Carnivorous Lunar Activities by Max Booth III

Author:Max Booth III
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cinestate
Published: 2019-03-04T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY

Ted had never met Donny, but that didn’t prevent him from picturing the man’s severed head, with perfect clarity, covered in Justin’s vomit. By the queasy look on Justin’s face, the real memory was one-hundred-percent worse than what Ted imagined. But was the memory real?

That was the question, right? If the severed head story was real, then how did the head get severed? Justin was fucking crazy, no doubt about it, but was he decapitate-a-person crazy? Ted didn’t think so. At least, he didn’t want to think so. They’d grown up together. They’d been best friends, for Christ’s sake. A kid should know if his best friend’s capable of growing up into someone who’s going to eventually rip the head off another man.

So what did that mean, then? That Justin really was some—what? Some fucking…werewolf? Werewolves weren’t real. Ted refused to allow that theory to play. Once he started letting werewolves in, then draculas and frankensteins would follow, along with the last few ounces of his remaining sanity.

Ted looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and imagined his mouth opening, imagined a thick stream of vomit spraying against the glass and ricocheting back into his face. It seemed like he thought about bodily fluids more and more as the night progressed.

Where did that leave Justin, then? He wasn’t a werewolf, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t something else of equal terror. He believed Justin had purchased a fighter dog off of a stranger on Craigslist, and he believed that dog had bitten him on the leg. One look at Justin’s calf and even a blind man wouldn’t dare deny it. Maybe the dog had been diseased as Justin theorized, but not with some werewolf curse. The dog could’ve been rabies-stricken. It seemed plausible that a human infected with rabies would be liable to commit acts of extreme violence. Ted wasn’t an expert by any stretch, but he failed to see any other explanation. Unless Justin had made up everything that had happened in the barn. But the look on his face was sincere. Sincere and frightened. Ted believed him. Believed him as best as he could.

When Ted sat back down against the deep freezer, Justin rubbed his stomach and groaned. “Feel like making another McDonald’s run, brother?”

“You cannot be hungry. Not after telling the story you just told.”

“The stomach wants what the stomach wants.”

“I’m not going back to McDonald’s.”

“Fine.” He huffed and puffed like a child throwing a tantrum. “It’s probably a wise idea. Wouldn’t want you getting a flat tire and leaving me here to transform all on my lonesome.”

“Right.”

“What time is it, anyhow?”

“A little past ten.”

Justin clapped his hands and rubbed them together, up and down, excited. “Hot damn! It’s nearly time, ain’t it?”

“You seem awfully happy for a guy who’s supposedly about to get shot.”

“It’s what comes after the shot that I’m looking forward to the most.”

“And what’s that?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Sweet, beautiful nothing. Oh, Teddy, don’t it sound glorious?”

“Sure.”

In a way, it did sound glorious. He even kind of envied Justin—not that he was really going to shoot him, but still.

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