A Penny Down the Well: A Short Story Collection of Horrifying Events by J. A. Crook Page B

hearse,
with gun barrel pointed vertically in Clint’s direction. With a
quick grasp of Clint’s hair which drew a painful scream, the man
shoved the underside of Clint’s chin, the fleshy, pliable region at
the peak of the neck, against the barrel, holding him
there.
    The man instructed.
“Answer the phone.”
    Clint shook his head,
tears streaming down his face as he struggled to
breathe.
    “ Answer the phone!” The
man repeated. The man held Clint against the barrel so firmly that
Clint could hardly move. Trying to take control of the gun may have
resulted in a terrible end. Clint did all he could. He lifted the
phone with one hand and answered it, sobbing. “H-Hello?” Clint
muttered brokenly into the phone.
    “ Clint? It’s Kaylie. Where
are you?” She asked, completely unaware of the horror that was
transpiring.
    Clint looked to the man,
getting his first clear look at him. His neck was slit and blood
ran freshly from the wound, as though it had happened only moments
ago. His eyes were evil and enraged. The top of his head was bald,
but thin, grey hair hung in a horseshoe pattern toward his
shoulders. The man’s dreadful image caused another gasping
utterance from Clint that brought Kaylie to ask, more
alarmed.
    “ Clint?!” She said.
“Clint, are you alright? What’s going on?” She became more
insistent.
    “ Say goodbye.” The man
instructed.
    Clint shook his head,
pleading. “Please don’t. Please don’t do this.” His voice torn by
the streaming of tears.
    “ Clint! Clint! Where are
you?! Are you with someone else?” Kaylie remained persistent. “Are
you in trouble? Please, talk to me!” Her voice littered suddenly
with tears itself.
    “ K-Kaylie. I...” And he
was cut off.
    “ Put your finger on the
trigger.” The man instructed, dark, bloodshot eyes burning into
Clint.
    Clint slowly shook his
head, feeling the grinding metal against his skin.
    “ Put... your finger... on
the trigger... or I’ll kill your little friend after I’m done with
you.” The man sneered, nearing himself closer to Clint, allowing
Clint to feel the threatening puffs of rancid, alcohol-imbibed
breath.
    Clint cried. “Please don’t
do this!”
    “ Clint! Please tell me
where you are! I’m calling the police! I’m calling the police right
now! I’ll call you right back, Clint!” Kaylie shouted, static
ensuing on the line before the phone’s screen turned red, denoting
the call ended. Clint’s finger went to the trigger of the
shotgun.
    “ How does that power feel,
huh? Feel strong, big boy? Feel like you finally have something
between your legs that’ll make that pretty little tramp proud of
you?” The man spoke, words spewing like venom.
    Clint, however, was beyond
words. He bordered on unconsciousness, unable to take the immense
stress that overcame him, unable to succumb to the terrible demands
of the monster that appeared beside him. He merely sobbed,
helplessly.
    “ Pull the trigger.” The
man instructed.
    Clint’s consciousness
returned suddenly. “No. No! No!” He shouted, his head struggling to
lift from the gun, but the man held him firmly. His finger pulled
from the trigger, only to make way for the man’s own. As the man
took control of the weapon’s trigger, Clint halted his
protest.
    “ You should have
listened.” The man said.
    Clint’s eyes shot wide
open. “No!”
    The gun blasted a single
shot, killing Clint instantly.
    Larry and Morton arrived a
short while later and stepped casually from their truck. Larry
gestured to Morton with his tuna fish sandwich in hand, waving it
as he usually did in his moments of professorship. “The kid can
handle it. We’re movin’ a murderer, not the damn Pope.” And Larry
laughed until he saw the agonized face of his giant accomplice,
who’d managed to see the grisly scene before Larry did. Larry’s
eyes turned to the hearse to see the windows tinted with a shade of
red, streaming down every transparent surface of the interior of
the