4 Scary Stories | Serial Killers, Witches, Werewolves & Supernatural Monsters

Every criminal believes there's someone out there more dangerous than them. Most simply hope they never meet. Tonight, two thieves break into a house where robbery is the least frightening crime taking place. A beautiful stranger whispers promises that turn ordinary men into murderers. A serial killer suffering through the flu hunts another killer collecting human hearts, and somewhere inside a darkened building, a bag of gummy worms is about to become the biggest problem in the room. This is the strange magic of summer ween. Anything can become frightening once the sun goes down, even romance, candy and a poorly planned robbery.

So check your playing cards, avoid women who smell impossibly sweat, and never underestimate the supernatural importance of a ridiculous national holiday. And make sure you subscribe to us here at Weekly Spooky, because these are some of the scariest stories in our vault. But every Wednesday there's a brand new scary story, and every day of the week we publish something creepy to keep your Halloween vibe going all the way to October and beyond. But now let's take a little break and see what's happening between these two brothers, Crime and the Devilment by Joe Slimy. Damn it, Mickey, what did I tell you, Brandon said, slamming the butt of his pistol down on the hood of the Ford pickup rust rained down on the tall grass along the side of the country road to dress incon in continent.

No inconsequential, Mickey replied, looking up at his older brother. Ten years separated them, so they hadn't grown up close. Rather, the brothers grew closer as they both realized they liked stealing, must be in their blood. Their father had been in prison since Brandon was just fourteen. Mickey barely remembered him at all. Inconspicuous, you idiot, you look like a goddamn cartoon under that all black outfit and black sche mask. You wearing a raccoon eyed mask, striped shirt and a bag with a big fucking dollar sign on it, Brandon sneered, just my regular clothes. I didn't know there was a fucking uniform for criming, Mickey responded.

He pulled the black hoodie over his head and tossed it onto the grass against the fence. His hair rose in the dry static charged air of the northeast. Jesus fucking Christ, Brandon said, and shook his head. He couldn't help but laugh. Under the hoodie. Micky was wearing a Hawaiian shirt. The ridiculous bright colors assaulted his sight. Were you dropped on your head as a child? Ma would never have done that to me. I was her favorite, Micky said, proudly, His white toothed smile cut through the fading light. Fuck your mother, she was quite the looker back in the day.

Did you see their wedding album? Micky asked, For fock's sake, go check the lock on the gate before you reach a point where you couldn't possibly disappoint me more, Brandon said, and checked the contents of the backpack on the ripped seat of the Ford. He'd be mad about the rip, but it wasn't his truck. Mickey wandered over to the gate and wiggled the wrought iron. It clanked in its locked housing. He shook his head as he dug in his back pocket for the tools he needed to get it open. And another thing, Brandon said as he approached.

When you steal a getaway vehicle, never go forward. We don't need to be breaking down when the cops are chasing. Use what little brains you got, will you. I can't concentrate when you're picking on me, Mickey said, jamming a small straight piece of metal into the lock. I'm a little jumpy, is all. My heart's racing like I drank a thirty pack of mountain dew. This could be a big score. You saw the escort the lady got from the room with the safe deposits back at the bank. Whatever was in that box they carried to her audi has to be worth a fortune.

I'm glad we noticed her. It'll be so much easier to rob one woman than a whole bank, Brandon explained. Just watch the driveway. I almost got it, Micky said, and an audible clink was heard. The old rusty gate swung in towards them a few inches with a creek. Micky turned to his brother with a smug smile and leaned his back on the gate. Now, who's the idiot? His eyes grew large as the gate swung shut behind him, the lock clicking in place. My opinion hasn't changed, brother, Brandon said. Now, hurry up, it's about to snow, and I bet that beater Ford ain't got no snow tires.

I noticed it's a two wheel drive. Who the fuck buys a two wheel drive truck? What's the fucking point? Hey, let me grab that hoodie. I'm freezing, Mickey said, before working on the lock again. After a few moments, they were making their way up the long driveway leading to a large house looming in the distance. The sun was setting behind the house, making it a black rectangle to the brothers. A row of trees lined either side of the gravel drive, and Brandon had them weave through them on the approach to avoid detection. Brandon, I just thought of something, Mickey said, halting behind a tree.

He was out of breath already and needed to stop. That's dangerous. Although I am curious as this is your first one, Brandon retorted, seriously, what if they have big dogs roaming the grounds or something. You would think a rich lady like this would have some kind of protection. Way out here, you carry a steak in your pants? No, but I have a peanut butter granola protein bar in case we're out late. I bring them because I know you can't have them and won't eat it on me like you do. Those chocolate ones, Mickey replied, looks like you're doomed.

Then come on, let's get this over with. You remember the plan, Brandon asked, you scope out the house quick to see how many people are inside. We come in from opposite ends and round people into the living room. Then we make the bitch get the box from the bank, We tie them up, and we leave. Mickey repeated the plan Brandon told him earlier. Yeah, no need to actually hurt any one if we got us sure, I ain't got no problem laying the bitch to rest, to get away or something, but just don't get carried away.

Remember no names. Once we are in there, Brandon said, what if I have to get your attention? What do I call? You? Call me Willy Wonka, Brandon said, sarcastically. Micky gave him a confused look for a second, and then whispered the name back, like he was committing it to memory. Brandon reached into the bag and pulled out a flashlight and checked that it worked, lighting up the ground below them. He tucked it into his belt buckle and shivered. The temperature had dropped and the first flakes of snow started to fall. We better hurry. This snow means footprints, Brandon said.

Wait here, okay, Willy wonka, Micky said, with a seriousness that made Brandon crack a smile. He took off towards the house and a jog, leaving Micky leaning against the large oak tree. He noticed some scratches in the bark of the tree and started to carve his initials into it out of boredom. Then at the last minute realized that was a dumb mistake. Although he couldn't read what the other people had carved, it looked like four lines. He didn't want to leave evidence. Brandon would get super pissed at him if he did. I have to smarten up, like Brandon, says.

Mickey muttered and put his knife away. The large flakes of snow had already covered the ground with a dusting. He always loved the silence of a snowfall. It's like everything pauses to enjoy the natural beauty. He thought about his cut of the job. I might retire to Aspen. I bet it looks like this all the time there, he thought. Or maybe Maine or Alaska. You can have the beaches in their crowds and washed up needles and garbage. Fuck them sharks. I'd rather have to fight a polar bear than a shark. Anyways, he said to the night.

Who are you fighting, Brandon said, turning from his recon mission. Not sharks, that's for sure, Mickey replied, confusing Brandon further. The older brother shook his head to clear the nonsense and get his thoughts back on track. Follow me, Brandon said, and led them closer to the house. They ducked down behind the audi They saw the woman drive earlier. A layer of snow covered the red paint. They eyed the front door. I didn't see no cameras. I think we're good. What's that on the door, Mickey asked, looking at a strange symbol, probably the family crest or something nothing for us to worry about.

I don't give a fuck who the old bitch is as long as she gives us the goods in that box. Brandon said. It looks like the funny right and the Egyptians did. Micky said, I need you to focus on the job, not what's on the door. It don't mean nothing to us, Brandon whispered through chattering teeth. The only lights on in the house is in the den, in the back. I'll go around there and enter. You come through this front door and meet me there. I heard her talking to someone, but I think it's just the two of them.

It shouldn't be a problem. Okay, Brandon, I'm focused. I'm really trying to smarten up. You know, I'm just not wired for it. I'll do my best, Micky said, you better do better than that, Brandon said, and started to move. His boots made a wet squeak as he took a step. They're gonna hear you coming like that, Micky said. I told you not to buy those cheap ass boots from the drug store. Should have ordered some like I did, Mickey said, jumping up and down to show his brother that his shoes don't squeak. Will you knock that off?

Give me your boots, Brandon demanded, Fuck off. This time I was smarter, and I'm gonna reap the rewards warm toasty feet, Mickey said, with a grin. Fuck, Brandon said, and took his boots off, stuffing them in the bag of break in tools. Give me to the count of twenty, then go in the front door. You can count that high, right, sure can? That's all my fingers twice. Here, I'll show you one two. Mickey held both middle fingers to his brother. You're lucky I don't thump you right now, Brandon said. He headed around the corner of the house.

Mickey started to count. He would never give his brother the satisfaction of knowing that he did have to count it out on his fingers. Besides, why does it matter, I still get to twenty, he thought. At twenty, Mickey headed to the door. When he got closer, he got a better look at the door. The symbol on it wasn't the pictures of Egyptians, but the circle with the star that he'd seen in countless horror movies. He didn't like it one bit. He knew if he didn't go in, his brother would likely give him that thumping, so he grabbed the knob and turned it half, hoping it would be locked and he would have an excuse not to enter.

