Dirty Rotten Hippies and Other Stories Read online

  Paul was already running away by the time the driver got out of the bus to check on the dead man. Two days later local news outlets revealed that he was the notorious Nightside Slasher, who’d been intermittently taking victims in east Nashville for several years. This briefly imbued Paul with a glow of civic pride. He’d rid the world of a deadly menace. He was kind of a hero.

  There was just one problem—the exhilaration he’d felt in the aftermath of killing the masked man.

  It’d been fun. He’d never felt more alive. The ennui that had gripped him vanished immediately. After that night, Paul took many more late-night walks and soon the city had a new villain to fear.

  The media called him The Pusher.

  DATE NIGHT

  HER NAME WAS CLAUDIA AND she was the coolest girl Derek Peterson had met in a long time. Tonight was their first official date and he was nervous as hell as he stood on the sidewalk outside the theater waiting for her.

  They’d met at a science fiction convention in Oregon two weeks ago, clicking instantly over drinks at an after-hours room party, each of them decked out in cosplay gear. He was dressed like Captain Mal from Firefly, she like Chiana, the blue-skinned alien chick from Farscape. Thereafter there had been many extensive getting-to-know-each-other phone conversations and now they were about to start the dating game and see where it went.

  Derek liked Claudia a lot. Like always with anyone new, he was afraid of coming across as too much of a dork and blowing it somehow. Right now, though, his nervousness was more about the time rather than any concern over making a bad first date impression.

  The movie was set to start in ten minutes and there was no sign of Claudia. The 9:00 PM screening of the latest Avengers movie would be well-attended, but Derek wasn’t worried about it selling out, having purchased tickets in advance online. At this point, their planned 8:30 meetup time was more than twenty minutes in the rearview mirror. This felt like an apt analogy, because the paranoid part of him felt a bit like Claudia was already slipping away from him. He feared he was on the brink of being stood up. They’d last talked less than an hour ago, but it was feeling like a lot longer than that. He was suddenly sure she’d gotten cold feet and had opted to simply not show up rather than bother with the stress and potential drama of an explanatory phone call.

  For about the hundredth time that night, he looked at his phone, hoping to see a text from Claudia on the screen. There were no new messages. Seeing the background image of Claudia in her con costume caused a twinge of heartache. He considered calling her, but had a hunch she wouldn’t answer. If she was standing him up, why would she? Besides, if some legitimate explanation for her extreme lateness existed, she could easily have called him herself to set his mind at ease. That she hadn’t done so spoke volumes as far as Derek was concerned.

  Just as he was on the verge of giving up and heading out to his car, he spied a yellow cab pulling into the farthest entrance to the large theater parking lot. The taxi zoomed up the side of the lot fast, swung around as it reached the wide-open space between the front row of cars and the multiplex, and soon screeched to a halt at the curb right in front of Derek.

  He saw dark figures moving around inside the cab, dimly visible through the tinted windows. It looked like a single passenger in the middle row of seats was leaning forward, proffering payment to the driver. Derek’s heart felt frozen in his chest as he waited for the door to open and reveal the identity of the passenger. He hoped desperately it would be Claudia, but he was prepared for disappointment.

  But that didn’t happen.

  The door slid open and Claudia emerged from the taxi’s interior, taking Derek by surprise as she launched herself at him and threw her arms around him. He stood there for a long moment with his arms hanging awkwardly at his sides as she uttered the same words of frantic apology over and over: “I’m so, so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

  Derek watched over her shoulder as the taxi’s door slid automatically shut. As the yellow cab drove away, he let out a breath and lifted his arms to embrace her in a tentative way.

  “It’s okay,” he said, whispering the words.

  It was okay, he realized.

  Right now he didn’t care much about explanations. She was here. She hadn’t ditched him in the cold and callous way he’d imagined. Her warm, shapely body was pressed against him. He felt her warm breath on his neck. It was nice and it made everything else irrelevant.

