Amy stands, her head hanging, her arms wrapped around her own body. She slowly drops her arms and raises her head.Her eyes have changed. Once brown, they are now bright blue and full of understanding.Etan roars into the air with rage as he charges Amy at full, inhuman speed.Amy, no longer fully human, eyes the now brightly glowing sickle lying close by, and quickly picks it up.She darts past Etan, slashing at his neck as she goes. She comes to a stop and turns quickly, her eyes sharp and ready. Etan stops also. He slowly turns.Etan’s throat is cut and bleeding. He drops to his knees, grabbing at his neck with both hands. This new Reaper is powerful. More powerful than he could ever be. He has failed in his quest, and his punishment will be great. He begins to grunt and gurgle through his injured throat.Amy eyes Etan, waiting for his next attack. She is ready if it comes and welcomes the challenge.However, it does not come. The sickle in her hands stops glowing and once again lo
“Got the two of 'em tied up or wha?”The other one kept tying the yellow nylon ropes, sweating, grunts. He didn't have the time to answer. His brain rocketed away from earth every passing second, as the meth's buzz beat around the inside of his skull. The old fella struggled, the wife looked about ready for an aneurysm but hung in there mostly in a silent dread, as one of the men who broke into their previously safe home kept lashing rope around them, pulling it tighter.Alex always played dealer. Rich, or Staunch as everyone insisted on calling him ever since an unfortunate egg incident in elementary school, met the devious task of cooking up relatively impressive methamphetamine even for a man who quit going to school before he needed his first shave. Up until a muggy night in the middle of this summer they'd never gotten themselves into anything more than dealing, supplying a few crews out of town, and a ton of manufacturing.Now they found themselves beating and tying up ninety-
Brian's father, Roger Reid, used to be a mechanic – his shop was one of the most well-known spots in Central to get heavy duty work done, especially in Grand Falls. Only problem was Roger's clientele consisted mainly of employees from the paper mill, and Abitibi themselves with their contracts for company vehicles, all sorts of trucks, logging equipment, and more. Once the mill met its end so did the business. They shut down and left, and further left a ton of employees in their dust. Many of those employees then up and took off to the oil patch in Alberta, or pulled up their long gestating roots and moved somewhere similar where there were better prospects for work. Roger ended up having to fold the business; the Abitibi closure, the economy in general, it all took a toll, on him, on everybody.After the shop finally closed things turned awfully sour. Roger became a much meaner, hard drinking, terrifying man than he'd ever been. Only six months later, Brian's mother rolled her son in
Brian and Tommy were Others. They didn't live in Windsor, but lived close enough being out of Brown's Avenue; another place in town cast aside as being a ghetto. Their families were named as lower class, they constantly found themselves looked down on and branded as poor, white trash. Both of the boys spent most of their time in the woods, and plenty of it out in Windsor beating around the neighbourhoods, as well as the bogs and marshes around its deepest areas. Not only were Brian and Tom considered Other, they were outcasts and rejected from every group because they all but lived full-time in their little cabin, barely washing, eating food they catch and kill themselves, hanging out with an old drunk Native man who himself moved into the forest a few years ago, keeping his house in town as a winter home mostly. The two boys were as different and Other, as opposite to the mould of Grand Falls, as is possible.After Tommy and Brian met Don Bargery they were able to better understand t
“Here,” Fowler said in a devilishly satisfied lethargy, “you will find the time to reflect.”With those words echoing in his small ears Don watched as the world turned its back on him. Every watching eye, anyone who cared about the quality of his life, his very existence, was now shut out from reaching the little boy.He spent months on end in the stable. Once a day the priest with no name visited: he brought pieces of stale bread, mostly heels, and whatever other poor excuse for food the school served up that day. Every now and then in the summer he would bring Don a little fresh fruit; a sweet, juicy apple some times, natural food, real like he and his family once ate back home, not like all the fried and processed death the white people forced on him.It wasn't until around Christmas, nearly eight months since first going into the darkness, did a nun end up finding a wilting and emaciated now twelve-year old Don. He ended up having his twelfth birthday during his time locked away d
Everything went off without much of a hitch. Easton's boys remained near fully in tact aside from a handful of cut throats and broken necks, shattered bones laying across the deck. The ships, their masts and decks, all stained in blood and viscera. The mad captain himself stood on the bow of the Adventure crowing out a call of victory to his men, streaked in the colour of the guts of his enemies. It looked a horrifying scene, but Easton and the pirates killed who was necessary while the rest quickly signed themselves on to the ranks of his fleet.The officer whom Easton took as hostage was not as lucky as those ganged into the captain's crew, nor did he experience the luck of a quick and fierce death during battle like those who died on the coast that day.Easton brought the British officer on-deck of the Adventure once they were back in Harbour Grace. The crew lined themselves along the ship's outer edges, each anxiously awaiting their captain and whatever fate was decided for the of
