Supper: The Horror Short Story You've Been Craving (3 page)

And yes, even this crumpled, bespectacled little man
softened. “Ain’t no worry. Just want to give our Lord his due.”

Damn! In under three minutes, Tamra had charmed this crusty
guy. Maybe she should rethink her “no plastic surgery” stance, Stacey thought
as the family took hands.

Then Stacey realized her order in this prayer procession.
Panic spread over Stacey in waves of gooseflesh.

She didn’t mind going along with the show just to be polite.
And holding Leo’s hand was like holding her really hot, gay, older brother’s
hand. But Ma? Stacey was supposed to hold
Ma’s
hand?

How did she get in this position?

Oh, wait. Another epic-Stacey-fail. She had taken the chair
to be able to sit across from Jonathan, but, of course, he hadn’t even looked
up from Tamra’s boob shelf to notice. And now everyone was staring at her. Even
Jonathan had taken Ma’s other hand.

As much as she 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 spinning
lazily to the left, he had to play it cool. For himself. For all of them. They
were fucked up, but they were alive. He bet most, if not all, of the others who
found themselves here with an empty tank of gas could not say the same.

“Ma’s right,” Bitsy said as her cleaver dug against
Jonathan’s T-shirt. “I get to go first.”

But the obese woman gurgled some more, her eyes straining in
Leo’s direction.

Cliver shook his head. “No, Ma. That one doesn’t like girl
parts.”

Leo tried not to throw up in his mouth. He was unsuccessful,
as Ma’s one eye studied him. After a moment, she grunted and gave the faintest
nod. Internally, Leo sighed with relief. It looked like he’d dodged a bullet on
that one.

“I say we give him to Ruf,” Bitsy said. “He doesn’t know the
difference half the time anyway.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no,” Leo repeated as he tried to
scramble back, but the cabinets blocked any escape.

Ruf, however, clapped gleefully, shaking the fat of his
arms. The big man giggled as he bent over to grab Leo.

Jonathan shouted, “Now!”

Leo didn’t have to be told twice. He pulled the knife from
his sock and stabbed upward, burying the stainless steel deep into Ruf. Leo
knew everyone else was in motion as screams and cries echoed off the small
kitchen, but he was more concerned with the fact that Ruf didn’t seem all that
bothered by the knife gutting his stomach.

Leo scrambled and grabbed another knife from the table.

“This is for Jerome,” Leo said as he sank that hilt into
Ruf’s belly as well.

The big man clapped again, though. Seemingly delighted, Ruf
picked up another steak knife and stabbed himself.

“That tickles!” Ruf said, picking up a knife from the table.
“My turn!”

* * *

Stacey wanted to do her part, but the pepper spray was under
the table, and she could barely breathe with Ma’s leg firmly planted on her
chest. And the woman still had a death grip on Stacey’s wrist.

Helpless, she watched Ruf raise the knife over his head,
aiming downward at Leo. This was
so
not the plan. This was supposed to
be a fact-finding trip. How could they have known that the family would pull a
blitz attack at supper? And they certainly hadn’t factored Ma into the
equation.

The knife sliced through air as Jonathan shouted, “Stop!”

Stacey watched as he broke free of Bitsy’s hold, pulled his
gun and aimed it at her head.

“I said, stop!”

Ruf’s arm was in motion, though, and the sheer weight of it
brought the knife down. Leo, however, blocked the blow and then twisted Ruf’s
wrist, causing the big man to scream like a little baby as he dropped the
blade.

Stacey used the only weapon she had. Her teeth. She bit into
that huge “cankle,” drawing sweet, sweet blood. Ma yelped, pulling her leg
back. Breaking free, Stacey crab- ran over to her purse, pulling out the pepper
spray. She hurried to her feet.

Stacey pointed the nozzle at Ma.

Glancing up, Stacey caught Jonathan’s gaze. A tight smile
spread across his lips. Jonathan had lost a sister to this place, and Stacey
had lost a brother. Leo had lost a lover, and Tamra, well, Tamra had lost a
distant cousin whom she didn’t really know all that well. She was more of a
revenge groupie.

They shared their sorrow over the Internet, in support-group
chat rooms, uniting in their grief. If the police couldn’t find any evidence of
what had happened to their loved ones, then they would.

On the last week of summer vacation, they had come here to
find out the truth.

Of course, they’d found out
way
more than even they
had expected.

“Now we are going to call the cops and shut you
motherfuckers down,” Jonathan growled, never sounding so sexy as he flipped
open his phone.

Cliver pulled Tamra’s face next to his and licked her cheek.
“Go ahead.”

“Not
your
police,” Stacey spat. “We know you are all
related. We’re calling the
State
Police.”

