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BADASS
HORROR Sample
All the Pretty Girls by Ronald Damien Malfi
What do you know?
He knew what to do. And he would waste no more time.
Santiago carried a slender metal prong on a key ring. He removed this device from the pocket of his pants now, examined it briefly in the hot sun, and moved toward the Comet’s trunk. Here he paused, as if waiting for a signal. Listened. In his head, he counted: seven days. Always seven. He ran his eyes over the trunk. His reflection stared back at him from the black paint, dusty and pierced with tiny dents. Santiago ran two fingers over the trunk. Even in the shade of the firs, the steel was hot, warmed by the midday sun.
He slid the metal prong into the trunk’s keyhole and maneuvered the prong around until he felt the lock give. There was a hollow metallic clang. Absentmindedly, he remained with one hand on top of the trunk, holding it down against the force of the springs. The trunk wanted to open, but the springs were weak with age and Santiago held the trunk down without difficulty.
There will be many black bears here before the summer is out, he thought without interest, his eyes focused on the wealth of trees and shrubbery through which he had come. There will be plenty before the days get shorter and the nights get colder. I can remember all this land before it was government land, and how my father and grandfather had shot many black bears along this ridge. The bears, he thought, they are smart, smarter than we think, and if you shoot them and don’t kill them, they will run for the cliff and run off and fall into the river and die. They will die either way but they do not want to die and bring satisfaction to the one bringing its death. They are noble that way.
He thought he felt something thump against the bottom of the trunk and that made his heart skip in his thick chest. But no — it was all in his head, and he uttered a skittish, almost girlish laugh. Then opened the trunk.