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Wind Chill The Fear Merchant
THE FEAR MERCHANTThe Jack-o’-lantern on Roy Wallace’s porch was in desperate need of a Botox treatment. A mere week after Halloween, rot was already hard at work on the toothy grin. The corners of its mouth had drooped into a grimace, and the gourd reeked of sweet decay and old smoke. His face twisting into the same mask of displeasure, Roy didn’t know what to blame: the odor or the house across the street.DiStefano . . . how am I supposed to compete with that prick?He considered ending his creation’s torment with a boot through the face as he looked upon the parade of children passing through his neighbor’s door.Damn, they’re still going over there? The line looks even longer than it did an hour ago.Roy hissed out a sigh to match the one blowing through the dead leaves on his doorstep.I haven’t seen those piled up in twenty years.He could almost feel DiStefano rubbing his nose in them.Fucker got his first visual effects Oscar the same year I washed out of FX school. Al
Wind Chill Bang!
BANG!Richard swayed in time with the piano music seeping up to him through the roof. The vibrations tickled his feet through the soles of handmade Italian shoes, as did the conversations of the diners still inside the restaurant—and their heartbeats. Elongated ears trembled at the sound of the door opening below. He grumbled in tune with his stomach at the sight of the couple walking out arm in arm.Wonderful. Another pair of bloody lovebirds.Richard pulled a silver pocket watch from its place in his vest.There are only four people left inside and dinner service ends in fifteen minutes. His stomach growled even louder than before. If I have to skip another meal, so help me . . .Five minutes passed before fresh footfalls sounded below—the remaining patrons all leaving the same table. He waited while they exited to the sidewalk and said their goodbyes. Two cars roared to life and buzzed down the street. Aching from the cacophony, Richard’s ears still picked up the click of high
Wind Chill Little Red Vest
LITTLE RED VESTKathy Sullivan groaned in tune with her car’s engine.Come on. Oh, come onnnn . . .Her hands tightened around the wheel while she pushed the Lexus to the nearest space on the side of the road. The vehicle barely squeezed in before sputtering its death rattle. Karen’s head banged against the wheel.A year and a half since my last vacation and the car dies on day one. Of course. Why not?She got out and slammed the door behind her. The ivory paint reminded her of the dealer’s bleached teeth.Like brand-new, ma’am. Full package. Very reliable. She banged a fist on the roof. Asshole!Kathy fished for the cell phone in her purse, praying AAA had someone close by.Just stay calm. You can get a cab to get you to the hotel. Big as this city is, there’s got to be a mechanic around who can get that piece of junk running again by the time this little trip is over.Realizing she would need to give the person who answered her call a location, she looked around, but nothing
Wind Chill Shadowplay
SHADOWPLAYCaleb Hunter rested his elbows on his desk. The small white carton of pork lo mein that rested between them had been empty for almost fifteen minutes. As usual, the remaining portion of his lunch break was spent looking out his office window.He sighed and rubbed his fingers against the streaks of gray encroaching on his temples. Across the street below, children frolicked, screaming while they chased each other and clambered over the playground equipment erected in the park. One young boy sat atop a large rock on the outskirts. His sneakered feet swung back and forth, heels striking the plaque bearing Caleb’s name amongst the donors. Each unheard thud against the metal reminded Caleb of the beat of a younger, healthier heart.How old was I the last time I hung upside down on the monkey bars until I got lightheaded? Or played kickball? Or had any actual fun?The laughter below dredged Brian’s grin from the depths of his memory, a lopsided assortment of gaps and baby teet
Wind Chill Jump Cuts
JUMP CUTSEllen Harris sleepwalked through town. Reflex lifted her feet with the February drifts, the whiteout in her mind even more complete. Her slow pace through the snow on the ground offered up no sound to wake her from the daily trance while her subconscious gorged on winter scenery, storing the skeleton fingers of white trees for future dreams and nightmares.A truck sped by her, the spraying of snow under its tires breaking the spell chanted by the wind. Ellen wiped the moisture from her face.Was that ten minutes I’ve been walking? She squinted in search of a landmark. Twenty?Ellen hid her face deeper inside the collar of her coat and picked up her pace, desperately trying to return to the dead zone in her head. She strained to find the emptiness, but it was too late. The past coughed the dust from its lungs and whispered to her instead. A different void began to creep inside her, and this one didn’t offer the comfort of oblivion. She glared at the taillights disappearing
Wind Chill The Skin Trade
THE SKIN TRADECarl Hanson nursed his whiskey and soda at the hotel bar. He observed the man reflected in the polished wood under his elbows, his free hand unsure whether to smooth the streak of gray hair resting near his temple or hide it. Carl grimaced, sharpening all the little lines in his face he was learning to hate. The smooth, hungry faces of the others he’d met at the conference leered through his memory.Young Turks as far as the eye can see. Probably snickering behind my back as soon as I got off stage. Or just planning how to gun for me. Well, I may be getting a little gray and overweight, but I’m not dead yet, kiddies.Carl downed the rest of his drink. Setting the glass down, his eyebrows raised when the bartender gave him a refill without prompting.The young man looked at Carl over his shoulder while returning the bottle to its spot on the shelf. White teeth flashed a conspiratorial smile in his tan face.“Courtesy of the lady at the end of the bar, sir.”Carl lea
Wind Chill The Deconstructionist
THE DECONSTRUCTIONISTAndy Harper drank in the world he’d wrought. The spires of massive skyscrapers pierced the clouds and gouged the ionosphere. Far below, the tangle of glass and steel stretched across the landscape. The streets that had once connected the buildings were no longer necessary. The roads had simply been swallowed up as the structures grew, the bulk of each tower melting into the next until all were united. Vacant, the rows of buildings stood sentry over what few patches of bare space remained below. All was silent until Andy’s mutter of disgust.It’s gone stale? Already?He waved his hand and let it all dissolve. As the structures had been built, they vanished, their outlines shimmering while the molecules composing them lost their solidity and came apart. Dozens of miles of metropolis were reduced to a vacant lot in a matter of seconds. Only a few places that held the essentials of life were allowed to remain behind. Andy sat and rested his narrow chin on his knuck
Wind Chill The Last Great Effect
THE LAST GREAT EFFECTClyde Reynolds pushed his foot down on the accelerator so hard his knee began to ache. He gritted his teeth, dodging around traffic and ignoring the profanity aimed his way through open windows. Reggie’s voice again drifted into the car via Bluetooth.“Clyde? You still there, man?”Clyde winced as yet another horn blared behind him. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m here. You just stay with me, okay? Just keep talking.”A sigh blew through the speakers. Tired. Dreamy. Clyde cringed deeper into his seat, feeling as if a precursor to his friend’s death rattle were blowing into the car like a dry Autumn breeze.“I’ve had an awful lot of pills. An awful lot. I’m sorry about all this.”Oh Christ!Clyde held his breath and blew past a red light. His hands throttled the wheel when the sign for Reggie’s street came into view. The car nearly tipped when he spun into the turn.Almost there. Keep him talking.“It’s okay! I’m your friend, remember? It’s been that way for thirty years
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