Behind those thick glasses, Cliver’s eyes dilated. She and
the rest weren’t stupid. With all the missing coeds in this county over the
years, clearly law enforcement was helping to cover up this family’s favorite
hobby. And now to find out that the Tullocks were cannibals, to boot? Stacey
gulped down the revulsion. She couldn’t think of her sister ending up in that
soup pot. She just couldn’t.

Cliver looked at Bitsy, then Ruf, and then Ma. Clearly, he
was calculating his odds. Sure, he might have Tamra, but the rest was an even
split. Guess the family had never expected anyone to show up prepared. Sure,
Ruf could probably give Leo a run for his money, but not before Stacey would
pepper-spray Ma’s good eye, and Bitsy would be shot dead on the floor.

How much did Cliver love his family? Stacey and her friends
were betting on a lot.

But Cliver’s fingers dug deeper into Tamra’s hair.

“We are prepared to die, Cliver,” Stacey said. “Even Tamra,
if it means exposing the truth about this farm.”

Well, she hoped that Tamra still felt that way. It was the
pact that they had made before setting off. However, with the blonde’s eyes
wide open and the tears streaking down her cheeks, Stacey wasn’t so sure that
the girl still agreed.

The room tensed as the silence stretched. Cliver was the
unknown in this sick equation. Then a slow grin spread across his face. He
nodded at Ruf.

“Have yer fun.”

Before the big man could swing the knife, Stacey watched as
Jonathan pointed the gun at Ruf and shot. Well, tried to shoot. Nothing came
out of the gun. Jonathan pulled the trigger again and again, but nothing came
out.

It was Tamra’s laugh, though, that seemed the most whacked.

“Seriously,” she said between chuckles, as Cliver released
his grip on her hair. “Didn’t you notice that the gun was awfully light?”

With a look of horror, Jonathan glanced down at his gun.

“I never loaded it, you moron,” Tamra said, and then turned
to Cliver, giving him a full-bodied kiss on the lips. “You… you, I will get to
later.”

Stacey brought her pepper spray up to Ma’s face. “I don’t
know what the fuck is going on, but I will ruin her.”

Tamra just laughed. “Go ahead. It’s just saline solution in
there.”

That couldn’t be. Could it? But Tamra had plenty of access
to the bottle over the last three days. And if the gun was empty, Stacey
doubted Tamra had left the pepper spray in play.

“Why?” Jonathan asked. Although at this point Stacey thought
it was kind of moot. No matter how you cut it, pun totally intended, they were
all going to die.

“Come on,” Tamra teased. “You guys called your website, ‘The
Tullock Family Death Farm,’ and even registered it with ‘Lets get some revenge
dot com.’ ”

Stacey felt her stomach drop, seeming to pull her heart with
it.

Tamra looked right at her. “We’re not some stupid, backwoods
hicks. We have the Internet, you self-righteous bitch.”

“Bitch?” Stacey stammered. “Me?
I’m
the bitch?”
Stacey didn’t even have a comeback for that. What witty retort could really
wound a serial-killing cannibal?

“And you,” Tamra sneered at Jonathan. “Like I would ever
open my legs for a man who wasn’t family.”

Make that an
incestuous
serial-killing cannibal.

Yeah, there were no adequate comebacks to that.

“Now, as I said,” Cliver stated, “Ruf, have yer fun.”

No, this
couldn’t
be how it ended. Not here. Not like
this. Not after the months of planning.

Then the back door burst open, and a woman stumbled inside.
If she was, in fact, a woman. Black soot covered her face, etching every line.
But her skin looked more like leather than tissue, and her eyes were clouded
over—blue, like marbles. And she smelled like… well, supper.

“Help,” she croaked. “Help me!”

* * *

Leo didn’t wait for everyone’s reaction to the woman. He
grabbed the nearest utensil, a spoon, and drove it toward the only part of
Ruf’s body that he knew for sure he could hit.

The eye.

Even though it was only a measly spoon, Leo felt the metal
pop through the cornea, then scoop down into the soft insides until the spoon
hit bone. Ruf screamed, frantically grabbing for the utensil. Leo hopped back
as Ruf pulled the spoon out, eyeball and all. Blood gushed down his face and
onto his overalls.

Leo pulled one of the knives from Ruf’s belly. He might not
be able to poke through all that fat, but he could still do some damage.
Dodging Ruf’s flailing arms, Leo sliced at any part of the man’s body he could.
Each time blood spurted in his face, he thought of Jerome.

He had come here for justice.

Now, though? Now revenge tasted pretty damn good.

That was until he heard Stacey scream, “No!”

He turned in time to see Tamra raise a gun.