witness the unsightly phallic jig occurring overhead, and although his breath had left him, he could not resist an attempt at a laugh.
“Sick…fuck…”
Jim continued his dance around the room, eventually leaping onto the woman, gyrating on top of her still-fetal body while hooting and hollering like a horny chimp.
Arty got to his feet, holding his stomach, wheezing out more chuckles as he watched his brother carry on, his gyrating atop the woman stopping, changing to the missionary position as he began miming wild intercourse, his hooting louder with each imaginary thrust. “Get over here, dickhead,” he said.
Jim hopped off the woman and sauntered over to his brother. He walked with an exaggerated strut, like a cowboy entering a saloon. His eyes were rimmed red from Arty’s recent attack, but it hardly seemed to bother him now. He was grinning like a kid.
“So you know what I’m getting at then?” Arty asked, still breathing hard, still holding his stomach.
“Yeah, I think so,” Jim said.
“We’re just taking their eyes, Jim. That’s all.”
Jim nodded, paused, thought for a moment, and then asked, “What about their tongues?”
“Huh?”
“Well wouldn’t it make sense to take their tongues too? See no evil, speak no evil—wait—what’s the other one? Hear no evil? Yeah…it’s hear no evil. So that means the ears too, right? We’ll take the tongues and ears too?”
Arty gave the suggestion a few seconds, smirked, then palmed his brother’s bald head, running his hand back and forth over it as though rough-housing with the family dog. “Why not? Such a clever brother I’ve got.”
Jim kept grinning. “Hey, maybe we could preserve everything when we’re done. You know, dry ’em out like beef jerky, and then make a necklace for them. Something to remember us by.”
Still smirking, Arty waved a playful finger at his brother and said, “James, now you’re just being mean.”
5
With the half-eaten blue lollipop now discarded, and Josie the doll in the hands of a stranger, it would likely take Santa Claus himself to bring a smile to Carrie’s face—or perhaps a dog.
As the silver Highlander pulled into the gravel driveway of cabin number eight bordering Crescent Lake, a mangy Border terrier began yipping and yapping at the SUV with an enthusiasm that suggested it might explode at any moment.
“Daddy! Look at the dog!” Carrie yelled, straining against the binds of her car seat to get a better look.
Patrick needed only a second’s glance at the dog before saying, “Don’t go near that thing, honey. He doesn’t look very clean.”
Carrie ignored her father’s comment and continued to gape, letting out anxious squeaks and smiles that matched the dog’s eagerness for contact. Caleb leaned over and took a hard, wary look at the dog the moment Carrie began shrieking.
Patrick caught his son’s expression in the rearview mirror, reached back and rubbed his knee. “Don’t worry, pal, it’s no big deal.”
“You think it’s a stray?” Amy said.
“Probably. Stay in the car for a couple of minutes though. I’ll get out and shoo it away.”
The instant Patrick stepped out of the car the terrier leapt towards his thigh, begging for affection, its spastic behavior accompanied by a multitude of whines that could crack glass. Patrick shook him off and nudged it away with the tip of his shoe. He clapped his hands loudly. “No! Bad dog! Get out! Shoo!”
The terrier took a few cautious steps back, regrouped, then dove after Patrick’s leg for a second try.
“No! Get out of here! Bad dog! Bad!” Patrick yelled louder, nudging harder with his foot. This time the dog took several steps back and eventually sat. It quivered and whimpered from its spot, spring-loaded, anxiously waiting for Patrick to succumb to its canine charm so that it could rocket forward again.
Patrick opened the driver’s door and poked his head in. “You know what, baby? Why don’t we take the kids inside, and we’ll unload everything. It seems harmless enough, but looks pretty dirty. I don’t want the kids touching it.”
Carrie whined. Amy reached back and squeezed her daughter’s knee to quiet her. “Okay, that’s a good idea,” she said.
Carrie folded her arms and grumbled, “No it’s not.”
* * *
With both kids now safe in the cabin, Amy and Patrick began unloading the rear of the Highlander.
“So what do you think?” Patrick asked, taking a brief look around before reaching for a bag. “Seems just as peaceful as last time, doesn’t it?”
Amy turned her back to the car and looked down the driveway and beyond, out onto Crescent Lake. The lake itself