by Jason Hardy
We find one slumped against a mailbox on Barrow, hand probing the machete notched broadside his skull. He brightens when he sees us; thinks we’re here to help. Larson helps him, alright…with a spike through the eye. We heave the body onto the truck.
On Flagler, we spot a lady in a creepy doll getup, gut-shot and groaning. She sees our uniforms and understands. Even tries to crawl away. Carney does the honours.
City’s always a bloody mess after the big night. Cleaning gigs pay well. Job’s simple: put the bodies on the truck.
Including the ones still breathing.
Jason Hardy is a financial services writer/editor (by day) and teller of strange tales (by night). He lives in southeastern Massachusetts with the ghosts of two betta fish, and has an upcoming story in the anthology 99 Tiny Terrors.