“I mean,” started Alex sternly, “you always gets right excited and talks yer face off to someone, or ends up doin' something to shag up our plans. Every time. Remember last year? Down to Bishop's Falls with that crowd?”Staunch lowered his head how a shamed dog might, low, his eyes still looking up bashful and sorry.“That's what I mean,” Alex exclaimed while light up another smoke. He looked mean, paranoid.A long, tense silence went on, drawing out between the men like stubborn taffy stretched on and on to the thinnest thread. Alex wasn't completely heartless, he did feel bad. But what he said about Staunch was right: the guy fucked up plenty of jobs. Even a lot of legitimate jobs where some little thing or other always seemed to go wrong and it usually, more often than not, came down to Staunch and his incessant need, his drive, to ruin every thing he touches. And because of that, no matter how bad he felt, Alex would not, never, apologize.On the other hand, Staunch didn't
He only hoped Brian, of all people, would at the very least let the fantasy play out, for fun, for the sake of their friendship and the eternal hope Tommy's sanity might stay in tact. Sometimes a little hopeful magic, the unreal, is necessary and essential to living in the cold, harsh reality of certain worlds within this wide and terrifying universe human beings inhabit. Tommy understood this element of life, very well. He thought Brian did, too.The trail he'd been walking suddenly opened a little out into a clearing. Just beyond was Caribou Lake, long, still and vibrant as an oil painting, with its stoney waters and the tall grass circling the edges, and further past were the boggy, floating patches of earth over on the lake's thinner pieces. Tommy stood at the fringe staring on into the horizon, tuning his eyes to the places far at the lip of the water.No lights, nothing except the brilliant moon gave off any visible presence across the entire lake. Tommy heard nature, unmoving,
Feeling his back pockets, Alex told him, “Well come with me, we drops down to Bank of Montreal. I needs a bit of air, and a smoke maybe.”The door to Jimi Jak's opened, sound blowing out to the street for a moment or two and then gone, muffled inside. Alex lit his cigarette while he and Staunch went down the steps, which were now soaked in beer, streaks of blood, and littered with smoked down cigarettes butts from a successful, savage night. The Bank of Montreal only across the road from the bar, they crossed over once cars whizzed past.Nobody was inside the bank's ATM lobby. Alex passed Staunch the rest of his smoke before heading up towards the doors.“Not sure which one'll work,” Alex said thumbing through a handful of stolen debit and credit cards. “Might be a few minutes.”Alex went in to the bank machine and Staunch stood alone, drunk, in the dead of night. Occasionally, a car passed, a sound of laughter from the bar flew on the breeze, and a short time Staunch actual
Inside, the wood stove crackled nice and hot. The evening outside, even in summertime, cooled enough to put a chill in the bones. Brian and tom sat at a medium-sized kitchen table; they'd just finished off a good feed of minced moose burgers and deep-fried home fries. Don cooked a lot of things, but the boys loved their late night lunches – usually the same every time, burgers and fries or moose sausage and fries. As they relaxed in their chairs, Don brought them each a glass of ginger-ale, and a good portion of liquor for himself. The boys drank their pop and Don got his kit: one cigarette rolled, and a joint, as well.“Gimme a smoke,” Brian said, hand out.“Yeah, right,” laughed Don. “I ain't that nice, boy.”Brian laughed and Don lit his smoke.“That was wicked grub, Don,” Tommy told him. “Thanks again. Was friggin' starved.”“Today's been a long one,” said Brian.Between puffs of smoke, Don asked, “What'd you two shits get up to all day?”The boys looked nervous at one another, sl
The majority of the poor girl's murder only came back to him by way of time. Once months went by, the nauseating days of his freedom stretching on, and on, he pieced together several images from the night he first made death; him, the craftsman, making death by hand. Her throat bulged under a tight grip of his clenching fists. She tried to grab him, poke at his eyes, but the force of his hands clamping into her skin and taking the breath out of her heaving lungs kept him safe from any real damage, save a couple scratches. He did not actually orgasm; all the same, his penis shot up erect and stiff like a great monolith against her and he pressed it to her, putting the entire weight of his body down on hers, crushing the clutching bits of life from her flailing, pathetic existence still trying to hold to this world.From the start, he made a fine and thorough killer, an efficient machine created for the sole purpose of killing. Her body would never be found; it still sits buried, rotted
