In Shambles

I had two short stories published last week, and the second one happens to be in an anthology with Kevin J. Anderson (yay!). Over the weekend, Harren Press published an anthology called In Shambles, a collection of horror stories by some awesomely talented writers (a few I've already shared TOCs with in the past: Roy C. Booth, Kerry G.S. Lipp). Not only does it contain my western horror, "Lone, Night Traveler," it also has an original Dan Shambles short. I'm very excited to be included in this--Kevin J. Anderson is one of my favorite authors.

Here's a link to the ebook: http://amzn.to/1uhkIYG
Paperback coming soon!

Fictionvale

Fictionvale Magazine just published a short story of mine, "It Happens to a Lot of Zombies." There are currently 5 issues, or episodes, and all have great stories by awesome and talented writers. A great mix of fiction, so check out Fictionvale!

Episode Five: Of Magic and Mayhem is here! | Fictionvale

A Merciless God

A Merciless God

by Michael Shimek

The soil was stained with blood. The villages were nothing but ruins. There was no human left alive on the islet—there never was.

Pieter surveyed the land. Like every other massacre he had come upon, like the one of his own village, this one showed no mercy. Buzzing insects enjoying a mighty feast filled the air with an incessant drone. The stench was strong, causing him to cover his mouth and nose with a cloth. It was a sad scene, one of pain and torment. Evidence painted a bleak picture into the last few days of the island's inhabitants, and as the pieces fell together, one could only imagine what went through the monster's mind during his rampage…

#

The cramped, wooden boat rocked with the mighty ocean. The cruel mistress of the night unleashed her fury against the seas. Waves lapped against the sides, dousing an already drenched Edmund—he had a last name, but with the many identities he adorned, the real one was a long forgotten past. Hours of determined rowing eventually proved fruitful when a small, black hump rose like a pebble in the distance. That pebble grew into a rock, that rock grew into a boulder, and that boulder grew into towering, sheer cliffs that jutted from the frothy currents.

The sweet aroma of the island’s inhabitants filled Edmund’s seeking nostrils, and he smiled in delight.

Whispered between the mouths and ears of drunken fishermen, gossip about an island of savages from which no one had ever returned perked Edmund’s interest. His wandering travels had brought him far east, where the modern, European world was a far away future; it was a place he could kill without the worry of advanced Western influences hunting him down—or that pesky human he had run into a handful of times over the past decade. Many languages had passed his ears, but only a northern Vietnamese dialect had talked of such an island. It was a gamble, searching for something that might not even exist, but the prospect of such a treasure could not be turned down; with the bored state of his life, he needed something new, something fresh and exciting to fill his hungry void.

The gamble paid off.

Edmund kept his distance from the dangerous cliffs and directed his boat around the island. A beach came into view as dawn threatened to change the night sky. The rowing fastened until he was only a short distance from the sandy shore. A flash of strength from his fist punched a hole in the boat, and he let it sink as he swam the rest of the way; he wanted his arrival to come as a surprise. He made it to land, darted into the jungle, and dug furiously with his claws at the ground. The sun peeked above the horizon as the last of the dirt covered his body.

Tomorrow night he would begin his fun. Tomorrow night he would feed.

#

The island wasn’t overly large, which would take a normal man roughly two to three days to traverse around. It was lush with jungle life, high mountains peeked into the clouds, one river branched into several, and the beaches provided ample fishing for everyone. A pleasant surprise revealed two different tribes claiming ownership to the island. The Yuon, distinguished by their long and flowing black hair, took up the territory on the west and south, where the land and jungle rose high into rocky slopes. The Yeu, a smaller group with hair no longer than their ears, took up the east and north, taking hold of most of the river. It was apparent on the first night that the tribes shared the island in a separated tension.

With guards stationed and patrolling an invisible border between the tribes, Edmund kept to the shadows until the time was right. He came across an area where one tribesman from the Yuon and two from the Yeu had come a little too close. Each tribe hurled pride and insults in a language that wasn’t too hard to translate—it was mostly Vietnamese, but with elements of Chinese and a language he had never heard before mixed in. A skirmish broke out. Three spears flew through the air. Only one man was left standing, a young man from the Yeu tribe.

