Mean Spirited

by Nick Roberts

Once the door shut and muffled the commotion, Matt looked down at Conehead and was shocked to see that he had his head bent up and back at an unnatural angle, staring at him with lifeless eyes.

He’d had enough of this shit. If some evil fuck wanted to escort him limb-by-severed-limb into the afterlife, so be it.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Mund said. “Six deaths and two home invasions in just under a week, and the only link is a Labrador named Conehead.”