Authors: Jack Kilborn
65 Proof (80 page)
“Mr. Hollis? Is this the baking soda?”
Hollis blinked away the daydream and stared at Billy.
Hollis sighed. “That’s it, Billy.”
Theolonious raised his hand. “Mr. Hollis? Will we get our fishing merit badges tomorrow?”
“Yes, Theolonious.”
“Is storytime over?” Cecil asked.
“I guess.”
Silas raised his hand.
“What, Silas? Do you want to ask me what ‘transitory’ means?”
“I want to know what’s wrong with your ears. They’re getting longer.”
Hollis slapped his hands against the sides of his head. Indeed, his ears were getting longer. Longer and hairier.
He jammed a finger into his mouth, tapping the quick growing fangs.
It’s about time.
Hollis leapt onto Silas, taking the boys whole head in his mouth. He squeezed his mighty werewolf jaws closed, feeling the skull bend inward, then crack suddenly, popping open like a walnut, squirting hot brains through Silas’s nasal cavity.
With Cecil, he dug his snout into the boy’s belly, clenching his teeth down on a length of intestines, holding tight as Cecil ran for the trees. Cecil managed to pull out his intestines, both large and small, his colon, his stomach, and something that might have been a spleen, before keeling over.
With Billy, Hollis dug one of his claws through the child’s eye socket, then dug it through his skull and out the other eye, holding him like a six-pack. Then he pulled, tearing off the bridge of Billy’s nose.
Theolonious cried out in horror, and Hollis ripped his lungs out of his chest, squeezing them like an accordion, making the scream go on and on and…
“Mr. Hollis? Is that a werewolfskunkdeer?” Cecil asked, pointing at something in the woods.
Hollis shook his head to clear it. The fantasies were getting more and more real. The medication wasn’t working like it should.
“It’s not?” Cecil asked.
“What are you pointing at, Cecil?”
“That thing, with the horns.”
“You mean the tree?”
“No, the…oh, yeah. The branches looked like horns.”
And then the transformation began. For real this time? Hollis bit down on the inside of his mouth as hard as he could. It hurt like hell—this was definitely real. Those little bastards were about to see what a
true
werewolf could do.
The scouts stared at him. Their jaws dropped as one.
The inside of his cheek was bleeding pretty badly. He shouldn’t have bit so hard.
“That’s right,” he said. “Just like I’ve been hinting over and over, I am a werewolf! And on this night of the full moon, I shall enjoy a Cub Scout gore feast!”
Cecil screamed. Hollis laughed and then, transformation complete, let out the howl of the beast he had become.
“That’s it?” asked Billy.
“What?”
“You’re not very furry.”
“My arms are hairy!”
“Not
that
hairy. My dad’s arms are hairier.”
“Look at my ears! Those aren’t normal ears anymore. Look at my fingernails! And my nose sort of looks like a snout now!”
“I thought werewolves were supposed to be a lot scarier,” said Theolonious.
“You know what? You kids
suck
! It’s not my fault that the werewolf who bit me didn’t break the skin all the way, and that I don’t do a complete change! You should still be terrified! When’s the last time you saw somebody’s fingernails grow a full half-inch within ten seconds? Never, that’s when? You’ve never seen somebody’s nose change shape like that!”
“My sister got hit in the face with a basketball and—”
“Shut the hell up! I have killed hundreds of Cub Scouts, and if you think your ridiculous werewolfwolfskunkdeermoosepygmy fucker is the height of terror, then you can all just…just…”
No, no, no, I promised myself I wasn’t going to do this again. Please, not again. Don’t let it happen again…
It happened again. Hollis succumbed to tears.
There was a long, uncomfortable silence.
“Mr. Hollis, can we go home and play Nintendo?”
“Yes.” Mr. Hollis wiped the tears from his eyes. “Yes, we can.”
THE END
A few years ago on my blog, I held a writing contest. The goal was to write a complete story in 25 words or less. I wrote two entries as examples, and the winner wound up getting some free books or something like that. A while later, a writer named Robert Swartwood told me he’d signed a book deal for a hint fiction anthology. I believe he coined the phrase
hint fiction
, to describe a story written in—you guessed it—25 words or less. He asked me for a story, and I gave him two. Here are the four I’ve written.
REFLECTIONS ON REFLECTIONS
Is my hair okay? I can never tell. Is that why you won’t invite me in for a bite?
X-JUNKIE
The adrenaline really kicked in when Parker realized he’d forgotten to pack his parachute.
DONOR
Miller watched the TV from his hospital bed, fingers crossed, as the brakes on his son’s racecar failed. When he was pronounced dead, Miller smiled.
CHUCK
Flight attendant Sherri was always quick to offer airsick bags. Reverse-bulimia, though a disgusting disease, was bearable when the meals were fresh.
I‘m not a poet. I’ve written hundreds of funny, often vulgar, poems under the name J. Andrew Haknort, but I mostly shy away from the serious stuff. Except for this one. This poem is special to me, because I wrote it while I was trying to get published. I endured a LOT of rejections while I was struggling to make a go at fiction writing, and those rejections hurt. “The Days” was a pep talk to myself about never giving up…
Let the days stand up
In a single file line
for close inspection.
