Satanic Summer Read online

  Published by Grindhouse Press

  POB 292644

  Dayton, OH 45429

  www.grindhousepress.com

  Satanic Summer

  Grindhouse Press #666

  Trade paperback ISBN-13: 978-0-9849692-9-6

  Trade paperback ISBN-10: 0984969292

  Copyright © 2012 by Andersen Prunty. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction.

  Grindhouse Press logo copyright © 2012 by Brandon Duncan

  www.corporatedemon.com

  Cover design © 2012 by Matthew Revert

  www.matthewrevert.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author or publisher.

  Also by Andersen Prunty

  Bury the Children in the Yard: Horror Stories

  Fill the Grand Canyon and Live Forever

  Pray You Die Alone: Horror Stories

  Sunruined: Horror Stories

  The Driver’s Guide to Hitting Pedestrians

  Hi I’m a Social Disease: Horror Stories

  Fuckness

  Slag Attack

  My Fake War

  The Sorrow King

  Morning is Dead

  The Beard

  Zerostrata

  Jack and Mr. Grin

  The Overwhelming Urge

  Satanic

  Summer

  Friday , June 13th

  One

  A heavy rain pounded the top of the car. The windshield wipers were virtually ineffective. Even worse, Perry Winthrop had stink hand. Clutching the wheel with his left, he held his right out as far from his nose as he could. It nearly touched the Lexus’ passenger-side window.

  He squinted his eyes and peered out into the wet darkness. He’d just passed the sign that said he was entering Clover, Kentucky—“A Real Nice Place to Live!”

  Some douche bag had changed “Clover” to read “Cloven.” Cause the devil lives in them thar hills, yup! Perry rolled his eyes.

  Clover was not a real nice place to live. It was a fucking shithole erected in the foothills of the Appalachians. But he had to be here. Amanda’s mom was deep in the throes of dementia and she refused to leave Kentucky. They had a nice house in Hyde Park, on the better side of the Ohio River, meaning in Ohio, but Amanda guilted him into staying in her mother’s four room shack.

  He hoped the old woman died soon.

  Otherwise, he didn’t see their marriage lasting much longer. To be honest, the only reason he hadn’t divorced Amanda yet was because he didn’t want to pay alimony. They’d never had any kids and he was starting to think he wanted it to stay that way.

  Perry slowed for a stop sign and rolled on through, knowing there wouldn’t be any cars crossing the intersection. Here, everyone seemed to turn in around eight.

  Shit.

  And it was after midnight.

  That was both a good and a bad thing.

  It was a bad thing because there was only a certain amount of overtime Amanda would believe he was willing to work. She knew he hated his job. Regardless of how big his salary was, it was only a matter of time before she would stop buying the excuse that he was working until ten or eleven or later every night.

  It was a good thing because she would probably be in bed and, therefore, would not have the chance to notice his atrocious smelling hand before he could make it into the bathroom and take a shower. She might even be so asleep she wouldn’t notice he’d taken a shower.

  Undoubtedly, his crotch smelled the same as his hand.

  He wanted to stop trolling Vine Street for prostitutes but he couldn’t. Amanda didn’t have orgasms anyway and, lately, she had claimed to be too tired or stressed out to even try. It was just another nail in the coffin.

  He turned onto Mountain Bottom Road. These roads were as shitty as the town. Narrow. No edge markings. Nothing even designating it had two lanes except for the occasional headlights threatening to run him off.

  Damn.

  His hand really smelled.

  The whole car probably reeked.

  He made a mental note to buy some air freshener to keep in the car. Maybe some hand sanitizer.

  The prostitute didn’t look like it had been three months since her last shower. She was actually one of the better looking ones. And one of the more expensive ones. Too bad their pimps didn’t have a customer service line. He would have called and begged for a refund. Or a discount on a future fuck.

  He took his left hand off the wheel for just a second to crack the window, rain be damned.

  He quickly glanced away from the road.

  When he looked back up, something stood in the middle of the road.

  Perry jammed on the brakes and cut the wheel to his right.

  And crashed into the limestone face of the mountain.

  “Fuck!”

  Airbags were everywhere, shocking him almost as much as the impact with the stone.

  His heart kicked around in his chest.

  Christ. He didn’t need this.

  He sat there while the airbags deflated. Opening the door, he stepped out into the pounding rain. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. Maybe he could just back it up onto the road and continue home. Take it to a shop tomorrow.

  What the fuck had been in the road?

  At first he thought it was a deer but it seemed almost like it was standing up. There wasn’t any sign of it now.

  He looked at the front of the car and shook his head.

  Steam billowed from beneath the hood.

  Busted radiator. Fuck.

  The tire was bent under the car.

  Broken or bent axle. Damn.

  This thing wasn’t going anywhere.

  He grabbed his phone from his pocket. Hopefully he’d get some reception out here. It wasn’t always a given. Jesus. He hated Amanda. Hated her fucking mother. Hated this whole goddamn shitburg sheep fucking town. Hated his stink hand.

