Free Horror Business by Ryan Craig Bradford Page A

glass.
     
    RAIMI
    Ahhh! Fuck!
     
    RAIMI calms down. He looks defeated. He finally notices the soft breathing of Cronenburg, who isn’t dead yet. Most of his face is blown off. Little glass pieces stick to the blood.
     
    RAIMI
    Hold on, Crony-buddy. I’ll radio for an ambulance.
     
    CRONENBURG
    Don’t bother, Chief. (Coughs) I don’t want to live my life without a face. Besides, I won’t make it to the hospital. …
     
    RAIMI
    Don’t do this. Don’t let him win. Don’t let him win!
     
    CRONENBURG
    (Going in and out of consciousness) Just go. Get your wife. Make sure she’s safe. And … Christ it hurts … and do one more thing, for me.
     
    RAIMI
    Sure, anything.
     
    CRONENBURG
    You get that sonofabitch. (Pulls him close) For me!
     
    CRONENBURG dies an agonizing death.
     
    RAIMI composes himself and stands up. He looks at the blood on his hands and then at himself in one of the mirrors. He brings the gun up and checks the ammunition in it, then clicks it closed.
     
    RAIMI
    (Insert one-liner here)
     
    END SCENE

Shooting Blanks
     
     
    The return address on the package is some unpronounceable town in Germany. It takes a couple tries to decipher it. I try to pronounce it phonetically, but it feels thick with all the husky throat sounds. I give up. Whoever sent the box got my first name right at least: Jason Nachtshade. I remember what’s in the package and rip the cardboard open.
    The inside is a layer of Styrofoam peanuts, concealing something secret and dangerous. I plunge my hand deep and feel my prize.
    After Brian disappeared, it became very easy to borrow my parents’ credit card. Obviously, their attention was elsewhere.
    I pull the gun out of the Styrofoam, letting peanuts fall off onto the table and floor. The barrel is chrome and slick. The weight feels good, heavy, and powerful. I turn it over in my inexperienced hands. The gun becomes welcome, as if it belongs there. A pamphlet of instructions emerges with the gun, but they’re also in German. Useless. I point the gun at objects and put imaginary holes in them: the flower vase, the refrigerator, a piece of boring art. I find the release and let the magazine out. It pops out into my other hand. So smooth. I immediately snap it back in. I pull the slide toward me and let go, loading the invisible bullet. I smile. This could be the best purchase of my life. I set the gun down and dig deeper in the box to find the ammunition: a box of blanks. Prop bullets. I call Steve and it’s almost hard to talk because I’m so excited to try the thing out.
     
     
    ***
     
     
    “C’mon man, what are you hiding?”
    On the phone, I had decided not to tell Steve about the gun, just that I had a surprise to show him. I feel the gun needs that kind of dramatic introduction.
    We’re down by the creek since the drainage pipe will provide enough noise that we don’t alarm any neighbors. The steady stream is loud enough that Steve has to yell when he repeats the question.
    “ So what did you want to show me? ”
    The gun is tucked in the back of my pants and covered with my sweatshirt. I reach around my back—slow and deliberate. When I touch the textured handle, the excitement is electric and runs through my arm.
    I bring the gun out and point it at Steve.
    “Oh shit!” He drops to his knees, covering his head with his hands.
    For a second, it’s funny to see him cower, but then I feel self-conscious. I feel like the monster in Frankenstein , unaware of his terrible power. I lower the barrel. “Don’t worry, it’s a fake.”
    “What?” Steve stands up. “What do you mean?”
    “It’s a prop gun,” I say, pulling the box of blanks out of my pocket. “I bought it for the movie. There are gun scenes and I wanted them to look real.”
    His fear turns into deep interest as he crowds around me, looking behind for people watching us. I let him hold the gun, feel the weight. He handles the magazine and cocks the hammer back with the same reverence.