Edmund made his move. He slipped like a stealthy snake through the trees. The guard never had a chance. Within several seconds, the man’s throat was ripped open and the sweet taste of blood flowed down Edmund’s gullet. Energy and vitality rushed through his body as the life force drained from the tribesman. After he was dead, the body was tossed next to the others, and Edmund bellowed a roar that would be heard by every ear on the island.

Instead of staying for more food, he fled. The scene would draw a mob from both sides, and people in numbers could be dangerous to a vampire, not matter how strong he or she was. He did not want to be known, not yet; although, he was sure the bite marks and lack of blood in the one victim would attract some eyes. Everyone would know of the island’s new visitor soon enough.

#

For the next several nights, Edmund continued with his plan of staying hidden and picking off people to fulfill his thirst. It wasn’t until rumors spread between both tribes of an evil spirit plaguing the island that he decided to show himself.

First, he came to the Yeu as a god. A village of no more than a hundred people, many were camped out and praying to their own gods around large fires when he soared in from the trees—a neat trick of floating with the wind many of his kind used to instill fear into their victims. Gasps and screams erupted as he landed in front of them all, a giant and terrifying presence of utmost evil. He spoke:

“It is I, the one who has invaded your island and slain your men! Bow down and tremble before me! Worship me and make me your god!”

A man stood up in the back and charged with a spear in hand. He dove at Edmund, who blocked the weapon and snapped the man’s neck with ease. Two more men stood up, each held two spears as they yelled and charged. Edmund stared at the two and tranced them into submission. They stopped in mid charge, and with his mind, Edmund made one of the warriors spear the other through the gut and then through the chest. The one remaining had his heart ripped from his body in under a second, Edmund biting into the chunk of meat before his audience.

The Yeu tribe was his as they screamed for his mercy. He gave them none. He asked for three sacrifices on his next arrival the following night. On his way out, he beheaded the leader of the tribe with a single swipe of his deadly claws.

The Yuon tribe, a population of roughly two hundred, was a little harder to convince of his superiority. Upon his descending arrival, six men attacked Edmund. Spears were thrown, arrows were launched, and all warriors came at him with rage in their eyes. Within the span of a few seconds, he decapitated two, severed the limbs of one, tore the hearts out of two more, and then fed on the last in a fountain of blood. When all was quiet from fear, he spoke:

"How dare you attack your new god! I command a sacrifice immediately or this village will cease to exist!"

People hustled and bustled before a young girl was shoved to the front of the crowd. Edmund was pleased and drained the girl of her life, her crying ceasing forever. This tribe had a queen as its leader. He ravished her and took her as his, a slave for the god that now ruled them all. He ordered five more sacrifices the following night, or all would be destroyed.

With both tribes in the power of his hands, Edmund fled to one of his sanctuaries—it was important to have more than one refuge away from the daylight just in case. The people would stew in their newfound terror while he slept through another day.

#

The Yuon and Yeu were on the brink of war. After learning about their new god, each tribe blamed the other for the evil demon. Only one day had passed since Edmund proclaimed his supreme power and several little battles had already popped up among the villages. No one had perished, but several had been wounded.

Edmund was pleased with how events were stitching together. Through confusion and fear, chaos had erupted, and that was when people acted their worst.

The Yeu had obeyed his commands and supplied three sacrifices in an extravagant ceremony in honor and worship of their new god. People with painted bodies moved around large fires, dancing and chanting to the beat of the drums. A feast compiled with all of their finest delectables was spread around an altar. In the middle of that altar were three women bound and gagged, but dressed and painted in a lavish manner.

Edmund reveled in the party. Each woman bled throughout the few hours, and each time cheers erupted from the crowd. They had accepted him as their god.

The Yuon were a little less acceptant of the situation. They supplied their sacrifices, but it was no celebration. Five of their bravest warriors stood in front of their village, standing proud to be chosen for such an honor. Edmund could smell poison coursing through the veins of two of the men. He spat in their faces before ripping out all five throats in a single swipe. The two closest women were torn to shreds and fed upon while the others cowered. He found the newly elected leader, tore off his genitals, violently ripped off his arms and legs, and then strung him up from a tree to wail in misery as the tribe watched.

"This is what happens when you disobey your god! Defy me one more time and I will slaughter you all in a single night! I demand five more sacrifices, or the Yeu will rule this isle alone!"

By the next night, the Yuon had supplied five young women, only girls really. Edmund savored their blood and welcomed the tribe as his.

