Blood Money (A Lost Falls Story) by Chris Underwood

Author:Chris Underwood [Underwood, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2018-07-08T06:00:00+00:00

4

For several seconds the goat man just stood there in the doorway of the shed, looking in. I couldn’t see his eyes. But I could feel them sweeping the darkness. Searching. I felt a prickling sensation at the back of my neck. I didn’t move.

The goat man took a step forward. His movements were unconcerned, unafraid. He passed through the doorway and pulled the door closed behind him. The darkness grew deeper. The goat man turned, and I heard the scrape of a deadbolt being pushed home.

“I can hear your heart beating.” The goat man’s deep voice filled the darkness. “It sounds like the heart of a scared little mouse. Are you scared?”

Like hell I was going to answer him.

But yes. I was scared.

Shoe leather whispered against concrete. As he took another step forward, I carefully shuffled away from the mower, moving back toward Christina. I licked my lips, preparing myself. I’d only have one chance.

“Who are you?” the goat man asked. “Did the girl’s mistress send you?” He waited a couple of seconds, as if expecting an answer. “Come out, little mouse. Don’t be afraid. I won’t kill you.”

“I know you won’t,” I said.

The goat man’s head snapped toward the sound of my voice. Faster than I could comprehend, he dropped into a crouch and darted toward me.

Glass shattered beneath his foot. My eyes were already closed. I knew what was coming.

Light filled the shed, as bright and brilliant as a midsummer’s day. Even with my eyes closed it poured through my eyelids, burning my retinas.

The goat man screamed. It was the scream of a man being eaten alive by fire ants. It was a scream of agony.

I opened my eyes into slits, squinting against the glare. The flash of the sunflare was already fading, the bottled sunlight escaping now that the vial had been crushed beneath the goat man’s foot. But there was still plenty to see by.

The goat man staggered about, screaming. He crashed blindly into the workshop table, knocking a toolbox to the ground and sending its contents spilling out across the floor. With a snarl, he spun around and stumbled a few more steps before slamming into the riding mower.

He wore a black dress shirt with an open top button and steel cuff links at the cuffs. Nice attire for a wedding, maybe. The goat skull probably wouldn’t fit in so well, though.

It must’ve been a pretty big goat before it died. Twin horns curled from the skull. For a moment I could almost believe that this really was some horrible monster with a goat skull for a head, like some vision of the devil. But as the goat man grabbed at the riding mower and tried to recover, I saw a shock of shiny black hair poking out from behind the skull. He was wearing the skull as a mask.

As the light rapidly faded, my eyes went to the goat man’s hands. They’d become blackened and blistered by the sunflare. Even as I watched, the skin burned and peeled away in small pockets, revealing tendons and scorched bone.

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