We All Rot Eventually: A Horror Novella

by Mia Ballard

And I’m still here, beaming and restless, waiting for something I don’t have a name for.

There’s a poster of Aaron Carter right above my futon bed. Poor boy has seen a lot of unholy things.

He grabs a crumpled People Magazine from my nightstand, flipping through it until he lands on Jessica Simpson’s face. He lays it flat on the floor, his movements quick, and dumps a line of coke right across Jessica’s smile. “Should I feel bad about this?” he asks, glancing up at me. “No I really don’t think she minds at all.”

I’m still thinking about it when the phone rings again, another number I don’t recognize. I hesitate for a second, my thumb hovering over the screen, but something in me itches to pick up, like it’s the universe calling and I might miss it.