  At last, after what felt like at least a couple full minutes, she eased out of the embrace and told him what happened. “My fucking car broke down. And on top of that, my fucking phone died. Can you believe that shit? How much bad luck can one girl have in one fucking night?” She dug her Android phone out of her purse to show him its blank screen. “See?”

  Derek nodded.

  He didn’t really need the visual evidence, but it was clear she felt compelled to provide it. She felt bad about having left him hanging so long without explanation, which in turn made him feel shitty for doubting her.

  She shoved the phone back down inside her purse with evident disdain and resumed her story. “So I left my car where it was and started walking. I was in kind of a sketchy area and started getting desperate. Then that cab came along and fucking rescued me. I stepped into the middle of the street to flag it down. I’m sure I looked like some kind of psycho.”

  Derek chuckled. “Well, that’s too bad. Sucks about your car. I’m glad you got here without too much trouble, though. Want to use my phone to call AAA or something?”

  She gave a single adamant shake of her head. “I’ll worry about it tomorrow. We’ve got a movie to watch. You can just drop me off at my place after, if that’s okay.”

  Derek smiled.

  In what fucked-up, bizarro universe would that not be okay?

  “Yeah, no problem,” he said, taking her by the hand. “Let’s get inside.”

  Once they were inside the huge lobby of the vast 24-auditorium multiplex, Derek was able to take a moment to appreciate Claudia’s appearance. She’d texted him an array of pictures since the con, but this was the first time he was seeing her in person without the blue body paint covering every inch of her flesh. She was absolutely stunning. She had a fit yet exquisitely feminine, busty build. Large breasts strained the fabric of a top that was a dark shade of scarlet. She wore a stylish black leather jacket over this. Tight black jeans and pumps rounded out the ensemble. He was already fantasizing about tearing the outfit off her later in the evening, in the event she invited him into her place.

  It was 9:01 as they entered the lobby. Showtime, technically, was at hand. Knowing, however, that trailers and commercials would be playing for at least ten more minutes, they decided they had time for the concessions stand, where they bought large sodas and popcorns.

  A short while later, they were inside the auditorium showing their movie. As Derek had suspected, the theater was pretty packed, but they found two adjacent empty seats in a side row near the back. Claudia removed her leather jacket prior to settling into her seat.

  Derek spied the white bandage wrapped around her left wrist as he sat down next to her. He glanced at her, arching an eyebrow. “What happened there?”

  She dug some popcorn out of the bag in her lap and stared at the screen, where a trailer for a forthcoming horror movie called The Late Night Horror Show was playing. An old Bile Lords song blared from the theater’s speakers, accentuating the wild action on the screen.

  She shrugged. “It’s nothing. Just a boo-boo.”

  The bandage was largish for something described as a “boo-boo”. It also looked worn and a bit dirty. Derek had the impression it’d been in place for at least a few days. She’d likely showered with it on, accounting for its degraded appearance. Derek opted against inquiring further. She seemed uninterested in talking about whatever had happened, and he had no interest in pushing her for additional info. They were here to watch a movie and have fun, not discuss minor flesh wounds.

  The movie
started.

  Ten or so minutes in, Claudia set her bag of popcorn on the floor and leaned into him for a kiss. He turned his head in her direction and let her press her lips against his. She surprised him when she pushed her tongue between his lips and cupped his crotch with a soft hand and squeezed. This was no sparsely attended screening of a movie that had been out for a while. The movie was brand new and nearly every surrounding seat was filled. It seemed a bit bold to initiate a groping session in the midst of such a setting. But maybe that turned her on. Maybe she was an exhibitionist.

  Fuck it, Derek thought. If she’s cool with it, so am I.

  His left hand went to one of her breasts and squeezed. She whimpered into his mouth and squeezed his crotch harder. Her tongue pushed into his mouth again, probing more insistently than before. He kept groping her breasts as his burgeoning erection strained the front of his jeans in a way that was painful and pleasurable at the same time. Claudia started moaning in a blatantly sexual way after several minutes of this.

