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There was a smell of death in the air tonight.

And I’m not being metaphoric.

And it wasn’t me, so shut the fuck up.


I knew what it was.   Betcha the Cat brought home takeaway for dinner the other night, and didn’t clean up the leftovers.  Somewhere where under the kitchen benchtop was something that was once alive but that wasn’t as well-preserved as the Cat and I are…

So there I am, on my hands and knees, sniffing like I have hayfever, and groping around in the gap under the lowest shelves.   So fucking dignified.   The stench is getting stronger and stronger and – urgh.   Shit.   Yes – that would be a slimy decaying rodent corpse I’m currently dragging out into the light.   Fantastic.


There’s something else.

What the hell is this?

I pull out – an envelope?   What the fuck is that doing under there?

I look over my shoulder, and the Cat glares at me balefully from the top of the refridgerator.   I look down again.

Envelope has my name on it.   No address.   And it’s bloodstained, but in rich fat splatters, not in a dirty flurry of small animal slayings…   Though there are delicate Cat teethmarks along the edge from where someone stashed it away in their hideyhole.   To chew on.   Or just to piss me off.   Or to –

How long has this been here?   The blood? – the blood…  

I’m now sitting back on the kitchen floor, am I’m looking across at the front door of my apartment.   Where there is still a faint dark stain.   From Halloween.   Where I bled when Brix shot me.   Just where someone might have pushed a letter under the door.

And I’m seeing myself standing there, looking at Brix and bleeding – and not even seeing the clean white envelope under my feet. A clean white envelope that someone must have delivered silently by hand earlier that evening and that is getting bespeckled with crimson…

Someone sent me a message Halloween night.   The Cat annexed it.   That’s my blood.   It’s been under here all this time.


So I open it.

Inside is a card.   Simple card – the design is just black and gold scrolls, but the red has soaked through the envelope, so I have to tear the envelope away and there are rusty smears still melding little torn scraps of  paper on.

The message inside is simple too.


Happy All Hallow’s Eve, Jonathon.

Celebrate death as a new beginning.


And then.

And then there was a name.

Of course it was.

Holy fuck.









  2. Pfft. I knew that bitch wasn’t dead.

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