Journalstone's 2010 Warped Words for Twisted Minds Read Free

see if his bosses know where the hell he is.”
    After seeing the look of concern on his face, Trish urged him to put Neil on speaker for them both to hear.
    “Neil,” she spoke, “Can you peep through the kitchen window and tell us if you see anything? Maybe he was just in the bathroom or something.”
    “Trish, I’ve been around for about two hours and he’s not here. I already checked the window back there after I tried the bell and knocked. So, unless he’s taking the mother of all dumps, no one’s in your house.”
    After thanking Neil for his patience and sending him on his way, they began the drive back.
    “He is so getting fired when we call Pied Piper,” Vaughn growled through gritted teeth. “There’s probably fumigation crap all over the house.”
    “But, there’s too much of this that doesn’t add up,” Trish mused as rain began spattering the windshield. “Who just up and leaves both their equipment and van?”
    “Folks have done weirder stuff for no reason. Maybe he got a really good look at just how much of a job he’d have ahead of him and took off. What kind of contractor moonlights at a pest control company, as much as they make? I thought something didn’t sound right with that.”
    “What if he had an accident?” Trish turned to him. “A piece of timber could’ve knocked him in the head when he tore into the wall.”
    “For all of the money we’re giving up to get this done, that dude better have a knot on his head the size of a grapefruit.”
     
    *  *  *
     
    Checking through the rear window of the van only revealed a copy of Penthouse resting atop several pieces of equipment. They cautiously ventured into the house, Vaughn grabbing an aluminum baseball bat from the foyer closet.
    “Malik!” he called as they edged through the ground floor. The stillness in response only added to their unease. Grabbing her cell, Trish began dialing.
    “Who’re you calling?” Vaughn frowned in confusion.
    A moment later the chorus to Zapp & Roger’s “Computer Love” could faintly be heard from the basement.
    “That’s his phone, I guess,” Trish shrugged as they went for the basement stairs.
    “Nice ringtone.”
    They found Malik’s cell at the base of the hole in the wall, which was now nearly six feet tall and about four feet wide. It reminded Vaughn of a large mythic beast opening its maw to yawn –or snarl. He couldn’t imagine venturing into such a space even with a hundred tungsten lamps. Malik had covered everything in sheets of thick clear plastic, his cutting tools resting atop the dryer. The fumigation canisters lay unopened beside a circular saw.
    The smell hit them right about then, their noses wrinkling in disgust. It wasn’t the odor of decomposing animal flesh, for which they were grateful. But, rather, it just smelled pungent, like overly fermented vegetables that you wouldn’t dare eat no matter how attractive the plate appeared. In addition to its overwhelming ripeness, the odor made them strangely lightheaded.
    “Do I even wanna know what that is?” Trish spoke through her sweater.
     
    *  *  *
     
    After getting Pied Piper’s answering services several times, Vaughn and Trish reluctantly accepted that they’d have to wait until the following morning to have Malik’s departure explained. His wife had refused to return to the basement until Vaughn had carefully tacked up one of the plastic sheets over the gaping hole, which failed to make it less menacing.
    When their doorbell rang around 7 p.m., Trish hurried to open it, expecting a heavily-bandaged and crutches-addled Malik with a story about dragging himself to the nearest emergency room. Opening the door, she was surprised to discover their gnome-loving neighbor, Mrs. Bondelli, eyeing her with concern.
    “Uh- hi, Mrs. Bondelli.”
    “Good evening, Trish,” the elderly woman nodded. “I really hate to bother you when you’re probably about to start on dinner.”
    “Oh no, ma’am,” Trish