  And she wasn’t quiet about it.

  A deep male voice from the row behind them piped up: “If you two don’t knock it off, I’m complaining to the manager.”

  Claudia heaved a breath as she broke the lip-lock with Derek. She turned her head in the direction of the complainer and snarled at him, her face twisting in a way that was at once sexy and frightening. There was a hint of something feral and animalistic in the strained set of her features. And her voice was significantly huskier than before when she said, “Fuck off.”

  Derek didn’t mind going with the flow when the girl he was flowing with was as sexy as Claudia, generally speaking, but there was a limit to how many lines he could cross. He wasn’t a rude person and didn’t want to cause a scene. Words of apology sprang to his lips, but before he could utter them, something caught his eye and made him frown.

  The white bandage around Claudia’s wrist was soaked red. A thin line of blood slid to the heel of her hand and dripped to the floor. The so-called “boo-boo” was evidently a wound of much greater significance. He started to say something about it, but Claudia gripped him by the throat and pulled him close. Her hand was tight on his throat, effectively suppressing any further protest as she again pushed her tongue into his mouth.

  Blood from the wrist wound pattered on his lap in a thickening stream. Even more alarming, he noted a distinct difference in her teeth as they nipped at his mouth. They were longer now.

  And sharper.

  One of the nips pierced his bottom lip and drew blood.

  Derek whimpered.

  What in the name of holy fucking shit is happening?

  The deep voice from the next row back piped up again. “That’s it. I’m going to the manager.”

  There was a squeak of springs as the large man rose from his seat.

  Claudia again broke the clench and snarled at the complainer. “Sit down and watch, fat man, or I’ll tear your head off.”

  Her voice was even huskier now, barely sounding feminine at all. And her skin tone was darker. Her hair looked fuller and thicker. Longer, too. Also, her eyes were brown now. They’d been blue moments ago, as in all her pictures.

  The fat man snorted. “Fuck yourself, whore. I’m getting you and your ugly boyfriend kicked out of here.”

  He moved to the end of his row and took the first step down.

  Before he could get any farther, Claudia sprang out of her seat, leaping over Derek and the couple seated to his left as she intercepted the fat man, who shrieked in alarm, a surprisingly girlish sound that rang out with crystalline clarity in the theater, overwhelming the sounds emanating from the theater’s speakers. By then the auditorium was a riot of hushing sounds and irritated voices. The near-capacity crowd wanted quiet for the movie. Within just a few more seconds, though, Derek was sure these people would cease caring about the movie.

  Claudia’s clothes were bursting at the seams. Hair sprouted from nearly every previously bare patch of flesh. Her hands got bigger, the painted nails lengthening into thick, sharp talons. The fat man’s face was a frozen mask of terror as Claudia fulfilled her promise of a few moments ago. She ripped his head off at the shoulders and hurled it away from her with all her might. The severed head hit the movie screen dead-center with an emphatic splat.

  Screams erupted all around.

  Blood fountained from the fat man’s ragged neck stump.

  The house lights came up as people began rushing for the exits. Acting on instinct, Derek hurried to join them, but Claudia restrained him with a hand clamped firmly around his throat. She held him in place as she tore out the dead man’s stomach with her new snout and devoured a length of pink intestine.

  Derek gagged.

  Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck fuck.

  Claudia tossed the corpse away and looked at Derek.

  “You’re mine,” she said, her voice barely sounding human now. “You’re not going anywhere. We’ll be together forever.”

  Claudia raked a talon across his neck, drawing blood without severing any major arteries. Then she picked him up as easily as one might a light bag of laundry and heaved him over one of her very broad shoulders. His head bobbed as she sprinted down the steps toward the nearest exit. A crowd was gathered there, people desperately trying to push their way out. More screams erupted as Claudia tore into them, pulling off limbs as she pushed fresh victims aside and made her way to the exit.

