Big Bad Wolf

Jeannie ran, breath rasping in her lungs. The twisted man-beast's claws clattered on the asphalt behind her. She imagined she could smell the rancid blood on its breath.

Ahead of her, a door opened in one of the brownstones. "No, Gramma!" Jeannie shouted. "Don't come out!"

Gramma clucked her tongue and stood aside. Jeannie, too desperate to argue, fled inside. "Close the door!"

There was a thud, then a gurgling sigh. Jeannie spun to see Gramma calmly wiping a wide-bladed serving knife clean on her housecoat. "The family silver, dear," Gramma said. "As I recall, your sister always admired it."

Red Spots on White Snow

Your fire is bright, child of apes, and so here I sit, in the dark, in the trees. I let my eyes flash, so! But I do not appear. You may waste your bullets on my shadow if you wish.

Yes, I know of bullets, and all your monkey tricks.

Perhaps I am not always as I am now. Perhaps I have other shapes, when it suits me. Perhaps you dined with me yesterday, shared a pint, all unaware.

I know secrets common dogs do not. I know fire. I know lies.

I know patience.

Your fire burns low, ape.

Monthly Routine

Larry woke in the bathtub. He’d trained himself that well, at least, even if he’d forgotten his pants last night. He turned the water on without standing. One more night at full, he told himself, scrubbing the dirt and blood away under too-hot spray.

When Larry opened his mouth to gargle, he felt something hard pinched between his cheek and gum. He coughed and spat it into his hand: a dog tag. “Rusty”

“Shit,” said Larry. The Basinger’s new puppy. Must’ve picked a fight with the big dog. Do I say something?

He wondered if vampires ever nicked themselves shaving.