Year's Best Hardcore Horror Volume 6 by Cheryl Mullenax

Author:Cheryl Mullenax
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Comet Press
Published: 2021-06-25T00:00:00+00:00

FULL MOON SHINDIG

Patrick C. Harrison III

From Visceral: Collected Flesh

Death’s Head Press

Chandler’s house is like a dream—something familiar, yet foreign and odd. I went there almost every weekend through high school. Hell, it was like a second home, really. But now it’s different. I guess nine weeks of basic training and another twelve of AIT will do that to you.

As Franco pulls his Maserati into the long driveway, he’s telling me about some girl he supposedly laid in Dallas last weekend after a concert by a band I’ve never heard of, and I’m looking past the house and trees and the line of cars, at the lake, the setting sun shimmering off its waters like rippling fire. Silhouetted in the orange is a small bass boat and, in it, a man with a pole. It must be cold out there; it’s January and cold and the wind is blowing. I wish I was him, alone with the lake and the fish and the dying sun. Do fish bite this time of year?

“You should have seen her, Travis,” Franco is saying, like I give a damn about his sexual exploits, real or not. “She was wearing this little pink thong and had these huge fake tits. She kept telling me we had to keep it down cuz her kid was asleep, that was the only sucky thing. I would be tearing into her pussy and she would be moaning and I would be moaning and the goddamn bed would be squeaking, and just as I’m about to blow, she wants to tell me to keep it down. You believe that shit, man?”

“I don’t know,” I say, watching the fisherman in the distance as we draw closer to Chandler’s house, “I guess she didn’t want to wake her kid.”

“Yeah,” Franco says, shaking his head and pulling the car behind a Ford truck that could probably fit a Maserati and a half in its bed. Ice has already crystalized on its taillights. Fuck, it’s cold. “I can’t believe you joined the army,” he adds. “Who does that?”

I don’t answer, even though he is looking at me. Getting out of the Maserati, I zip-up my leather jacket and light a Marlboro Red. I started smoking in AIT. It’s nice. Franco gets out and throws a pill into his mouth and dry swallows, then lights a Newport. I don’t ask what the pill is, though I’m curious. I start walking towards Chandler’s, but Franco stops to take a piss behind the Ford, so I stop too and watch my breath on the cold air and the fisherman on the lake and the ritzy cars in the driveway—two BMWs, a Mercedes, an old Corvette Stingray, and a couple of large trucks with mud-grip tires, which probably rarely get muddy. Closer to the house, I see a red Cadillac that I recognize as Gwen’s, and I groan. We dated off and on in high school and she gave me my first blowjob. I hear her and Chandler are a thing now.

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