
“She looks like a stripper, don’t you think she looks like a stripper?”
The woman stared at her feet as she reluctantly walked down the aisle towards Hank.
“Are you a stripper?” Hank hit her with the butt of the shotgun when she got close enough. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
She wiped the blood from her mouth. “Sure, whatever you want me to be”.
He pointed the muzzle of the shotgun between her eyes. “Then start stripping.”
“No.”
Boom–he fired the shotgun over her head exploding the track lighting in the ceiling. Moonlight streamed through the nearby plate glass window, highlighting the woman like a spotlight. Persuaded, she rocked her hips up and down as her abdomen moved in a circular motion. She reminded me of a belly dancer as her arms slithered outward like waves.
Hank relaxed his stance and lowered his shotgun as he bobbed his head to the invisible music. She unbuttoned her blouse exposing a black lace bra that cupped her fantastic breasts.
“Take it off, now.” He took a step back, giving her room. She put a hand between her breasts to work the clasp on her bra and paused, she seemed to be struggling. Her dancing stopped as a line of blood streaked down her stomach. She had pushed her fingernail into her chest. Hank pumped the shotgun, “what are you trying to pull?”
She dug her index finger deeper into her chest. Blood squirted Hank’s face as she pulled her ribcage. Crack–the room fell silent except for the buzz of the coolers in the back of the store. She stared directly into Hank’s eyes as she tore the broken rib from her chest and tossed it at his feet.
I couldn’t take it anymore, I bolted for the door. I pulled at Hank’s sleeve as I passed but he didn’t follow, he just stood motionless in a puddle of his own urine. My sweaty hands fumbled with the lock, I couldn’t get it open so I kicked out the lower glass panel of the door. Once outside I looked back and screamed for Hank to follow, he ignored me, his shotgun lay on the floor, too heavy for his trembling hands.
Deep within the woman’s exposed muscles and broken ribs a ball of black tar pushed its way out. A blood slicked mass unfolded and expanded revealing a snout and a pair of yellow eyes. A wolf emerged, shedding the rest of her human skin, and howled. Its shark-like mouth opened to reveal deadly jagged teeth. Then in a blur of foaming saliva, Hank was decapitated in one ferocious bite.
I fired my gun at the wolf and I regretted that decision as soon as I pulled the trigger. The wolf, unharmed, glared at me sending shivers of despair throughout my body. The smell of wet fur, blood, and urine overpowered my senses. I could have run, I could have played dead, instead I did nothing. I just waited.
