MicroHorror

Ah you Heads cannot escape me in the dark you missing Heads because I’ve gotta big metal-black flashlight pointed all over this dark house with glass cabinets that flash-reflect at me and there’s a refrigerator purring and ceiling fans a-whirring around ’round ’round ’round. I’ll find you you hiding Heads you can’t hide from me you can’t you can’t ’cause I’m a-sneaking through the dark house with my flashlight aimed in front of me to help me find you Heads because I need to find you you Heads and

now I see a body on the floor filling up and irrigating the little little floorboard cracks with syrupy red and making a lake and this body isn’t moving and it doesn’t have a Head because the Head ran away and is hiding in the house and now I have to find it.

Oh you Heads you Heads I’ll find you I’ll find you I’ll find you wherever you’re hiding because I’m the one who’s it and I’m coming for you all because that’s the way the game goes yes that’s the way this hide & seek game goes and I have always loved to play this game so I’m stepping in the red lake and I’m leaving bare footprints on the floor because I took off my shoes so I wouldn’t make a noise when I walked no noise at all

but now my feet are sticking to the floor and they make a little Velcro-noise and they give away my secret position damn damn damn dammit damn. So I start a-running through the dark house to find you you Heads and I’m kicking down the door to this closet right here

and I’ve finally found one of you, one of you Heads. You’re a Head sitting at the shoulder-top of a guy who’s shivering and screaming in the closet and, ah, joy to it all, I found a Head I found a Head I found a Head and I’m blinding it with my metal-dark flashlight and I’m shrinking all the little black circles in your eyes and your eyes are on your Head the Head I found I did I did and I won’t let you get away you Head Head Head mother-effing Head. I’ll keep the flashlight aimed at you so you can’t get away you Head you can’t you can’t you can’t so I’ll keep the flashlight pointed right at you

even when the flashlight shouts and bucks like an angry bull and

suddenly I realize that my flashlight is attached to a 20-gauge gun and there’s buckshot in the wall behind you and chunks of red all over the place and now I’m so weepy and sad because I let another Head get away and hide and now I have to find it all over again…

• Copyright: © 2008 Richard Pitaniello

Everyone in the courtroom glared at the rapist sitting in the witness stand.

The victim, Sandra Jessil, sat by her lawyer, her blonde hair lynched tight in a painful bun, one hand holding a pen like a dagger, her other hand ready to grab the shard of plastic PVC pipe she had carved into a knife and taped to her leg. I’ll make you pay, she knew. I’ll cut and slash you until you’re striped as a tiger. You’ll pay, my dear ex-lover, pay dearly.

Her brother Todd stared at the accused too, pulling one curly hair after another out of his scalp. He scratched his teeth together, kept a hand inside his jacket, stroking the razor he had smuggled in with a hefty bribe. You’ll pay, you bastard, he knew. I’ll make your whole neck smile and give you a blood-beard, one as big as a lion’s mane. If you could scream with a slit throat, you’d die screaming. Bastard. You–will–die.

And a police officer named Mark Knik–the same cop who’d arrested the rapist without using unnecessary violence like he’d wanted to–was also watching him while drumming on his Beretta 9mm with his fingers. I might just kill you, he knew. I should have done it when I caught you, but now is okay. But I won’t be quick about it. I’ll shoot an arm and let you run… then shoot a shoulder and let you run, then shoot your gut and let you run. I’ll play with you until you’ve got so many blood spots you look like a leopard–then I’ll stamp one last spot on your forehead. Die screaming, motherfu–

The rapist’s lawyer cleared his throat so loud the sound echoed. Then he got up and walked to the stand. The judge’s bored eyes followed him, and he scratched the side of his nose, scratched his throat.

Sandra thought of her plastic blade

Her brother Todd kept stroking the razor.

The cop named Mark drummed his fingertips on his pistol.

Then the lawyer started talking to the rapist. “Were you with this woman Sandra on the night of the alleged rape?”

“No,” the accused responded. “She lied to the police.”

“Does she often lie to people?” the lawyer asked.

“All the time,” the accused told him. “Last year she lied to her doctor about her alcohol history.”

Sandra’s lawyer stood up, snapped: “Objection. That’s not–”

“RRRRREEEEOOOOOWWWWWW!!!”

The yowl interrupted the lawyer, interrupted everybody. The rapist covered his ears for a moment… and then he had to shield himself. But he couldn’t stop the attacker descending upon him. The crowbar broke two ribs, an arm, a collarbone, pushing the rapist off the witness stand. The hits rained down for an entire minute. Nobody spoke. Bone cracked. Blood splattered and dripped, drumming with the impact of each drop. A puddle widened.

The attacker let up, and still no one spoke. Sandra and Todd and Mark stared silently, their mouths as wide as their eyes.

Only the judge’s breathing rasped through the silence. Blood dripped, falling from his glistening robe, his sweat-shined face. He dropped the crowbar and it lay there like a panther leg. The judge bent over the body, setting his palms on the floor, curving his fingers into claws. He told the corpse: “You–make–me–sick!”

And he hissed, loud and long, then licked at the blood.

The objection was apparently sustained.

• Copyright: © 2008 Richard Pitaniello

Something yanked on the fishing line, shaking loose water diamonds. Duke yelled to his girlfriend Vannie, “I’ve got it! I’ve got something!”

“Great,” she said walking across the deck of the boat to his seat, her swimsuit revealing more than proper folks should see. Vannie had hoped that some of the other ships were getting a good, long look at her stuff. I’ve got it going on, she knew. I can flaunt it. But Vannie was more concerned with her boyfriend’s catch at the moment.

“It’s big,” Duke said, pulling the rod back, biceps and pectorals swelling.

“Don’t lose it this time,” Vannie told him, scrunching her lips together. “We can’t have you not catch anything on Spring Break.”

“I won’t,” Duke assured her, reeling in the line. “It’s mine. I’m using my new system of hooks–twenty of them.”

Vannie smiled. “Give ‘em hell.”

The line jiggled side to side violently, sending ripples over the azure-tinted ocean. Duke reeled in, but his catch yanked back. He felt the line shudder.

“I’ll get the camera,” said Vannie, and hurried to the other end of the boat. Duke strained to bring the fish up. Bubbles erupted through the water. Duke pulled up on the rod harder. It shuddered again.

Then it went slack.

“Dammit,” he said to himself.

He reeled the line in savagely, and when the hook reached the surface he yanked up on the rod and threw it the deck. Still muttering swear words, he looked down at his new systems of hooks.

Sunlight glimmered off a pair of goggles–ragged, red, and meaty.

Duke sighed. “Damn. I lost another one.”

• Copyright: © 2007 Richard Pitaniello