But much to his chagrin, it opened right up. Son of a bitch, Micky said, and pulled the pistol from his waist. It wasn't loaded, Brandon wouldn't let him carry real bullets, and most of the time, just seeing the gun was enough for them to get what they wanted from people anyway. He entered the door and headed towards the light coming from the end of the hallway in front of him. He was just a few feet from the end of the hall when he heard Brandon's voice telling the people in the room to sit down and put their hands where he could see them.

He rounded the doorframe and saw a large room lit by a large fireplace and more candles than he'd ever seen in his life, like a whole church amount. The symbol from the door was on the floor in some kind of white substance, A well muscled man wearing nothing but leather pants and a ballgag was on his knees, and the bitch from the bank was wearing some kind of black plastic, skin tight catsuit. Brandon was standing near the curtained windows at the far side of the room, gun in his hand. The woman dropped what appeared to be a large dog's chew toy on the floor.

She moved back a few steps to a plush chair, and the man crawled over and sat by her booted feet. What the fuck is going on in here, Micky asked. The man turned to him and snarled through the gag. The woman looked up at him. She had the strangest eyes, all black, no white at all. It was unnerving. Micky wondered if black eyes could see in the dark better. Maybe they were more light sensitive. That's why the mood lighting with the fucking candles. Seems this old hag got herself a boy toy and she's into kinky shit, Brandon said, pointing the gun at her.

His eyes scanned the room looking for the box they saw her leave the bank with. He found it on a table near the fireplace. Brother, grab the box, common thieves. How pathetic, the woman said, and started to stand up. Move again, and I will plug you. Brandon said, you have no idea what you've stumbled upon, do you? This is almost comical, the woman said and stood up, her skin tight suit creaking as she did so. Blam. Everyone froze, everyone except the man on his knees at the foot of the woman. He fell over onto the floor, blood pulling under him.

Consider that a warning, Brandon said, you said no killing unless it was necessary. Mickey yelled out, you fool. The woman called out and raised hand. She said something in another language, and suddenly Brandon found himself a few inches in the air, arms tight against his body, he couldn't move. It hurt to breathe. He dropped the gun on the floor. Do you have any idea how long it takes to properly train them? Years? To do it? Right? Tonight? I was going to reward his obedience and make him one of the protectors, the guardians of the Sisterhood.

How we waited for the right solstice and you buffoons ruined it, the woman yelled. Mickey could see a power in her black eyes that scared him. He forgot that his gun didn't work and squeezed the trigger. The woman heard the click and sent a wave of force at Mickey. He fell over the ottoman and on to the hardwood floor. She turned her attention back to Brandon. She motioned him over towards the box. You want what's inside? She asked? You have to have it? Do you worth killing for? Look, lady, we were just looking for an easy score.

Things got out of hand. Brandon gasped between pained breaths, second guessing the Knight's plan out of hand, My chosen lay dead. She made a spinning motion, and Brandon began to rotate in front of her. I guess you will have to do. She opened the box and pulled out the contents, turning back to him. Brandon's greedy eyes fell on the object in her hand, and his expression changed from one of greed to confusion, then to disappointment. Mickey knew that look all too well. It was the one his brother gave him the most. He hated that look.

He had to try harder to be a good brother. But what could he do a fucking dog collar, Brandon asked incredulously. That's what you kept at the bank for safe keeping. Not just any collar, boy, she said, and undid the clasp on it. This one is special, made by mad Monks of Monmouth, commissioned by the head's sister Agatha, my mother in one thousand and eighty a d to protect us from the dark times of man. The coven needed muscle to act when magic had to remain hidden in the shadows. You will now be the protector of our coven.

You will take his place, she explained, nodding at the corpse on the floor. She placed the collar on Brandon. A flash filled the room as she closed the clasp. Put my brother down, Mickey said, with as steady a voice as he could muster, don't test me, boy, You've tried that trick before, the woman said, and waved her hand dismissively at him, but not before he pulled the trigger on the gun. This time, it rang out as the bullet escaped the barrel of Brandon's pistol and entered the old witch in the chest. She fell back in surprise, losing her magical grip on Brandon, who fell to the floor.

He began to cough, trying to breathe. Micky unloaded into the woman, making sure she wasn't going to get back up. A tear fell down his cheek. He had never shot anyone before. He knew it was going to stick with him for a long while the look on her face. He threw the gun down and turned towards his brother. I did good, Brandon, he asked, Sure, did little bro help me up? Brandon said, regaining some strength. Micky held his arm around his brother. Help me get this fucking thing off. They both fumbled with the clasp, but it wouldn't come off.

We're gonna need some tools, Micky said, looking around for the backpack. Just then they heard a cell phone ringing. Micky found it on the table and picked it up. He saw the wide eyed look and disappointment in Brandon's eyes when he answered it, Well, what was he supposed to do? Let it ring? He hated the sound of a ringing phone. Who doesn't keep it on silent nowadays? Carmela, Carmela, dear, we're running a bit late. I'm afraid the snow has slowed us. We should arrive by nine, see you. Then, Mickey and Brandon looked up at the clock above the fireplace.

It was fifteen till nine. We need to get the fuck out of here, Brandon said, Grab the bag and the guns. We can fuck with this collar once we're gone. Micky did as he was told. Brandon took the candles and placed them by the long curtains on the window. The flames licking the fabric. Come on, this place is going to burn down, Brandon said, and headed for the back door. As they made their way through the snow of the yard, they saw headlights coming up the drive. Shit, get down, Brandon yelled. They both flattened in the snow to avoid detection.

They let the car pass and got up, watching the limo reach the house. Flames could be seen through the front windows. With any luck, no one will see what happened inside. Brandon led the way down the slope toward the fence and the waiting jalopy of a Ford Mickey had stolen. Uh brother, Micky said, looking down at the snow in front of him. Brandon stopped. Are you okay, Mickey asked. Brandon muttered something under his breath that Mickey assumed was him being mean. It sounded coarse and angry. Mickey bent down in the darkness to get a better look at the snow.

His brother's footprint was unrecognizable. It looked ah wider, with a center sunk in four other indentations near the front. It took Mickey a moment to realize what he saw. It was a dog's footprint. Did they really have large dogs on the grounds prowling for intruders? He fucking knew it. Brandon made a noise. Mickey looked up at him. What was that, he asked. When Brandon didn't move, Mickey walked around him to see his brother's face. But what he saw horrified him. Short coarse hair covered his face, his nose had grown, and his lips black like an old dog's parted showing sharp carnivorous teeth.

What did that bitch do to you, Micky asked. Just then shouts from behind them rang out, shadows fell on them. As people approached, Brandon snarled and bounded off towards them. Mickey ran for it the other way. The gate was in sight. All he had to do was reach the truck. He ran so fast his feet were slipping in the snow on the wet grass. He almost fell twice. The second time. He grabbed the gate to save himself. Behind him, he heard screaming and an inhuman roar that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

He put the hood up on the black hoodie he was wearing and slipped through the fence. The truck was just where he left it. He was so glad that he had the keys and didn't give them to his brother like he usually did. He yanked the door open and climbed in. He jammed the key in the ignition in a panic and twisted it. Nothing happened, Not now a fuck, he said, and tried again again. Nothing happened. Was the battery dead? He listened and heard no noise from behind the gate. Was his brother okay. He popped the hood release and reached for the handle on the door, opening it about six inches before it was slammed shut on him.

The snarling face of his brother's new form pressed up against the glass of the door, steaming it in its hot breath. Blood splattered from its mouth and smeared as the monstrosity tried to come through the pane of glass. We can fix this. We just got to get that bitch's collar off of you, Mickey said. He reached onto the seat behind him for something, anything to protect himself. He grabbed cold metal and brought it around between him and the window. He noticed a crack in the glass as the truck shook from the attack. He looked down at his hands and saw he was holding their crowbar.

He raised it up towards his brother. See I can pry that thing off, he said hopefully. The sound of splintering glass rang in Mickey's ears. He flinched and closed his eyes for just a second, but that was long enough for the long, hairy arms to break through and reach for him. He held out the crow but it was knocked from his hands. In desperation, he looked around for anything he could use to defend himself from his brother. Come on, we've been through a lot. We got this, Mickey called out as he patted his pockets. He stopped on the bulge in his left front Jean's pocket and dug in, pulling out his protein bar.

The creature his brother had turned into climbed half in the truck, taking up the driver's side as it swung wildly at him. It opened its mouth and howled to the night. When it did, its blood stained teeth parted, and Mickey saw down the creature's throat. He wondered if the people from the limo earlier also had seen this view before they were devoured. He hesitated, even though he knew what he had to do. He thought back to the time when he was a kid and was grounded and his brother snuck him out to play with his Tonka trucks in the dirt driveway.

He started to sniffle as the memories flooded of the times they shared growing up. He remembered the time Brandon had accidentally eaten a peanut butter cookie and had to be hospitalized. He had saved his brother's life that day. His vision was obscured with tears as he said his final words to his brother, I'm sorry, Willy Wonka. He threw the protein bar right down his brother's throat. The beast choked once, then twice, then backed out of the truck. It clenched its throat. Mickey watched as his brother's canine tongue swelled up and lulled from one side of his head.

