Excerpt

BEDTIME

“There isn’t a monster under your bed,” Daddy says.

“Is so.”

“Bradley, I’m not going to let you stay up late because you’re making up stories about monsters and whatnot,” he says, folding his arms and frowning.

“Look under there, and if there isn’t a monster I’ll go to sleep.”

Daddy laughs and shakes his head. “Fine. If that’ll make you feel better.” He gets down on his knees and sticks his head underneath my bed.

Then there’s a scream and a loud chomping noise. I see the color red spill on the floor…

Daddy doesn’t have a head anymore.


LESSONS

Poor, poor Mr. Wilks.

He used to have ten fingers, but now he only has eight. And the fact that he’s screaming and calling me names isn’t helping the situation any. He’s tied to a chair, anyways. He’s not going anywhere.

Snip. Another finger goes bye-bye.

Another howl of pain. Another name I’m called.

Snip. Snip.

What a terrible mess. The floor is covered with blood. This is going to be a bitch to clean. No matter. A lesson must be learned. Lessons aren’t always clean, are they?

Maybe next time, he will learn to use his fucking turn signals.