Modern Day Blood Sacrifice

Fierce Tales Shadow Realms from Millhaven Press

Edited by Jeffrey Blehar

Featuring my horror story "The Exquisite Genius of Ichiro"

When the job calls for ruthless blood work without regard for humanity, they can be counted on not to care

“Where we going today?”

Mike Ross slumped into the passenger seat of Karl Wagner’s work vehicle, a boring, drab grey Elantra, the sort of car driven by nearly every boring, drab other driver on the Beltway. But really, that’s the point: a silver or grey or gun metal colored mid-size family piece of shit’s the exact kind of piece of junk that don’t draw attention. Hence its usefulness and hence its use.

“Hyattsville.”

“Oh, good. We local.”

Karl pulled out of Mike’s Calverton driveway, mindful that folks in his suburban neighborhood would not approve of or appreciate the sort of late-night tire squealing he liked to participate in when behind the wheel of his regular ride, the ’09 Challenger. Mike stretched out in the passenger’s, pulling his hoodie over his face for his obligatory pre-hit nap. 

“You smell like –”

“Mark’s not gonna care. He’s only got an hour o’ life left.”

“Yeah, but I do. Why I gotta suffer just cuz you can’t be hygienic?”

“Screw hygiene. Screw the mark. And screw this job.” He slouched deeper into the passenger’s. Ten minutes later, Karl heard his soft snoring.

At the mark’s location in Hyattsville, Karl pushed Mike awake. “Wake the hell up.”

His voice thick with sleep, he said, “What time’s it?”

“-Get-the-hell-up o’clock.”

“Hyattsville.”

“Right.”

“Who’s the mark?”

Checking his phone, Karl said, “Ruben Tyson.”

Squinting, Mike stared at the residence, a fenceless ten-room Levitt rambler, with a concrete porch but in need of major repairs. The lawn stood overgrown while the metal shed in the backyard leaned at a 45-degree angle to the ground.

“Why this guy?”

“Why any of ‘em?” He held his phone screen to Mike’s line of sight. “We do ‘em cuz they’re on our list. This one’s got protracted exsanguination –”

“Gotta love an X-Sang.”

“Bet. And we gotta take the heart.”

Mike scooched up in the passenger’s, rubbing his eyes. “Let’s do it.” He opened the door.

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