As the monster made heaving noises and the weirdest breathing sounds Mickey had ever heard, it stumbled back against a tree, its beastial claws tearing into its own throat, trying to remove the protein bar. Blood gushed over the fur as bloody puke exploded both out of his mouth and the wound in his neck in a glorious fountain. I'll never eat fondue again, Micky said as he watched on in horror, never taking his eyes off his brother, even as he tried the key again, and this time that piece of shit truck roared to life. Go figure. The last thing Mickey saw as he drove off was his brother's wolfhead hanging from the neck sideways as the beast collapsed to the ground, having nearly decapitating himself to relieve the allergic reaction.

That he didn't see that coming, Mickey said, as he raced down the lane back towards the highway. He never made it, though his brother was right. The truck didn't have snow tires, and he went into the ravine next to the country road. They found his body the next morning, when the firefighters were on their way back from fighting the house fire. Roxy by Charles Campbell. Thunder only happens when it's raining, or so Stevie sang in the popular Fleetwood Max song. But I've found in my lifetime anyway, that is not always the case. It can thunder without rain, and it can be oh so very loud, so loud in fact, that it drowns out everything that once was important.

What was my thunder, you ask? My thunder was a girl named Roxy, and she rumbled into my life two short years ago. I wish she hadn't. Two years ago, Jake Blackman was walking his mud of a dog, minding his own business. When she passed him by. Jake caught a whiff of sweetness and turned his head. He took a deep breath. The scent was immediately intoxicating, and when he saw her, his eyes widened as if he had just stumbled upon the Holy Grail. She was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. She stopped when she noticed him staring at her.

Jake fumbled for his words. Hi, your name's Jake. What's yours? He winced as soon as the words escaped his lips. He felt better when she giggled. You're a cute one, aren't you? She asked. Her skin was like porcelain, and her smile cut through Jake in such a way he felt lightheaded. Let me try that again. I'm Jake Blackman. What's your name? Roxy? She replied? Roxy? What? No? Roxy? What? Just Roxy? She answered? Her long jet black hair hung around her shoulders like a shawl on a cold night. Roxy's eyes were dark brown pools that pulled Jake in like a cobra.

And her smell, he couldn't quite describe it. It was sweet, for sure, but not sickeningly so. It was a smell that felt ancient and new at the same time. Roxy was a different breed, and Jake felt it it made him water. Jake's mud of a dog was even enamored with the woman. Normally, he'd sound off with barks and growls around someone new, but Rusty seemed to be just as love struck with Roxy as his owner. He was sniffing her black knee high boots. Oh what's your dog's name, Roxy asked as she knelt down and stroked Rusty's head.

Uh. Jake struggled to remember, and Roxy let him off the hook. Oh his tag says Rusty. Hey, Rusty, she said. As she stood Rusty jumped up his dirty paws, leaving streaks on her boots. Rusty, stop, I'm so sy, Jake said. It's all good, Jake, they'll wipe off. You want to buy a girl dinner? She asked. Jake was nodding his head, and she knew this was going to be easy. After a dinner of burghers and fries, they walked back to Jake's house, with Rusty hanging closer to Roxy than the man that fed him. Jake was completely in love with this woman.

Everything about her, her look, her smell, the way she spoke to him in an unassuming tone, keeping Jake on edge in a good way. He felt the thunder for the first time when they went inside. Do you love me, Jake? Roxy asked. As soon as they were inside the house, I do Roxy. He said it wasn't a lie. He was madly in love with her. Roxy led Jake to the bedroom as if she had lived there all her life. Rusty followed behind and whimpered when the door closed in his face. Roxy and Jake made love.

Jake felt the thunder roll through his heart. She was lying in his arms, and no words were spoken as the rain began to fall outside. It was followed by thunder that paled in comparison to what Roxy had brought him. She was trouble somehow, he knew it, but Jake didn't care. He would later. Very early the next morning, Roxy nuzzled her face next to Jake's neck and breathed that sweet breath in his ear before she whispered, Jake, will you kill for me? You know I will, Jake replied, without a second thought. She was the cobra after all, and she had completely glamored him.

That's good, you sweet man. Now go back to sleep, she whispered, and that's exactly what Jake did. He went to sleep. When he awoke four hours later, Roxy was gone. Jake didn't get a phone number and no last name. The mystery lover blew his world apart. Without trying. He looked for her high and low. She was gone. Jake remembered what she asked him in the middle of the night, and he remembered his answer. He meant it. He would kill for her anything to have her in his life. Rusty mister too. He whimpered and whined for two weeks straight after Roxy disappeared.

Two months after that, Jake wondered if it was even real. Maybe she never really existed, Maybe he made the whole thing up in his mind. It was her scent that he could shake. Jake could almost smell her. He hungered for it, and he wouldn't get a full night's sleep until she was in his arms once again. Another ten months passed. One year later, Jake was now alone. After Roxy left, Rusty was never the same. He stopped eating, he didn't want to take walks anymore, and after more than a few visits to several different veterinarians, none of them could give Jack a plausible explanation as to why Rusty's desire to live was so siphoned away.

Rusty passed away one night, lying by the kitchen door. Jake was devastated. It was three days after Rusty died and Jake was walking home with his head hanging. Then the smell hit him. Jake felt a tingle in the back of his neck. He stopped looking at his feet. I'm sorry to hear at rusty, Roxy said. She was standing there in front of him, looking exactly as she had one year before, same hair, same clothes, same boots, and she was devastatingly beautiful. Where where have you been, Jake asked, Oh, it doesn't really matter. You want to buy a girl dinner, Roxy asked.

Jake's sadness over Rusty vanished. He smiled and took a deep breath of her sweetness. It was even better than he remembered. After a dinner of caesar salad and wine, they walked hand in hand back to Jake's house without uttering a word. When they got inside, Roxy led him directly to the bedroom, where she quickly ripped at Jake's shirt. Before they both hastily undressed. Roxy pulled him toward her. She kissed him hard and rough. Jake felt a trickle of blood rolled down his chin, but he didn't care. Jake lifted Roxy. She was almost weightless, and he set her gently on the bed.

She was rough, he was not he couldn't be not with her. He moved slowly over her porcelain body, taking in every feature, and was more intoxicated by the scent than he had ever been by alcohol. He kissed her softly, as if he may break her. As soon as Jake's lips touched Roxy's, she moved so fast Jake was now under her, and she locked onto his eyes as she moved rhythmically on top of him. She spoke, Jake, you said you loved me, and now it's time to prove it. I need you to kill for me, Roxy said, as she began to grind harder.

He was shaking his head in obedience and ecstasy. Jake never took his eyes off of Roxy's and he saw the change. Her eyes were now opaque, covered by a third lid that sprang from the bottom corner of her eyes. It was like a shark's eyes. He wasn't afraid Jake was captured. The thunder was louder the next morning. It was deja vus because it certainly happened before. Jake woke in a daze and Roxy was gone. He searched the house like he had the year before, and there was one noticeable difference. There was a single piece of evidence that confirmed to Jake that he wasn't psychotic.

It let him know that Roxy was real. There was a note on the kitchen table. He read the only four words on the torn sheet of notebook paper kill Billy Cuto, Roxy Billy Cuto. Jake asked the empty room. He hadn't the slightest clue who this person was or why he had to die, but he knew he had to do it because Roxy said so. It was Saturday, so Jake had nowhere to be. He walked to the small desk in the corner of the living room, where his laptop lay dormant. Jake clicked the mouse to bring it back to life, and he entered his password rusty two zero one seven dollar sign.

A chrome window was already open, and Jake refreshed the Facebook page. The feed was filled with shared memes, pet and children pictures he could care less about. He quickly typed the name Billy Kuto into the search bar. There were three hits, one of them local, with four mutual friends. Three of the mutual friends Jake really didn't know. Jake was pretty lucy goosey with accepting friend requests. He pretty much accepted them all and deleted the hot chicks that immediately messaged him out of the blue looking for money. Once a request passed. Twelve hours later, Billy Kuto stepped onto his front porch.

There was a chill in the air, but it didn't require a hoodie just yet. Billy lit the Marlborough that hung loosely from his lips. He glanced at his phone, hoping for any kind of communication from the woman that came and went out of his life a couple of years ago. She was all he could think about. Billy used to keep his hair cut short, a marine crew cut if there ever was one. Now his hair was shoulder length and he sported a nicely groomed beard. One other change Billy made since she disappeared was discontinuing his monthly shipment of contacts.

