Uneasy Reading: 4 Horror Shorts (5 page)

The thought of Giovanni hiring a little
person as an assassin was as amusing as it was brilliant if that
was what she'd done. Who would expect trouble from a midget… or was
it dwarf? Maybe it was little person. Joey didn't know the
politically correct terminology. The fact that he was even thinking
the words
politically correct
pissed him off. He had to
hurry.

The only thing he wanted to do was to grab a
few things from his apartment and then skedaddle, get the hell out
of Dodge and every other cliché he knew for blowing town. He
cruised through two red lights on his way and didn't even bother
slowing, not caring if a cop pulled him over. Hell, it would have
been preferable to dealing with Giovanni, or whatever she had hired
to kill him.

He made it across town and pulled up to his
apartment in less than fifteen minutes.

Psycho cannibal midget or not, he wasn't
going to stay in town any longer. Someone had
torn
out
the Haitian's throat. He'd cruise south for a while and
then head east. Maybe stay in Albuquerque for a bit and just let
shit settle. He could find work there. Yeah, that sounded like a
plan. He hopped out of the car and hurried up the steps into his
little one bedroom hideout. It was barren and held only his
essentials.

As he was tossing several knives and some of
his clothes into a duffle bag, he heard someone behind him, the
sound of shuffling feet across carpet. In a single fluid motion, he
spun around and dropped to a knee while drawing his .40 from its
holster.

Instead of an angry dwarf or one of
Giovanni's toughs, it was a little girl. The same little girl that
was on the picture he'd found in the crate. She looked just the
same as she had in the photo, except she no longer looked bored.
She looked unsure, almost timid. Blood covered her pallid hands and
mouth. Her once white dress looked like a Jackson Pollock study in
red.

She tilted her head and stared at him.

Her mouth opened to reveal sharp teeth and
suddenly she didn't look so fearful.

4.

Vincent huddled in a corner as far away from
the Haitian as he could possibly get. He'd tried the door several
times but the lock was strong and it wouldn't budge. He thought
about turning off the light so he wouldn't have to look at the dead
man. But he really didn't want to be alone in the dark with a
corpse either. Instead, he just sat with his head down and prayed
that he might be lucky enough to have a heart attack before Carlos
and Giovanni showed up. They were going to make life miserable.

It didn't take him long to remember that he
had some weed. Once he started puffing away on a joint it took the
edge off a little. He relaxed a bit, stretched out his legs, and
then chanced at glance at the Haitian, the poor bastard.

"What the hell happened to you, man?"
Vincent said. He took another hit and thought he saw the Haitian
move. His arm twitched. It was slight: but he was
sure
he
saw it. He swallowed hard and kept watching. Maybe the body did
things like that. Maybe it moved after death because of nerves or
something. Vincent didn't know. He'd never had reason to try to
find out something like that.

The Haitian's foot twitched.

"Fuck," Vincent said. He stubbed out the
joint on the concrete floor and kept watching. If the son of a
bitch moved again, he'd –

The Haitian's mouth opened and he
groaned.

Vincent pushed himself further into the
corner, told himself it wasn't real. Someone must've laced his weed
with LCD or something because it couldn't be real.

The Haitian sat up. His chest heaved as he
tried to take in air through his ruined throat with great wheezing
gasps. He blinked a few times and brought his hand up to his neck.
His eyes locked on Vincent and he opened his mouth as if to speak.
No words came out.

"Hey," Vincent said. He took another hit and
watched at the wound in the Haitian's throat began to knit itself
back together. "I didn't do this to you. Just so you know."

The Haitian flopped over onto his belly and
then pushed himself up to his hands and knees. He started crawling
toward Vincent. He flicked the joint toward the Haitian and then
turned around and tried to get his fingers beneath the door. Maybe
adrenalin would kick in and maybe he'd be able to break the lock.
Maybe –

He felt the Haitian's large, meaty hands
clamp down on his shoulders. He tried to pull away but the dead man
was just too strong. He struggled and pulled, but the Haitian
wrapped his arms around Vincent's so he couldn't move. He tried to
scream, but the man was squeezing too hard, like a constrictor
snake. Breath rushed from his lungs like leaky balloon, and he
thought he heard his ribs breaking. Stars darted in front of his
eyes.

Maybe it was all just a bad dream.

Maybe he'd wake up.

The Haitian's teeth sank into the side of
his neck. Vincent felt his own blood begin to spill out onto the
floor. He heard it splash onto the cold concrete. It felt like the
sting of a thousand tattoo needles driving into him.

He closed his eyes.

At least Giovanni hadn't gotten to him.

Thank you for reading this excerpt
from
Wetwork
! Once again, the novella
will be available in late May/early June of 2011.

About the Author

Jason M. Tucker grew up in a small town in
the wilderness of New York's Adirondack Mountains. He left the
mountains for the sunnier climate of San Diego, California where he
works as a full time writer trying to make ends meet while keeping
monsters at bay.

His collection of short fiction entitled
Meat City & Other Stories
from publisher Black Bed Sheet
Books is available now in paperback and digital formats. A short
digital collection,
Blood, Magic & a Concubine: 3 Dark Urban
Fantasy Tales
is also currently available.

Find out more by visiting
http://www.jasonmtucker.com

Upcoming Books

Novellas

Wetwork
– May/June 2011

Breaking Glass
– June 2011

Out in the Cold
– September 2011

Novels

Blood
– June 2011

How to Hunt Monsters
–
August/September 2011

Oh, Positive!
– September/October 2011
(with Sheila David)

…and more to follow!