Free Mischiefmakers: Dark Macabre by Maasi Smith Page A

children to return home. The apartment is in disarray; drawers have been torn away from the furniture and flipped over, pouring their contents onto the carpet.
Heaps of clothing and trinkets waiting to be sold to the highest
bidder fill garbage bags. Pillows are torn with their goose-down
filling decorating the beds like snow.
    “Where the hell is he? Shit, he can’t do nothin’ right,” Silas says
to himself, as he sits on the couch with his hand in his jeans, fon-
dling his testicles. “I’m hungry. What else is here to eat?” He peels
himself up from the couch and heads for the kitchen. After slamming most of the cabinets open and closed, he takes another look
into the refrigerator.
    “Wow, looky here. A whole fuckin’ turkey! I don’t remember
seein’ this.” He gives his groin one good scratch, then reaches
down for the 10-pound turkey that lies on a bright silver platter.
    The turkey is lavishly decorated with peas, carrots, celery, and a
host of other vegetables. It is exquisitely stuffed with a mixture of
breads, meats, and dark brown gravy. Silas licks his lips all the way
to the table. As he drools over the turkey, the lights in the room
suddenly dim then flicker like a sudden power surge. Silas stares at
the fixtures as his heart skips. In the bedroom, unseen by Silas, the
feathers on the beds begin to stir as if a window has been opened.
The lights return to normal, and Silas redirects his attention.
    “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a meal like this.” While smiling to himself greedily and using a large fork that he finds lying on
the counter, he begins to gorge on the nutritious meal. Tearing
off the legs and wings, he eats as if he hasn’t eaten in weeks. As
he finishes each juicy portion, he throws the bone on the floor,
then continues his feast. His lips are wet with fat and saliva, his
beard is a trap for any morsel that misses his mouth. Stabbing
the bird repeatedly, he searches rigorously for his mouthfuls. Midway through his meal, he hears a strange noise at the window. He
stands, then walks to the window, holding his fork like a weapon.
Looking out the window and pressing his face against the pane, he
sees nothing. He pans left to right and spots only a dilapidated fire
escape swaying slightly in the gentle evening breeze. Silas returns
to the table and continues his feast.
    His hunger pangs satisfied, he wipes his face with a pillow and
leaves the table. All that remains is the silver platter with a pile of
bones and half-eaten vegetables.
    Sitting on the couch, he passes gas and belches while rubbing
his stuffed belly. Looking at his hands and the gravy stains on his
once clean v-neck T-shirt, he decides he’ll take a quick shower.
Walking toward the bathroom, he stretches and yawns, scratching
his arm pits and face, stepping over the artifacts Marty smashed
during his rampage through the apartment. Silas first stops at the
kitchen, grabbing the longest kitchen knife he can find. Just in case
the two women walk in on him, he can make quick work of them.
    Heading toward the shower, he carefully steps over his pile
of defecation, being sure not to ruin his sneakers. He removes
his clothing as soon as he is in the bathroom. Leaving the door
slightly ajar, he pulls back the flowered shower curtain and steps
in. Slowly turning the marble knobs, he steps to the side to ensure
a comfortable water temperature. Once it is to his liking, he steps
in between the smooth streams of water. Silas quickly notices the
used washcloths beside him on the shower bar and, reaching over,
takes one. Staring at it, he expresses a faint smile, then lays it on his
face, taking a deep breath like the true pervert he is. After soaking
his face with their feminine aroma, he gives himself a thorough
wash.
    When he steps out of the shower, Silas notices a strong breeze
coming from the front room. Quickly grabbing his knife, he investigates. Dripping wet with a