The entire island was under his control. He was their god, and he would enjoy the power until boredom set in.

#

Several weeks elapsed while Edmund played with his food. He was having fun, but he would have to hurry with his fun; Pieter—his personal predator—would be coming around soon, and he didn't want that mortal ruining his entertainment.

With both tribes worshiping him, but still in conflict with each other, the god used this to his advantage and started a war. He commanded the Yuon and the Yeu to carry out his bidding.

"Fight in my honor! Destroy the other tribe, and claim the island as your own!"

The strongest and bravest men fought to the death in a battle that was worthy in any history book. Through the thick jungle, to the sandy beaches, blood stained the ground. Some were killed, and some were injured; Edmund finished off the injured. In the end, a total of twenty-three lives were lost. Both sides were praised for their undeniable devotion, and Edmund rewarded them with only having to offer one sacrifice. As long as they obeyed him, he promised to be a just god.

He was not one to keep to his word.

The battles and sacrifices continued. Edmund grew insane with power. Soon, the population of roughly three hundred hovered around eighty. Only fifty Yuon were left compared to the thirty Yeu. It was during this low number that the god finally found problems with his livestock.

#

After fleeing to one of his shelters while drunk on his feastings, Edmund found his small cave ransacked and demolished. A vivid vision of his time in England a few years back came to mind, when that troublesome man had found his abode, searched through his belongings, and then tried to bring him to sunlight a week later. The cave well hidden and deep, and his sleeping quarters would have only been found if someone had been searching for it, like now. His people had violated his rule. Finding a vampire's lair was a danger; it meant they were looking for him, and it meant they doubted his divine power.

He would show them what it meant to defy a god. He would show them the true meaning of fear.

He quickly made heed for a different shelter and took protection from the sun. The sound of footsteps stomping above Edmund's resting area woke him the next night. The ground muffled their words, but he could hear them clear enough: they were working together, and they were searching for him.

The god showed no compassion as he exploded from the ground. The ten men were caught off guard. Edmund incapacitated them and then slowly administered his punishment. Their deaths lasted hours, their screams echoing throughout the jungle. When Edmund approached each tribe, the villagers hid in their huts. They knew they had done wrong. They knew they had unleashed his wrath. There was nothing they could do, though; they could hide all they wanted, Edmund knew they could never escape.

As much as he wanted his reign to continue, Edmund's time on the island was up. The paradise was over. Pieter would be close now. He could wait for the angered soul and finish him off once and for last, but he liked toying with the living. He would see how long the man could last.

He began his rampage by feeding on the young. The men and women could do nothing as they watched their sons and daughters perish under Edmund's sharp teeth. For the last several nights of his killing spree, he hid in a cave on one of the cliffs facing the ocean; it was a place inaccessible to any normal human. He made his remaining time last as long as possible, upset that his stint on the island was coming to an end. Twenty people were saved as a going away present for his last hurrah. He hunted them down like animals, teasing and playing with them while they ran for their lives.

The last heartbeat he sniffed down was a woman from the Yeu tribe crying in her hut. Her blood was delicious, but he didn't empty her veins. Edmund left just enough to keep her alive, to turn her into the same monster as him—a little gift for the hunter. Before she could wake up to her new form, he found a boat and left the island for good.

Edmund's time on the island had been fun. He was old, and many memories were merely unimportant or too banal to take up space in his thoughts. He would remember the island, though. He had ruled as a god before, but never had he had so much fun while doing so.

He rowed away toward the mainland. His sights were set on his next destination, and his devious mind led the way.

#

The woman screamed an animalistic rage and charged. Pieter was ready—it wasn't the first time Edmund had left a surprise. With no other human on the island to offer as food, she had been weakened and put up little fight. With a flash of his sword, the woman's head and torso were detached, and the threat was no more.

For the briefest of moments, a locked away memory of his loving wife bobbed to the surface before he plunged it back down into the icy depths of his mind.

The man sighed and re-sheathed his weapon. He was too late. He was always too late. He was too late for these villagers, he had been too late for his own village, and he had been too late for his wife and unborn child. The monster was a cunning demon and only just beyond grasp. Pieter had been close a few times in the past, but if he wanted vengeance, he would have to try something new.

Leaving the island and its dead behind, Pieter rowed his boat back toward the mainland. Determination stained his weary and worn face. One way or the other, he would exact his revenge.