The time has come, my friends
for some serious reflection
on the way innocence ends.
Life fluttered down
like drooling bats
and fed
upon my hope.
My youthful dreams (or so it seems)
were spontaneously born
to their ever-present state
like the facade of a never ending wall…
One by one I’ve watched bricks fall.
Faster than I could replace them
Much too fast to even chase them
Too many to count
An ugly amount
My wall became a pile.
Let this be a message sent
Hope is not a good cement.
And so I screamed
at the great mess
Screamed while time slowly
progressed
As time usually does
Burying what never was.
And then I sat
Upon my pile
And cried
For more than quite a while
My dreams had died
Were buried under bricks and bricks and bricks…
A gravesite for the non-essential
The tombstone read, “He had potential.”
I sat and sat
and found the hours
were possessed
with magic powers
For they’d turned into weeks.
And when
I finally led my feet
and head to leave
behind the dead
I stumbled into
troubled sleep
leaving brick-dreams far away—
Then I opened my eyes and it was today.
Now how should I continue?
Should I rage against my yesterdays?
Stoke the fire with my hands?
Refight all my private wars
with indignation in command?
Should I pull the stitches
on old wounds
to see if they are healed?
The problem is not mine alone
though selfish I may sometimes be
Impotence is universal
not exclusive to me.
So…
Inspect the days with a jeweler’s loupe
Select and keep the precious few
Reject the ones that drip with pain
Elect to have no more that do
Reflect on those that still remain
For those make up the meat of time.
Life in neither good nor bad
Homogenous the paradigm.
And when the shadows of depression
Lead you to your next couch session
Unlock the door before you leave—
You’ll back, for this is not
the end of time
as some believe.
Armageddon’s far away…
This is simply New Years Eve.
JA Konrath’s Works Available on Nook
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Compilation copyright © 2007 by Joe Konrath
Introduction copyright © 2007 by Joe Konrath
Cover copyright © by Carl Graves
All stories copyright © 2007 by Joe Konrath
“A Fistful of Cozy” © 2005, originally appeared on www.Shotsmag.uk
“A Matter of Taste” © 2004, originally appeared in Small Bites
“Appalachian Lullaby” © 2006, originally appeared in Requiem For A Radioactive Monkey
“Basketcase” © 2003, originally appeared in Horror Express Magazine #3
“Bereavement” © 2006, originally appeared in These Guns For Hire
“Body Shots” © 2006, originally appeared on Amazon.com
“Careful, He Bites” © 2006, originally appeared in Small Bites
“Cleansing” © 2006, originally appeared on Amazon.com
“Could Stephanie Plum Car Really Get Car Insurance” © 2006, originally appeared in Perfectly Plum
“Cozy or Hardboiled?” © 2005, originally appeared in Crimespree Magazine #11
“Don’t Press That Button!” © 2006, originally appeared in James Bond in the 21st Century
“Epitaph” © 2006, originally appeared in Thriller
“Finicky Eater” © 2003, originally appeared in Horror Garage Magazine #7
“Forgiveness” © 2004, originally appeared in Cemetery Dance Magazine #48
“Inspector Oxnard” © 2006, originally appeared on Amazon.com
“Light Drizzle” © 2005, originally appeared in Crimespree Magazine #7
“Lying Eyes” © 2006, originally appeared in Twisted Tongue #2
“Mr. Pull Ups” © 2007, originally appeared in Tales From the Red Lion
“Newbie’s Guide to Thrillerfest” © 2006, originally appeared in Crimespree
“On the Rocks” © 2004, originally appeared in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, July
“Overproof” © 2007, originally appeared in Chicago Blues
“Piece of Cake” © 2007, originally appeared in Woman’s World
“Potshot” © 2006, originally appeared on Amazon.com
“Punishment” © 2008, originally appeared in Like A Chinese Tattoo
“Redux” © 2004, originally appeared in Spooks
“Street Music” © 2004, originally appeared in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, August
“Suffer” © 2006, originally appeared in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, June
“Symbios” © 2005, originally appeared in Apex Digest, December
“Taken to the Cleaners” © 2005, originally appeared in The Strand #16
“The Agreement” © 2005, originally appeared in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, March
“The Bag” © 2005, originally appeared in Cold Flesh
“The Big Guys” © 2004, originally appeared in Small Bites
“The Confession” © 2006, originally appeared on www.Hardluckstories.com
“The One That Got Away” © 2004, originally appeared on Whiskey Sour by Brilliance Audio
“The Screaming” © 2004, originally appeared in The Many Faces of Van Helsing
“The Shed” © 2005, originally appeared in Surreal Magazine #1
“Them’s Good Eats” © 2007, originally appeared in Gratia Placenti
“Urgent Reply Needed” © 2006, originally appeared on Amazon.com
“Whelp Wanted” © 2004, originally appeared in Futures Mysterious Anthology Magazine, Winter
“With a Twist” © 2005, originally appeared in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, December
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Joe Konrath. Is anyone even reading this? Hi, Mom!