  Moments later, they were outside and running across the parking lot. As Claudia ran off into the night, Derek caught a glimpse of the full moon hanging in the sky overhead and understood.

  The bandage.

  The “boo-boo”.

  A werewolf had bitten Claudia and now she was one, too. He felt the hot throb at his throat where she’d scratched him.

  He wondered how much that first transformation process would hurt.

  THE IMPLANT

  AWARENESS OF SOMETHING WRONG DAWNED slowly for John Stark that morning. He awoke with what felt like an ordinary stiff neck, the kind that occasionally resulted from sleeping with his head turned at a bad angle. That he awoke lying flat on his back as his eyes fluttered open didn’t matter. He’d been having some restless nights lately and might have shifted sleeping positions any number of times between bedtime and sunrise.

  He was groggy at first and felt little motivation to do anything about the discomfort he was feeling as his consciousness continued its slow, lethargic return from dreamland. When his head was a little clearer, he would raise himself up a bit, maybe double-fold the top pillow for added cushioning, and wedge it carefully against the sore area. Then a bit later he’d get up and take some Tylenol. That should take care of things.

  In those first moments, though, he was content to simply lie there as he attempted to hold on to fragments of the sex dream he’d been having prior to waking. In the dream, he’d been kidnapped by a gang of beautiful and glamorous female criminals. The babes lived a double life, working as fashion models during the day and committing elaborate heists at night. They took him to their mansion and forced him to be their sex slave. He felt like it’d been probably the most amazing dream of all time, but it was already breaking apart, the few remembered fragments growing fuzzier with each passing moment. Soon, he suspected, he wouldn’t remember it at all.

  Bummer.

  In a few more moments, his eyes opened wider as the grogginess continued to clear. He remembered the basic premise of the amazing dream, but little beyond that, just one or two fleeting images. With the return to full consciousness almost complete, he rose up some, double-folded the pillow beneath his head, and tried to get comfortable.

  It was then he began to realize he was dealing with something more than an ordinary stiff neck. Shifting position did nothing to alleviate the ache. Instead, it heightened awareness of the hard center of discomfort. He tried twisting his neck to see if this was some kind of kink that could be worked out, but all this resulted in was a sharp jab of pain he felt all the w
ay down to his toes.

  Frowning, he lifted up his head and slipped a hand beneath his neck to probe gingerly at the knot of discomfort. His breath caught in his throat and his heart did a little stutter as his fingertips skidded over the hard, round lump protruding from the flesh just beneath the base of his skull.

  John sat bolt upright and probed at the object with a little less delicacy. This resulted in additional jabs of pain, but he couldn’t help himself. There was something sticking out of his neck that didn’t belong there, an alarming development to say the least. Any pain he was feeling from the stings that resulted from each poke of the object was overridden by other concerns, primary among them being a single basic question—what the fuck is this fucking thing sticking out of my fucking neck!?

  It did not feel like a natural object.

  This impression was a good thing in the sense that, if accurate, it ruled out the sudden protrusion of a long-developing malignant tumor. The measure of relief this insight afforded him was not insignificant, but it was swept aside by the lingering mystery of what the clearly foreign object embedded in his neck actually was.

  He was able to discern the basic shape of the thing with a bit more gentle probing. It was an almost perfectly round knob and felt like it was about half the size of his thumb. He tried pulling at it slightly, but this resulted in a jolt of pain sharper than any of the previous jabs.

  He was breathing heavily and his heart was beating faster as he tossed aside the blanket covering his body, got out of bed, and hurried out to the bathroom down the hall. The bathroom door had a tendency to stick in the frame. After shouldering it open, he traipsed across the small space on legs turning more rubbery by the moment. He stopped at the sink and peered at his reflection in the mirror above it.

  John knew what he had to do.