“Dad, what’s wrong?” Bryan asked. The dumb-ass was playing video games, right there in the living room where Bateman could see, even though he’d been strictly forbidden to do so.
“Pack your things!”
“Why?”
“Because I said so, you stupid fuck!”
“But I’ve got a date with Mindy tonight!”
Bateman ran across the living room and kicked the widescreen TV as hard as he could, putting a huge hole in the center of the screen. The satisfaction he felt was minimal, but Bryan did get up and hurry off to his room.
Bateman threw up again, then ran off to pack.
* * *
Jonathan Dewey sat silently in his chair.
Helena put her hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, honey. We’ll find another way. It probably wouldn’t have worked anyway.”
He pulled away from her hand. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“I just meant--”
“Werewolves do not die of brain tumors, Helena! I had a chance, and now it’s ruined!”
“But--”
“Shut up. Get out of here and leave me alone. I have to send some people off to bring me Bateman’s head.”
* * *
“We got ripped off, bad,” said George.
“Well, I’m sorry we weren’t given the opportunity to seek medical care that would have been covered by my insurance.” Lou poked at the heavy bandage over his stump.
“We needed that money.”
“Yeah, well, excuse me for getting my hand bit off by a werewolf. If I’d known that it would cause problems with our financial situation, I never would have let him do that. I thought you were going to donate everything to charity anyway. Become a better person.”
“I never said I was going to donate everything to charity. But I am going to become a better person. Deal with it.”
It had been a rough two days. George had thought that Lou was indeed going to bleed to death as they sped away from the bowling alley. He pulled behind the next building, made a tourniquet out of a crossbow bolt and a rag he found in the van, and got the bleeding under control.
The process of cauterization had been ugly.
After a few panicked calls, they found a doctor of ill-repute who was willing to patch up their wounds and hide them away for a couple of days, in exchange for almost all of the cash in the briefcase.
“You couldn’t have got us a car with more legroom?” Lou asked, shifting uncomfortably. “I can’t make it all the way to Canada in this.”
“Then we’ll go to Mexico.”
“Seriously, George. We need to steal something else.”
“Yeah, let’s steal a big roomy clown car with flashing lights that makes wacky sound effects. We certainly wouldn’t want to be in a non-descript automobile when cops, bad guys, and the general public are all looking for us.”
“I didn’t say it had to be a clown car. Just something roomier.”
“At least your arm takes up less room now.”
Lou frowned at him. “Are you really going to make jokes about my hand? Seriously?”
“I’m just trying to make you laugh so you don’t cry.”
“I’m not gonna cry.”
“Good.”
“Do you think I’m a werewolf now?”
“Are you bringing that up again?
“Is it really such a terrible thing if I want reassurance? I got bit. I got bit really, really bad.” He held up his bandaged stump. “See?”
“You saw how quickly it affected Michele. It’s been two days. Maybe it’s a special kind of bite. An injection or something.”
“I hope so.”
“I told you, I’m going to watch over you. You start to feel wolfy, we’ll put you in the trunk. Everything’s going to be fine. I didn’t get my throat torn out by Ivan, so I’m sure as hell not going to get it torn out by you.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m feeling optimistic.”
“So am I.”
Lou turned on the radio. Some hip-hop music blared over the speakers. “Do you like this song?”
“It’s crap.”
“Good. I think we’ll listen to it.” Lou began to move his head back and forth to the beat. “Groove with me, George.”
“You look like an idiot.”
“I’m an idiot with rhythm. C’mon, groove with me.”
George watched him for a moment, then smiled. He cranked up the volume and the two thugs grooved off into the sunset.
THE END
About Jeff Strand:
Jeff Strand is the four-time Bram Stoker Award-nominated author of such insane novels as PRESSURE, DWELLER, BENJAMIN’S PARASITE, A BAD DAY FOR VOODOO, and GRAVEROBBERS WANTED (NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY). He is grateful for yet another opportunity to piggyback off of more successful authors. He lives in Tampa, Florida, and complains about cold weather in the 60’s. You can visit his Gleefully Macabre website at www.jeffstrand.com
Other Books by Jeff Strand
A Bad Day For Voodoo
Stalking you Now
I Have A Bad Feeling About This
Dead Clown Barbecue
Faint of Heart
Fangboy
The Sinister Mr. Corpse
Dweller
Benjamin’s Parasite
Pressure
Kutter
Graverobbers Wanted (No Experience Necessary)
Single White Psychopath Seeks Same
Casket For Sale (Only Used Once)
Lost Homicidal Maniac (Answers to “Shirley”)
Gleefully Macabre Tales
The Severed Nose
Disposal
Mandibles
Elrod McBugle on the Loose
Out of Whack
How to Rescue a Dead Princess
The Haunted Forest Tour (with Jim Moore)
Draculas (with JA Konrath, Blake Crouch, and F. Paul Wilson)
Suckers (with JA Konrath)
EERIE
a thriller
by BLAKE CROUCH
& JORDAN CROUCH
EERIE copyright © 2012 by Blake Crouch & Jordan Crouch
EERIE is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the authors’ imaginations or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Blake Crouch and Jordan Crouch.
From newcomer Jordan Crouch and Blake Crouch, author of the runaway bestseller Run, comes Eerie, a chilling, gothic thriller in the classic tradition of The Shining and The Sixth Sense.
TRAPPED INSIDE A HOUSE
On a crisp autumn evening in 1980, seven-year-old Grant Moreton and his five-year-old sister Paige were nearly killed in a mysterious accident in the Cascade Mountains that left them orphans.
WITH A FRIGHTENING POWER
It’s been thirty years since that night. Grant is now a detective with the Seattle Police Department and long estranged from his sister. But his investigation into the bloody past of a high-class prostitute has led right to Paige’s door, and what awaits inside is beyond his wildest imagining.
OVER ANYONE WHO ENTERS
His only hope of survival and saving his sister will be to confront the terror that inhabits its walls, but he is completely unprepared to face the truth of what haunts his sister’s brownstone.
You don’t have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body.—C.S. Lewis
OCTOBER 1980