Good afternoon, House of Madness killers:
Grief is a strange bird, and can make people do extraordinary things, even if that means doing the unthinkable. As always, I hope you enjoy and most importantly, thank you for reading!
Dumping Grounds
"Shut up or I'll kill you again!", Ken Jessman said angrily from his driver's seat as he was rolling along Route 33 in his '87 Caprice Classic. "Stop pressing my buttons, you stupid motherfucker, or I'll pull over and settle this once and for all, I'm doing this for ME!" Ken hissed. As he fidgeted with the radio looking for anything besides country or rap, Ken couldn't find anything besides static or Jesus stations out here in the middle of nowhere, which was becoming quite problematic for him, for the non-stop incessant blathering coming from the trunk was surely going to drive him insane if he didn't find a means to drown it out soon.
As Ken pulled into another flea-bag motel (his third in as many days), a sense of inner relief overcame him as he put the car in park, and headed into the motel office. A nice quiet room meant he wouldn't have to listen to that chattering lunatic in the trunk for at least the next eight hours, and as far as Ken was concerned, that was an eternity. Ken paid in cash under the name 'Gil Grissom' (he loved "CSI"), and giggled to himself when the clerk said "Enjoy your stay, Mr. Grissom!" as he walked out of the office and towards his room. Shows like "CSI", "Criminal Minds", and "48 Hours" really intrigued Ken not only because they were great shows, but also because he could learn a lot in the real world from said shows. After all, if disposing of dead bodies were as easy as people thought, Ken wouldn't be on day three heading into day four in search of the ideal dumping grounds for his friend in the trunk. Every time he seemed to have a place chosen out on the map, there was construction happening, or campers were nearby, or the undeniable feeling that he was being watched overcame him as he was about to begin. Tomorrow was the day, however, it had to be, as he was running out of luck, and his car was beginning to smell. Bad.
After a night of bar fridge booze and pretzels, Ken awoke to the thumping coming from his car's trunk parked in front of his room, and scrambled to get dressed before he drew any unwanted attention. As he slipped into the driver's seat, he shouted over his shoulder "Shut the fuck up! You're going to get us both on the six o'clock news! I'm doing this for ME!", and peeled back onto the highway. If this next spot he chose turned out to be a dud as well, Ken might as well just drive to the police station and hold his hands out for them to cuff, as he couldn't go on doing this forever. It wouldn't be a dud though, for he knew the spot well, very well. It was going to be a long drive through the winding back roads in Potter's County, but Ken didn't mind driving, it was almost soothing to him. Again Ken searched for a radio station he could tolerate, but more Jesus stations blasted their religious connotations not just at him, but almost through him. Whatever, anything was better than listening to the menace in his trunk, and even if it meant getting up close and personal with the Bible, Ken felt that was just fine.
As Ken finally pulled into the deserted clearing, he was relieved to see the paths he remembered from years ago had been almost entirely overgrown with weeds and all kinds of foliage; no one had been here in years. Perfect. Ken opened up the back door of the Caprice and grabbed the shovel, careful not to touch the leather with the spade; no need for murder AND a mess. As Ken walked around to the trunk and looked at the keyhole, he hesitated a moment and his body was consumed by grief and overcome with regret. Ken gathered himself, and he couldn't help it as he started the blessing; "In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Amen", and as he slowly opened the trunk, he saw nothing but some jumper cables and a spare tire. "WHERE ARE YOU!?" Ken screamed into the summer sky, and as he heard a rustling all around him, he turned and saw the bodies rising, reaching for him. Ken shouted "I'm doing this for ME!", and then he began to dig.
NB