Instead, Billy opted to get some old fashioned horn rimmed glasses, Buddy Holly style. He shouldn't have threatened to expose. Billy thought, sure she was different, but aren't we all. She frightened him and he couldn't handle it. Then she left, and Billy hadn't seen her since the sound of a hammer being pulled back brought Billy to the here and now the cigarette fell from his lips. Roxy sends her regards, Jake said, before the single shot rang out, scrambling Billy's brain, killing him instantly. Dogs were barking in the distance. Jake held the smoking gun and smiled. He had never taken a life, but Roxy was worth it one hundred times over.

He'd killed the entire fucking town if she asked him to. He went home to an empty house. Ten months later. It was now a life of longing. Roxy was all he could think about. Jake ate just enough to keep him going. The same went for sleep. He muddled through work every day, doing just enough not to get fired. But his once friendly demeanor was replaced by one of constant sadness, and he was indifferent to people that cared. There was only one that mattered to him. Jake did what she asked, and Roxy still hadn't returned. That's really what kept him going.

Jake was compelled to wait on her, no matter how long it took. It was Friday afternoon and Jake was zombie walking home. Hey, Jake, Roxy said, as he approached his house. Jake stopped looking at his feet and raised his head to meet her gaze. Roxy was sitting on the front porch steps, looking exactly as she had always looked, wearing the same outfit. There was one big difference this time. Beside her sat a little girl that was the spin image of Roxy. Jake gave her a puzzled look. Who uh, who's she? Jake asked, she's your daughter, Roxy replied.

The little girl looked up at Jake with the same brown pools. That's impossible. If she were mine, she'd still be a baby. This little girl is at least three years old, maybe four. Jake said. Anger wasn't his emotion. It was confusion, And then a thought slapped him in the face. Billy. He bet it was Billy's daughter. Not that it was a deal breaker, because he wanted Roxy more than anything. His veil of indifference was yanked away. Hi, Daddy, my name's Roxy. The little girl said what Jake asked, looking at her mother. She's me and I'm her, Roxy said, and she's you too, Jake.

The little girl stood and outstretched her hand for a shake. She looked like a living porcelain doll. Jake took the girl's hand and smiled. It fell into the everything was a ok if Roxy was in his life. Lane The three of them walked into the house together. Jake and Roxy sat together and listened to little Roxy tell her father everything about her life, about the things she had learned, and Jake was amazed. She was smarter than any adult he'd ever met, and not in a precocious kid way. She was beyond anything he had ever encountered.

The dialect and intelligence with which she spoke frightened Jake. This was no ordinary child, and she had no ordinary mother. Jake remembered the last time he and Roxy made love and the uniqueness of Roxy's eyes. But Jake thought of himself as quite ordinary, boring. In fact, he didn't care. He loved Roxy and the little girl by the same name. Little Roxy looked at him with the eyes of her mother. Daddy kill for me, she said, sure, sweetie, Jake answered, he was just as charmed by Little Roxy. I need you to kill him, she said, and pointed toward the window.

There was an older man walking down the sidewalk toward Jake's house. Okay, Jake said, and grabbed the baseball bat he kept in the hall closet. It was secondary protection if he wasn't within reach of his pistol if someone kicked in his door. Jake casually walked out the front door, looking as if he were going to batting practice. The man took notice as soon as Jake stepped from his front porch. Hey there, the man shouted, smiled for a second, and waved at Jake. Jake didn't returned the wave. He broke into a sprint, and this is when the older man realized the threat.

Jake held that bat over his head as he closed the distance between himself and the man. The man held up his hands in a defensive posture. No, don't were the two words the man got out of his mouth before Jake brought the bat down on the man's skull. The dull thunk of wood striking bone filled the air. The older man blinked wildly at Jake. His eyes were crossed and blood trickled down his forehead. He kept his feet With the first strike, Jake brought it down again, and this time it sounded like a ripe melon splitting in half.

The man fell face first onto the sidewalk. Jake went to town on the corpse's head. He brought the bat down over and over, again, bits of brain and bone flying with every smash. Little Rocksy smiled from the window. She watched it all happen. Her mother was behind her. You learned so fast, Roxy whispered in her daughter's ear, It's time to go. There was a scream and a yelp from across the street. Sydney Jones yanked her dog back by the leash. Jake turned toward her with a bloody grin on his face, and tipped the bat toward her as if it were a hat.

Jake wiped his brow with his forearm. His mouth was parched. He'd go inside so little Roxy and her mother could see what he did for them. They weren't there. He looked through the house and stopped when he saw the note on the kitchen table, thank you for killing Billy and his daddy, the Roxies. Then the wail of sirens came. Jake set the bat on the kitchen table and went to the porch steps. He waited for the police. Jake knew he'd never see them again. They were worse than mermaids in the legends of pirates, and they were much more than mortal.

But they needed men to breed. How many Roxies were in the world. Jake wondered, beautiful creatures that convinced men to do their evil bidding before disappearing in a veil of mystery. Jake raised his hands as the officer stepped from the cruiser. There would be no trace of DNA evidence suggesting that anyone else was in the home, just the handwritten note tying Jake to the killing of the younger Kuto with his bloody prints. Thunder doesn't only happen when it's raining. Thunder can come from anywhere. Thunder can have any name. The name of Jake's thunder was Roxy, and he was certain he wasn't the only one sick with rage.

By Rob Fields. I came into my dorm room after returning from Denoyer's grill. The funny thing was, I just couldn't make myself eat anything. I had my favorite meal right there in front of me, pancakes, sausage, scrambled eggs, bacon, and a cup of dark coffee. All I could do was drink the coffee. I ended up taking the food to go. I put the food on the counter and remove my coat. WHOA, I really felt off. Then I had to move fast. I just barely made it to the toilet as I fell to my knees. When I finished throwing up, I picked myself up and looked in the mirror.

I looked and felt like shit. I had been feeling a little off for a few days now. The problem with me is that I don't fully feel pain like the rest of you. I must have been sick for a while and wasn't feeling it until now. After I took my temperature and came up with one oh two point three, I assessed my other symptoms sniffles, headache, dizziness, loss of appetite, fever, body aches, chills, vomiting. I think I caught that flu that was going around Strickfield. On top of that, it was in the middle of a blizzard.

I decided to just stay in my dorm until I felt better. Another problem was that I was feeling my bloodlust nagging away. I guess it didn't care whether I was sick or not. I'd have to pick up a fresh kill as soon as I was better. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Reagan Devereaux. Most everybody calls me Rage. I'm a serial killer who goes after the worst of the worst. Yes, I suppose you're thinking of Dexter Morgan, but trust me when I say he's got nothing on me. Unlike Dexter, I have a highly photographic memory, feel very little pain, and truly lack emotions.

In fact, I only feel things in the physical, much like my being sick. After throwing some extra blankets on, I changed and got into bed. I was ready to fall asleep when my smartphone rang. I didn't want to answer it, but it could have been Drake or the Strickfield PD with a lead on the Queen of Heart's killer case. As part of my college studies, I work with the police as an intern, and Drake was shadowing me. It was Delphine Brewster Sloane calling. I answered the phone and talked to her. Delphine was the only one who knew I was a serial killer.

Last Christmas, after she and I took down a killer Santa Claus. She told me she knew my secret and how I knew. Delphine wouldn't call me unless she wanted to check on me, or it was an emergency. Unfortunately for me, it was the latter. Franklin, her step son, hadn't been home for almost a week, no calls or texts. She was really worried. As a matter of fact, her husband Joseph hadn't been home in three days himself. Again, no calls or texts. She tried talking to the police, but they told her to file a missing person's report.

Now she was calling me. Delphine knew Franklin broke up with me shortly after that Christmas to remember, yet she kept in touch with me. Now she's asking if I could use my detective skills to find Franklin and Joseph. I wanted to tell her I was too sick to really do anything, but my bloodlust was demanding a life. I really didn't have a choice here. Delphine had been meeting with me and having me do activities to help potentially trigger my first emotional response. Also, just by reading her voice, she sounded quite desperate. I had to help.

I told her i'd be over. Shortly after putting my smartphone down, I got out of bed and almost fell to the floor. I managed to balance myself on the wall. I took a few deep breaths and forced myself to go into overdrive. I changed into normal clothes and faced forward as I walked out into the small hallway. I grabbed a soad out of the refrigerator and dug my food out of the dnoyer's grill bag. I left my dorm and walked out into the blizzard. The wind was really blowing and snow was just going anywhere and everywhere.

I forced myself to eat my pancakes with the eggs, sausage and bacon tucked in between. To be honest, the soft drink went down easier than the food. I stopped off to throw the empty can away. After I did, I took a few steps, dropped to my knees, and threw up again. So much for trying to put food in my stomach. After I wiped my mouth, I got up and forced myself to keep moving. I really felt like shit now and was shaking all over. I hit a pop machine just before reaching Delphine's house and drank a few more sodas.