END

Two Contributor Copies

I received two contributor copies this month. I am very proud to be in both of these anthologies.

Fossil Lake: An Anthology of the Aberrant is a collection of short stories with a dark bent. My story, "Eat Yourself," looks at a future where a trendy restaurant uses advanced genetics to supply a very unique dish to its A-list customers. Great stories and authors in here.

A Chimerical World: Tales of the Unseelie Court is a collection of short stories about the Fae. Not all faeries are good; some are downright evil. My story, "Gifts," combines the workings of a mystery, a faerie, and the behavior of some cats (like my own, March). I haven't read all of the stories, but from what I have read, I will love the rest.

How to Wake a Sleeping Giant

How to Wake a Sleeping Giant

by Michael Shimek

To those concerned about giants,

By no means am I a giant expert; I am merely the best at what I do. The following will help those brave enough to confront the gentle, mountainous creatures.

DISCLAIMER: There are many ways to wake a sleeping giant. This might not be the safest, but it is the fastest.

How to Wake a Sleeping Giant

Step 1: First, you need to find a giant—a task much harder than you would think. Because giants are considered a rarity, finding one can sometimes be difficult. Look for the signs. Is a loud, rumbling sound waking you and disturbing the wildlife? Are there new creeks and streams made of mucky, yucky, gooey water? Then you have a sleeping giant nearby, and most likely a drooling one (which they so often do). Track down the snoring, and follow the new waterways to find the source of your titan. For some reason, as large as they are, giants are considerably hard to see unless one is towering directly over you. Once you do find the giant, good; the hardest part is already done.

Step 2: Walk around the giant until you come across Giganticus lotus. The vibrant, white flower, almost said to be glowing, will pop up anywhere the giant touches. Nonexistent in our realm, the otherworldly herb acts as a powerful stimulant to arouse any dozing colossus. Look everywhere! They will grow on anything and everything, but only a single flower will sprout. If you cannot find the flower, wait 10-15 minutes—your giant is freshly asleep, and the mystical plant needs time to grow and blossom. Pluck the flower from whatever surface you find it on, and then crush and grind the white petals with a pinch of sugar (giants are known for their sweet tooth).

Step 3: After locating the magical behemoth and its flowering counterpart, climb aboard with your awakening powder. Usually, a giant will find rest against trees, rocks and boulders, or even sometimes a house. If you find yours in the middle of a field with nothing around, do not fret; the soft and mushy skin of a giant is very pliable and can be fashioned into steps or footholds to climb. Take hold somewhere near the head, if possible, for that is your destination.

CAUTION: Although a sleeping giant is hard to wake, they still move and shuffle about like a normal, sleeping human. Be careful! A moving hand could easily squash an unprepared person.

Step 4: Find the mouth, but make sure to keep a safe distance. Giants do not enjoy the taste of people, but accidentally falling in would still make a satisfying snack. Toss in the powder, and wait for the magic to take its effect—it will take about 15-20 seconds for any reaction. If the mouth is closed, throwing the powder up a giant's nose will suffice, but a sneezing fit might ensue (watch out for raining mucus!).

Step 5: Run! Sleeping giants are well known for their grouchy attitude after waking, flailing about like a person in need of some morning coffee. When within a safe distance, sing the tune:

Oh, Giant, do not worry.

You have only woken from a little sleep.

It was my doing, I am sorry.

You'll be back home in just a peep!

All giants (with their easily distracted minds) will automatically calm and become jolly at the sound of the song. Wave a friendly greeting, and if lucky, the giant will wave back and disappear to the mysterious realm from which they hail. If the giant doesn't immediately vanish, it means they are in a playful mood and wish to have some fun—playing with a giant could go on for hours, so be prepared.

Congratulations! You have successfully completed the process of How to Wake a Sleeping a Giant. It may take a few times to perfect the method, but in no time you will be proficient enough to wake any resting, dozing, napping, or snoozing giant.

Best of luck,

Walter, The Pixie Elf

END

Long, Beautiful Hair

Long, Beautiful Hair

by Michael Shimek

It started with a single hair.

Well, actually, Ashley Valley’s problems started before she noticed the ten-inch long hair that grew out of her, but she would never know the true moment of when her fate had first been sealed—that moment was, in fact, two days before she noticed the hair.

