Daddy Knows Best

"Daddy, I heard it again," Lindsay complained. 
"What's that, sweetheart?" 
She sighed. "The crying! It woke me up!" 
"Lindsay, you were probably just dreaming." 
Unsatisfied, the child finished eating, and grumbled all the way to the bus stop. 
Back in the house, sipping his coffee, he heard the faint sound of crying, coming from below. 
"Damnit!" he exclaimed, heading to the basement. 
A young cheerleader was chained to the wall. 
"Wake her up again, and I'll cut out your tongue, and sew your mouth shut!" he hissed, tightening her ball-gag. 
"Raising little girls is tough, and you're not helping."

The Legend of 'Walter's End'

"I'll teach those damned kids!" Walter grumbled in the darkened intersection, leveling his shotgun.

Usually, the drag racers would decelerate, and hurl insults at the crazy old man; this time, his shaky grip resulted in a blast that blew out the right tire, causing the car to plow into 'Crazy Old Walter', killing him.

Locals believe that 'Crazy Old Walter' never left that place, and any speeding vehicle's right tire will be blown out, causing an accident.

Strangely, 'Walter's End' has been the site of many fatal crashes over the last seventy years.

That is the legend of 'Walter's End'.

New Year, New You

Every year, he goes through this. Resolutions are nearly impossible to stick to, but he intends to do it this time. 
The wall is covered with trophies; remnants of the pattern he intends to leave behind. 
With the gentle hand of a museum curator, he wipes dust from one of them. 
"It's time for a change," he says, scanning for any other foreign matter on his prized possessions. 
Satisfied his collection was immaculately clean once again, he heads out of his den, leaving the row of severed male heads staring blankly at the walls. 
"This year, I'm switching to women."

Running Late

"Where the hell are they?" he bellowed, as he unceremoniously cleared his desk of papers, and garbage.

"I know I left them in here!"

Doubting himself, he left his office, Stormed through the living room, and began tossing the pillows, and cushions.

"Damn it to hell!"

Then, a lightning bolt of clarity struck him; he ran to the basement.

After clearing the remaining limbs of his latest victim from the second-hand examination table, he found his missing keys.

"Thank you, God!" he proclaimed, before running to his car.

Someone's got be on time to teach Sunday School, after all.

Trick Or Treat

Peering out my window, I can see the parade of little ghouls, and ghosts making their way through the neighborhood. 
They collect their treats, and watch their bags swell with each visited house. 
I clutch the bowl to my chest; waiting for my turn to bring my brand of Halloween into their tiny lives. 
Here they come! A ballerina, is it? and a ninja turtle; how adorable! 
"Trick or treat!" they cry happily, as I open the door, and dropped my treats into their bags. 
I cackle, thinking of their expressions, upon seeing the severed fingers among their candy loot.

Happy Birthday, To You

"...Happy birthday, to you," he sang, as he carried the tray bearing the candle-covered cake. 
An unused game of 'Pin the tail on the donkey' fluttered against the door as he passed. 
The children sat, party hats on their heads, as he distributed each frosted slice to its appropriate place. 
Dressing as a clown was meant to be entertaining, but these kids were each ten to twelve years old; had he made a poor choice in doing so? 
While taking pictures, he silently hoped that the cemeteries wouldn't trace the missing bodies to him, until the party was over.

Paying The Rent

The sickly sweet aroma filled his nostrils, as he seared the meat on the stove.
Work’s been slow, he thought, There’s not much else I could’ve done, right?
His ears delightfully devoured the sizzling sounds emanating from the pan.
Not many people dine at expensive restaurants in a recession, do they?
The main course slid dutifully onto his plate; he garnished it with cilantro.
How was I supposed to pay the rent with no income? he reasoned, as he sat down at the table.
He relished the meal, even though his landlord would’ve tasted better with apple rings, and parsley.

House-Sitting

House-sitting had always been a way for Jack to make extra money, and he'd never regretted that.
Until tonight.
The house was legendary in the neighborhood for its checkered past; some said it was haunted.
Jack was starting to believe it.
He'd been here a few hours, and there'd been plenty of bumps and creaks; those he could handle.
The bawling of an infant coming from upstairs; that's what'd unnerved him.
The phantom wail stopped after a few minutes, which should have relieved him.
And it would've, if it hadn't been replaced by the sound of a rocking chair.