So far I was able to keep those down. I think I caught my flu from Detective Drake Kasmirak when he was sick. I took care of him. I ran his errands, made him food, played his nurse. I almost never got sick now I had this flu. Drake would give me hell if he knew I was out in the blizzard while sick like this. I reached Delphine's house. She let me in and offered to take my coat. I told her I'd be leaving once I finished talking to her. Delphine gave me a cup of coffee and offered me a chair.

I declined to sit, on the count of becoming too relaxed next and allowing my flu to get the better of me again. Delphine sat and talked to me. You haven't met my biological daughter, Rigby. She and I are estranged. You know I'm a woman of God. I've tried to reach and do right by Rigby. As she got older, she became more rebellious. Little did I realize how interesting things would get once I met Franklin's father. I didn't know that Rigby and Franklin, Joseph's son, had already known each other. Joseph and I talked more after his wife passed away.

We fell in love and eventually married. I don't know what it is, Reagan, but something's just never been right with Rigby. After I married Joseph, I was processing what Delphine was telling me. You suspect Rigby, I asked. Delphine shook her head quickly. I I I just don't know, Reagan. It seemed to me rick By and Franklin were getting along so well. She seemed happy. When it got closer to our wedding, she became more rebellious and belligerent against me her own mother, Reagan, what's the matter. Since I was standing, my nasal passages were still open. If I would have sat or laid down, one or both nostrils would have been completely swollen shut.

Something smelled off in this house, even through the smell of fresh hot coffee. You don't smell that, Delphine, I asked. Delphine sniffed, oh that I boiled some cabbage earlier. I tried cooking to calm my nerves. I shook my head quickly. No, it's it's not cabbage. I mean, I smell it a little, but this is it stinks. Do you mind if I follow the smell? Delphine's eyes opened a little wide. Do what you have to do, Raygan. I nodded once and put my coffee mug down. I followed my nose to the stairway. Reagan. Delphine called out I turned to see her handing me a kitchen knife.

I nodded once and took it. Now armed, I made my way upstairs, with Delphine following closely. When we reached the top, I turned to her. The smells stronger up here. Delphine sniffed again. I still don't smell anything. I scanned the hallway and then found the one door that stood out to me. The second I opened the attic, we were both hit with that smell. Delphine gagged. Now, oh god, I can't believe you could smell that from downstairs, Reagan, Delphine choked. Call it another way. My brain's wired differently from yours. I said, stay down here, I'm going up.

No, I want to see what you find, she insisted. I considered her for a moment. Okay, but you were warned. I led the way up into the attic. I was only about half way up when I saw the source of the stench. Delphine, stop, what is it? She demanded. I turned to her, go call the police right now. Delphine's face told me she was determined and wouldn't move away. I realized I really couldn't stop her. Again, Delphine, you were warned. Then I stepped aside. Delphine reached the top of the stairs and screamed. Her husband, Joseph was hung by his neck off a wooden beam.

What was more, there was blood everywhere. You could easily see that he had been cut open and his heart extracted. Then I saw the Queen of Heart's playing card in Joseph's hand. Oh, God, God, why why him? Delphine wailed. He was a good man. I came and stood beside. Then she turned to me. I could read she was very angry as she looked me over. She reached out and grabbed me, But then she showed restraint and let go. If I could be surprised, perhaps I would. She was bowing and kneeling to me. Forgive me, Lord, I didn't mean to lay a hand upon your Angel of death.

Delphine kept thinking that I was truly the Angel of Death from the many versions of the Holy Bible. She kept regarding me as such ever since I saved the lives of several children back when I was a freshman at Northridgeway High and unknowingly hers she discovered I was a serial killer when I castrated the pedophile minister who kidnapped the children to make the punishment fit the crime. I took hold of her and brought her to her feet. Stop. You have no clue that your God sent me here to be an instrument of death, I could tell.

Delphine wanted to yell, but she took my hands. Well, we'll discuss this later. Reagan, you need to find the one who did this. You must stop that person before more lives are lost. I nodded once in that we agree. Now call the police. Delphine nodded quickly. I'll call them after you leave. I won't tell them you were here, but you stop whoever is doing this. May I look for clues in Franklin's room, I asked you. May I left the attic and went down to Franklin's room. His smartphone was laying on the desk, more proof that he may have been taken.

I picked up the phone and hacked into it. He had many picks of himself and Rigby. They looked so happy together. Each pick was now in my highly photographic memory. Then I saw another photo entry with my first name and opened it. Every pick Franklin had taken of me or us was still here. Why did he keep them. He broke up with me shortly after he proposed marriage. Unable to feel emotions, I couldn't understand that. I put the phone down and walked out. I headed back outside into the blizzard. Even in my sickened state, my brain still functioned normally.

I was already determining possibilities. Delphine mentioned her daughter Rigby. I found her number and address on Franklin's phone. She lived in a loft near the Castalia River. It took me about fifteen minutes to reach it. The loft was secluded, no near by neighbors. There were no lights on. I picked the lock and went inside. Suddenly I had to run to the bathroom. I made it just in time to drop to my knees and throw up in the toilet. I took deep breaths and forced myself back to my feet. I flushed the toilet and came back out.

I just wanted to lay down and sleep, but I forced myself into overdrive again. And then I saw a laptop on the table. I sat, turned it on, and hacked into it. There were more picks of her and other guys, the Queen of Heart's victims. She even had pictures of Joseph Sloane. In every case, all of them had their hearts removed and the Queen of Heart's playing card in one hand. I immediately compiled some more data between the picks on Franklin's phone and Rigby's laptop. I determined there was a house just outside of Strickfield that I needed to check out.

I turned off the computer and put everything back the way Rigby had it before I entered into the Blizzard's icy embrace again. Delphine called me back and asked for an update. I told her everything I knew. Are you Are you investigating my my daughter? She asked, bewildered. She's the only lead I have right now. I answered. The evidence and logic all point to her being the Queen of Hearts serial killer. A long silence on the other end, If it turns out to be Rigby, will you punish her? Delphine stammered. I will do what I must, I said, without hesitation.

I understand. I wish it didn't have to come to this. She's my baby, Reagan. Delphine and I finished our conversation and hung up. I walked outside the Castalia River until I came to the house The blizzard was more intense now. I felt even weaker, but I forced myself to keep going. I looked around the house but didn't see any lights. I was ready to pick the lock, but the door was open. I had to be careful here. I drew my knife and entered carefully. Once I closed the door, the dizziness started catching up to me.

I moved to the sink, but I didn't throw up. When I was sure I was going to be okay, I grabbed a glass and drank some water. I rested just for a bit. I wasn't sure how much longer I could go on. I was likely to pass out at any time. I didn't even need to touch my skin to know I was burning up. I just wanted to fall to the floor one more time. I forced myself into overdrive. I couldn't quit now. Delphine was counting on me to find Franklin. I know you're probably asking why Franklin told me he loved me, became engaged to me, and broke up with me shortly after.

Shouldn't I be mad as hell about that? I suppose if it were in me, then probably, But remember I'm truly emotionless. I can't stress that enough. I truly do not feel anything regarding love or fear. I can only feel things in the physical. When Franklin broke up with me, all I could do was seek out another mate. You'd probably be surprised at how much different you'd feel if you didn't have emotion. Actually, no, you wouldn't. But I could feel my sickness, which was in the physical. I forced myself to keep moving and made my way through the house.

I came to a basement door and carefully headed downstairs. I pulled out my pocket flashlight and looked around. I soon found jars with human hearts inside eight total. I read the labels that displayed the names and dates. The last name was Joseph Sloane. The date was three days ago. Rig B. Brewster was definitely the Queen of hearts. After finding nothing else of significant value, I returned to the stairway and headed back up. I clicked off the flashlight and searched until I was heading up more stairs. As I reached the top, I heard some groaning. It didn't take long to find the source in the first room on the right.

When I entered the room, the person tied up to the bed looked my way and made a muffled scream. I turned on my flashlight and saw it was Franklin. I knew I had to destroy Rigby now. The fact that she was Delphine's biological daughter did not excuse her from my judgment. I sat down next to Franklin. I'll take your gag off, but you have to be quiet, I whispered. Franklin nodded. Then I removed the gag and untied him. I'm going to get you out of here, Franklin, I said, rage, What are you? How did you?

He stammered. Later, we have to go. Once my former mate was safe, I would return and claim Rigby. But just as I got off the bed, i'd came too dizzy and dropped to the floor. I was too sick to move, and I passed out. I woke up sitting. I wasn't sure how long I was unconscious, but I could feel my hands were tied behind my back. I still felt like shit, but at least I was rested a little to where I could be awake for the moment. We were in a room with only a single door, black walls, and no windows.

Franklin was tied to a slab and was stripped down to his boxers. And then Rigby Brewster herself came in. She had straight, dark hair that went halfway down her back, very pale skin, and dark eyes. She was wearing only dark clothes and had dark fingernails. You must be Reagan, Rigby said, in a soft, yet elegant voice. Franklin just can't stop talking about you. Now. Can you stay awake, because, to be honest, you really don't look so good. Why did you kidnap me like this? Rigby? Franklin demanded, Why are you doing this? That's not all she did, Franklin, I told him, Rigby, why don't you tell him about all the hearts you have stored in the basement?