  At least now he had a somewhat legitimate excuse for being late.

  Holding the phone in his left hand, he flipped it open and crouched down, grabbing a handful of wet, muddy grass and wiping his hand with it. While crouched, something ran into his back and he hit the car head first. His phone and his wad of grass went flying.

  Anger turned immediately into terror.

  What the fuck had just hit him?

  He managed to turn around but couldn’t seem to stand up.

  An excruciating pain shot up his spine and out through his arms.

  Rain ran down his forehead and he tried to blink it from his eyes.

  Some kind of beast stood in front of him.

  It looked like a goat man.

  Perry felt an insane desire to laugh.

  He asked, “Are you the devil?” but no sound came from his mouth. He held his right hand out like a gun and brought his thumb down, thinking, “Bam!”

  The thing approached. Put a giant hand around Perry’s and squeezed. Bones popped and ground together.

  Before everything went black, Perry looked into the thing’s eyes. At first he thought they were red. Then he thought they were orange. Then he thought they looked just like flickering flames.

  Then the thing reached out and dragged claws across Perry’s throat and he didn’t think anymore.

  Two

  “Dougie!”

  The shrill voice clawed him from a heavy sleep.

  “You need to get up! I’m gonna hop in the shower!”

  His mother, bellowing from the bottom of the stairs. Doug Backus opened his grainy eyes. He looked at the digital clock on his nightstand.

  11:30.

  Damn. He wouldn’t have any time to play Redemption.

  He had to move qui
ckly.

  He threw back the covers. He still wore last night’s clothes. He felt disgusting. Dirty. A little hung over. He smelled like sweat.

  The sweat of temptation, he thought.

  He wanted to turn the computer on just to make sure virtual Doug was still a virgin, that he hadn’t given in to the wicked temptations of Sodom City, one of the higher levels of Redemption.

  But he didn’t have time for that. He had to get rid of the beer cans before his mom got out of the shower.

  He slipped on his shoes and dropped to his knees. His stomach lurched. He was dizzy and woozy. He waited until he heard the water whistling through the pipes of the house and grabbed the black trash bag of cans and pulled it out from under the bed. The smell of stale beer hit him and he almost lost it. He looked in the bag and counted the cans. Three Old Milwaukee tall boys. He tied up the bag, opened his nightstand drawer, and pulled out a can of strawberry aerosol air freshener. He spritzed the bag and sprayed a cloud throughout the room.

  He grabbed the bag and held it away from him as though it were something tainted. He went downstairs and out to the garage. He took the lid off the trash can, lifted the top bag, placed his bag in the trash can, lowered the top bag on top of it, and put the lid back on.

  Inside, he paused to make sure the water was still running.

  He really didn’t feel good at all. He climbed the stairs and quickly ducked into the bathroom off the hallway. He threw open the lid of the toilet and vomited into it, sweaty and shaking.

  Fuckin pussy. He heard his friend Crank’s voice in his head.

  He stood up and flushed the toilet before pissing into it. Then he rinsed his mouth out and brushed his teeth.

  He wanted to take a shower but didn’t think he had time. He would have to settle for a dense application of underarm deodorant.

  Back in his bedroom he put on some fresh clothes. Once changed, he threw open the blinds to his window. Bright, early summer sunshine flooded the room. He was feeling a lot better.

  He looked at himself in the mirror on the back of the door. Black greasy hair parted severely on the left. Silver wire-framed glasses that he’d had for the past six years. More acne than he thought an eighteen-year-old should have. The faintest trace of a mustache. Thin plaid short-sleeved shirt tucked into stiff dark blue jeans. Puffy black Velcro shoes.

  Doug didn’t like the person he saw in the mirror.

  He thought about the three beers he still had in his bottom drawer. He didn’t know if he wanted to drink them. He had been tempted to drink the beers last night. And he had given into that temptation. Crank, who also worked with him at America Pantry, had told him he couldn’t say he didn’t like something if he’d never tried it. Just like what his mother used to say about food at the dinner table. Doug wished he could be more like virtual Doug in Redemption. Virtual Doug’s name was Samuel but he thought it was weird to think of himself with another name, as another person. In fact, he thought it was probably a sin.

  “Dougie!”

  “What, Mom?!”

  “You ready? You don’t wanna be late!”

  “Coming!” Doug shouted louder than was necessary.

  He hated that she always yelled up the stairs. He didn’t think it would kill her to walk up the ten steps to his bedroom door. She could probably use the exercise.

  He took a deep breath and popped a mint into his mouth, crunching it up. If his mom noticed he had a breath mint in his mouth, she would ask him about it. Maybe it was no big deal, but having to answer mundane questions like that bothered him. Maybe, like the yelling all over the house, the intense scrutiny was just another sign they were the only ones living there.

  Doug thought about his dad resting in the urn on the mantel. It didn’t look like most urns Doug had seen. It was a large, stainless steel, hollow cross. There was probably only a little ash left in the urn. The rest had been scattered on the infield of the Clover High baseball field. But that was a long time ago. Doug didn’t even remember the man.

