Wolf Moon
I hunger.
The moon is full.
It’s pale blue lifeblood spills through a large bay window to my right, bathing the empty room in a spectral glow. The leather couch, on which I recline, and a small stainless steel nightstand to my left, are among the only furniture in the house. On the nightstand there is a black telephone.
I make the call.
Bill’s voice sounds different tonight. I can’t quite place it. There is something strained about it. He tells me the time and the drop off point. We agree the price. He says he is out after tonight.
He says that every time.
I slowly place the phone back on the nightstand, beside the coke. I press play on the hi-fi remote and as I drain both glasses, the opening howl of The Misfits’ “Dig up Her Bones” echoes through the empty rooms.
It’s 3.05 when I watch the yellow taxi pull away among the pines and for a moment I catch a glimpse of Bill’s scowling, make- up caked face. I wait till his car is safely out of sight and move in.
Something’s not right, however. The package is cold. A strange yet somehow familiar odour emanates from the box, like something from a half remembered nightmare.
With grim apprehension I open this Pandora’s box and in the light of the full moon gaze upon the horror within.
Pepperoni.
I howl now. Suspended for eternity in that moment of madness.
I howl at the moon.
The moon is full.
It’s pale blue lifeblood spills through a large bay window to my right, bathing the empty room in a spectral glow. The leather couch, on which I recline, and a small stainless steel nightstand to my left, are among the only furniture in the house. On the nightstand there is a black telephone.
I make the call.
Bill’s voice sounds different tonight. I can’t quite place it. There is something strained about it. He tells me the time and the drop off point. We agree the price. He says he is out after tonight.
He says that every time.
I slowly place the phone back on the nightstand, beside the coke. I press play on the hi-fi remote and as I drain both glasses, the opening howl of The Misfits’ “Dig up Her Bones” echoes through the empty rooms.
It’s 3.05 when I watch the yellow taxi pull away among the pines and for a moment I catch a glimpse of Bill’s scowling, make- up caked face. I wait till his car is safely out of sight and move in.
Something’s not right, however. The package is cold. A strange yet somehow familiar odour emanates from the box, like something from a half remembered nightmare.
With grim apprehension I open this Pandora’s box and in the light of the full moon gaze upon the horror within.
Pepperoni.
I howl now. Suspended for eternity in that moment of madness.
I howl at the moon.
9 Comments:
I would kill for some Peperoni.
Is there something wrong with this? My last comment isn't showing up and I fear this one won't as well.
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Getting a bit paranoid in your old age Rob?
M nice to see you back. Does this mean your computer problems are behind you?
This is a fucking kick ass mofo of a post. Quite enjoyable.
This post was deemed too cool, by the author.
You might get a kick from this. A bunch of Magnetic Fields covers... The peter gabriel one may be really crap or really brilliant depending on your mood....
http://copycommaright.blogspot.com/2005/08/day-is-beautiful-and-so-are-you.html
Although i don't have a problem with computers personally, i don't think they're on my side.
Sound for the music info Rob.
This story was going to end like this:
"I wait till his car is safely out of sight and move in using the shadows as a tool.But the time i come level with them, the packages are already running hard and bleeding black into the leaves."
Pepperoni
That's just sick...
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