Mean Spirited

by Nick Roberts

A woman’s head rose from the top of the bush. Leaves and foliage clung to it as if the bush were giving birth to some grotesque being. Once her face was fully revealed, Matt nearly dropped the gun as he fought to keep from fainting. It was Sue’s corpse smiling back at him with those eyeballs on the verge of popping out of their sockets. Her bloodied head flopped from one shoulder to the next, unable to be held up by what was left of her neck. She continued to rise until her torso was revealed. She’s not that tall. She’s not standing up. What is happening? Oh my God, she’s floating. This isn’t real.

As he walked around the back of the car, he glanced in Mikey’s window and what he caught through the glass made him freeze. Conehead was no longer Conehead. He was that demonic, grinning imitation of a dog. He had his paws on Mikey’s car seat, and his snout pressed against the window.

“Mommy, what are you doing with those shots?” Lucy winced and froze. Conehead’s body became as rigid as stone. His nails twitched and dug into the metal table. His head slowly turned and didn’t stop until it had spun completely around with a sickening snap. He stared directly at Lucy.

“Stop it, Conehead!” Mikey said from beside Matt. “Leave Daddy alone. Be a good doggy.”

“Mikey . . . why did she call you Wyatt?” The boy looked down at Conehead, stroked his fur, and said with what looked like a smirk, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dad.”