Traci Ashbe Dark Epic Fantasy Author

Going Home

Traci Kenworth

Evil came in the arch of high-heeled pumps, I think as I stick a thumb out

to catch a ride to God knows where. I’m tired, achy, and lost. Going anywhere,

going nowhere, trying to decide where home is. A pickup slows with a middle-

aged, pot-bellied man. His baseball cap doesn’t hide the leering look in his eyes. I sigh and hop in. It might be my last

for a while on a road scarce of traffic.

“I’m Derrick,” he says, stretching out a hand. He holds my hand a little longer than necessary but I shrug it away.

I pick the first name that comes to mind. “Patty.”

“Well, Patricia, where you headed?” He jerks his head toward the horizon with its orangish-pink sunset breaking

through. “Got a house and food up the road.”

I smooth my red hair and look about the truck. The inside is cluttered with so much junk I barely have room for

my feet. What a pig. Grimacing, I tell him, “Ahead.”

He laughs. “That direction runs a long way. You interested in that bed and food?” he asks with a wink. “I’ll make

you feel right at home.”

I smile back at him with gritted teeth. They are all the same. Dumb asses out for a good time. Well, I like a good

time too. “Sure, why not?”

His grin grows so wide I think it will split his face.

I shake my head with disgust. Pervs. There’s one in every dozen. We drive a ways further and pull into a seedy-

looking house where a hound stretches out on the dirt porch of the shack. He barely rolls his eyes at us as we clamber

down from the truck and Derrick motions me inside. “This here’s home,” he says with a sweep of his hand. “I’ll have

supper in just a skip and holler.”

I nod, glancing around. Finding a place for my pack, I recoil at the hands that slide up my back and then cup my

breasts from behind. “Changed my mind. Supper can wait. Ready for bed?” he asked.

I plaster a smile on my face and let him lead me to it. Dirty bed sheets and pillows with the stuffing pulled out,

await.

“Ain’t it grand?” he says as he shoves me onto it. He licks my neck. “Now here’s the price for the ride. Pay up.”

I ease myself back on the pillows, waiting for him to crawl atop. His fingers can barely unfasten my buttons in his

feverish rush and he growls with frustration. I smile. Almost there. He slides a hand along my stomach and covers my

mouth with stinky breath. I somehow keep myself from gagging. As he bends to explore my body, I slide the knife

from my pocket. Bringing the blade up, I slit his throat. As the blood seeps into my mouth, I squirm with hunger,

sucking him dry. Afterwards, I knock his withered husk to the floor. The hound outside howls. I go over to my pack

and pull out fresh clothes, change, and await the rough texture of my body to change to new.

The renewal complete, I walk over to the shell. My pump lifts and I bring it down, shattering the cobwebbed

skin. I grab my pack and march out into the night. With a low moan, the hound moves aside when he sees me and hides

around the corner of the shack. “Good eats,” I say to the dog as I move on.

An hour later, I’m back on the road, thumb stretched out. A thousand years I’ve done this. Letting pervs, pimps,

and other of the lowest scum pick me up. I’m very discreet. No one knows of my nature that lives to tell of it. I am

what I am. Keeper of the dust, gnawer of the bones, ancient of the tombs, cursed forever to walk as an abomination. I

exist here because of my father, the Pharoah Conferious, who had all but me of his family slain by degenerates. My lot

was to put an end to all sin-walkers. And so I walk.

A car slows down, a young, teenage girl fresh from cheating on her boyfriend leans out the passenger door.

“Where you headed?”

I shrug. “Going home.”

Getting in, I smile in expectation. Evil comes in the steps of high-heels…

copyright 2010, July 7. tlc.

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