KISS OF DEATH

Genre: Horror

 

 

 

KISS OF DEATH

By Randy Romero

 

 

The vagrant lingered in the alley, propping himself up against a brick wall to keep his balance. He was clearly drunk. If his lack of equilibrium wasn’t a dead giveaway, JP could smell the whiskey wafting off of him. As far as vagrants smelled, this one carried an exceptionally offensive odor.

JP could not hide his disgust, nor was he required to as far as he was concerned. The alley was behind JP’s nightclub, The Wild Stallion. It was his nightclub, and that meant this was his alley. This was JP Taylor’s territory, his jurisdiction, his property. He’d be damned if any scruffy, mangy vagrant was going to stink up his alley.

JP didn’t just own The Wild Stallion. He owned half of Spring Harbor. JP’s money and influence came with a considerable amount of power. A power that JP was perpetually drunk on.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the vagrant, either. Sure, plenty of them have come and gone over the years, but this one JP remembered from his filthy red-and-black flannels and lime green hat that was stained white from bird shit.

JP was a tall, slim, athletic young man, dressed in a charcoal gray Brioni suit with an immaculate cut. For some, that suit was almost six months salary. For JP, it was what his club made in a single night.

JP adjusted his navy blue tie, slicked back his dark brown hair, and took his phone from his breast pocket and pressed a few buttons. “Security,” was all he said, and in seconds, two of his bouncers walked around back, at his beck and call.

“I can’t have this skunk stinking up my alley,” JP told them. “Get rid of him. Don’t hurt him too bad. Just enough to send a message to the other bums. Let them know that this alley is off limits.”

JP didn’t stick around to watch. He never did. He went back inside where his assistant, Gregory, was waiting for him in his office. Gregory was a meek, spineless shell of a man whose answer to every question was yes, unless JP wanted the answer to be no. That made him the perfect and most dependable assistant for JP. Never mind he was twelve years older than JP. He didn’t mind taking orders from a spoiled rich kid, so long as he got a taste of the spoils himself. “That Veronica chick is on line one. I can’t fucking get rid of her.”

“Did you try simply hanging up the phone?”

“She’s relentless. She wants your head on a spike.”

“Who doesn’t?” JP said, lighting a Cuban cigar. He puffed away and a thick, pungent smoke filled the air. “I’ll deal with her.” He picked up the phone. “Veronica, baby. Miss me much?”

“I went to the police,” Veronica said vehemently. “I filed a report. I already spoke to a lawyer.”

“Good, and he can speak with my attorney in the morning. Try as hard as you want, you’re never going to win. You don’t stand a chance against me.”

“You’re a monster,” she cried.

“A rich monster. And that entitles me to do just about anything I desire. Don’t you know who I am, you dumb little bitch? I’m JP fucking Taylor. I’m the man that other men can only dream of being. I have it all. I own more than half this town. I own the bars, I own the clubs, I own restaurants and music venues. And if you haven’t figured it out by now, I own the cops, too. But do feel free to drop by anytime you want. Your first drink is compliments of the house.”

“Rot in hell, you slimy piece of–”

JP didn’t give her a chance to finish that thought. He hung up the phone, finished his cigar, gelled his hair, fixed his tie, and headed back downstairs.

It was Tuesday night, and Phil, the bartender, knew what that meant. The owner would be on the prowl for that evening’s unlucky prey.

JP had it all. Money, good looks, clear healthy skin, a pearl white smile. And he had a routine, a plan. First, he would select that evening’s sexual conquest. He’d have Phil or whoever was working the bar that night send her a few free drinks, compliments of the owner. That would be JP’s cue to sidle up next to her and introduce himself. He was smooth and suave and the girls took to him like flies on shit. He had a white rose, one single rose, for every girl he approached. It was his signature, his calling card. And most of the girls fell right into his hands. His routine worked every time.

JP was well known and he had a reputation for being a womanizer and a heartbreaker. But that didn’t stop the girls from trying their hand with one of the youngest, richest bachelors in all of Spring Harbor.

JP helped himself to a few complimentary drinks of his own and scoured the dance floor. Nothing of interest there. But the girl at the bar caught his perverted eyes. She was short, slender, had jet-black hair, and eyes as green as a cats. He gave Phil the signal to give her a free drink. Then he slithered in beside her and offered up a white rose, along with a Cheshire grin, which let JP flash and flaunt his pearly whites.

“JP Taylor,” he introduced himself. “I own the place, but you own my heart.”

She laughed. “Does that cheesy pickup line really work?”

“Most of the time, yes, actually.”

“I guess I’m not most girls.”

“You can say that again,” JP said, still showing interest. “What brings you here? Don’t break my heart and tell me you’re waiting for a date.”

“No, I’m alone tonight. But I was hoping to meet someone…”

“Really, who?”

“You.”

“Oh, now you’re pulling my chain now.”

“No, I’m serious. I heard the owner was smart, handsome…rich.”

“That I am.”

“You know, I can hardly hear myself over this music. Let’s go outside.”

JP was all smiles. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

She led him to the alley where the vagrant had resided a few hours prior, twirling the white rose in her fingertips. She leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“You’re sweet,” she giggled, placing the rose in the palm of her hand. “I can see why the ladies fall for you. You’re handsome, you’re smooth, you know exactly what to say. But not everyone falls for your act.” She clenched her fist, rose petals squeezing out between her fingers.

He recoiled from a sudden burst of pain. “What the…what did you do to me? What did you do to my face?”

“I gave you a taste of your own medicine. All those girls you’ve used and abused. All those lives you’ve destroyed. All those hearts you’ve poisoned. Now I’ve poisoned you. Did you really think you were invincible? Did you think you could get away with things forever?”

“What are you?”

