Crash Gordon and the Mysteries of Kingsburg by Derek Swannson

Author:Derek Swannson [Swannson, Derek]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction, Horror, Occult, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers, Psychological Thrillers, Psychological
Amazon: B00IFVA786
Publisher: Three Graces Press
Published: 2014-02-13T05:00:00+00:00

CASUALTY BENEFITS

Hideous stops by Gordon’s house around nine o’clock to pick him up for the party at Jimmy’s uncle’s house. Skip, D.H., and Twinker are already out in the truck. Gordon has honored Derek’s Halloween wish by transforming himself into a red-furred werewolf wearing striped pants, a skinny tie, and a mod black velvet jacket from London that he picked up for ten dollars at a Fresno flea market. His hair is perfect.

Skip steps out of the truck wearing freakishly tall Flagg Brother platform boots. He greets Gordon as a drunken Frankenstein–misshapen green brow, bolts through his neck, and a bottle of Jägermeister clenched in his veiny fist. He pours a shot directly into Gordon’s upturned mouth with an encouraging grunt, then climbs back into the cab next to Twinker, who has made herself up as Frankenstein’s bride. She’s wrapped in yards of white taffeta and her hair is teased into a huge beehive with white poster paint lightning bolts running up the sides. Gordon finds it a tight squeeze getting in because D.H. is swathed in an enormous raccoon fur coat that’s taking up all the free space.

“Slap me five, you jiveass pussy hound…” D.H. says in pimp-speak from under the wide brim of a purple fake-fur fedora sporting a long peacock feather. “We be gettin’ muthafuckin’ down tonight, bro. My hot-ass bitches be garglin’ your werewolf jism.”

“Sounds great,” says Gordon. “The dog in me wouldn’t mind a little Deep Throat action tonight.”

“The concept of chivalry is lost on you two…” chides Twinker, pretending to be offended. “No wonder you don’t have girlfriends.”

“Hey, I was just alluding to Woodward and Bernstein’s confidential Watergate source,” Gordon protests. “Tonight at dinner I was talking to my grandmother about conspiracy theories and thinking how great it’d be to get the real scoop from a highly-placed insider.”

“Right!” says D.H., feigning outrage. “And I was just reciting the lyrics from a well-known Barry White song about, um… werewolf jism.”

“You’re both so fuckin’ classy,” Skip grumbles, putting his arm around Twinker.

“Ooh! Sorry if we’ve offended your delicate sensibilities there, Skipperella.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re above such crude talk now that you’re making sweet love to our lady friend, Twinker,” D.H. puts in. “You weren’t so damn snooty when you were hosing your mom.”

“Hey, I resent that!” Skip says. But even Twinker is laughing.

“Lotta women cum this time, yeah?” Hideous asks of no one in particular as he starts up the truck. Hideous is apparently going to the party as himself, only more so. His hair is spiked even higher than usual and he’s sporting three new silver rings pierced through his right brow–one of them oozing blood.

“Jim said to expect a full house. He’s got a keg of Bass Ale and about five gallons of Jamaican rum out there waiting for us,” says Skip. “Oh shit! That reminds me… we have to stop and get pineapples.”

After making a quick detour at the grocery store, they drive out to the Kings River Golf Course, where Uncle Lloyd’s estate sits at the end of the 9th hole.

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