People who knew Matt Korven don’t believe he’s the type to orchestrate elaborate stunts. But after all, it’s hard to think badly of those you’re close to. Perhaps that’s why when #WinslowHoax started trending, I was convinced it was a performance. Even Matt’s disappearance seemed a ploy for attention—a ploy that worked since it’s what got me curious about my brother.
I am sitting in a vampire’s plush Vero Beach office on Halloween afternoon trying to save the world. The blinds of her third story suite on A1A are drawn of course, thick velvet robes masking the bright fall sunshine outside. Teak bookshelves line one wall, the carpet is plush, and a pair of end tables flanks a display of wrought iron serpents. The Tiffany lamp on her desk is lit for my benefit.
Jackie put her hand over Emma’s tablet, blocking the screen. “Don’t do a count today.”
Jackie had that perfect smile on her face. Any passenger watching would think flight attendants only ever discussed pleasant things. But there was a tightness around her eyes. “The gate agent did a count, and we’re busy. Don’t worry about it.”
Originally published in Corporate Catharsis: The Work From Home Edition (Water Dragon Press)
I’ve got creeper guts under my nails again.
Fucking great. The Northerners are going to love this.
To be fair, I should’ve known better than to cross Canary Wharf at lunchtime. Say what you will about the creepers, they’ve done a remarkably good job of sticking to their 9-5 routines. Fortunately, my targets were tourists that’d migrated from central and hadn’t joined the lengthy queue at Pret, so I isolated and dispatched them quickly enough.
“You’re a good friend, Jen,” Simon praised once they got outside onto the street.
“I know,” his classmate called with blue fingers. “Is hypothermia normally this colour?”
“Target located,” Simon suddenly ducked down behind a parked car and raised his father’s binoculars to his eyes. “Get down, Jen - Seal team is a go.”
Jennifer folded her arms, watching, dutifully. “Is this gonna take long? I’m freezing out here.”
There is nothing like Whataburger after a night of drinking.
It’s not a secret, not if you live near one. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the hops or just how the world works but a Whataburger grilled cheese at two in the morning is the most delicious thing on the planet. At least to me it is. Others claim it’s the burger or the patty melt but I’ve always liked the cheese. My mouth is already watering by the time I pull in front of the menu. There isn’t a line tonight, oddly enough, but I’m not worried about that. All that matters is that I get some good food in me soon.
"How long before help comes?" Andrei asked.
The two of us were sitting on a sodden mattress that was semi-submerged under the water. It wasn't exactly a life raft, but it was buoyant enough to keep us somewhat dry. Without the mattress, we'd be in the water up to our necks. With it, the water was only up to our ribs.
I drop my case of beers on my great-grandfather’s headstone, leaning my shovel beside it, and get to loading my 12-gauge shotgun. It’s a newer Winchester semi-automatic. When your target moves as fast as a turkey at most, it does the job just fine.
It’s a cold day. It always is, April 1st, the start of the cruellest month. The only good thing about having to come here every damn year is not getting sucked into pranks or juvenile delinquency. But this year is different. I nearly didn’t come.
You do not recognize the bodies in the forest.
I implore you to listen to me, just listen.
No one knows when the bodies started appearing, hanging from the gnarled branches of Cog Hollow. Little Janine says she sees the body of her grandmother hanging like a broken chicken wing at the edge of the school. Postman Milton swears he sees the checkered house dress of his sister flapping in the wind like laundry out to dry. They say there is a rule of threes for examples, but I think you get it.
You do not recognize the bodies in the forest.