  His mom stood at the bottom of the stairs in a thin muumuu with muted pink flowers on it. The summer heat, any heat, gave her the sweats so she liked to wear as few clothes as possible. She jangled the car keys in her right hand.

  “Can I drive?” Doug asked.

  “Maybe when we have more time. I don’t want you to get in a rush.”

  “But I need the time.”

  “You’ll get time later.”

  “I’ll never get my license.”

  “What?”

  “I said I’ll never get my license if I don’t get enough hours of driving in.”

  “That’s what we’re paying a driving instructor for.”

  “Yeah, but I need more hours.”

  “You’ll get them. Just not while we’re in a hurry. I don’t want you getting us killed cause you need more hours.”

  Doug slumped his shoulders and opened the front door. “We could have been there by now.”

  “What?” His mother always sounded confrontational. He didn’t know if she meant to sound that way or not.

  “Nothin.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Once in the car, Doug rolled down the window and stared outside. His shirt was already stuck to his back. America Pantry was a gas station and convenience store out on Route 27. Doug watched the tiny town of Clover roll by. A couple of minutes and two stop lights later, they were out of it.

  “...on.”

  Doug had completely fazed out. “Huh?”

  “I said the air conditioner’s on. Roll up your stupid window.”

  Doug rolled up his window and his mom lit a cigarette.

  “Gag.”

  Doug rolled the window back down.

  “Put it up.”

  “Put it out.”

  “No. It’s my first one of the day.”

  “Well, it’s my first one of the day, too.”

  “You’re such a...”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” She reached out and turned the air conditioner up higher. Doug flapped his left hand and held his nose with his right.

  They reached the station and Doug opened the door.

  “Roll up that window.”

  Doug slammed the door without rolling up the window.

  His mother grunted and reached her chubby arms across the passenger seat. Doug opened the door to the Pantry.

  Crank stood at the big front window, staring at Doug’s mother.

  “Look at her, man. She really has to struggle.” Crank was barely suppressing his laughter.

  “Aw, lay off her.” Doug went to the junk food aisle and grabbed a package of Ding Dongs and a bag of potato chips. Then he went to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of Yoo-Hoo.

  To his right, cans and bottles of beer were lined up like sinister little soldiers.

  Doug thought maybe he was going to be sick again.

  He hoped he was just hungry.

  Three

  While Doug ate his junk food, Crank leaned against the counter, furiously texting on his phone. Crank was the complete opposite of Doug. His real name was Stephen. Around their freshman year of high school, he’d started telling people his name was Crank. At first, the kids at school agreed with him and called him Crank because they thought it was funny. But, eventually, the name stuck and the only people who called him Stephen were his teachers and parents. While remaining close friends, it was then Crank’s and Doug’s interests began to diverge. Doug remained a skinny, gangly dork. Crank developed abs and pecs and biceps, seemingly without any exercise. He pierced himself everywhere, discovered drugs, alcohol, girls, and bands that wore a lot of black and screamed their lyrics.

  Currently, he had dyed black hair that looked like it had been run through a lawn mower. Some strands were down to his shoulders. Other areas were shaved nearly to his scalp. It looked like it hadn’t been washed in a very, very long time. Since turning eighteen, he had gone to the tattoo parlor on what Doug thought was nearly
a weekly basis and now his flesh shone with Satan heads, winged demons, seductively curved women, Egyptian symbols, and various quotes and things Doug didn’t care to know the source of.

  Doug downed the last of his Yoo-Hoo and stifled a burp.

  “You drink that beer you took yesterday?” Crank flipped his phone shut and slid it into his black jeans. He’d worked here longer than Doug and wore one of the gas station attendant shirts. Grayish-blue and pinstriped. Doug noticed the oval patch over his left breast read “Carnk” in red stitched lettering.

  “I had a few.”

  “A few? Weren’t those tall boys?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And that’s the first time you drank?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Dude, I’m surprised you’re not sick... So you must have been pretty wasted. How was it?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s my thing.”

  “That’s just cause you were alone. Alcohol’s a social thing.”

  “If you say so.” Doug didn’t know if he secretly enjoyed these conversations with Crank or if they just made him nervous. They had always told each other everything.

  “You should come out to my house this weekend.” Crank lived with his mom in a trailer on some land out on Wickham Road. “We could go out to the woods and drink some more beer. Maybe have a fire or somethin.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What else are you gonna do? Sit at home with Mom and play Redemption and wait for church on Sunday?”

  Doug kind of shook his head but, actually, that was exactly what he would do. And he liked it. He liked it all. He didn’t care what Crank said.

  “Dude!” Crank grabbed both Doug’s shoulders and searched his eyes. Crank’s eyes were brown and wild, bloodshot. Dark circles oozed from below. “You’re fuckin eighteen! It’s time to take momma’s tit out of your mouth. Start living before the adult world steals your soul.”