Fat Whack by Andrew Franks

Author:Andrew Franks [Franks, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781098303648
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2020-04-09T22:00:00+00:00

Ninja Note: November 29, 1999

Redneckery

While searching for the Fat Master’s base of operations, I come a across a junkyard full of rusted cars. It has everything from a 1955 Chevrolet Bel Air to a 1999 Ford Taurus. What makes this junkyard so very strange is the fact that there is absolutely no road through the woods that leads to this place. There is no way a tow truck could have towed a single car here. I also see a small cottage off to one side of the junkyard.

As I sneak through the maze of automobiles, I notice something that should be shocking, if I could be shocked anymore. The skeletal remains of a family of four sits inside a vintage car. The bones of an adult male are sitting upright in the driver’s seat. His skeleton hands are tied to the steering wheel with a frayed rope, and a smoking pipe is glued to his hung-open jawbone. A woman’s remains occupy the passenger seat. She is wearing a dress and a large sun hat on her head that almost touches the roof of the car. A pearl bracelet dangles too large on her boney wrist. The back seat holds the worst of it: two small child-sized skeletons sit in each seat. One is wearing overalls and the other a faded pink dress with off-white frills. Some sicko has been playing dress up with these human remains like they are dolls.

A centipede crawls out of the left eyehole of the boy’s skull. The family looks like they could be on their way to a Sunday morning church service, except for the fact that their skin is missing. Moving from one car to the next, I notice that most of the automobiles have deceased passengers inside making long trips to nowhere. I slowly make my way over to the cottage. The outside looks quaint, like a picture on the front of a puzzle box. Inside is a different story. No one is home. Saying the place is filthy would be an understatement. Everything is rusty and dusty, and spider webs must be the owner’s favorite decoration. There is a hole in the wood floor, and it is readily apparent what the hole is used for: a toilet. The place has no lights or power, and yet somehow the phone on the counter begins to ring. I pick up the phone and place it close to my ear. Someone is breathing heavily on the other end.

“Ten minutes,” the voice says. A few more labored breaths and then dial tone. I move into what this cabin must call a kitchen. Fearing what I will find, I open the dilapidated refrigerator and find nothing inside. It smells though. It smells like rotting flesh. It could be the stench of animal flesh, but I doubt it. This isn’t my mission. I want to get on with my search for the Fat Master, but I’m also curious what will happen in ten minutes, so I wait.

Fifteen minutes later, I hear the sound of a helicopter flying low, just above the treetops.

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