A warm, gentle zephyr blew across the desert floor despite the late hour, a testament to the blistering temperature earlier in the day. The stars
blazed above in a jeweled canopy, their luminescence barely challenged by the soft glow of the Vegas strip miles in the distance. Somewhere in the
middle distance a coyote cried out and was answered by another.
Beneath the starry sky three men, each holding a shovel, stood facing a tarp-draped object. The one on the right was a balding, burly chain smoker who
wore a mustard-stained t-shirt, beige cargo shorts and scuffed, rose-colored patent leather Louboutins with kitten heels. The second, on the left, was
tall and gaunt. He wore a cheap dark suit that could have been taken from an undertaker and may or may not still have smelled of formaldehyde. His
bowler hat shadowed his face but even without it his features always seemed hazy and indistinct, if anything he was the Slender Man made real. The
third wore a loud, wide-lapeled silk shirt that would have been in style 40 years ago, but only if he wore it in the land of the blind. His fedora was
pulled down tightly to cover his shifty and lascivious eyes, he looked like a real creeper who would probably violate his parole if he went anywhere
near an elementary school.
A dust streaked, white, window-less van was parked behind them, the side panel door open, drag marks leading to where they stood. ‘Pokémons
inside!’ it shouted in hot red spray paint across the side. The van, just like its owners, had seen better days. The wind kicked up suddenly and
peeled back the tarp in front of them exposing the corpse of a leather-clad male, his head a bloody, beaten pulp.
“How does this keep happening?” asked the Creeper incredulously.
“How does what
keep happening?” replied Heels testily.
“You know what he’s talking about, idiot…” said Slender Man as he pointed a pencil-like finger at the dead guy laying before them,
“It was an accident!” squealed Heels, “I didn’t mean to do it!”
Slender and Creeper exchanged glances and then both turned to Heels. “You bashed his head in with a hammer!” exclaimed Slender, “That wasn’t
“You can’t keep braining the interns,” admonished Creeper, “you tore into him harder than that bag of In and Out Animal Style burgers you
snarfed down on the way out here.”
“He had it coming,” Heels said as he flicked his cigarette butt at the body with great disdain and immediately lit another.
“How did he ‘have it coming’?” asked Creeper.
“He bought me Parliaments…” he replied, holding up the box for proof. Both Slender and Creeper nodded in semi-agreement while Heels puffed away
methodically on his ever-present cigarette, “…and he put ice in my bourbon.”
“What!?” cried Slender in Creeper in unified horror.
“Yeah, I kinda lost it at that point.”
“That dirty son-of-a-bitch…” snarled Creeper who then wound up his shovel and delivered a viscious double overhand strike to the lifeless
corpse’s already mashed noggin while Slender kicked the remains solidly in the ass with his fiendishly-pointed boots.
“Somethings are not forgivable, bub,” stated Slender rhetorically to the corpse and then turned to Heels, “But you can’t just go to town with
a framing hammer every time an intern screws up. Maybe use the hose or the pliers next time, let them learn
from their mistakes. They’re
getting harder to find these days, damn H-1B visa limitations.”
“This isn’t the first time we had to dig a hole out here,” said Heels to Slender accusatorily, “I distinctly recall tossing a showgirl in the
ground last weekend.”
Slender wheeled on Heels and hissed, “She put the tomato under
“Makes for a soggy sammy,” Creeper said matter-of-factly.
Heels balled his fists and stomped one of his Louboutins petulantly, “You always take his side!”
“Well, most of the time he is
“Oh, yeah, well we’d be able to afford better interns if we don’t blow a chunk of our cash on your dopey business ideas, ‘Kill Room Pizza’.
“Who knew people wouldn’t want to Saran wrap their kids while eating pizza?” said Creeper, “It worked for that character in DC.”
“We took a bath on that one,” said Heels and tossed another cigarette on their former intern.
“If we took a bath with you we’d only need a glass of water to fill up the tub,” snarked Slender to Heels.
“Har, har,” Heels then dug around in his short pockets and extracted a semi-crushed Butterfinger Bar which he tore open with his nicotine-stained
teeth and inhaled in two ravenous bites. “You make it sound like I’m the only one with ‘unusual habits’. Oh, and that stupid Pokémon thing.
We haven’t sold one pack of those cards we got on close out, another pile of cash down the drain,” and then gestured to the van for emphasis,
“maybe we need better marketing.”
“Free puppies?” said Slender, his voice raising in what passed for hope amongst the three degenerates.
“That could work,” said Creeper, “we have some extra spray paint left to add this to the van.”
“People like puppies,” Heels said almost excitedly.
like puppies,” added Creeper a bit too over enthusiastically.
“Right,” agreed the other two.
A dream like look came over their faces where each imagined the easy cash they would haul in with their latest scheme. Slender pictured himself buying
a new suit, maybe Armani, and it certainly wouldn’t bear the lingering aroma of embalming fluid. Creeper would use his cash to get his record
expunged and hopefully off that registry. Heels was the easiest, he dreamt of wrecking the buffet at the Crazy Horse II and then making it rain in the
champagne room. Vegas was supposed to be where all of their inner most desires were met but it was turning out to be more of a challenge then they
expected. Situations like the present one were all-to-frequent hurdles they had to surmount. The coyotes howled again which drew them out of their
respective contemplative states and back to the present. As if rising from a stupor they surveyed Heel’s earlier carnage when Slender said they
should start digging.
“This sad German bastard isn’t going to plant himself.”
“’Sad German Bastard’ is kinda triple redundant,” stated Creeper and they all agreed.
make the best interns though,” volunteered Heels, “they’re sooo subservient.”
edit on 9-10-2017 by AugustusMasonicus because: Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn