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The sunrise on October second found Thomas Able belly-down in the mud, wearing a rented tuxedo. His face, submerged in opaque brown water, had not the benefit of air for more than five hours. He remained where he was, silent and alone, until twelve-year-old Rodney Pinkerton discovered him in the backyard while searching for a baseball. The boy did not try to help Mr. Able to his feet, nor were there any words exchanged. It was assumed the man was in no condition to be sociable due to the axe implanted in his back. Rodney took a moment to scream, then rushed inside to inform his mother.
A strange flow of incomprehensible words began. As the magical speech continued, Tom felt his humanity and compassion, his very soul, slip. A pure animal instinct danced in his mind. A hatred for the living grew. Only two things defined him: rage and hunger. Thomas Able growled like a starving beast.
He joined the gathering in the central chamber as a man spoke, explaining a dark agenda. The dead all around cheered at each terrible point made. He tried to join in but enthusiasm was lacking. He had to admit that brains were delicious, but he just didn’t get the whole hatred of the living thing. No one around him seemed to notice or care.
Given the choice, Gary would’ve remained in the basement, but he needed to know whom the next victim would be. The only way to find out was to ask Elton. Elton always knew; he was God. God was Elton. And Elton was a hamster.
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