Or should I call you the Queen of hearts? Rigby looked at me and laughed a little. Oh, you weren't supposed to find those, She sighed. Now that you know my secret, I suppose I can tell you everything before I add your heart to the collection. Franklin looked both frightened and surprised at the same time. Rigby what? Rigby caressed the side of his face. Oh, honey, when you and I fell in love, it was supposed to be forever, especially when we started having sex. I mean, you don't just steal a girl's heart than completely rock her world the way you did.

You even said you would stay with me forever, but then her face goes from soft to piste off in a hurry. My fucking mom just had to meet your fucking dad. Mom knew I was seeing you, but she and Joseph just had to fall in love. They just had to get married, ruining any chance for us to continue our love. I mean, step siblings aren't supposed to get married or see each other, right, Rigby. Franklin tried to protest. You broke up with me. Franklin, Rigby stated, two months before mom married your dad, you broke up with me.

You just don't do that to the one you love. Then she screamed, you broke my heart. But how are we supposed to continue with Dad and Delphi married and living together. Franklin protested, we could have carried on in secret. Rigby answered, I begged and pleaded with you, but you just wouldn't give us that chance. She pointed to me, Now you ended up falling for this other bitch. You turned away from me and eventually found Reagan. You gave your heart to Reagan. You even asked Reagan to marry you. That really hurt Franklin. What because she has such an angelic face and huge tits, You fucking men are all the same.

Rigby gently ran a long fingernail between Franklin's pecks. But I'm going to have your heart once again forever. She looked at me. I really wish you hadn't found my hearts. Franklin, Rigby killed your father. I told him she has his heart down in the basement, along with seven others. She's the Queen of Heart's serial killer. Franklin gave her a weird look before he screamed passed out. Typical fucking nerd, Grigby muttered. Then she turned to me. So you killed those others, including Franklin's dad, because of what happened between him and Delphine. You're insane, I said, Have you ever been in love Reagan, Rigby demanded, yes, I suppose you have.

You were ready to marry Franklin until I made him break up with you. I told him I'd kill his dad if he didn't. To prove my point, I killed Joseph and Mom's cat right in front of Franklin. You never wondered why he suddenly broke it off with you right after he asked you to marry him. Now I had my answers. I was going to have to do some serious acting here and pretend that I had emotions. Is that the reason why I've been crying myself to sleep every night since then? Because of you. Franklin's heart belongs to me.

Grigby snapped he broke up with me. I was determined to win him back by any means necessary. Joseph Sloane would have to pay. But you know what, there were other guys pining for me too, so I had to get rid of them. They were just going to keep right on coming. I trapped them all and took their hearts. I mean they were looking to give them to me anyway. Killing my stepfather was the next step. He broke my heart by taking my mom as his wife, guaranteeing that Franklin and I would never be able to get married.

So I came to the house three days ago and took his heart when Mom wasn't home. And what about your mom? I asked, after I finished with you, I'm taking her heart. She never cared about my feelings, so she is going to pay the price. But your own mother, she brought you into this world. It looked like I was selling her on my dramatic and I'm going to take her out of it, Rigby replied, Mom and Joseph had no right to get together and separate. Franklin and me talk about being selfish. Once I kill Mom, then Franklin can be mine once again.

We'll be able to get married. And what about Franklin, i demanded, What if he doesn't feel the same way. I'll make Franklin see that he still loves me, just like I love him. I may be the Queen of hearts, but I'm the only queen of his heart. He'll see that I'm the best thing that ever happened to him. Yeah. I know he's a geek in everything, but he just has that charming quality about him. I'm sure you've seen it too, probably why you fell for him. Rigby moved to her table and picked up a knife, My knife and a Queen of Heart's playing card.

I'm going to make such a mess in killing you, Reagan, but that's fine, nothing I haven't done before. I'll slice your throat and let you bleed out. You probably won't even feel much of anything with you being sick and all, I'll probably be doing you a favor. And now it's time to finish eliminating those who've come in between me and Franklin so we can be together once again, starting with you. As Rigby came at me, I revealed that my hands were free by grabbing her wrist with one hand and rising up and punching her in the face with the other.

My punch would have knocked her on her ass if I was well, but it just made her stagger. I hit her again, harder this time to make her drop the knife. Rigby screamed and grabbed my throat. My fever and fatigue were really working against me. I had to force myself into overdrive one more time. Rigby already overpowered me and had me on the floor. I'm going to choke you until you're god damn neck snaps, Rigby hissed. I only had one option available. As Rigby moved to get on top of me, I forced my legs to come up so I could lock her in the triangle choke.

Once I had it fully locked in, she started fighting me. I had to summon all the strength I could keep to hold that lock tight and put her to sleep. Rigby fought like hell, but I focused my strength in spite of my flu. It took a few minutes longer than I would have liked, but I finally put her out. I released the triangle choke and stood up. I realized I didn't have much time. I had to claim Rigby and satisfy my bloodlust. I called upon whatever reserves of strength I had left to lift her up and put her on the table next to Franklin.

I lifted Franklin off the table and put him down on the floor. Next, I found the duct tape and secured Rigby to the table. I made sure Franklin was still unconscious before I woke Rigby. When she was awake, she realized she was incapacitated. I would have brought pictures and the usuals to place on the walls, but this'll have to Rigby. I showed her her smartphone. I hacked it and found plenty of evidence on the phone alone to show the police that you're the Queen of Hearts killer. They'll find more evidence once they search your loft.

But now I'm going to remove your heart and leave it here with your body. Rigby immediately understood and became excited. Holy shit, you're the angel of death. You Wow, you're just like me, Reagan. I shook my head. No, never like you. I picked up my knife. You mentioned your mother and stepfather were selfish for marrying each other. I say you were selfish for murdering Joseph Sloane and those others, just to have Franklin all to yourself. You even want to kill your own mother. Now I have you all to myself. I raised the knife, and now rig B Brewster let the punishment fit the crime.

But unfortunately my flu hit me again instead of the knife. I went down fast and ended up going into blackness before I hit the floor. When I woke up again, I found myself in a hospital room in bed. Delphine and Drake were both in the room with me. You're finally awake, Delphine said, with relief. Franklin called me. I came out and found you both. Franklin and I put you in the car and brought you here. You've been in that bed for the last three days. She became more stern. Now you should have told me you were sick with the flu.

Drake approached me. I can't believe you risked your life being sick like that. I could tell by his tone that he was angry with me too. I did say earlier that he would give me hell. Franklin's okay. Then I asked Delphine, he's fine. She assured me. You saved his life. What about Rigby, I asked. Delphine shook her head. I'm afraid I didn't see Rigby there. We saw what looked like someone was taped to the table, but whoever it was got free. Franklin took care of you until I came. I had to admit I was feeling much better.

The hospital must have given me some good meds through my IV to help against the infection. When I started to move, Drake stopped me. WHOA, No, you don't rage. You're staying right here until the doctor says you can go. You could have died out there, you know, that's how sick you were, but I didn't. I stressed. Drake gave me hell again, but then he softened up. He was in love with me, so he couldn't find it in himself to stay angry with me for very long. After a little while, he had to go to Strickfield PD.

That just left Delphine and me. What happened to Rigby? I asked, Delphine, She's killed several people, including your husband. I told you she's the Queen of hearts killer. When I told her about the evidence I found, including the hearts, Delphine became sad. I was hoping there would be some reconciliation between my daughter and me. You were really going to kill her. She's murdered at least eight people, Delphine, I stressed, if you want to stop me from finding and claiming Rigby, now's your chance. Delphine shook her head. No, I'm afraid Rigby is lost to me. As the angel of death.

You must do your appointed duty by God. I understand and will not interfere. Rigby has chosen her own path. The only thing I could do now was recover. Once out of the hospital, I would have to double my efforts to find Rigby. Besides my bloodlust, the other motivation was that now she knew who I was and could use that to her advantage. But to what lengths would she go with my secret? How many more hearts would she claim? How many more playing cards would be found one way or another, I would have to stop Rigby Brewster.

But would I end up being outed myself as a serial killer to stop her? Only time would tell. The worm has turned by David Ohm. Penn scratched at the burgundy paint of the park's picnic table with his thumbnail. He hated waiting almost as much as he hated being broke. Unfortunately, for him, waiting was the only way his bills were getting paid. Penn's employment history consisted entirely of community service and eight years on a prison farm. Carjacking and armed robbery didn't look great under the special skills portion of his resume, so he waited. Hi. A tiny voice squeaked beside him, I'm ed.

