Supper: The Horror Short Story You've Been Craving Read Free Page B
Author: Carolyn McCray
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felt sorry for the chick, Stacey did not want to hold hands with Ma. Gawd, did that make her totally a hypocrite? Even
if it did, Stacey felt her stomach flop over just thinking about it.
“Stacey…” Jonathan prompted, his eyes sliding over to
Cliver. “Be my good girl.”
Now, she should have been totally pissed off that Jonathan
talked down to her that way, but something about how he said it tugged at her.
And the way Tamra’s eyebrows knit together and her lips turned down. Oh, yeah.
Stacey definitely liked it.
Gritting her teeth, she took Ma’s hand. And by took it,
Stacey meant that she had to pick it up and put it in her hand. The limb was
cool and felt like deadweight in her palm until it would twitch, nearly
spasming. Each time it happened, Stacey nearly jumped out of her chair. She
knew that it was just Ma’s brain misfiring, sending signals down her arm that
forced her fingers to flex, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t creeping Stacey out.
As Cliver mumbled a prayer full of Jesus and God and
something about their bountiful life, Stacey tried really hard not to flinch
each time those chubby, sausage-rolled-in-a-pig’s-blanket fingers dug into her
skin.
Seriously, how much prayer did this family need, as Cliver
droned on and on? Was this dinner, or a church service? And would there be
wafers if it was?
Trying to distract herself, Stacey scanned the table. She
wished they had toasted sourdough bread instead of buns, but they seemed out of
the oven, that was if they got to eat them anytime this evening. The soup
looked hearty as well. Chunks of potatoes and mushrooms and carrots bobbed on
the surface.
Then something bright red floated to the surface. A turnip?
No it was flat and shiny. Was that a fingernail?
“What’s that?” Leo asked, his dark eyes even darker as the
pupils dilated fully.
“Amen,” Cliver finished before glancing to the soup. “We had
Ma stirrin’ earlier, must have chipped off.”
Stacey looked down at the hand she was holding.
Ma did not have nail polish on.
Suddenly, Ma seized Stacey’s wrist. There was no mere spasm.
This was a full-on viselike grip.
Stacey went for her pepper spray, but it was too late.
* * *
Leo tried to push himself up and back, but Ruf’s meaty fist
slammed into his face. It was like getting hit by a Costco-sized pack of
Porterhouses—bone in. Still, Leo caught Stacey’s chair, righting himself as his
other hand went for his knife, but another bare-fisted punch broke his nose.
Blood gushing and vision spinning, Leo tried to stay
upright, but his knees gave out from under him. He took a kick to the jaw, which
lifted him up and slammed him against the set of cabinets. Pans rattled on the
impact.
It all happened so fast. Cliver had Tamra by the hair. Bitsy
had Jonathan at cleaver point, and Stacey was on the ground—with Ma’s
tree-sized leg holding her down. This was not how today was supposed to go.
Wouldn’t Auntie Leykeisha be proud?
With the world spinning and Ruf towering over him, there was
no point in struggling. At least not now. Instead, Leo moaned and slumped to
the ground. It was only a quarter of a ruse. Leo wasn’t sure if he could get up
if he really wanted to, anyway.
Tamra, however, screamed as she kicked and clawed and
scratched at Cliver. Leo slit his eyes open, watching their struggle from under
the table. The bitch was giving the guy a run for his money, but suddenly
Tamra’s feet stopped their frantic motion.
Leo could hear Cliver hiss, “You are mine.”
Tamra was a self-admitted backstabbing whore, but not even
she deserved that fate. As Ruf’s feet turned toward the other side of the room,
Leo carefully edged his way back. He propped himself against the cabinet so
that he could see more than just feet.
Ma gurgled something as her eyes darted from Bitsy to Leo.
Whatever that was about, Leo was certain he did not want to know. Maybe
he should have stayed on the floor. Leo panicked. With the world still
if it did, Stacey felt her stomach flop over just thinking about it.
“Stacey…” Jonathan prompted, his eyes sliding over to
Cliver. “Be my good girl.”
Now, she should have been totally pissed off that Jonathan
talked down to her that way, but something about how he said it tugged at her.
And the way Tamra’s eyebrows knit together and her lips turned down. Oh, yeah.
Stacey definitely liked it.
Gritting her teeth, she took Ma’s hand. And by took it,
Stacey meant that she had to pick it up and put it in her hand. The limb was
cool and felt like deadweight in her palm until it would twitch, nearly
spasming. Each time it happened, Stacey nearly jumped out of her chair. She
knew that it was just Ma’s brain misfiring, sending signals down her arm that
forced her fingers to flex, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t creeping Stacey out.
As Cliver mumbled a prayer full of Jesus and God and
something about their bountiful life, Stacey tried really hard not to flinch
each time those chubby, sausage-rolled-in-a-pig’s-blanket fingers dug into her
skin.
Seriously, how much prayer did this family need, as Cliver
droned on and on? Was this dinner, or a church service? And would there be
wafers if it was?
Trying to distract herself, Stacey scanned the table. She
wished they had toasted sourdough bread instead of buns, but they seemed out of
the oven, that was if they got to eat them anytime this evening. The soup
looked hearty as well. Chunks of potatoes and mushrooms and carrots bobbed on
the surface.
Then something bright red floated to the surface. A turnip?
No it was flat and shiny. Was that a fingernail?
“What’s that?” Leo asked, his dark eyes even darker as the
pupils dilated fully.
“Amen,” Cliver finished before glancing to the soup. “We had
Ma stirrin’ earlier, must have chipped off.”
Stacey looked down at the hand she was holding.
Ma did not have nail polish on.
Suddenly, Ma seized Stacey’s wrist. There was no mere spasm.
This was a full-on viselike grip.
Stacey went for her pepper spray, but it was too late.
* * *
Leo tried to push himself up and back, but Ruf’s meaty fist
slammed into his face. It was like getting hit by a Costco-sized pack of
Porterhouses—bone in. Still, Leo caught Stacey’s chair, righting himself as his
other hand went for his knife, but another bare-fisted punch broke his nose.
Blood gushing and vision spinning, Leo tried to stay
upright, but his knees gave out from under him. He took a kick to the jaw, which
lifted him up and slammed him against the set of cabinets. Pans rattled on the
impact.
It all happened so fast. Cliver had Tamra by the hair. Bitsy
had Jonathan at cleaver point, and Stacey was on the ground—with Ma’s
tree-sized leg holding her down. This was not how today was supposed to go.
Wouldn’t Auntie Leykeisha be proud?
With the world spinning and Ruf towering over him, there was
no point in struggling. At least not now. Instead, Leo moaned and slumped to
the ground. It was only a quarter of a ruse. Leo wasn’t sure if he could get up
if he really wanted to, anyway.
Tamra, however, screamed as she kicked and clawed and
scratched at Cliver. Leo slit his eyes open, watching their struggle from under
the table. The bitch was giving the guy a run for his money, but suddenly
Tamra’s feet stopped their frantic motion.
Leo could hear Cliver hiss, “You are mine.”
Tamra was a self-admitted backstabbing whore, but not even
she deserved that fate. As Ruf’s feet turned toward the other side of the room,
Leo carefully edged his way back. He propped himself against the cabinet so
that he could see more than just feet.
Ma gurgled something as her eyes darted from Bitsy to Leo.
Whatever that was about, Leo was certain he did not want to know. Maybe
he should have stayed on the floor. Leo panicked. With the world still