Free A Girl's Guide to Guns and Monsters by Martin H. Greenberg Page A

Sweat sprang out all over me. Even for just a few streets with all the windows down, Mom’s black Volvo was a furnace inside. There was no breeze. “It’s daylight, remember? We’ll be okay.”
    “Sometimes he’s up during the day. And it’s late.”
    “But he’s always half-asleep and slow, right? You just go in, get your stuff. I’ll talk to him.” I kept my fingers away from my throat with an effort. The little gold Communion cross I hadn’t worn since I was twelve felt unfamiliar. “Don’t worry so much, Kate. It’ll be okay.”
    All the blinds were pulled. She let us in with the key, yelled, “I’m here to get my stuff!” and bolted down the hall to the left. I peeked around the wall to my right, into the dark frowsty cave of the living room.
    The television was on but muted, a baseball game going on. Edgar lay on the ratty brown couch, his slick black pompadour almost crushed under the weight of a meaty arm flung across his eyes. “Hello, Mr. Black,” I chirped.
    He grunted. So he was awake. The sunshine coming in through the front door didn’t do much to penetrate the living room, but I was suddenly sure he hadn’t been watching the game before we pulled up. Just what he’d been doing was anyone’s guess, but I would bet money he hadn’t been on that couch.
    The idea of just walking into the room and yanking one of the ancient curtains aside did occur to me. But Kate came flying back down the hall. “Bye!” she yelled over her shoulder, and I watched Edgar twitch. His skin was an unhealthy pasty color, like a mushroom left in the cellar. There was a faint sour odor, too. A sharp breath of rotten potatoes, when they start weeping that weird fluid and fuzzing up with white.
    I followed Kate out into the heavy honey evening. She headed for the car like dogs were after her, but I stopped and peered at the windows.
    No crack between the curtains. But I thought I saw one of them twitch.
    Huh.
    I walked slowly back to the Volvo, jingling my car keys and feeling someone staring at my back. Just like school.
     
    In the middle of the night she curled up into a little ball and cried against me. I hugged her hard, faint moonlight edging in between curtains I hadn’t pulled all the way shut. Stroked her long silky hair, kissed her until her mouth opened like a flower and she kissed me back. We rocked together on the little ship of my bed, and when I saw the black paper cutout shape of a man’s head in the window I just held her tighter, my wrist aching a little as I finished the movements that sent her over the edge. She shook and shuddered in my arms, and I stared at the window. Two bright specks of red stared back, but my bed was lost in shadows. By the time her hot little mouth was at my cheek and her clever little fingers were sliding between my legs, the shadow in the window vanished.
    I closed my eyes.
     
    “Kinky.” Kate giggled, a high hard flush rising in her cheeks. I rolled my eyes, pushed the two twenties wormed out of Dad this morning across the counter, and ignored the way the pimpled clerk was smirking. He didn’t go to our school, but when two teenage girls in bikini tops and jean shorts wander into a military surplus shop—you get the idea. It’s not pretty.
    “Anything else, ladies?” If the kid was any smarmier he’d leak oil.
    I scooped my change out of his hand and grabbed the bag. “Nothing you can sell.”
    Kate went into more hysterical giggles at this, and I dragged her out through the automatic doors. Before they closed behind us, I heard him mutter bitch .
    Of course.
    I swiped my bangs out of the way as we headed for the car. “Stupid fucking minimum-wage jackass.”
    Kate half-choked on laughter. I waxed indignant for another minute or so before unlocking the Volvo’s door. There were only three cars in the parking lot. It was another fry-an-egg day.
    “What do you think he thinks we want this stuff for?” She hissed a little as she dropped onto the leather