The Headhunter (Shorting The Undead & Other Horrors) - Plot & Excerpts
Promise you will not rest. “Karen,” the hunter cries out. “Oh my Karen. What must I do?” Take the monster’s head. † † † When the last splinter of the day’s harsh sunlight fell from his ceiling and twilight painted the walls crimson in a sweet seduction of darkness, Bill Hawkins unfolded his legs and levered himself off of the ancient couch he used for his bed. His joints ached, though neither from the chill of the approaching winter nor the stiffness of age, nor even from the hardness of the cushions, but from the tension that had parasitized his body since the Uprising, since the time the killings began. The world had died a living death, and now it was the curse of those who remained to relive it each and every night that followed. Stay in. She haunts his every thought, his beloved wife. Stay in, or at least go back to the old place where we were once so happy. He raised his arms, stretching, rotating his head until it no longer creaked like an old pine bending with the wind.
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