She looked at the spindly piece of hair under the bright light of the bathroom. Matted to her skin from the shower she had just taken, it extended from elbow to wrist on her right arm: a blonde snake among the jungle of beads of water. It was ugly and had no right to exist. Ashley wrapped the hair around her index finger, and using the forefinger and her thumb as a pair of tweezers, she pinched the hair between the two digits and plucked it from her body. Quickly, but painfully, it snapped free.

“Ouch!” she said, rubbing the affected area. She cursed the hair as she threw it into the trash.

A rogue hair that had grown that long under the radar was not acceptable, especially not in her profession. Imagine what would have happened if another model had found it first. Her career would have been over. Finished. Caput. She couldn’t live through an embarrassment like that, not in a world as fickle and superficial as the fashion world. It was also odd for Ashley to not notice something like that; her gorgeous physical features were the most important thing in her life.

At six feet and two inches, Ashley was a leggy bombshell. Her golden locks brushed down to the middle of her slender back. Her skin was a smooth, milky white. With the face of a goddess and curves in all of the right places, she was the perfect specimen for a fashion designer to dress at will.

Of course, if she couldn’t keep her body trim and neat, her looks would never be able to support her modeling career.

She spent an extra hour that morning getting ready for her day at the photo shoot. When she was done tidying up, she left home satisfied with her features. The rest of the day would have been a piece of cake, but there were always people jealous of Ashley’s good looks.

Her second troubles sprang up later that day when she brushed by her foe for the week—it seemed like every job she worked at, someone always resented her beauty. This one, Lucy, a short, lumpy, and bald Mexican woman with a bad wig, had almost spilled coffee all over Ashley the first day of the shoot. Granted, only the tiniest drop had splashed onto her skin, but the thought of having that hot liquid spill all over her was enough to cause her to fret. After cursing and going off on the woman, she ended the tirade with a quip about the woman’s crooked wig. The woman—obviously an assistant to someone around the studio—stuttered something under her breath and scurried away from Ashley. She hadn’t seen the assistant for a full two days, probably hiding out after such a lashing, until now.

“Watch it, troll,” she said to the woman who almost tripped her, making sure the other models around heard her remark. With her wardrobe and makeup in perfect order, Ashley didn’t want to go through the tedious process of putting everything back into place.

The woman kept her head down and ignored them, walking past as if nothing happened.

“Some people have no respect,” Bailey, one of the other models, said.

“I know,” Ashley said. “It’s like, if you’re not going to be nice to the better looking, the least you could do is put on a little makeup. And she still hasn’t fixed her wig!”

The group of models laughed and continued to the photo shoot.

Ashley tried to shrug the two incidents off, but she couldn’t. For the rest of the day she felt uneasy, unclean. She constantly rubbed the spot on her arm where the hair had sprung forth. After turning red from all of the attention, a makeup artist was forced to apply some camouflage to hide the area. By the time she arrived back home, the goop had crusted off from her constant scratching and rubbing. She put a bandage on it, dolled herself up for an evening out with the girls, and attempted to have a night of fun.

#

Ashley gaped in horror at her arms and legs. She brushed her hair from her face, hoping she was just seeing things. When the ten-inch hairs spurting from various spots on her body did not disappear, she screamed, leapt from her bed, and ran to the bathroom. She almost fainted when she turned on the light.

Long, blonde lines streaked across her limbs. Shaking as she undressed from her t-shirt and Victoria’s Secret panties, she saw more of the same over the rest of her body. And when she looked in the mirror, she could see the hairs sprouting from her face and back. It looked like she was leaking from tiny, pinprick-sized holes.

“Oh, no-no-no-no-no," she said in hysterics.

One by one, she plucked each hair from her skin. She counted six on her left leg, eight on her right leg, four on her left arm, six on her right arm, ten on her stomach and chest, and three on her face. The five on her back were the hardest to reach, but through bending and stretching she managed to extract each hair. When she was done, she threw the forty-two hairs into the toilet. The twisted and tangled clump of hair flushed down the drain and out of her life forever.

But that wasn’t enough. She felt tainted and unhygienic. She had to make sure there wasn’t a single rogue hair left.

Turning on the shower to near scalding, Ashley gently slid under the hot stream and began scrubbing with her sponge and brush. She then took her razor and scraped every inch of her body. After that, she did the same thing except with her sponge and brush. By the time she was done, about an hour later, her skin was the color of a cooked lobster.

