High Fashion Hell by John G. Hartness

Author:John G. Hartness
Language: eng
Format: mobi

Six hours later, with the October chill seeping into lots of places in my ridiculous costume, I remembered why I wanted to argue with Flynn in the first place.

“This sucks,” I said, shifting around trying to find a comfortable place to sit on the wooden stage.

“At least you can bend at the waist,” Flynn replied.

“I can help you out of the corset, if you need me to,” I said.

“You wish,” she shot back.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said, then I realized something. “You’re in full period garb, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she replied, a slight blush coming to her cheeks that I could see even in the moonlight.

“So no bra?” I asked, giving her a closer look.

“Does it look like I need one in this thing?” She gestured at her corset, which was indeed doing a fine job of presenting all her charms for evaluation. I rarely thought of Flynn like a normal woman, especially since she had basically unfettered access inside my head, but the image she was presenting certainly took my mind down new avenues where she was concerned.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing behind me.

“I’ll stop ogling you, Becks, you don’t have to use cheap tricks,” I said, continuing to ogle her.

“No, really, asshole, there’s something glowing over there,” Flynn said, then reached around to the small of her back. “Help me stand.”

I got to my feet and reached down for her. Flynn came up holding a small pistol with a tiny flashlight mounted under the barrel.

“Where the hell did that come from?” I asked.

“I didn’t wear a bum roll for funsies, Harker. Now let’s get after this thing.” She pushed past me toward a glowing white form that seemed to flicker along near the craft stalls across from the stage.

We got closer, and I recognized the form. It was a woman, and she looked familiar. It was the woman who sold Flynn her bracelet earlier in the day, only now she wore a flowing gray cloak over her clothes. She peered in this stall and that shop, obviously looking for something. As she went in more and more stalls without finding whatever she was looking for, her movements became sharper, jerkier, like she wasn’t controlling her own limbs.

I motioned for Flynn to cover me, then stepped up close as she ducked into a fudge shop. She came out mere seconds later, but I was standing by the door waiting for her.

“Looking for something?” I asked.

“Someone,” she said, and her voice had that disembodied nature that I recognized all too well. Stay back, Becks. She’s possessed.

How can you tell? Flynn’s voice echoed in my head.

After the first couple dozen exorcisms, you kinda recognize the signs. The blank stare, the hollow voice. It’s like trying to have a conversation with a Justin Bieber fan. Only there’s a demon involved. Wait, it’s exactly like trying to talk to a Justin Bieber fan.

The woman was right in front of me now, her eyes glowing with a dim red light. Another dead giveaway that there’s a possession going on.

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