Pen looked over at the boy who had slipped onto the bench beside him. He was scrawny, with oversized glasses and a shaggy mop of brown hair that filled the space between the lens and his eyes. His shirt was striped intentionally with horizontal bars of color and unintentionally with vertical runs of ketchup. The offending condiment was drying around his mouth, where it seemed to break away into the constellations of freckles that covered his entire face. Pen sighed there was no way this kid had any friends to go bother instead of him. You don't look like an d Penn said, Here with your folks.

Nope, Ed replied. He stared up at Penn, clearly not intending on giving up more information. What's your name, mister? Everyone calls me Penn. Pen hadn't meant to answer, but part of him felt the need to give the kit a break. Life clearly wasn't shouldn't you be playing the swings look fun? He suggested. I'm allergic to just about everything, and I have basically no immune system. Ed shrugged his narrow shoulders. The swings give me motion sickness anyway, then why are you at the park? Got nowhere else to be? Mom says her cats are allergic to me too, and that I should give them a break.

What about you? Ed scooped the hair to the side of his glasses so he could see a little better. You're too old for swings, First of all, no one is too old for swings. Penn held up two fingers. Secondly, I'm working, Ed Nodded sagely. What job has you sit in a park? The kind that requires solitude? Oh, Ed sighed, I'd be really good at that job. Jesus Christ. Kid Pen pinched the bridge of his nose. I've seen lifetime movies that were less depressing than you are. Do you want some food? I just had three hot dogs, Ed chirped happily.

Pen looked the frail little boy over suspiciously. Where'd you put them in your pockets? I have a really high metabolism I can't gain weight. Ed's face soured, then perk back up. It's kinda nice because I could eat all the ice cream I wanted if I wasn't lactose intolerant. Pen's eyes rolled on their own. Of course you are. Is there anything you don't have wrong with you? It's probably safe to say I don't have gigantism. Ed snickered. Pen's stone face cracked and he busted out laughing. He patted Ed on the shoulder. Well done, kid, Ed poke Pen's right forearm.

That's a Nedo tattoo. Does it mean anything? Penn glanced at the arabesque design, whose floral pattern twisted from the back of his hand to just past his elbow, with a lion like creature roaring in the center. Yeah, it's a Burmese. That's where my grandmother was from. She raised me, so I did this to remember her. She had an ambulet with the same symbol that she wore everywhere. She said it was magic and protected her from evil. That's nifty. Do you believe in magic? Not particularly you, of course. Ed took a bag of gummy worms from his cargo pants and set them on the table.

Today is National Gummy Worm Day. That a real thing, Penn asked. Sure. Ed opened the bag and plucked out a red and green worm. He put it between his buck teeth and slurped it into his mouth with a giggle. Penn smiled at the boy. It wasn't an expression he got to use much. I guess that's the kind of holiday I could get behind. It's also give something away day. I'm generally on the other side of that one. Penn snagged one of the boy's worms with a wink. Then you're in luck. Ed took another bag of worms and set it in front of Pen.

I want to give you these, Penn's eyebrow lurched at the gesture. Why. Because that way I can celebrate both holidays at once. It's more efficient. No, I meant, why give them to me? Penn stared at the bag like it might explode. There's plenty of kids here. Ed turned on the little bench and waved a bony hand across the expanse of the park. Kids shrieked and ran around. Old men played chess under the trees, Couples picnicked in the open areas, and a group of teens sold pot next to the forgotten volleyball court. Ed slurped another worm.

We're the only two that are here alone, he said, between chewy bites. I think that makes you worth sharing with. Correction, you're a Hallmark movie. Pen rubbed the kid's head. Guess we're not alone now, thanks, Ed, no problem. Ed pointed at a man walking toward them with a large envelope tucked under his arm and a gravestone expression on his square face. That guy needs friends more than I do. Oh shit. Pen stood up and dug in his pocket for a second. He pulled out his last five dollar bill. That's my boss, Happy give something away day.

Now go get you some non dairy ice cream. Don't forget your worms. I think you're gonna need them. Ed smiled and took the money. Want to hang out tomorrow. Pen tucked the gummy worms into his pocket and nodded, Yeah, kid, we'll meet here tomorrow. Same time, Ed checked his watch, which was struggling to stay over his hand Roger that Ed jumped up and hugged Pen around the waist. Pen stood perfectly, still, not sure what to do, before deciding on a simple pat on the back, stay safe, Ed. He walked away from the boy and went to me.

The grim gentleman by pen Ed waved frantically and trotted away. Who the fuck is that? The man asked, with a nod in Ed's direction an undercover cop. Pen replied, he's really good, don't you think listen? Wise asked, I can find any number of cons to get in on this. I'm talking to you as a favor, so when I ask a question, you give a straight answer. Chill Richter, Penn took the envelope from him. He's just a lonely kid looking for someone to talk to. No shit, he's lonely. Look at the little loser, Richter said, I've seen bigger abortions.

Penn smacked his lips and turned the envelope over in his hand. You know, just because we're criminals. Doesn't mean we have to be pricks. Richter smiled at him. It wasn't the kind of smile Pen shared with Ed. It was the kind Pen saw on inmates right before they stuck a sharpened toothbrush in someone's throat. The expression was a morbid scar across Richter's face, and his words oozed like septic puss. I heard you'd tell him to be back here tomorrow. Maybe you were just being nice, but he'll be here regardless. You're going to do your homework and be ready for my boys to pick you up, and you're going to cut the biggest dick in the cell block routine.

Richter pressed two fingers into Pen's chest and leaned closer. Or tomorrow, I'm going to come here and I'm going to rip that little boy's guts out to decorate the goddamn seesaw. This job goes off smooth and buy the numbers, Say yes, sir, and get moving. Penn glanced at Ed, waiting in line for the ice cream. Yes, sir, The job was not going smooth or by the numbers. Richter's boys showed up at Penn's apartment and took him to the fancy downtown apartments. The three of them rode the elevator to the seventeenth floor in their AES coveralls, with their respective equipment stashed in toolboxes marked with the electric company's logo.

Only the seventeenth floor didn't look like the pictures and Richter's packet. The three men panned their flashlights around the darkened space. Penn noticed the painter's drop clothes on the floor and the paper that masked the windows from the overspray. First, then he noticed the lack of overspray. Where there were supposed to be apartments, there was only exposed pipes, conduit and two by fours marking off their future locations. Not only were the units unlived in, but they were nowhere near ready to be painted. Anyone else got a bad feeling about this? Penn asked zip It, the larger man, and the crew said in a voice like shattering glass, high and coarse, with an accent of danger it brought.

Maybe we got the wrong floor. Yeah, I'm sure that's it, the others reassured him. Sweat beaded his brow above the snake tattoo that cut down the left side of his face. We just got off on the wrong floor. You're both idiots, Pen grunted. Unless we're stealing power tools, we're in the wrong bill. The package said this place was fully rented. Obviously they didn't count the floors that were under construction, the big one said. Pen leaned on the frame of a future kitchen counter and dug the bag of gummy worms from his pocket. When one of you geniuses figures out which floor we're supposed to be on, let me know how about that.

What are you doing, the man with the faced hat asked, Taking lunch, Pen put a pair of delectable worms in his mouth. He shook the bag in his direction. I should probably share, since it's give something away day, that a real thing, snake face asked. Of course. Penn swallowed half the mouthful. It's also gummy worm Day. No one thinks the drop clothes are out of place here. They're in the perfect place. Someone said. The words carried through the darkened hallway like a chill breeze that slapped Pen across the face. He recognized the voice. It sounded different, but there was an unforgettable ice in the tone.

It was the same tone he'd used when he threatened at at the park. Penn eased his toolbox onto the unfinished counter. Richter was hiding in the shadows. Penn's thumb worked the latch blindly while he tried to spot his benefactor. The metallic snap of the pistol action was all the sound they heard. The big man went down with a cry. The drop cloth soaked up the arterial spray as fast as it could gush from the hole in his neck. Another subsonic, suppressed shot struck snake Face in the knee, and a third caught him in the hip.

The toolbox toppled with a crash, and Pen's hopes disappeared as fast as the revolver, skittering across the bare concrete. He dipped into the alcove and tossed his flashlight in a lazy arc so it looked like he ran away. The diversion didn't work. There wasn't another shot. The loud clack of a switch being thrown illuminated the construction site. Penn chanced to look in the direction of the gunfire. A naked man sauntered down the cour as if he weren't committing mass murder. No, that wasn't right. It wasn't a naked man. It was Richter wearing the skin of a naked man.

The neck hole sagged loosely away from Richter's throat, giving the costume away. Thick black stitches danced across the patchwork suit, uniting islands of tattooed skin. Snake Face was crying louder, and the big guy was growing quieter. He stripped off his beanie and pressed it to the pulsing neck wound. His bald head was adorned with faded flames. Pen stared at them for a moment, then back at the approaching lunatic. Between the tribal art of the flesh sleeve and the silenced pistol in Richter's right hand was his own bare forearm. Pen's eyes flicked to his own, and his stomach threatened to purge itself.

