Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Alternate Violet part 6: Foiled again



Victor stepped onto his front porch, blinked into the sunlight, stretched, and yawned. It had been a week since the first crazy woman had stepped out of the bushes and fired 15 shots into his chest, and then fed him to polar bears. A full six days since the second crazy woman had followed him around town taking pot shots at him, her aim substantially worse than that of the first lunatic, who hadn’t missed even once.
He remained intact throughout the second assault but a flag pole, a coffee cup and Violet’s house had suffered collateral damage.
Ah, Violet, he thought; just about time to drop over and be obnoxious for the sweet girl’s benefit. He really was feeling like his old self again!
A loud “Hwooomp” sound detonated somewhere around the side of Victor’s house, from the vicinity of Mrs. Dinwiddie’s Russian olive hedge.
“Hwooomp? What the hell is “hwooomp?” muttered Vic, as he stepped around the corner of his house to find out.
It was, of course, the sound of a wormhole in space-time slamming shut but how was Victor to know that? He recognized the next sound though. It was that of someone pulling the starter rope on a gasoline engine, followed by a stifled curse, another pull, a LOUDER curse, a THIRD pull and then a muffled roar as the engine caught.
It seemed to Vic that Mrs. Dinwiddie was making good on her long threatened intentions of trimming the hedge, but, damn her eyes, he was co-owner of that hedge and he intended to make his feelings on the subject known.
He strode toward the hedge in question.
“Excuse me, my good man!” he called to the as yet unseen presence on the far side of the hedge.
His good man picked that moment to step through the opening which had been left in the olives to form a gate between the Romanov and Dinwiddie properties. There was a great deal of good man, at least 6’ 6” and 300 lbs. was Vic’s guess, strikingly dressed in work boots and a blood spattered apron over what appeared to be denim overalls. But it was the mask that hooked Victor’s attention. It was made of leather, covered his good man’s face, and appeared to have been crafted…from another face??
Victor froze, staring.
The apparition stared back, then raised the saw and charged, howling inarticulately.
“Be careful with that thing! Shouted victor, I’m an attorney and…”
Whatever else he was saying was drowned in the roar of the saw as the giant goosed the gas.
Victor flung up an arm, defensively and
The giant swung and
Victor watched his hand, trailing bloody streamers, spin off into the sunlit sky and
He felt a blow to his neck and then he was flying up, up, spinning and then at the apex of his flight, looking down to where a crazed giant swung an enormous chain saw at a still standing headless corpse and
The world went black.
The saw ran for a very long time.
There, thought the giant as he switched it off. Forty five, maybe fifty pieces at least. No band aid gonna help poor Vicky-Boy!
He smiled a smile unseen behind the now bloody mask.
“Never send girls to do a serial killer’s job” he said to no one in particular.
He took two strides and vanished.
“Hwooomp!”

Had he stayed just a bit longer he might have observed tiny rivulets of blood, streaming from one severed Victor-bit to another and the strands of nerve filaments that followed.
It’s difficult to discourage a pig headed lawyer. Violet knew this all too well.
The boys and girls at the Shed?
They were learning.

©2013 Mac Pike All Rights Reserved

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