The rest of the morning was filled with fretting and panicking over what to do. She couldn’t tell anyone about her predicament, for fear of losing her reputation in the industry. It had to be handled in secret. She would make plans to visit a doctor out of the area, find someone she didn’t know and who didn’t know her—although, that could prove to be hard with her pictures having been plastered on billboards and magazine covers. That was her plan, and she would need to get it taken care of as soon as possible.

Ashley just hoped her skin wouldn’t blossom during the fourth day of the photo shoot.

The day went by fairly smoothly. Of course, the whole day was filled with nervousness, and the other models definitely noticed. She ignored them and went about looking fabulous for the camera. It wasn’t until the end of the day, after spending an extra hour at the studio because the photographer couldn’t find the “perfect lighting,” when Ashley’s hairy problem budded.

With the day wearing on and on, Ashley noticed herself getting drowsy. She found an unoccupied chair in the crowded area and decided to take a quick, little rest. She didn’t see any harm in taking a short nap; if they needed her, she would still be there. Her eyes closed for only a minute, maybe two.

“Ashley!” a voice said from somewhere. “We need you!”

Her eyes jolted open. She looked down at her skin and saw it littered with freshly grown hairs.

“Eee!” she screamed and ran to the nearest room.

She passed surprised and shocked faces as she struggled to sprint in her high heels. When she reached the room, she slammed the door shut and locked it—thankfully, it was an empty dressing room. Looking down at her bare arms and legs, Ashley began an uncontrollable sob of hysterics.

“Please, God, no,” she said through whimpering gasps.

Ashley looked like a shedding dog. It couldn’t be possible. Blonde hairs had grown all over her. She had only fallen asleep for at most two minutes, and in that time, she had become a Chia Pet. Patches spotted her skin, while stragglers took up the spaces in-between. No logical explanation could come to mind. There were too many to count this time, and they were all over her body.

Someone pounded on the door. “Ashley?” It was Bailey

Clothing, makeup kits, and other beauty accessories flew around the room as she hunted for a razor. Ashley was in a frenzy. She would hang herself before leaving the room looking like a diseased monkey with blonde hair.

Finally, she found a razor and a pair of scissors under some model’s Louis Vuitton bag. She stole them and desperately set to work on hacking away at her new golden locks.

The hairs that had grown were not as long as before; the new ones were about three to four inches compared to the ten-inch hairs from earlier in the day. The length didn’t matter; what did matter was removing the unwanted—and unexplainable—mane. Undressing, she started cutting and shaving her hairy feet. Then she cut and shaved her hairy legs. Her hairy waist, hairy stomach, and hairy chest were next. She had to use the mirror to clean up her hairy face. But, when it was time to shave her hairy back, she ran into a problem.

She couldn’t reach her back. Spots that looked like golden fur dotted her back. After several failed attempts and cutting herself a couple of times, she wracked her brain with what to do.

“Ashley!” The door pounded again. It was a male’s voice this time, and the pounding was harder. “Ashley! What’s wrong with you? We need to finish this; there’s no time for drama!”

She had to get home. There was no way she would finish the shoot; she couldn’t, not in her condition. She had to escape without drawing horrified gazes to her back.

“Ashley!” More pounding started on the door. “We’ll break this door down if we have to!”

Ashley Valley stole a baggy outfit hanging from a nearby rack of clothes. Making sure she was completely covered up, she opened the dressing room door and ran out.

“I’m not feeling well,” she said, rushing past the crowd of people and grabbing her purse on the way out. “I’m going home. Fire me, whatever.”

She was able to ignore mostly everyone, mostly. There was one person who stood in her way, blocking the exit out of the studio. It was the woman, the dowdy assistant who had been getting on Ashley’s bad side during the week.

She stared at Ashley with wide, excited eyes—and, even though the woman looked crazy, Ashley couldn’t help but think that her wig was still crooked. “What’s the matter?” the assistant asked. “Looks got you down?”

She ignored the woman, pushing her to the side, and ran past.

“If you value your beauty, don’t fall asleep!” she called from behind.

Ashley continued to ignore the woman’s words. She ran out of the building, down the several blocks to her apartment, and locked herself inside her home. Only when she was in her bathroom and desperately trying to remove the hair on her back did she remember the assistant’s words.

Don’t fall asleep?