At the realization the three thieves were the missing accessories for Richter's psycho chic outfit, Penn backed away from the opening, groping wildly for the revolver. His hand landed on the celifane bag of gummy worms. Instead. He gripped them tightly. Richter would go after Ed, even if he got what he wanted. Penn took another hunkered step back, and his heel bumped the walnut grip of the Bulldog forty four. The subtle sound of the steel spinning on the concrete warmed his heart come out. Pen. Richter hissed. Pen's fingers curled around the weapon, and he eased through a gap in the two by fours.

The big thief made it to his feet, only to plummet straight back to the floor with an anticlimactic PLoP. Richter looked like a man on a Sunday stroll as he made his way to snake face. He knelt on the man's back and set his pistol on the floor. Penn hadn't noticed the object in Richter's other hand until it reflected in the work lights. The polished sweep of German steel gleamed with malevolent purpose before disappearing into warm meat. Ssh so much, screaming, Sean, just be cool, Richter drew the blade from his kidney and pressed the edge to the snake's tail.

Be cool, give me some skin. Pen bit his lip until it bled, in a vain attempt to calm himself. Between his ever quickening pulse and the breath he held onto for dear life, His chest felt like it was about to explode. He watched helplessly from the shadows of the soon to be dining nook. Snake Face Shone screamed weakly while Richter worked the blade along the cheekbone and scraped the artwork from his face. Do you like to watch, pen, richteror asked, No, shame in that you can't escape. Your fate is escapable, but the amount of pain you endure is dependent on whether or not you come out here and accept it.

He held the severed flesh up to examine it in the light. He pressed it to his cheek and shuddered with an ecstatic moan. I really wish you'd given me something a bit more useful, kid, Penn whispered, while he flexed his fingers around the bag of gummy worms. He eased back the pistol's hammer and lobbed the bag like a grenade. The delicious fruit flavored snacks struck a light and dislodged the bulb, casting darkness over the macabre scene. Richter rolled away from Sean, snatched his pistol from the floor, and fired in one deft motion. Penn's second attempt at distraction failed.

More spectacularly than the first. It only gave away his location. In fact, his vision flared from pain of the tiny bullet, tearing his ear in half. He fired at Richter, but the flesh adorned fiend moved too quickly, and the bullet struck nothing but shadow. Then he disappeared entirely. Penn pressed a hand to his wounded ear and made his way through the wilderness of wooden framework Like a big game hunter. He tried to anticipate Richter's path, but pain and fear overrode higher brain function. He knelt into darkness and opened the cylinder of the revolver, dumping the cartridges into his bloody palm and sighed.

He laid the five empty casings on the floor silently and slipped his last bullet into the chamber. Hey Pen, Richter called out. The empty space made his voice echo in every direction. Didn't you say it was give something away day? Here's your opportunity. It's such a pretty piece of flesh. Oh, I'm going to give you something, Richter. Pen whispered and eased the cylinder shut right between the eyes. Pen continued his search. Something banged behind him. He spun with the weapon ready. There were less lights. Another one crashed to the floor and cast the entire area into an obsidian void.

Skin slapped frantically across the concrete as Richter sprinted somewhere in the other direction. Penn's mind raced with the terrifying thought of Richter having an accomplice moving in the abyss. Something stirred with a wet, disgusting slurp Pen's stomach twisted. The reptilian part of his brain told him to run straight for the elevator until it wasn't an option anymore. Richter's blade bit into the back of his thigh and unzipped the muscle. A plumber's bright red wrench dislodged the pistol from Pen's hand. Richter kicked him in the chest, sending him crashing through the framework into the floor. The wrench clanged next to his head, and richteror placed a victorious foot on the thief's chest.

I always get what I want, Pen. The only thing your little game did was ensure that you'd still be awake when I take it. Richter stomped on Pen's ribs until he heard the wet pop of the breakage. Pen rolled to his side and coughed between pained groans. More lights went out. He tried to crawl away, even though he'd seen the futility of it twice in the last fifteen minutes. That damn noise came back, moist, sickly, peeling somewhere out there in the expanding gloom. Richter stepped over him and towards the darkness. Did you bring someone else?

Richter growled, who's out there? Penn forced himself to sit up, knowing the new arrival wasn't a friend of Richter's, was somehow scarier. He cried out as a new pain fought for dominance over the surmounting wounds. He held up his arm, but saw no injury, only his tattoo. The burning intensified and rushed along the floral sprawl. The ink wept from his pores, like black rain falling around the mystical lion. The drops ignited as they rolled off his arm and splashed to the floor. Pen's broken ribs raged in retaliation to his terrified screams. Someone else was screaming too.

Pen peeled his eyes away from the melting tattoo and looked at Richter. The lunatic was twirling about shouting profanities and half questions. Waves of color swirled across the floor and red and green pools just ahead of the creature. A moment before, Pen didn't believe anything would ever surprise him again if he survived the night. The fifteen foot gummy worm proved him wrong. Richter slashed at the worm, and the blade parted the gelatine with no effect except a wet smack. It dipped away from another cut and slithered grotesquely around the killer. It constricted around his body and towered over him, looking down at its ensnared prey with a featureless head.

The blank red and pulsated and split into a gaping maw that slid over Richtor's body. Pen watched Richter struggle and scream soundlessly inside the colored, translucent torso of the gummy monster. The struggle made an awkward mac and cheese squish in the otherwise silent construction site. Pen forced himself up, keeping his eyes on the beast. The silver tip of Richter's filet blade poked through the gelatinous material and dragged down. Richter pressed his arms through, then his head. Pen limped backward to the elevator. The beast squirmed wildly as Richter removed himself in a twisted Cesarean rebirth. He dropped to the floor with a scream that was part victory and part agony.

His skin suit smoked and peeled away from his own bright red flesh. Richter's lips sagged away from his teeth, his blonde hair fell away in clumps, and the screams became all about agony. Acidic fruity fumes drifted toward Pen, fueling his need to escape. The mouth of the oversized fruit snack slurped around Richter's feet. Happy gummy worm day, motherfucker. Pen jabbed the elevator call button. The green tail end of the worms swung around, parted, and slid over Richt's head until the creature formed a flavorful uryborus. With the lunatic dissolving inside, the elevator dinged and Pen fell through the doors, leaving Richter to his fate.

Ed's face split into a toothy smile as Pen limped toward the picnic table on his crutches. Penn looked at the bench below him, an option for sitting on the table instead of attempting the plunge. He rubbed the broken ribs and returned the boy's smile. I told you we'd hang out today. Yeah. Ed's eyes teared up. No one ever hung out with me twice before. I'm glad you're okay. I guess I had a little help from a friend. Ed giggled. The red and greenlands are my favorites. I got a lot of questions. Ed magic is just a toy without a battery.

The boy padded Pen's blank forearm. Want to go get some hot dogs? Pen grimaced as he stood and tilted his head toward the hot dog curd across the greenway. Of course, we need to get some hot dogs. You have a very high metabolism the highest. Ed jumped up and hug Pen. Thank you for coming back. There's nowhere else I'd rather be. Kid. Pen tussled D's hair. Just one thing that's bothering me? What's that? There's no more crazy holidays coming up soon? Are there plenty of them? Today? Is actually corn fritter day. Ed took a bag from his pocket and removed the last gummy worm from it.

He looked at it thoughtfully before slurping it up like spaghetti. Next month, there's national clown Day, clown Day, Penn stopped in his tracks. How about we just skip that one? Yeah, that one's a little creepy. Ed nodded and tucked the empty bag into his pocket. A cool breeze brought a momentary reprieve from the July heat. A frisbee flew across their path with a golden retriever in hot pursuit. Penn looked around the park at the old men playing chess, the teens selling weed, and the kids playing games. Then he glanced at Ed. No one was there alone anymore.

The two friends continued their arduous journey to the hot dog vendor, laughing and carrying on. Ed clapped his hands excitedly. As they arrived. A sandwich board was painted with a picture of a dancing sausage. Would you look at that pen? Next Wednesday is National hot Dog Day? And there you have it. My spookies for frightening reminders that crime rarely pays, but it occasionally transforms you into a monster. Maybe more than occasionally, if you count figuratively. Tonight we learned that ancient collars should remain safely locked away. Mysterious women rarely request harmless favors. Collecting human hearts is not a healthy response to rejection, and gummy worms deserve considerably more respect than we've been giving them.

Halloween may still be waiting patiently for October, but Summer Ween has already filled the darkness with witches, killers, monsters, and one dangerous piece of candy. So thank you for joining us, and make sure you subscribe to Weekly Spooky on your favorite podcast app and return every Wednesday for a brand new scary story. We publish something scary every single day of the week, though, to make sure the Halloween vibes never die. So until next time, stay spooky, and when the worm finally turns, run