“Justice,” she whispered.

The spot where she kissed him felt swollen and irritated. He touched his face and winced. His skin stung when he grazed it. Bumps and blisters and boils began to emerge. He stumbled back inside, ran straight for the bathroom. He recoiled again at what he saw in the mirror.

“My face!” he wept. His features were grotesque, his face unrecognizable. For once, the monster in the mirror reflected the monster deep inside of him.

This mysterious infection, this curse, it spread across his face like a carnivorous cancer, until it all but enveloped his identity. When they found JP, he tried to alert them of his assailant, but by then, he couldn’t speak; his face was completely obscured, and his airways were blocked. And by then, his assailant was long gone. Like a goodnight kiss, her presence was fleeting but everlasting.

MISSING

Genre: Horror 

 

 

 

MISSING

By Randy Romero

 

 

 

It all started with Ms. Kinsey’s missing cat, Oscar.

Don’t ask me why, but she loved that cat. Oscar was a plump grey tabby, and I say plump from all the overfeeding on Ms. Kinsey’s part. She spoiled that cat rotten. Must’ve fed him three or four cans a day.

And don’t get me wrong, I love cats…all except Oscar. When he prowled around the neighborhood, people knew not to get too close. Oscar was known for leaving his autograph on people’s arms with his jagged claws that Ms. Kinsey rarely trimmed. He was so grumpy and miserable that we all nicknamed him Oscar the Grouch behind Ms. Kinsey’s back.

I, like many others, absolutely hated that cat. But I still felt bad for her when Oscar disappeared. That poor old lady flooded the town with flyers and missing posters, offering a reward for anyone who found and returned Oscar safely. She called all the shelters. She even tried to file a police report.

We thought it was an isolated incident. Dogs and cats run away; they go missing. It’s sad, but unfortunately it happens. But then Mr. Sheridan’s Corgi, Cooper, disappeared one afternoon. One minute the dog was in his front yard, and the next minute, he was gone.

But it didn’t stop there. There was Mrs. Freemont’s Maine Coon, Popcorn, that vanished without a trace. But the most unsettling incident was the case of Mr. and Mrs. Pickman’s missing German Shepard, aptly named Grizzly. That dog was one vicious beast. The Pickman’s couldn’t keep him in the house. Grizzly had a doghouse outside but he spent most of the days chained up in the backyard so he wouldn’t hop the fence and attack anybody. Mr. Pickman went outside to feed him one day and found Grizzly’s chain snapped in half. Cats and Corgi’s are one thing, but how does a dog that big disappear without a sound?

Was someone in the neighborhood abducting animals? Everyone had their own theories or suspicions. I had a theory of my own, but it was one I didn’t dare share with my parents.

My mom and dad couldn’t figure it out. But they were worried about Archie and so was I. Archie was a boxer that we had adopted from the local shelter. She’d been with us for five years and she seemed to prefer to sleep outside in her doghouse.

My parents were quieter than usual at dinner that night. And they decided that Archie would stay in that night. Archie didn’t seem too happy about it, scratching at the back door and howling away. But my dad wouldn’t budge.

“Ronnie, don’t you dare let her out,” my dad ordered me. I promised him I wouldn’t. And I was grateful that he called me Ronnie. It was my mother’s idea to name me Ronald, after my uncle on her side of the family. Most people called me Ronnie instead, which I preferred. Some kids at school called me Ronald McDonald, which I didn’t appreciate that much. But hey, I was fourteen and kids my age could be real dicks sometimes.

I took that moment alone to be candid with my father. “Dad, whatever this is…I don’t think it’s human.”

“Beg your pardon, Ronnie?”

“All these animals vanishing without a trace…there’s got to be a cause for it. And whatever’s behind this, I don’t think it’s like you or me. I think it’s…” I trailed off and let his mind fill in the blanks. I couldn’t bring myself to say something so ludicrous.

“Son, there’s no monsters out there. You want the truth? It’s probably some sicko going around kidnapping people’s pets for the reward money. Some people will do anything for money, Ronnie. And people would pay practically anything to get their pets back. I heard about two guys pulling a scam once years ago. They’d kidnap people’s dogs, wait for them to put up flyers offering a reward, then they’d show up at their front doors and say they found the dog, collect the reward money, and move onto the next sucker.”

My dad was probably right. And as sane and realistic as that sounded compared to the idea of a monster devouring animals in the neighborhood, I still wasn’t convinced.

Archie finally stopped scratching on the back door and settled down that night on the floor of my bedroom. We all settled in too and slept through the night until about four o’clock. We woke up to what felt like a massive earthquake. I was half asleep and my eyes were barely open, but the first thing I noticed was that Archie was missing.

I figured she got spooked by the earthquake and hid somewhere in the house. But when the ground settled, we searched high and low and couldn’t find her anywhere. But my mom was the first to notice that the door leading to the garage was open. My dad surmised that Archie must’ve escaped through the dog door he had installed in the garage a few months back. But where would she have gone?

Everyone in the neighborhood woke up that morning to discover that their pets were missing. And that’s not all they found. On the hood of Mr. Clark’s BMW, they found teeth marks. Embedded in the concrete, they found footprints, bigger than any humans.

My dad looked terrified just trying to imagine what could’ve left those footprints behind. Whatever it was, it was big enough to make the ground shake and cause an earthquake-like side effect. Everyone was at a loss, nobody had any explanations.

But there was still my theory. I believed that this creature, this thing, was slowly consuming pets around the neighborhood, growing with each animal it consumed. Until its hunger finally took control and it grew to monstrous proportions. I was just a kid, so what did I know. But you know what, I wasn’t too far off from the truth. Soon, people from the neighborhood started disappearing instead of animals.

That’s how it all started. How it ended was a very different story.