It was after waking up from a night of sleep when she had first noticed the single, long hair growing from her arm. After a second night of sleep she had sprouted even more hair. And after taking the shortest of naps, she had turned into a molting Cousin Itt from the Addams Family.

Her cellphone rang, interrupting her thoughts. She wasn’t going to answer it, but she saw that it was her friend, Bailey.

“I can’t talk right now,” she told Bailey. “I’m not feeling well.”

“Ashley, what the hell? It doesn’t matter if your sick, you should have stayed. Mr. Buggotti wants me to inform you that you are no longer welcome in his studio.”

“Tell him to suck it,” Ashley said, not caring about the job. There were other jobs lined up, and she could line up even more if need be. That is, of course, if she could solve her hair problem. “I’m sorry, Bailey, I really have to go.”

Ashley ended the call before Bailey had a chance to respond. She didn’t have time to start drama with her friend.

Back to the situation at hand, she had to get rid of the hair that still occupied her back. Rigging together a razor on the end of one of her brushes with some tape, she ever so carefully removed the spots her arms could not reach. Only after close examination to make sure her skin was clear of any hair did she stop her bodyscaping.

Now raw from the constant scraping of a metal blade, her new priority was to stay awake. It made sense—as much sense as something like this could make—that falling asleep again would cause more hair to grow; it seemed to be the continuing trend, and that woman had hinted at it, too.

That woman. That goddamn assistant. It was her fault. Somehow, she had done this to her. With her anger rising, Ashley vowed revenge on that witch.

First, she needed to make sure to stay awake. All of the hysteria was wearing her down, and she knew that in no time her lightweight body would soon become tired.

Ashley walked into her bedroom and removed the little, balled-up baggie she kept hidden under her mattress. Opening the sack, she dipped her pinky inside and pulled out a little of the white powder out on her fingernail. She brought the drug up to her nose and inhaled a quick and deep breath through her left nostril. Immediately, her head swirled with a rush. Repeating the process, she switched nostrils so the other side wouldn’t get jealous. Another instant high hit her. She rubbed the powdery residue on her finger against her gums. She set the baggie down on her bed and paced the room, her mind racing a mile a minute.

The rest of the afternoon and night consisted of Ashley snorting as much cocaine as she dared and plotting revenge against that shrew of a woman who did this to her. She fell asleep with an empty baggie in one hand and a kitchen knife in the other.

#

Air. Ashley needed air. She couldn’t breathe. Her mouth was open, but something clogged it, choking her. Her nose was also clogged. There was no opening that would allow the precious air that she needed to survive.

Her body went into emergency mode.

Sight failed her as her eyes refused to open. She reached her hands up to try and get rid of the blockage around her mouth and nose. Her arms felt heavy, like each one was wrapped in a thick blanket. She wiggled her fingers and felt a soft, silky texture. Finding it almost impossible to use her hands, Ashley tried to bat at whatever was killing her. Her body flailed about on her bed. The heavy coat that draped over her weighed her down, and she came crashing to the floor.

Ashley’s last thoughts before suffocating: This tastes kind of like hair…

#

Lucy Hendez knocked again on the apartment door. When there was no answer, she looked around to make sure no one else occupied the hallway before producing a key—a key she had secretly copied—to unlock the door. She slipped inside unnoticed.

An ultra-modern home enveloped Lucy. Everything was white, black, or grey. Sharp edges and corners lined the surfaces. The couches looked like uncomfortable boxes, the lighting was an obnoxious neon white, and the framed artwork resembled gobs of snot on canvas.

She brushed off the expensive interior and made her way through the apartment, looking for her treasure. Lucy found it on the floor in the bedroom, crumpled into a golden heap. Taking out a pair of clippers from the large duffel bag around her shoulder, she began her work.

A tune escaped her lips as she performed her deed. “Give me a head with hair, long, beautiful hair.” She continued the Cowsills’ version of “Hair” that she loved so much in whistle form.

Clumps of blonde hair fell to the ground. The large, hairy mass grew smaller and smaller with each run-by of the shears. The smooth surface revealed a screaming mouth with closed eyes. The pile of shaved hair went right into the bag—now she had enough for her and her fellow cancer patients suffering through chemotherapy. With a smile on her face and all of the hair in her possession, Lucy left the body on the floor and exited the apartment of Ashley Valley.

END