He lived on a decent cul-de-sac in Grand Falls, down near the river. Out back of the house sat a spacious garage separate by a large concrete pad, itself leading up into the long driveway. In the garage he had a nice spot for all his woodworking equipment: table saw, bench, racks of drills, hammers, handsaws, wrenches, and plenty of storage space for fresh wood and the like. At the back of the garage stood a door, behind the door, a room, and in that room were secrets. Locked away with only him and the stale air of the garage's workshop, those secrets grew, multiplied like mould in the dark, and he had a place where his wife would not disturb him; she left him to his business, and without her knowledge his rotten secrets, only coming out when he wanted her there. The man even installed a state-of-the-art security system for the entire property, including the garage, which came with intercoms; often, he would simply call his wife on the intercom to let her know it was fine to bring him
Back over under the Canopy and its branchy cover, Tommy and Brian stopped in an inlet of trees and alder bush. They were scared. Still, the boys were beyond determined to be done with the whole situation. Only trouble was neither of them, with all their heart, wanted to relinquish their hold on the money, those pieces of jewelry, all of that. Even as all the trouble of the world might perilously be wavering only inches above their heads, like one of those cartoons were an anvil hangs on a thread about the coyote's head, all Brian or Tom managed to see were the endless possibilities the contents of that bag could provide them; the images of a future path different than their own dominated them, overthrew those young and impressionable minds.“We could just toss the duffel bag in the woods someplace,” Brian remarked; half sure of himself, half kidding himself.The look gave his friend spoke enough on its own.“This is fucked up.”“We can't just get rid of it – not now,” Tom told him.“Y
Then, Staunch saw the wide birch shooting up near the lake's edge. His heart pumped in short bursts, rapid, and then short, slow again; a combination of nervous fear and the traces of meth still beating around in his brain. Alex stepped ahead of Staunch, who straddled behind wanting to stay but needing to follow. The hole sat only feet away now, closer with each and every stumble. Any minute now they would be right upon it. Stopped for a breath, frozen even in the pulsing rays of daylight, Staunch collected his emotions, his swollen and frayed nerves like wounded and exposed electrical wires, and he caught up to Alex . The two men stepped in around the birch alongside one another, with its hollowed middle, and Alex knelt, no words, at the edge of a roughly bore hole in the muggy earth; a hole where once they deposited all their stolen goods, a hole now empty, void.“Why'd you push me in the fuckin' trees like that?”“I just told ya,” Brian said, “there were people comin' and I di
The car parked a few lengths away from them. Two men got out of the driver and passenger sides; they looked normal mostly. One man – tall, tattooed and fairly muscular, the type who spends his free time lifting weights and self-obsessing over the tone of their muscles, bronzed and starved to death – went to the trunk, as the other – smaller, not much, than the other, and with the look of still being in high school due to his teenage way of dressing, but donning a cane in one hand, limping considerably and aching from an obvious back injury – looked to be moving slowly towards Alex and Staunch. They both walked towards the waiting Firebird.Staunch and Alex each got out and greeted the men.The smaller one extended a hand. “You Alex ?” He shook Alex 's hand. Turning to Staunch he asked, “And that must make you – what's it – Stench?”Alex cackled a dry couching laugh. “It's Staunch, actually.”“Shit, sorry.”Staunch looked calm, but underneath a volcano boiled, bubbled fierce in
Brian understood. He knew now, and along really, what Tommy felt wasn't a mental illness, a real delusion making him paranoid and insane; they both felt it, in different ways. It was the yearning for a new and different life instead of the shit existence they'd both experience up until now. While Brian and Tommy tried to create their own identities and shape the future of their lives, no matter how savagely they fought to do so, they were and always would be inhibited by the families which gave them life, shackled to a dirty destiny. Their parents each were destructive and heartless people; more concerned with their own lives and failed expectations and schemes than bothering to worry about the tiny, lonely humans they created from thin air, leaving them to grow into ungardened plants with no discernible paths ahead of them aside from anguish, despair, torment, and days on this wretched earth long and hard as the road to Hell.This gauntlet of living is what truly made Tommy lie and c
Brian decided it best to save his breath for the walk out from the station, especially considering Tommy planned to dig in three different places all around the area. He kept seeing more money, enough to dive into like Scrooge McDuck, and the thought made everything else fade away.But Brian's conscience, the well of his soul, wouldn't let him rest comfortably. He knew letting Tommy's delusion go on was risky; for days on days now, near a week, Tom has talked of nothing aside from the treasure, pirates, and all the like, and it slowly consumed his sanity, each day that passed. He kept on letting Tom pursue the dream of a legend that most likely was not true, in the slightest, and his spying conscience eyed him, judging, and made him feel as if his entire body were slowly being torn into quarters, drawn by horses, his every fibre wrenched in pain. Yet nothing stopped Brian. He certainly made no real efforts to curb Tommy's lust for treasure hunting.He went on watching Tom, who took hi