The Minotauress

fuckin' smell?'

Balls leaned his head out the ‘Mino's window and sniffed. His lips puckered within the redneck goatee. 'Shee- it, Dicky. Damned if I know.' He narrowed his eyes through a rumbling pause. 'You thank it's comin' from the U- Haul?'

'Naw. Probably a deer're somethin' died in the woods. But nows that ya mention it... I wonder what's in the U-Haul... '

The light changed, then Dicky turned the ‘Mino onto a forest-lined road which seemed to plummet.

'Didn't feel like there were much in it when I'se hitched it up ta our ball,' Balls offered. He sniffed the air again and made a face in the dashlight-tinged dark. 'But it don't make no difference what's in it. We'se'll dump it all at Crafter's house ta make room fer what we pinch.'

'Yeah,' came Dicky's sophisticated concurrence.

The narrow road could've been an abstractive esophagus which was swallowing them into darkness that just kept getting darker. The night was digesting them. Balls snuck a crotch-squeeze when Dicky wasn't looking. For some reason the recollection of cranking the manual drill into Ida's pregnant gut still had him all hot'n bothered. I'se gonna have to do that again, he told himself. Drillin' pregnant chicks in the belly's a damn sight more fun than playin' cards. 'Man, Dicky, I'm chompin' at the bit ta see what Crafter's got. How far ya thank his house is?'

The ‘Mino slowed at the conclusion of Balls' query. The headlights illumined a barely visible turn-off, and there stood a mailbox peppered with buckshot holes. E. CRAFTER read the little sign atop. Dicky grinned. 'Here we are, brother.'

They pulled in to find themselves driving up a steep incline through woods even more dense. An owl hooted, and they could see fireflies dotting the forest on either side. Finally, then, the road emptied at the top of a massive hill, and there sat the house. Dicky idled the car toward the front door, then cut the big engine.

The nightsounds amplified, engulfing them. Balls and Dicky stared upward.

'Shee-it,' Dicky muttered.

'You got that right.'

The house stood as a narrow, three-story ruin that looked like it might fall over. The paint had long since blistered off its plank walls, showing only weathered gray wood. A front porch, if you wanted to call it that, had actually collapsed at one end, while the screens that had once enclosed it hung in tatters. The many trees around the house were gnarled, overly twisted, and appeared to be dying.

Balls shook his head. 'This place makes my Daddy's shack look like fuckin' Graceland. What a dump.'

'Ain't no one been livin' in there fer years by the looks of it. Your buddy Tooler was pullin' yer leg.'

'Guess yer right but—shee-it—Bud Tooler? Man, he was a straight up guy, had his head on straight. Ain't no reason fer him ta lie or git his info so fucked up.'

Dicky smirked. 'Head on straight? I thought you said this guy raped a chick in a Good Humor truck'n got caught 'cos he went back ta steal ice cream cones.'

'Tastee-Pops,' Balls corrected. 'You know, the things that push out the cardboard tube? But, yeah, I guess Tooler's full'a shit.'

They both got out before the monstrosity of a house. The moon glowed a sickly mucus-yellow right behind it. Balls passed Dicky a flashlight. 'We gots ta have a look anyways, I guess.'

'Cain't hurt.'

Balls looked over his shoulder. 'Aw, but let's empty the U-Haul first.'

'Shore.'

When Balls unfixed the latch and swung the U-Haul's door open—

'Holy fuck!' Dicky yelled, gagging at the stench.

It slammed Balls in the face like tear gas. 'Smells worse than a pile'a dead buzzards in there—'

The first thing they noticed was a woman's leg right by the door. Balls grabbed it, expecting to pull out a dead woman.

Instead, all he pulled out was a leg.

They he pulled out two severed arms and another leg. All of the limbs were beginning to decompose.

'That there's some fucked up shit, Balls!' Dicky exclaimed.

'Ya gots ta be shittin' me... '

Then Dicky gulped. He shined his light into the back of the haul. 'Balls. Ain't just arms'n legs in there.'

'Huh?'

'Looks like three bodies too.'

Balls shined his own light in and made the same observation. Two women and a man, it appeared, all bound and gagged. Balls took a breath against the stench and hauled the first woman out by the ankles.

'Fuck.'

The body flopped to the ground. A brunette in her twenties apparently, cut-off shorts and a halter. She would've been a looker... if she hadn't been dead for several hours. Her skin had turned to the hue of spoiled cream, while the undersides of her arms and legs were a disturbing purple-black.

'That there's a waste'a prime splittail,' Balls related. He pulled the corpse's top up to gander the breasts and blue nipples, just for good measure. 'But I'se wonder what the fuck's this all about.'

'Looks like we picked the wrong U-Haul ta rip off,' Dicky offered. 'Shee-it, I thought it'd be full'a old junk or something. Instead, it's full'a dead bodies.'

'Not quite dead,' a muffled voice floated out from the dark compartment.

Dicky and Balls nearly keeled over.

'The fuck!' Dicky yelled.

Balls hauled the next body out onto the ground.

FLUMP!

A man in a white shirt and glasses sluggishly churned on the ground, wrists and ankles twisting against rope bonds. He'd managed to half-remove his gag by the force of his tongue. Balls whipped out his Buck knife and cut the