Ghost Chant by Gina Ranalli

Author:Gina Ranalli [Ranalli, Gina]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Grindhouse Press
Published: 2015-05-17T04:00:00+00:00

11

The cat was dead.

Cherie could see that even from ten feet away. It had been split open, straight down the belly, though there was no dripping blood anywhere in sight. From the looks of it, the cat had been dead for quite some time. At least a few days. It looked stiff, its open eyes clouded and milky white.

Though she didn’t relish the thought of touching the creature, Cherie hurried over to the window and grabbed the thing by its tail, pulling it down off the sill. It made a slight crackling sound as its body separated from the cement windowsill and Cherie was disgusted at the hard, bristly fur in her hand, which didn’t feel like fur at all. More like a wire brush.

She moved away from the window, holding the cat’s body out in front of her, shielding it from sight, just in case whoever had wielded the flashlight came back for another pass. If they had seen the dead animal on the windowsill, they’d definitely be suspicious. Who but a lunatic serial killer would keep a gutted dead cat in such plain sight, visible to anyone who happened to glance at the window?

Hurriedly, she dumped it into the trashcan, shuffling around some of the garbage so it wouldn’t be the first thing a person would see if they were to lift the plastic lid and peer inside. It wasn’t the best hiding job, but it would have to do for now.

She closed the lid and stood glaring down at the trashcan for a long moment.

It was fucking Maggie, of course. Another one of her tricks, doing whatever she could to try to get Cherie caught.

The thought made Cherie livid. Killing the little bitch hadn’t been enough of a punishment, obviously. What would it take for the brat to move on and leave her in peace? Was she going to have to go upstairs, drag the body into the bathroom and dismember it, cutting her into such tiny pieces that they’d be able to be flushed down the toilet?

It wasn’t a bad idea, really. But would she have the stomach for it? She thought she might, given her growing rage. Hell, she might even garner some genuine pleasure from the grisly task.

The time constraint, though. That’s what this whole mess kept coming back to. She didn’t have time to undertake any fancy kind of body disposal, especially with law enforcement already nosing around.

She had to think, but even more than that was the feeling, the itchy, insect-crawling feeling on the back of her neck, that she had to punish Maggie further. The child had clearly not learned her lesson and Cherie was damn well not going to let all this trouble she’d gone through go to waste.

No, the brat would pay for everything she’d ever done to Cherie, every single fucking time she’d been a goddamn thorn in her side, from just being a weird, creepy kid to all the bullshit she’d put her through tonight.

Cherie wasn’t about to let this night pass without getting the kind of revenge that would not—not ever—be forgotten.

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