Tuesday, February 22, 2011








ohgodohfuckgoddamnfuckingHELL!

Before I was cursed, I didn't know - and didn't much care - if there was a God. I still don't, but I know there's Something out there, and it just loves to fuck with people.

Like me. Who could have guessed that UberBitch would have survived my beauty treatment or that, having survived it, she'd have had enough left in her to murder Cassie?

goddamnmotherfucksonofabitch!

I let the truck grind to a halt next to my workshop, kill the engine and fumble with the padlock. My hands are shaking, so it takes longer than it should, but eventually I'm in. I find my largest bastard file and rig up a clothesline of sorts behind my bench grinder. I attach a plastic tarp to it with three clothespins and get to work.

Cassie died unexpectedly, by violence, with unfinished business on the mortal plane. Three strikes that mean she'll probably remain earthbound, at least for awhile, and if I was Cassie - or her ghost - I know who I'd haunt.

The stupid bastard whose meddling had gotten her killed.

Fuck it. I've been haunted by experts, spirits with enough concentrated venom to have lasted hundreds of years. I can handle anything she can throw at me.

But I need some closure, some resolution to the guilt and rage that are vying for top billing in my brain. So I patiently grind my file into a pound or so of iron filings, all neatly mounded on the plastic tarp. I disembowel a dozen 12-gauge shotgun shells, replacing the lead with iron, re-crimp the shells and snatch up an Ithaca 12-gauge pump shotgun.

Daddy's gone a-hunting.

Gods help anyone who gets in my way.

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